Mobius

by Garon Whited

  When Kammen opened his eyes and sat up, I was standing at the table, looking down. He cleared his throat and I looked up.

  “Yes?”

  “Not a lot to see,” he told me, rising and coming to the table. “I don’t know what you’re choosing. The same cusp is still there, like a needle’s point. It ain’t my decision and it’s still that sharp.” He shook his head. “I never seen nothing like it.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. They get closer, they get clearer. We’re on top of this one. I never seen one so tight, and I’m an authority on tight. Usually, if it ain’t your decision, it ain’t much of a cusp for your Ribbon, just a narrow spot. Choices’er limited if it affects you. This one affects me—has to, since I see it so plain. And it’s tighter than a vir— uh, never mind. It’s tight. If it’s your decision, it affects me so completely anything I do won’t affect what happens after.”

  “The fate of the world hangs on it?”

  “My world, sure, or my view of the future wouldn’t be blocked by it. Lotsa others, too, since everything I hear from other Ribbon-watchers says the same. Could be just the folks in the attack, though, or only this kingdom. I haven’t heard any reports outta the Shining Kingdoms or the viksagi.”

  I refrained from comment. Built into every form of prophecy or soothsaying or fortune-telling there’s a frustratingly high level of uncertainty. Why should this be any different? What did I expect? I had to try, though.

  “Look at the map with me, Kammen. What do you see?”

  He regarded it for several seconds, frowning. It wasn’t a map commonly found in his experience. It wasn’t a map commonly found anywhere in the world of Rethven. Most of their maps are about the stick-figure-and-directions level. He’s seen the sand table many times, but going from lines drawn on a napkin to satellite imagery in one leap can be hard to reconcile.

  “This is Zhoka?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is this Iyner? And Salacia, here?”

  “Yes.”

  He continued to study the sand table.

  “I see a long campaign.”

  “Oh? Go on.”

  “These places, all along our route so far, they’re tough fights. We keep headin’ east, we get bigger cities. We lose horses and men, they get bigger mobs. Our wizardry cancels out theirs, so it’s mostly a push, aside from the lucky hits—which is against us, since we can’t afford to lose anyone, not like they can. Plus, the longer this goes on, the longer they got to think up a new wrinkle. I have a hard time believing they’ll just let us lay waste to city after city, waiting for us to wear down. How many?”

  “Forty-three. Not counting unwalled towns and villages.”

  “There’s forty-three chances they’ll do something different. Assassins, probably. Maybe send a fleet to counterattack and force us to withdraw. Hmm.” He considered for several seconds. “If they expect to grind us down and are happy with the casualties, we might can win this.”

  “I’m surprised. How?”

  “Not as we stand,” he assured me. “We’ll need a lotta horses and more support troops. You talk to the Queen about soldiers? Real soldiers, not bunches of farm boys with pitchforks who’ll run when pressed.”

  “I would, but I know she doesn’t have them. Not enough,” I amended, “to keep order here and send material aid to the south.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t think so, not after the fuhhh…iasco at Salacia. Maybe we can get some viksagi to join in? Or some of the Eastrange beasties?”

  “First, don’t refer to the peoples of the Eastrange as beasts. They are people. Barbarians, by our standards, yes, but they have language and manufacture tools. They are people.”

  “Got it, Your Majesty. Any chance we can get some Eastrange barbarians to tackle one of the city-mobs for us?”

  “They’ll just cancel each other out, with massive casualties on both sides.”

  “Yeah, but we won’t have to fight that particular mob. We could maybe use them three or six times if we dig ’em in first, say, in two places outside a city. They can defend the earthworks, archers in one can help support the other, and they’ll deal with two or three times their weight in crazy—maybe more. With us doing sweeps around the edges to draw off some of the pressure, we can keep our own casualties low. And if an earthworks gets overrun, our auxiliaries will fight for their lives with nowhere to run.

  “Also,” he added, “I don’t guess but what those elves can roll up ten times their weight in ugly. Even if they put arrows into the mob, run, and repeat… if they do it right, they could drop the front of a wave and trip twice as many, slow down the whole mob.” He shrugged. “It’ll change the shape and speed more than with infantry, but with infantry you try to break their lines and make ’em run. These morons will trample their own wounded to get to us.” He sighed heavily. “Still gonna take three months or more, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  “Distinct points,” I agreed. “On the other hand, how about if I destroy all the cities? Say… these?” I highlighted the forty-three cities and towns I considered earlier, restoring their halos of colored dust. “If they vanish into huge balls of fire, can we pacify the rest of the region ourselves?”

  Kammen considered it briefly and nodded. He didn’t even blink at the idea I could casually destroy forty-plus cities. I’m not sure what this says about him. I don’t even want to think about what it says about me.

  “Yep. Might even conquer it. Might be a good idea, too. If we don’t, they won’t have much in the way of kingdoms. Banditry, outlaws, barbarians—there’s all you’d have left. Not sure you’d want the region, all things together, but it’s better than giving it to the Kamshasans, I guess. Or what’s left of H’zhad’Eyn after you destroy Zhadivos.” He paused, walking around the sand table and frowning. I waited while he gathered his thoughts. He pointed to a spot on the map.

  “If we ride east like lightning, we can start here, near Kamshasa, and raise your banner everywhere we go. That’ll discourage ’em from starting anything. Then we sweep the other way, back west, taking in whoever we find. Give it a year and we’ll have most of what’s on the map as part of Karvalen. Give it another five years—ten at the outside—and we can keep going west to the Edge and all the way up north to the frost-line.”

  “Why so much longer for the rest of it?”

  “They got asticogens in there, all along the western Edge. Down south, you’ll take all them off the board, except the cities we already took from the Lord of Light. The asticogens of the western continent may not want to join, but the most they’ll do is negotiate a peace. Those’ll take time. Everything south will fold, even if they ain’t grateful we showed up to save them from lawlessness.”

  “I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “Always gotta look forward.”

  “How do you know so much about the western part of the outer continent?”

  “I talk to people. Seldar’s the best at smarts. Torvil’s our best fighter. Me? People like me. They tell me stuff.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I propped my fists on the edge of the table, leaning over it for a moment.

  “All right,” I decided. “Go back to the army and tell them to avoid any place where my wrath falls. Go around it. No, that’s not good enough… Hold on a minute. I need some crystals.”

  Radiation comes in many flavors. The more famous types include x-rays and gamma rays, yes, but only because they reach farther from their source. Neutrons have a terrible tendency to make anything they hit radioactive—the gift that keeps on giving. Fortunately, neutrons don’t go too far compared to gamma rays. Neutrons hit air molecules. Gamma rays generally slide right by. So, if a crystal glows by detecting gamma rays—and is sufficiently sensitive—it should give you enough warning to keep you out of the neutron-radiation zones, too. I shouldn’t have much neutron radiation, since my method doesn’t rely on a neutron chain reaction. Better safe than sorry, though.

  “Here. It’s dangerous to go
there. Take these. If they ever glow, go back the way you came until they don’t and go around.”

  Kammen accepted a handful of quartz lumps and looked a question at me.

  “It’s complicated,” I failed to explain. “Trust me, please.”

  He grunted an affirmative and dumped the crystals in a pouch.

  “You want us to stay away from the wrath, avoid any place where these glow, and pacify the region. No problems.”

  “Don’t you want to know how to tell where my wrath falls?”

  “I figure we can tell by looking,” he stated, confidently.

  I had to admit, he had a point, so I did.

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “Anything else, Majesty?”

  “No, I think that pretty much covers it.”

  “Can do.” He saluted, I returned it, and he marched off to the war.

  I reinforced the anti-spying spells around the scrying room and added a few new ones. If you’re going to do something you’re ashamed of, at least do it in private.

  As I prepared, I realized I didn’t need the whole bow-and-arrow setup. I could use my spells on pebbles and simply drop them through. I guess some part of me thinks a nuke deserves a missile, and an arrow is close enough. And, since I already had arrows…

  I worked on each arrowhead, preparing them in advance. Once I started the launch sequence, I didn’t want to stop and evaluate the good work until it was over. If I stopped, I might never start again. So, all of it. All of them. One after the other, in one sustained push. I can look at the mess afterward. If I care to. If I dare to.

  I’m a monster and a coward. I admit it. I don’t usually have such a glaring example of both at the same time.

  Forty-three arrows, all neatly laid out, side by side, confirmed it.

  The sand table showed the world in the evening light. Sunset was on the way. It wasn’t quite a tingle, yet, but it wouldn’t be much longer. I decided to wait for darkness. The visual impact would be greater at night. Plus, nighttime seems more appropriate for doing horrible deeds.

  While I waited, I monitored my local scrying shields. Yes, people were actively trying to penetrate them and see what I was up to. I counted three of them. Since I had some time, I spent it rigging some traps, scrying-wise. If they did manage to penetrate my shields, they would find an illusion of the room, unoccupied. They would also find some feedback loops looking back at them and capturing their images in some of the small mirrors around the room. The sunset started while I worked, but I kept working. I needed something to occupy my mind. Focusing on something else while ignoring my transformation was perfect. I’ve gotten much better at ignoring the pins-and-needles sensation, but my nose still doesn’t endure my own stink too well.

  I finished with most of the sunset and cleaned up. My armor still needed a lot of repair. Tymara cooked it like charcoal in a grill. It was a wonder the front was still structurally intact. I’ll fix it later, assuming Diogenes doesn’t have yet another latest-generation suit waiting for me in Apocalyptica. I gave it enough of a repair spell to keep it from coming apart and to reabsorb the char, at least.

  What else did I need to do before eradicating a couple of million people? Kammen will take care of informing the army. Who else needs to know?

  “Hey, you, up there.”

  Yo, replied my altar ego.

  “I’m about to visit infernal wrath on the blaspheming heretics in the south.”

  I’m not sure you can be a blasphemer and a heretic. Or, rather, I think one encompasses the other.

  “Are you sure?”

  Pretty sure.

  “Heathens and heretics?”

  Hmm. Heathens aren’t necessarily heretics… yeah, I think that works. And can we call it divine wrath instead of infernal? I have standards.

  “Are you sure you want to be involved? Or have anyone believe you were involved?”

  I can manage. It’s Sodom and Gomorrah with a broader scale.

  “No pillars of salt, please.”

  Wouldn’t dream of it. Anyone looking at the flash will have enough problems. Do you plan to hit Zhoka?

  “No need. We already pacified the place.”

  Good for you. I ask because I’m already telling Beltar how things are going to go and to look away.

  “Beltar! Right! He probably needs specific instructions. Sorry. Things on my mind.”

  Want to warn Lissette?

  “Yes and no.”

  Hmm?

  “I don’t want to surprise her, but I also don’t want to have a discussion with her. It’s complicated.”

  All relationships are, he consoled. A better question might be, are you going to warn Lissette?

  “I think I’m going to chicken out. I’ll let Kammen handle her. She likes him better, anyway.”

  Does she?

  “They have a better relationship,” I clarified.

  The bar isn’t set too high, he pointed out.

  “Lay off, will you?”

  Okay. Beltar is issuing the prayer watch warning. We’ll have everyone facing away and behind the earthworks. They should be safe from the flash. Since the closest city on the list is a trifle over thirty miles away, we’re probably being overcautious, but I like being cautious. What else can I do for you?

  “Keep the gods off my back until I’m done?”

  I’d worry more about keeping them off your back after you’re done.

  “Is it going to be bad? Or should I ask how bad is it going to be?”

  I don’t know. This isn’t something… I mean, it’s never been done. I don’t have the foggiest notion how they’ll react. They might love the idea of a powerful ally, especially one who is willing to slap around their favorite enemy—they really don’t like the Boojum. They might be upset you have the power to destroy all life on the world and start over. Could go either way.

  “Maybe I should plan an extended vacation.”

  Maybe you should.

  “I’ll blow up that bridge once I cross it. Everything set?”

  Everything on my end. I still think you ought to warn Lissette.

  “Two minutes won’t do her any good.”

  Two minutes can be a long time.

  “I know. It’s about to be the lifespan of a million people.”

  I got the impression he didn’t know what to say. I felt his presence in my head—a sensation to which I have grown accustomed, if not comfortable with—while he considered how to respond.

  Do you want Mary to come help?

  “No. I don’t want her to see this. I’m not sure I want you here, either.”

  Do you want Bronze to take Firebrand out into the hall?

  “Bronze is different, and Firebrand is delighted by murderous pyrotechnic displays.”

  Firebrand made no denial.

  You raise valid points, my altar ego acknowledged. Okay. Should I go?

  “Yes and no. Once you go, I’m going to start.”

  Now I feel guilty about leaving you alone.

  “Just go,” I sighed. “I have abominable things to do.”

  One last time. Are you sure this is what you need to do? Not “want” to do, since you don’t, but is this the best option?

  “Sometimes, there are no good choices. You still have to choose. In this case, I see it as a fundamental Us or Them problem. I’m okay with that. Sometimes the problem is simple. What bothers me is I don’t have another solution. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t have anything right to do! Since I’m stuck with Them or Us, I choose Us.”

  All right. Is there anything else you need from me before Armageddon?

  “No. Wait. Yes. Where’s the main temple for the Church of Light?”

  The physical building?

  “Yes.”

  Look at the map. See Salacia? Move south about forty miles, then west about thirty. There’s the city of Kolammia. The main temple is the big dome with all the outbuildings and pavement surrounding it.

  “It seems fam
iliar. I might have looked it over, once, while considering how to blow it up.”

  I wouldn’t doubt it.

  “Have they always had it there? Their headquarters, I mean.”

  Nope. The physical temple has been there for centuries, but they started expanding around it shortly before they invaded Karvalen a few years ago. They moved their flag there about the same time. I’m not privy to why, exactly, but it does have better roads for pilgrims, it’s farther from the coast and possible invasions, and it’s farther west, to be slightly more central to the expanded Empire of Light. Uh… they might also have detected any earlier attempts at scrying into their main temple. It wouldn’t be enough to make them reorganize, you understand, but it might have tipped the scales.

  “Great. Intelligent enemies. Not what I needed.”

  You won’t have them for much longer.

  “You. Are. Not. Helping.”

  Anything else I can do for you?

  “Forgive me for what I’m about to do?”

  There’s only one person who can do that.

  “I know. And I’m not the sort to go easy on myself.”

  At least your self-image isn’t entirely wrong.

  And he was gone.

  I rolled my head around a few times, took a few useless deep breaths, and rested my undead hands on the edge of the sand table. I have doubts. I have terrible pangs of pre-guilt. I have an overwhelming sense of failure. What I don’t have is a good solution. I have a big damn lemon, but neither water nor sugar, so there’s no lemonade for me! I’m going to have to eat it.

  How did that song go?

  I am the god of hellfire, and I bring you…

  There are several considerations when nuking a city. At the most basic level, yes, you blow it up. Granted. And, at the most basic level, swordsmanship is “Stick ’em with the pointy end.”

  There’s more to it than a straightforward giant kaboom! There are different sorts of secondary effects at different detonation altitudes. For example, if you bury a bomb in the basement, you drastically increase the size of the crater, as well as the amount of radioactive material you send skyward. This materially adds to the fallout. If the bomb goes off above ground, it has less fallout and a smaller crater, but the fireball and shockwave are larger. As your point of detonation gets higher, you get less and less fallout afterward—a good thing, in my opinion—and the area of your immediate blast becomes larger. There comes a point, of course, where you’re setting the bomb off a little too high. Your target is still underneath you, but too far away to be affected as severely. It’s a balancing act between maximum destructiveness and unwanted radiation in the aftermath, at least for me.