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Michelle steps into the spacious open lobby with its marble staircases at each end and two elevator doors in the center. In between each elevator and stairway is a collection of modest furniture resting on twenty foot long Persian rugs; the corners
marked by thriving potted plants. Pulling the luggage to the sitting area on the right, she calls out the fifteen word name of Disk-1 and it rises from the scrum of baggage, in its protective trifold sleeve. She slides it into her back
pocket and grabs
Pierces attaché holding the amber wells. The temptation to leave them to their
collective fate and let nature take its course is strong. They’ll still be intoxicated from using the dilapidated barely functioning zero gates at Misty Hob. A true
similitude of what befalls many men and women who encounter The Construct’s functions without proper instruction or a natural cast of attitude that promotes cautious methodical exploration. Even Alex, stung mightily by the forks in the road, The
Construct can force a being to walk; is still reckless at times.
Her conflict with Mr. Eight seems like a tangle of ugly words, a thousand unreasonable fears that took root and bore irresistible despotism over her thoughts. The boys love for her has never faded; and though bound to a monument
of time, they don’t
envy her the freedom she enjoys. Being in the heart of Library City’s original sprawl that started with Clocktown she feels the old rivers of refined creativity. After this quaint little city sprung up a time of disillusion followed for Gretchen. Her
essence, and Vladimir’s essence, mixing in the eternal pools until they both lost that essential quality that is a self. For Michelle the real Miss Faversham is the naturally reborn schoolmarm, not this architectural maze, even
if it is a lovely
representation of her inner being, its purpose as a sanctuary for the presence of herself, her husband and her children was irrevocably perverted by the rise
of Library City. As the process of renewing The Construct stalled and the fabrics recycled upon
themselves, only mutations and evolving horrors sprung up.
Lucian and the three boys join hands entering S.X. Manta together. Aloysius is carrying a large picnic basket for the final battle ritual. Juzya Kydd is laying on the monument fully deceased and preserved by the near zero time flow of The Core. Linking
hands again they cross to S.X. Signet.
Azrok Steppe is alert but failing. He asks to be allowed to pilot a Body Fortress into battle and Mr. Eight gives Lucian a short nod of ascent; knowing each fortress as part of the old core is only going to last until its natural momentum is expended. �
��If Azrok chooses to die in battle it’s should be his choice. Once he is in the Body Fortress he should feel slightly more invigorated.”
The five Origin Players know now that Juzya Kydd is one of the two infants received with the new core and Azrok Steppe the other. Azrok makes a 2085 service call and jumps from the ship to a Body Fortress. Exiting the ship they land at the center of
the three bells and sit cross legged facing each other: Artrex to the north, Lucian to the south, Aloysius to the east and Mr. Eight to the west. Aloysius passes each player a big mug of hot coffee poured from an iron pot. Mr. Eight takes the coconut
cream pie out of the basket uncovering the glass top and setting it carefully on the granite deck of The Octagon. Dividing the pie into four large pieces each player takes their china plate and fork silently. All four are dressed in their crisp, black,
intraphase uniforms, with modest gold braid and insignias denoting specific 2085 functions; carrying their side arms and a concealed vestment of micro weapons and tactical defenses in case of capture or imminent death.
They eat slowly savoring each mouthful of the creamy delicious delight contrasted with richly invigorating roasted coffee. Each player is looking about casually memorizing the visions details
comfortable in this final ritual. Mr. Eight speaks humbly, “I have no regrets and no remorse.”
The Old Chief’s face softened, his eyes tightened, closing his fist over his heart, he spoke for Artrex and himself. “No regrets and no remorse.” Aloysius calmly, “No regrets, no remorse.”
Moses and Maurice were up early, supervising RN6 regular forces at the southern edge of the dome unloading the steady stream of chrome plated freight cars holding small and medium sized Aeromyd attack sleds. The largest sleds were brought in on flat
cars and assembled over the last two months. The sleek black triangular pyramids carry, one, two or twenty-eight passengers. Their dual use dynamos link to Sealand’s natural magnetic fields; or massive battle generators carried on magna sleds quarried
from the volcanic rock that allows greater speed and altitude.
Digging under the dome from the outside had begun on day two after the auxiliary engines appeared. Two new Arcdogs brought in from Oldham AFB were able to burrow down to the four main enormous dogs buried southwest of The Octagon. The large boring
units are twice as long as skyscrapers are tall and coiled like a thick rope when transported. They liquefy soil and rock with rotating fields after micro blasting it into a granular mush. The top pear shaped heads and square drivers are tremendous
burrowing earthworms. Smaller Arcdogs are used to carve cross channels to leach
the sludge away and to free the four behemoth units when they stall.
With all the excavation equipment strapped to long sleds for fast movement through bridging gates by September: Moses and Maurice had the time required to
ship in twenty five thousand Aeromyds. The twenty-thousand troop transport Aeromyds double as
bombers after their troops are dropped. Moses and Maurice’s troops are dressed in intraphase black and gold, loose fitting battle fatigues. This time out, they are wearing special climbing and scaling footwear for moving from battle porch to battle
porch, across the granite faces, of The Tower Of Absolute’s nine mile high run of sheer cliff faces. Most escarpments on the tower are connected by short rail systems.
Some battlements are isolated and contain experimental or automated weapons that shall have to be eliminated porch by porch. Five thousand single and double seat Aeromyds are now hovering.
The interior of the dome is almost empty except for support bases and medical
troops allowing ATM to freely extend a hand as a platform. He smoothly delivers
Artrex, Aloysius and Lucian to the fortresses stationed at the compass points. The three
pilots and Azrok Steppe already onboard his unit assemble at the western dome handle. ATM raises his deep thick sturdy and luminescent left hand in front of
his eyes to receive Mr. Eight’s final salute. He returns it very slowly to avoid jostling the
air. Eight jumps through the left eye and turns ready to assume command. The ATM places its feet in the two circles set aside for dome openings turning the lid 360 degrees: lifting it.
The four pilots step over the rim onto a flare lit ready zone. ATM walks with
the dome held over his head to the barren forested area to the north and lowers
it to its rim; spinning it carefully and gripping it by its outer handle. 2085 commands the S.
X. Signet, S.X. Manta and S.X. Archer to maintain formation and ascend seventy-five hundred feet. Walking back ATM nimbly and deftly lays the diamond dome back on its grooved receiving lip; turning it 360 degrees to a full close to protect the auxiliary
engines and small forest of tarpaulin covered diamond statues.
The AR20 special aerial forces are loaded onto assembly zones, the first wave, forty million strong, are on the ground in four main swarming bodies. Their rams horned, giant eyed, EMV head mounts secured to the snuggly fitted body harnesses; that
follow the webbed dynamos comfortably and efficiently. The onboard avionics allow automated group flight and solo navigation with a single word command. Many common battle maneuvers are preprogrammed and announced to the pilot as battlefield operations
fluctuate. Each suit is linked to the nearest ten, one hundred and one thousand nearest EMV to avoid collisions and allow the pilot wiggle room when switching to manual flight. Each pilot carries four hollow, wire-charged crystalline rods to aim and
fire: two loosely slung for hand firing at belt level; two fixed to the EMV horns.
The 2085, “Overlord Receive Pilot Command.”
Mr. Eight, “Overlord Assuming ATM Battlefield Command.”
Mr. Eight’s partnership and fluid interaction with the main white light momentum repository that is the Almighty True Mystery command; stretches across
trillions of battlefields. Before the 2085 system collapsed from three 640-octillion lightmach
systems into only three lightmachs the mere deployment of The Colossus was often enough to bring the warring parties to their senses. Inside the ATM the pilot stands comfortably at eye level and can see clearly in any direction he turns his gaze to.
System wide momentum levels are present and resizing does not diminish the level.
In the three engine 2085 system configurations the white light engine moves in opposition to the clear and black light. The ATM can be stopped only if the whole system is stopped. Even then it can still transport the pilot to safety as small amounts of
momentum accrue in a disabled core. The ATM is the overall modifier of The Core’s momentum: it governs the tension between the abstract systems on either side of the Zero Circle's floating ring; inside it harmonizes the reference and storage process of
the abstract sphere around The Origin Point, outside it records the animating processes between the Zero Ring as three zero and outer wall Essence Ships as four zero. The ATM is the amount of unused available system momentum: stored slightly above the
floating zero; by resting in a reclining position in repose on the black Memory
Monument.
Movement in battle is like leaning backward against a wall of water. The forward motion is detected as acceleration. Slight resistance to every movement makes for fluent manual control.
Often in pursuit of battlefield objectives Mr. Eight and ATM become a single mind activated by a series of actions. Other times ATM takes up where Mr. Eight’s fatigue begins and completes simple tasks. The Overlords trust of the
ATM is beyond measure.
The ATM’s purpose is war.
The ATM auto sizing to twenty miles in height provides Mr. Eight with a view of the tower and a single massive zeppelin brought forward and separated from the other zeppelins. This sudden appearance on the battlefield is what Rya Talon and Drorgo have
prepared for. They have many players trapped in the Crystal Skull since the new
core failed. Both Rya Talon and Drorgo’s best scientists and engineers have tried to find a way to open the Crystal Skull. The mighty zeppelin captured from Vulchario drops
a white flag of immense proportion to signal acquiescence.
ATM leaps forward for Mr. Eight and he exits at ground level; ATM peering into the zeppelins pilot cage and bombardment platforms. Rya Talon is seven feet tall, grey eyed with aquiline nose and two feet of long white hair streaming out over his
shoulders from under an thick ornamental jeweled headband centered by a green sapphire, his home world concealed within. He is always wrapped in a dull gold great coat mined in the depths of the Byzantine Mountains. The Talonians are ancient enemies of
Entropa and The Carillions who vie for control of the southern plains.
Drorgo is a short, barrel chested man of barely five feet with dark black curly hair, a stout broad nose and intense coal black eyes. The Drorgots are fast moving plainsmen a billion strong and long term enemies of Arc Volte and The Outliers to the
northwest. All four groups are at war with Totalus and The Chronos who dominates the far north: arriving, plundering; and exiting without warning. Mr.
Eight offers his hand; as ATM detaches the giant flag above from the mile long zeppelin; folding it,
placing the signal lightly on the ground a quarter mile north. He resizes to ten feet and stands guard over the three warlords. Mr. Eight quickly instructs them for battle. “I have seventeen gates. Ten gates to carry my forces in from the southeast
and seven to carry your forces in from the northeast. I’ll attack the eastern
and southern armies you’ll attack the northern and western. Guard your gates,
retreat from The Shadow and then surge forward again.”
Trevor looks toward Alex, Danes and Harris to find them staring at him waiting for a decision.
He gazes over at Stephan and Grigori across the dark brown marble lobby leaning
on the wide round pillars their gear resting on a long wooden bench and they are watching him waiting also.
“Seal the hatch, I’ll call the disk and we’ll wait two hours. If it isn’t able to free itself by then I’ll go into the Crystal Spring after it.” Trevor places the vortex paradome containment vessel on a nearby wooden bench. He moves fifteen
feet into the jagged tunnel lighting two miners lamps.
He takes the card with Main Index Two written on one of its sides reciting quietly wondering if this works, “Love Trust Respect – Power Strength Endurance – Courage Heart Intelligence –Hope Joy Enthusiasm – Confidence Competence
Competitiveness.” The tower subtly quivers; shuddering from fifteen miles below the grounds surface, to fifteen miles skyward above to Library City; hearing the sequence recited and feeling Disk-2 respond by instantly launching several million lines of
open computations, to measure its position, and options for reaching the location it has been summoned to.
Grigori knowing irrevocable change is coming asks to leave for Clocktown to find Morbiditus.
Trevor realizing something is amiss, “We’re safe here for now and have a plan of action.”
“Back at Misty Hob the two blond girls that had been using the gates got stuck. Your friend went after them followed by Morbiditus and Stephan’s dad.” Grigori seems determined to sort the matter out. Harris argues, “I don’t know how the disk
movement plays out Trevor, basically it is a conscious being, a microcosmic one, but a will of its own nonetheless.” Trevor considers transporting him there and returning instantly, “I can’t leave temporarily, this location was your best choice,
and we agreed.” Grigori points to the tunnel. “I’ll make good time and see if I can bring them back before all hell breaks loose.” Trevor shakes his
head resigned, “Take Stephan.”
Dr. Vulchario has dedicated a portion of the computational mental prowess of Library City to decoding Disk-2. Seeing it rise from the pool and prepare to leave he grabs it and is thrown to the ground by the unseen sheets of translucent clear light it
is breathing inward and outward as it talks to The Construct and The Totality. The Vulture has searched diligently for the index for an eventuality such as this. As he moves toward the massive central lifting platform in the diamond shaft that rises up
through the distilling chambers, the disk follows him continuing to assess and prune its sets of optimal trajectories to satisfy the Main Index procedures. Until this very moment using the disk seemed to offer no more difficulty than walking a well-
trained dog in the park.

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