April 11th, 2034
It didn’t feel like Richard had been asleep very long when a large explosion rocked the building. The room’s light bulb swung wildly on its cord, casting eerie, shifting shadows that made the space feel like a scene from a horror movie.
"Hey, idiot! Hug the ground!" Blue yelled, already leading by example.
"You know what’s going on?" Richard inquired as he quickly rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a thud, and spread-eagled himself flat. The moment his face hit the floor, a cloud of dust stirred up, tickling his nose until he let out a sudden, involuntary sneeze.
"No, but there’s a limited number of options, and we all know it’s Magnus. And I’ve found that if people are shooting up the place or things are exploding, it’s best to be as low as possible."
Richard was processing that information, his mind filling with internal visualizations, and was about to respond when another explosion erupted. This one was smaller and sharper, with a metallic ring that seemed to come from just outside—much closer than before.
“Katie, can someone there run color commentary on what the hell is going on?” Blue’s voice had an edge of quiet hysteria. “I really don’t like being a mushroom right now.”
Richard glanced over, frowning. “A mushroom?”
Blue let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. You know, kept in the dark and fed crap.”
A long silence stretched out before the response finally came, Katie’s voice distorting strangely, elongated. “Hi, my name is Brian,” a slight grunt followed, the oof of him settling into a chair audible through the speaker. “So, the opposition was arguing they didn’t have enough fuel to spare. We figured out the fuel was stored in four large water towers just inside the treeline. Magnus blew one up and gave them ten minutes to start fueling the jet before he blows the next one. Oh, and by the way—some of the forest is on fire, and with the winds constantly shifting, it might head toward the building you're in.”
Blue quickly summed up the situation for Richard, keeping his voice low.
“So nice to have information we have no way to use,” Richard replied mockingly. “So he’s either going to drop the mountain on us, burn us alive, or blow us up. And that’s assuming the local morons don’t shoot us out of spite. Meanwhile, we’re stuck in a locked room.”
About twenty minutes passed, and the bolt to the door slid open with a heavy clank. Three guards appeared, their faces twisted in anger, their eyes sharp and unblinking. The tension was palpable, a restrained fury simmering beneath the surface. They gestured for Richard and Blue to get up, their movements abrupt, almost daring them to hesitate. The guards' hands hovered near their weapons, fingers twitching as if itching for an excuse to escalate.
No words were exchanged—the air thick with mistrust, each side aware that the other couldn’t understand. The guards barked out orders in a language neither Richard nor Blue could decipher, their voices harsh and filled with menace. Blue’s eyes flicked toward Richard, his expression cautious, sensing the volatile atmosphere. Richard nodded subtly, urging compliance, the unspoken message clear: Don't provoke them.
They moved slowly, deliberately, rising to their feet. One guard shoved Blue in the shoulder, a sharp push that sent him stumbling, his teeth clenching as he fought to stay calm. The guards’ eyes narrowed, watching for any sign of resistance, their rage barely held in check. The silence between them was oppressive, every small movement laden with the threat of violence, as they were roughly urged outside.
It was dark, the thick night air clinging to their skin as they stepped into the open. Blue glanced at one of the guards, his voice casual, almost taunting. “Hey buddy, what time is it anyway?” His words seemed to hang in the air, incomprehensible to the guard, who responded only with a glare.
Blue tapped his collar lightly, speaking again in the same tone, as if still addressing the guard. “Katie, what time is it?”
Katie’s voice responded promptly through the bone induction in his flight suit’s harness. “It is 3:31 AM.”
Blue gave a small nod, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, pal,” he muttered, earning a deeper scowl from the guard, who remained oblivious to the exchange.
Four men, dressed too heavily for the humid night, circled the jet, their flashlights cutting through the darkness as they worked. Two thick hoses snaked from the ground to the jet’s undercarriage, pumping fuel into its belly.
“Katie, darling, how much fuel do you have?” Blue asked, his voice calm despite the tension.
“18% capacity,” Katie’s voice replied through the bone induction in his suit.
“Katie, give me a sound-off at every 10%.”
The guards’ agitation seemed to grow, their anger barely contained as they pointed their rifles towards the cockpit of the jet, screaming something unintelligible. The words were harsh, filled with accusation, their meaning lost in the chaos of the moment. Blue’s ears caught a single word—"Caza"—but it only deepened his confusion. He shot a quick look at Richard, hoping for some sign of understanding, but found none. The guards’ gestures became more frantic, their rifles shaking slightly, as if they were looking for any reason to escalate the situation further.
One guard pantomimed marching in place, his boots thudding against the ground in exaggerated movements, while another emphatically patted the nose cone of the jet as high up as he could reach. The gestures were frantic, almost desperate, as if they were trying to convey something important, yet their anger remained palpable—like they were searching for an excuse to turn their frustration into violence.
“They want you to get in the damn plane,” someone’s voice stressed via Katie.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Blue turned to Richard, his expression urgent. “They want us to get in.”
Blue had Katie release the ladder and waited until both he and Richard were at the top before unlocking the canopy. They climbed in quickly, securing it shut behind them. Once inside, they finally let out a collective breath, the tension loosening slightly.
“Katie says we’re at 20% fuel capacity,” Blue muttered. “This is a very slow refill—it's gonna be dawn before we're ready.”
“Now that we’re in the plane, is there any way to patch me through to Magnus?” Richard asked, settling into the seat.
“I can’t get used to you referring to him by his first name," Blue smirked. "Even the Countess rarely does that in public. It just sounds so weird. But sure, I can patch you through to Halldor. Bear in mind, it’s an open line—with me in the loop.”
“First of all,” Richard began as the connection went live, “I’d like to thank the Wizard’s wizard for getting me out alive. Now I really need to talk to Mags”—he shot a wink at Blue—“to try and talk him out of blowing up this mountain.”
Richard's voice filled the cockpit as the line connected. “Hey, Magnus, it’s Richard. Thought I’d reach out before you go full Armageddon up here... again. First, gotta give credit where it's due—great job on the extraction, you and Halldor really pulled off some magic. But listen, let’s talk about not blowing up this mountain…”
There was a long pause, followed by the sound of rustling, and then Magnus's voice cut through, controlled and authoritative. “Richard. The deal is the deal. People have to know that you don't renegotiate with Perfectland. And that lesson is taught through moments like these.”
“I get that, I really do," Richard said, keeping his tone light and friendly. “But look, they didn’t torch our jet or shoot us in our sleep—they just wasted some of our time. Nothing we can’t bounce back from, right? We don't have to turn every stone into rubble because of a little delay.”
Magnus's voice stayed flat. “You think it's just time they wasted? If they think they can get away with renegotiation they'll do it more every time. You give them a millimeter, they'll take a kilometer.”
“Sure, sure, but think about it—blowing up the whole damn mountain. This is a sweet setup there can't be a whole lot of them like this,” Richard chuckled, trying to ease the tension. “Using a sledgehammer when all they need is a tap.”
“Richard, doesn't matter how nice that airstrip is if we leave it standing they know they can try to negotiate. either way it's lost to us. At least it can serve as a message. You keep them on the defensive, keep them fearful. That’s how you control the situation.”
Richard sighed, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, but control comes in shades, Mags. A lighter touch, and they’ll do what you ask without thinking we’re all just waiting to drop the hammer on their heads.”
“You think they’ll respect us more if we back down now? You think they’ll listen to reason next time?” Magnus's voice rose slightly, carrying an edge of impatience. “They have to understand there is no next time.”
Richard’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay steady. “I just think... we lose more than we gain by being the bigger bully, y’know? The mountain’s not the enemy, and the people? They just need to know we’re here for fuel, not scorched earth.”
“You want me to lose face over this?” Magnus shot back. “We didn't come all this way to play nice, Richard.”
“I want you to show strength in restraint,” Richard replied, leaning into his seat, knowing every word counted. “Otherwise, every damn negotiation from now on will start with them bracing for an explosion. That’s a slippery slope, my friend.”
"You're missing the point. We already had the negotiation long distance. The deal was struck. They tried to renegotiate! And we can allow no precedence for that," Magnus's voice had that cold fire that Richard had learned to read and fear.
"Capt. Renshaw," Richard heard Magnus address the pilot, "Go straight instead of turning around when the fuel tank is full." Richard heard Blue take a sharp inhalation of breath but merely acknowledged the order.
"Make sure your harness is good and tight, buddy. This is gonna get interesting," Blue informed Richard.
Taking off was a leap of faith; neither of them knew what awaited them after the drop. The air was thick with tension, each breath heavy with the weight of the unknown. Blue, ever the daredevil, had that familiar glint in his eyes, fully embracing the challenge ahead. As the jet finally reached full capacity, the engines roared to life—a deafening sound that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. They rocketed down the narrow airstrip, the force pinning them back into their seats.
The aircraft's lift had taken care of about half its weight by the time they reached the end of the runway, but while the ground was mostly flat, the ride grew increasingly bumpy. As the aircraft vibrated violently, Richard began to worry about its structural integrity.
The early dawn cast long shadows across the ground. The sun, rising just enough to blind them as they hurtled forward, intensified the moment, squeezing Richard's chest with apprehension.
Then, just as he was certain the jet could take no more, the ground vanished beneath them, and they dropped.
"Yeehaw! You beautiful bastard!" Blue exclaimed. He pulled back on the yoke with a grin.
The jet climbed, leaving the jungle behind. Blue banked smoothly, the jagged landscape sprawling beneath them like the back of some ancient, slumbering beast. The light of dawn painted the mountains in hues of orange and gold, their peaks sharp and menacing as they cut through the rugged terrain.
Suddenly, Richard's gaze was drawn downward—four missiles streaked from a drone toward the vertical part of the runway. They left trails of smoke behind them, each impact only seconds apart, and the explosions shattered the fragile silence. Debris flew violently into the air, the force reverberating even at their altitude. Richard's stomach twisted as barely ten seconds later, three more bombs dropped onto the flat section of the runway, obliterating it with blinding flashes, leaving nothing but fire and twisted metal in their wake.
His eyes widened in horror, unable to look away. Flames licked hungrily at the remains, and then, as if on cue, something ignited the nearby building—turning it into an inferno that lit up the mountainside like a beacon of destruction. The realization hit Richard hard, sinking into his gut: Magnus had made them circle the mountain so they could witness every second of this devastation, a grim lesson spelled out in fire and rubble.
He stared hard, forcing himself to take in the unnecessary destruction. The field below was unrecognizable—a charred wasteland, with burning trees beginning to spread up the mountain, where twisted remains of the refueling station reached skyward like burst shotgun barrels. Smoke rose in greasy black plumes, and the scorched ground still glowed with patches of embers. They were still close enough that he could make out, near the demolished pumps, the blackened remains of a man were half-melted into the now-liquid tarmac, his skeletal frame frozen in a grotesque, final sprawl.
Richard’s stomach churned as he imagined the lives erased here, the people whose deaths were nothing more than another one of Magnus’s lessons. He swallowed hard, the metallic taste of bile sharp in his throat, and surveyed the scene until Blue finally banked the jet and they began their ascent.
Richard inhaled slowly, drawing on his burgeoning training to force the bile and rage down where it couldn’t cloud his thoughts. Clarity, logic—he needed both before speaking to Magnus again.
“You know you just lost a landing strip,” Richard said, his voice cold and clipped. His knuckles turned white around his harness straps, and every word was a struggle to get past the heat of his anger.
Magnus’s voice hissed through the radio, sharp and unyielding. “The refueling station was lost to us the moment they tried to renegotiate. I am confident I can find another one in these renegade hills, Richard.”
He clenched his teeth, his composure splintering. “Was it worth it? How many people had to die just so you could make your point?”
“Three were killed to convince them to refuel the plane,” Magnus replied, calm as ever. “The rest were warned to clear the strip, so no one died in the bombing. I could have destroyed their bunker, but I left it. So survivors will spread tales of what happens when you cross Magnus.”
Richard noted that Magnus always spoke in the first person when he was at his worst. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, but the image of the burnt remains below stayed etched in his mind.
He swore under his breath, shaking his head. He wanted to scream, to rage against the cold calculus of Magnus's justice, but he knew it was futile. Instead, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the images of the burning airstrip.
"You okay?" Blue's voice, surprisingly gentle, cut through his thoughts.
Richard opened his eyes, meeting Blue's gaze. "No," he admitted, the word heavy with the weight of what he'd witnessed. "But I will be."
He forced himself to focus on the present, on the mission. He was here for a reason, and dwelling on the past wouldn't change anything.
"Katie, can you patch me through to Halldor?" he asked, his voice steadier now.
"Working on it," the AI replied.
A few moments later, Halldor's voice, distorted by static, filled the cockpit. "Richard? What's going on? We saw the explosions."
"We're fine, but you know damn well what happened. Couldn't you talk him out of it or talk him down to one missile?" Richard said, keeping his voice even.
Halldor sounded tired and defensive, "Don't you think I tried? At least I got the Countess to talk him down from using Overseer."
Richard grimaced, "Sure she did. That's Magnus using 'the big ask.' There was no way he was gonna waste one of his four shots on a situation like that. Besides it would have left no one to tell the tale."
Halldor trying to talk a few times, sometimes stringing as many as three syllables together before his sentences collapsed.
"Relax, I'm not really blaming you. Even if I'd been there, I don't think I could have done anything. His intention is steeled even against the Countess in this regard."
"But Magnus... he made his point. We're on our way to X-Land now. Tell him I'll be there as soon as possible."
"We're tracking you and will keep Elon in the loop," Halldor replied. "Be careful, Richard. And, Richard...?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't underestimate Musk. He's not like Magnus, but he's just as calculating in his own way."
Richard acknowledged the warning with a nod, though Halldor couldn't see it. He knew the risks, had known them from the start. But as the jet rose in a huge parabolic arc that would land them in X-Land, a new sense of unease settled over him. He was stepping into a game with players far more powerful and unpredictable than he had ever imagined.
"What's Overseer?" Blue asked.
Returning to his role as diplomat, Richard tactfully answered, "If you don't know, Magnus probably wants it that way. Sorry, but figuring out whose secret is whose is half my job."
"No problem," responded Blue chipperly. "Four shots, one of which could kill everyone on the mountain. Gotcha, never heard a thing. Lips are sealed." Richard could almost hear the smile in his voice and wondered how that was possible after what they had just witnessed.
Blue was, in essence, a warrior, and he had learned to compartmentalize, Richard surmised. It was a skill he had better learn, and attempted to put his mind in neutral for a few hours.
You alright?" Blue asked for the third time that day.
Richard nodded, unable to find his voice for a moment. He looked at Blue—really looked at him—for the first time since the escape, noticing the beads of sweat on his forehead and the slight tremor in his hands as he adjusted the controls. Even this daredevil pilot, who seemed to relish danger, was affected by what they had just witnessed.
"That was... excessive," Richard finally said, the understatement hanging heavy in the air. He thought about the families that might have been in that building.
Blue sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He could have assumed Richard was talking about the takeoff, but he didn’t misunderstand for a second. "Yeah, well, that's Magnus for you. Always goes for the big gesture."
Richard's mind raced, replaying the destruction—the flames consuming the makeshift runway, the panicked faces of the militia. He thought of the families, the people who lived on that mountain. "They were just trying to survive," he muttered, more to himself than to Blue. "Renegotiate. Maybe they didn’t even know what they had."
"Maybe," Blue conceded, his tone noncommittal. "But Magnus doesn’t see it that way. To him, it’s about pieces of a puzzle. You don’t give an inch, or they’ll take a mile. It’s harsh, but... a huge part of the world’s stability is here because of him." He shrugged.
Richard stared out the window at the vast expanse of blackness and stars. The sun had been up when they left, and it was up in X-land—so how could it be night here, somewhere in between?
But he knew he was deflecting. Unease gnawed at him, a knot of doubt tightening in his stomach. Was this the kind of world he wanted to be a part of? A world where such brutality was deemed necessary, even justified?
"It’s a means to an end," he muttered, trying to rationalize his decision to stay, to continue down this path. "The Starlink project, the information network... it’s bigger than any one place, any one man’s methods." He knew thousands, maybe millions, of lives depended on his success.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the images of the burning airstrip and the fleeing figures. "It’s better to be on the inside," he whispered, a mantra he repeated to himself. "Better to try and influence things from within than to fight them from the outside." He knew that walking away meant giving up any chance to make a real difference. He had to believe he could temper Magnus’s methods, steer him toward a less destructive path. It was a long shot, a dangerous gamble, but it was the only one he had.
"Don’t be thinking the Count is a villain. He really does care about his people and the world. It’s just been my experience that when people get too smart, they get distanced from their emotions. But his goal is to save the world," Blue said, uncharacteristically philosophical.
"I don’t doubt for a minute he wants to save the world. Unfortunately, it’s only so he’ll have a world worth ruling." Richard closed his eyes again, trying to summon more positive thoughts. Instead, he wondered if the man cooked into the tarmac had had a family.
The jet began its descent, and the shift in his center of gravity roused him from his weird, commingled thoughts. Richard peered out the window, trying to get a glimpse of his destination. Gray and white below was the totality of the view.
Then everything changed rapidly, more and more blue, and suddenly, grays and greens resolving into land. All he could see was a vast, flat expanse, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It looked like a giant parking lot, broken only by a few clusters of buildings in various stages of construction.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" Blue commented.
Richard couldn't help but think of the scene in War Games with the little shack in the desert that went down into a huge underground complex. Based on absolutely nothing, he was nearly 100% certain that was the situation here.
"It's what's under the surface that counts," Richard replied, thinking of the hidden infrastructure, the technology, the power that this seemingly empty place represented.
As they landed, the jet taxied towards a cluster of buildings, and a figure emerged, walking towards them with a purposeful stride.
Blue cut the engine, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. He turned to Richard, a slight smile on his face. "Well, here we are. Time to meet the locals."
"One second," Richard sighed. He freed himself from the harness and leaned forward, unlatching a compartment that was exactly where Magnus had said it would be. Sure enough, nestled in foam cushioning, sat the briefcase he had been told to retrieve. He reached for it with a groan, noting the absurdly thick padding around the case. What is this, a Fabergé egg?
The briefcase wasn’t heavy, but the handcuff dangling from the handle added an extra layer of annoyance. With great reluctance and no small amount of irritation, Richard snapped the other end of the cuff to his wrist. It clinked into place with a finality he didn’t like.
The case opened by combination—a combination Richard was sure he’d surrender faster than his own wrist if it ever came to that. He could already imagine the hypothetical scene: someone with a bone saw demanding the briefcase, and him spitting out the code faster than they could finish the threat. The whole thing was pointless. Just another of Magnus’s little jokes.
The handcuff was a perfect metaphor, really. A literal reminder of his figurative bondage to Magnus’s games. He wasn’t just carrying a briefcase—he was carrying Magnus’s expectations, his control, and, most of all, his sense of humor. Great, Richard thought bitterly, I’m the punchline.
"Okay, I'm ready."
As they disembarked, the figure approached, and Richard got his first good look at him. It was a young man, barely into his twenties, with a lean build and a mop of unruly, dark hair. He wore simple, functional clothing, and his eyes, a striking shade of blue, assessed them with an intensity that belied his age.
"Mr. MacNaomhán," he said, his Afrikaans accent noticeable but easy to understand. "I'm Vry Lötter. I'll be showing you around. Count St. Sere radioed ahead. He said you would be arriving 14 hours later than planned and would be in need of rest. Mr. Musk has meetings he can't reschedule and asked that I see to your needs until he can meet with you tomorrow at 9:00 AM."
"Right now my needs consist of food and conversation. Perhaps we can combine both of those with a tour of the underground complex."
Vry looked at him confused, "I can take you to the commissary. Would you like to wash up first?"
Richard felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, the events of the past few days finally catching up with him. "I seem to have overestimated my zeal and reserves. How about we change that request to a sandwich in my... whatever I'm staying in... and you and I talk over breakfast at... is 6 AM too early?"
"I am where and when I'm needed," Vry answered in a cadence that sounded like he was reciting a motto. He then indicated the briefcase Richard was holding, "Is that the package for Mr. Musk?" he added holding out his hand.
"For Elon, yes," Richard replied making no move to hand it over.
Vry nodded, "Follow me, Sir."