Candlemass, 6106 RTR (8 May 2002) Alptraum gets a tour of the Tower of Babel.
(Alptraum) (Ashdod) (Babel) (Ur)
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It is a new year, and shortly after the play on Mount Dronnel, Alptraum finds himself new employment with a repair crew thanks not only to his volunteer experience, but to several testaments to his "good character" after his heroics on New Year's Eve.

What's more, when Alptraum asks around occasionally about the General, it seems that someone got the impression he might actually like to find out more about the Guardians of the Tower … and Alptraum finds out that he has been invited (along with several other "young, upstanding future leaders and heroes of Ashdod") to what amounts to a tour of the Tower of Babel. There is a meal held before the visit, and Alptraum makes his excuses to be absent for that part, but eventually the group is taken to the largest single above-ground structure on the surface of Sinai…

The Tower of Babel
This colossal ziggurat is round, nearly conical in shape, its outer wall wrapped in a spiraling ramp way wide enough for a two-dromodon carriage ride, with room to spare. It is a symbol of pride and of power, a mountain made by Eeee hands over the ages, so rugged and durable that even the Boomer failed to take a piece out of it, even though the structure's base overlaps the northeastern fringe of the Wound. Watch posts dot the sides, and the top plateau is capped with a fortress bristling with weaponry and armed sentries.

"Keep together," warns the grizzled and scarred Sergeant Garn over one wing, as he leads the young tourists – some twenty of them, though Alptraum hasn't done a head-count – in a circuitous airborne route toward the top of the tower, affording them a grand view of its fortifications from far closer than any commoner would dare venture. The structure is ancient and weather-worn, formed of countless carefully cut blocks that fit together with seams so fine that they cannot be easily made out from the air.

For the most part, the tower is severe in its simplicity, with scoured stone surfaces devoid of the bas relief and carvings that would crowd each other out on any other Babelite monument worth seeing. Here and there, mostly around the intermittent guard posts and landings, there are some carved warnings that no quarter will be given to trespassers, and only the occasional monument to some great warrior whose name and deeds have been lost to history.

Much of Sergeant Garn's narration is lost to the wind, and his unpolished voice and frequent pauses hint that he is unused to the role of tour guide. Still, a few nuggets of trivia stand out now and again. "As a child, you've no doubt heard many stories about how the Tower was built – that every ruler of Babel added another layer to it with each generation, that it was really a Sifran site, that it is even the Ark itself, fallen from the sky and planted in the heart of our city. All three stories have some truth to them."

A few measured blasts of a horn sound from the top of the tower, and Sergeant Garn responds by breaking off from his "holding pattern" around the tower, and leading the score of visitors to the top plateau, where they alight upon a marked landing platform. In a sawtooth-edged voice, he says, "Another search, I'm afraid. Don't worry. It's all routine." Several Eeee in leather and chitin armor step forward, and for the Nth time today (He's lost count) the whole group is frisked for weapons or whatever else it is they don't want in the Tower.

Fortunately, nothing is found, and there are no incidents. Garn smiles lopsidedly and promises, "That will be the last search. You can all breathe now," and they all file into an opening that leads into the Tower proper, and to a wide vertical access shaft not unlike the interior of the much smaller Coalition Tower – at least, not at first. As Alptraum's eyes adapt to the much dimmer light, he sees very curious features, such as giant honeycombs filling hexagonal alcoves (Those must be huge bees!) and strange clusters of a glassy substance that seems to grow out from stone walls, and to glow and pulse with an inner light.

Garn leads the tourists to a platform jutting out from one wall on a stone buttress. There are several tables with glassed-in displays featuring models of warriors in chitin armor, and Babelite officers in historic garb, and models of airship designs of ages past. The most impressive display is a model of Babel itself, surrounded by clay mountains, with rivers, pools, aqueducts and reservoirs of "water" formed from some sort of clear resin, and foliage on the mountains represented by tiny clusters of shaped lichen – though the lichen seems to have suffered the worse for time, and has in many places faded, dried and broken away, littering the fringes of the city with flaked "tree" debris.

Alptraum, for the most part, just tries to blend in with the crowd and act the tourist. He keeps his ears focused on the Sergeant as he looks this way and that, curious.

"We've all seen Babel from the air," the sergeant says, gesturing at the model of Babel with a wooden rod, "but probably not from high enough to see it quite like this. As you can see, the Tower, is located in the very center of the bowl valley that is our home. Now, if you didn't have all the buildings … " Here, he gestures to a smaller model, without nearly so much interesting detail. "… you'd be able to tell far more easily that our valley is a crater."

Alptraum cranes his neck a bit to look. "Huh, he's right," Alptraum thinks.

"So it is the Ark!" one of the younger bats exclaims – perhaps only twelve years old, and already wearing spectacles. "The Seven Sisters cast it down here, and the crash created Their mountains!"

The sergeant shakes his head. "I'm not going to speculate about whether or not it is the Ark, but we of the Tower do believe that our origins are in the stars … and that the technological wonders contained within the Tower came with us."

"Ark, whatever that is," Alptraum considers. "Maybe he'll explain or something."

"What's the Ark?" squeaks a young pony-tailed girl, easily the youngest in the group. At her question, there are several eye-rolls and snickers amongst those slightly older than her.

"Ah, good, someone asked. I'd have felt … silly," Alptraum thinks.

"The Ark?" The sergeant looks surprised, then says, "Ah, of course. The Ark is an important part of the beliefs of the Rephidim Temple. They believe that a great Ark descended from the skies, and populated the whole world with the peoples that are to be found scattered here and yonder – those peoples that didn't come as Exiles from Forbidden Zones, that is." He scans the crowd warily at this last part, as if checking to see that "Exile" and "Forbidden Zone" haven't prompted even more curious looks.

"I have to ask," Alptraum says. "Exile?"

The sergeant's mouth quirks in a faint grin. "I see I am getting too far ahead of myself. Here. Let us go back to the model of Babel." He leads the group back, and points at an irregular valley to the north of the city. "Here is the Valley of Mists. It is what the Temple calls a Forbidden Zone. There are countless of these Forbidden Zones across the face of Sinai – some large like the Valley of Mists, some much, much smaller. The most common feature of a Forbidden Zone is that it is unsafe to fly through these areas. Strange fates befall those who try to brave their way through – freak storms throw them to the ground, or strike them down with lightning, or they simply vanish without a trace. Magic behaves erratically here, technology is even more unreliable, and strange things happen. Each Forbidden Zone has its own peculiarities."

"Some believe that Forbidden Zones contain rifts in reality as we know it," the sergeant continues, "portals to other worlds, where the laws of physics and of magic are not the same as our own. Now and again, things or creatures come through these portals … though, so far as we know, the journey is only one way. People who come through these portals are known as Exiles, and not only are they from worlds apart from our own, but from entirely different universes."

Alptraum quirks an eyebrow at that, but says nothing.

"These people do not know our ways, our languages, and they may be very alien not only in appearance, but in mind," Sergeant Garn says, scanning the eyes of his audience. "The Temple has appointed itself as being in charge of these Forbidden Zones, and all that comes out of them. That is why there is an outpost maintained at the edge of the Valley of Mists. All nations of Sinai are required by the Rephidim Temple to turn over any Exiles that come out of these Forbidden Zones. The Temple then uses their technology – their mind-altering helmets – to teach them the language of Rephidim Standard, and to try to indoctrinate them into their ways of thinking. Sometimes, they are successful, and gain powerful allies, for some Exiles have knowledge of powerful alien technologies, or have amazing magical powers. Sometimes, these Exiles do not fare so well, and the Temple sells them into slavery to recoup their costs."

"Sells them into slavery?" squeaks the pony-tailed girl. "But I thought they don't have slavery anymore!"

"A technicality," the sergeant says. "They are required to work until they have paid back their 'debt' to the Temple. This debt is no less than an entire gold shekel."

This draws several gasps and murmurs from those around Alptraum. A gold shekel is worth five thousand ceramic shekels, after all.

Alptraum shifts his weight some and remembers his brief stint on the sky island. "The temple also tries to destroy what they don't understand or fear, don't they?" he asks.

"Destroy it – if they cannot control it, and exploit it," Garn says, nodding. "But let us get back to the topic of the Ark. The Ark is what the Rephidim Temple believes brought themselves to Sinai – along with everyone else, as I said, except for Exiles. The Temple believes that it was in charge of matters on the Ark, and that therefore it is in charge of all matters of all Sinaians – that their authority supercedes the authority of all rulers of the mere surface nations."

Alptraum merely nods.

"This is what Landing Day represents. We celebrate the Rephidim Temple holidays, because they imposed their calendar upon us. Our own celebrations have been long forgotten to history. Landing Day is a celebration of the day upon which they believe the Ark landed – in the Year Zero according to their calendar. They also believe that the First Ones will return on First Ones' Day. Who are the First Ones? I will tell you, before any of you ask. I see the looks on your faces. The First Ones are those believed to have been here on Sinai before any of those on the Ark ever arrived. They could have been a single culture, or perhaps countless scattered ones. All we know is that they were here first … and that it certainly appears that they are here no longer. The Temple venerates them like gods, and worships the ruins they left behind."

"We, however, merely make use of them," the sergeant says, as he gestures to a vein of glowing crystal running through a stone support. "This is the technology of the First Ones. Living crystals. Energy flows through these conduits, and some masses of crystal are in fact very complex machines … the workings of which we cannot hope to ever fully understand. Over the ages, we have attempted to learn the secrets of the First Ones on our own, without relying upon the Temple – After all, their Technopriests religiously keep their 'Inner Mysteries' from outsiders, lest the knowledge be 'abused'."

Alptraum glances back toward the crystal. "Interesting. I wonder if we'll ever figure it out,"

Alptraum wonders.

"We know that these crystals contain great power – power enough to withstand the Boomer, even, though we did not know this before it was too late," Sergeant Garn says, his expression turning more dour than usual for a moment. "That is why the base of the Tower juts into the area of the Wound, yet nothing of the Tower was touched. The First Ones crystals that have been worked into its structure kept it firmly in our own reality, when the rest of the heart of the city was displaced." Garn nods. "In fact, we have been working on a means to exploit this to guarantee that Babel will never, ever be vulnerable to a 'Boomer' again."

"How so?" Alptraum inquires, curious.

The sergeant smiles. "If the crystals can protect the tower … then they can protect the city as well. More than that, I cannot tell anyone just yet. We trust all of you well enough to take you into the Tower, but for your own good, we are not going to show you anything that our enemies would not know – at least in part – already."

"B-but … does that m-mean they could do it again?" the bespectacled little Eeee boy stammers. "I thought that w-was the last one!"

"If anything can happen once, it can happen again," the sergeant says soberly. "Now then … back to the 'crater'. Our very own Ark? Perhaps. The core of the Tower of Babel is in fact constructed with high-impact ceramics, organically-grown resins, and a wealth of metal that would have made anyone filthy rich before the discovery of the Gateway Tower… "

"Excuse me, but Gateway Tower?" Alptraum interrupts.

"Ah," the sergeant says, grinning self-consciously. "I keep forgetting that I am privy to far more news than the average Babelite. The Gateway Tower is a First Ones artifact, located within a Forbidden Zone in a far away desert land – the Himaat Desert – that is occupied by a race of feline peoples known as the Khatta – and ruled by the Khattan Emir."

"The Gateway Tower is wholly constructed of First Ones crystal, and is surrounded by a seething storm which never ends. It is said that, once upon a time, none could pass through this storm without being destroyed, but it seems that times change. A city has been built up around this Gateway Tower. And why? Because it is, indeed a gateway – to other worlds that orbit our very same sun."

"Weird, but I'm used to that by now," Alptraum thinks and smirks.

The sergeant adds, "And, yes, I do have a diagram for this." He walks over to a chart that shows a stylized sun in the center, with several ellipses ringing it, and little colored spots. A blue one is labeled as "Sinai". The others have strange names such as "Ashtoreth," "Abaddon," and one has even been labeled "Dagh." (The little girl gasps and points at this, prompting a couple of her fellows to giggle mischievously.)

Alptraum grimaces at the name Dagh, thinking back to the creature he fought in Sylvania. "Why is it called Dagh?" he asks.

"We are here." The sergeant taps the blue dot. "The sun is here." He taps the yellow ball in the center. "Yes. Sinai is a ball. It is round. We don't fall off the edge, because of gravity, and Zakaro help me, I'm not going to teach you all that. Now then. Yes … Dagh." He points at a small purple dot near the far edge of the chart. "The reason this is called Dagh is because all of the worlds – planets – of the Primus System were named after the gods and goddesses of the Olympians. The Olympians were felines far to the east who were credited with first noticing the planets in the sky, and first figuring out how to cast spells."

"Ah," Alptraum says.

"'Dagh' happens to be one of those gods, just like any other. He just happens to have a reputation as a 'dark god', and that's why his name eventually became a curse word. No, Dagh does not mean what you do in a chamber pot, or any such thing." The sergeant rolls his eyes.

"The Gateway Tower is located on Sinai, and it is a crossroads of … paths that lead between the worlds. Magical paths that cross countless miles, yet it only takes a few seconds to cross them, and they lead up into the sky. Each planet has its own Gateway, and each one leads back to the Gateway Tower on Sinai. There's also a Tower on the Sun, but I do not think anyone would want to go there. I hear that it is very, very hot." The sergeant smirks. "These worlds have resources. They even have people on them. Some of these people have a lot of things we find valuable – such as iron – but lack things we have lots of – such as fertile earth. The Khattas trade with them, and have become very very wealthy. This is something the Temple may get very jealous of, since the Gateway Tower is a First Ones site, and they normally claim ownership of all such things. For now, though, I think they're not brave enough to make an issue of it."

Alptraum's gaze goes back to the crystal. "I wonder," he murmurs.

"Now then … back to the Tower." The sergeant leads the way back to the cut-away view of the Tower. "Outside, it's all stone. Our ancestors added that. Inside, it's a wondrous craft from the stars, we believe. We believe that our ancestors arrived in this ark, and that when it landed, it landed hard, creating the Valley of the Sisters. Through some great technology or magic, those who were inside were not reduced to paste by the impact – or else they landed in some other, smaller ark that we haven't found yet. Our ancestors then turned their ark into the core fortification for a settlement, and began building structures around it."

Alptraum reaches over the rail and brushes his fingertips over the crystal as he listens. "How goes no one has tried to ver take the 'Ark' since then?" Alptraum asks as he does so.

The sergeant turns to look at him, and his brow creases in a look of confusion. It occurs to Alptraum that what came out of his mouth wasn't quite what he meant to say, though he's having trouble figuring out just what he did mean to say. Oddly enough, everything seems to move in slow motion for a bit … and he feels the most curious tingling sensation running through his fingers, and coursing up his arm.

In a curiously deep voice – and very slow words – the sergeant yells, "Doooon't … touuuuuch … thaaaaaaat!"

Alptraum tries to pull his hand away. This was not what he expected.

There's a painful sting in Alptraum's hand … and then suddenly the world returns to normal, though he has a curious throb in his fingers, and his head is spinning.

"Kindly Ones, spare us!" the sergeant exclaims. "I was keeping an eye on the children, but I didn't expect… " He shakes his head. "It's best not to touch the First Ones crystal. It does strange things when you do." He turns to look to the others. "Sometimes, people explode when they touch it!"

Alptraum shakes his head and mutters, "Ow." A moment later, he starts flexing his hand, trying to work out the stinging. "Sorry," he says.

Sergeant Garn rubs his forehead. "Now … ahem. Where was I? Ah … you there. Now that you've got my undivided attention, what was your question you were trying to get out?"

Alptraum winces. "Well, I was wondering why no one has tried to take over the 'Ark' since then. Has Babel kept it secret?" he inquires.

"There have been countless attempts to take over the Tower of Babel," Sergeant Garn says. "That's why it's so heavily fortified. We won't even go near the sensitive areas. However, if all goes well, there is a chance that we may get to see the General – briefly."

The pony-tailed girl squeals and hops up and down, flapping with glee. "I love the General!"

"Who's the General?" Alptraum asks.

"The General," Sergeant Garn says, "is our illustrious leader, and commander of the forces garrisoned within the Tower."

"May I ask his real name?" Alptraum inquires. "I'm fairly new to this city," he then admits, "And I'm trying to understand this city."

The sergeant grins slightly. "For now … it's just 'the General'. Now then … I think we've spent enough time here with the models. How would you like to see some genuine Pre-Expedition Era technology? And, as a bonus, I'll tell you what Pre-Expedition Era means… "

Alptraum lets it go and shrugs. "Ah well, had to try," he thinks.


As the sergeant explained it, the Expedition is a term of Rephidim Temple origins for the time in which the Ark landed, and the present peoples of Sinai dispersed over the globe. Anything before the Expedition, therefore, implies something predating Babel and – for that matter – Rephidim. Although the group flies to another landing to start the next stage of their tour, they spend the next hour or so walking, going through a maze of twisty little glass passages, all alike, providing views of large chambers that look very organic compared to what the Tower looks like on the outside. It has the appearance in many places of being the interior of a hive … and considering how many insects are buzzing about in this chamber or another, it seems apt enough.

One of the chambers they look down on is a laboratory, where Eeee scientists work on breeding bugs that create shells for use in making armor, or exude chitin for use in making just about everything else (though, the sergeant confesses, the quality is still not up to par with the sort of chitin that the bug-like Zelaks are capable of producing).

In another glassy corridor, they see displays just behind the windows of racks of Pre-Expedition weaponry. Many of the weapons look like strange alien bugs grown in the shapes of pistols and rifles and swords, helmets and pieces of armor, and less recognizable things.

"And here, is the hive of the Plaguebringers," the sergeant says, pressing a panel on one side of a chitin iris door that convulses, then scrapes open to reveal a railed walkway overlooking another large chamber. The walls are lined up with what look like broken cocoons, their contents long since emptied … but there are still several cocoons that are glistening wet, shining with an iridescent display of covers reflected on their dark organic surfaces.

"Plaguebringers?" Alptraum asks, taking a step forward and peering curiously. "This is … creepy."

"I wouldn't be one to argue," the sergeant says, then pauses a moment for the various "ooos" and "aahs" from his tour group. He then walks over to a gigantic bug mounted on a platform. Its head is split open, revealing not only that the inside of the head is hollow, but that – for lack of a better term – the inside is furnished, with an almost leathery chair and harness, and chitinous knobs and levers here and there.

"What, you can pilot these things?" Alptraum asks, peering at the chair.

"Yes. This is – or was – a Plaguebringer, a living vehicle," Sergeant Garn says. "The Sabaoth ordered the Guardians of the Tower to awaken the Plaguebringers when he declared his assault on Rephidim. Some of you may be too young to remember that, but it was a dire turning point in our history. The assault was plagued by failures in communication between the flight groups. Rather than arriving in a single force to make a lighting fast raid on Rephidim and then fly away, a small support group arrived first, alerting Rephidim's defenses, and then the remaining groups straggled in, one after another, spaced apart enough to give Rephidim a perfect scenario in which to deal with them in small portions. The vast fleet was wiped out. When news of this spectacular defeat reached Babel, riots broke out – and Brishen Kara, a lowly courier Eeee raised in Rephidim, slew the Sabaoth."

"Are they replaceable?" Alptraum asks next. "Or is this all that is left?"

"This is one of the Plaguebringers that did not survive the process of awakening," Sergeant Garn says. "They are part machine, but they are mostly living creatures that have been in a state of hibernation for millennia. Nothing lasts that long without suffering at least a little from the ravages of time. The Sabaoth wanted the Plaguebringers awakened and sent to Rephidim immediately, and therefore the process was rushed. The force would have been quite possibly twice as large, if there had been more time to awaken them properly. But what's more, some of them never got out of the cocoons at all, alive or dead. We still have some left. Given time, we may figure out how to revive them (if they can be revived at all), or else how to replicate the technology used to create them. But for now … no new assaults on Rephidim." He winks, though most of his audience is sober enough that any joke is lost on them.

Alptraum looks intently at the dead Plaguebringer. Even after his bizarre birthday, he jokingly mutters, "Live."

"Next, let us see the Testing Chamber," the sergeant says, apparently not in enough on Alptraum's joke to understand the significance of it. "We actually have some artifacts of ancient technology that you'll get to handle for yourselves! Don't worry, none of it is lethal."

"I'd be worried if it actually did something, heh," Alptraum thinks with a grin, turning to follow.

"Oh, my stars!" the bespectacled Eeee boy shrieks, clapping his hands to his cheeks. "It's coming to life!"

The pony-tailed girl screams.

Alptraum's eyebrow goes up and he turns to look, hoping they're joking.

The bespectacled boy pokes the girl in the shoulder. "It's GOT YA!" He then breaks out laughing. The Plaguebringer, incidentally, shows no signs whatsoever of moving.

"All right, all right. Let's move along," the sergeant says, gently ushering the two young bats toward the next portal.

Alptraum lets out a slow breath, thankful. He then grins and follows right along. "I knew nothing would happen," he reassures himself.


Testing Chamber, Tower of Babel
Organic racks line one wall, holding a bizarre assortment of devices that look like alien insects forced into the shapes of pistols, rifles, swords, pieces of armor, and less recognizable devices – though most of them are kept out of easy reach by chitinous cages or translucent shells with no obvious means of opening. There are several booths lined up, each facing down a long corridor towards mannequins against the far wall – some of them showing signs of considerable violence being unleashed upon them. One looks vaguely like a poodle, another like a feline, another a human, another an Eeee – a virtual bestiary of peoples of Sinai running down the row. A couple of chitin iris doors provide the only visible entrance and exit, though glassy windows high atop one wall suggest some shadowy observation platform, inaccessible, overlooking the chamber.

"Now, stand back. There's another test in progress," the sergeant says, holding out an arm as he stands at the entrance. Across the room, at one of the booths, a couple of Eeee struggle with a massive carapace of some sort of beetle-like creature with a long hose-like proboscis coming out of its face. Both of them are dressed in heavy leather armor that protects their wings but renders them incapable of flying, and their faces are obscured by chitinous shells that would seem to render them blind as well.

The first Eeee handles the proboscis, aiming the tip of it down the row at a mannequin of a poodle with an idiot grin on its face, and a cartoony tongue lolling out, with a Star and Anchor painted roughly on a ragged tabard that is its only adornment. The other Eeee holds the main body of the bug. "Ready!" one of them shouts, muffled.

"Okay, so this might be amusing," Alptraum considers, watching with a grin. "I hate poodles."

The bug convulses violently, and the second Eeee seems to be struggling for all he's worth to hold onto it. (It doesn't seem to be very easily portable.) Then, a terrible hiss escapes from the proboscis, followed by a spray of water … or, that is, it seemed like water, at first, until the spray suddenly ignites into a spray of liquid flame!

"Eeeeeee!" squeals the pony-tailed girl, hiding behind her wings, as a jet of flame engulfs the poodle mannequin!

Alptraum blinks, certainly not expecting that. He takes a step backward and winces, imagining the pain that would cause.

The mannequin certainly seems to be worse for the wear. The flames cling to its artificial body, and bits of sludge fall off to the ground, landing in blazing puddles. The tabard has burnt to a crisp already, and the mannequin is quickly disintegrating. One of the Eeee handlers lets out a loud whoop, and thrusts his free hand in a fist into the air.

Sergeant Garn applauds. "Well done! Well done!"

"Effective, but not exactly portable," Alptraum observes. "What was that? What would happen if someone, say, shot it? Would it explode?"

"I'm not certain," Garn says, "but it's only a … prototype. It's not going to be issued to our soldiers en masse anytime soon. Or if it is … we're not telling." He winks conspiratorially.

Alptraum laughs slightly. "I see," he replies.

A Fnerf rolls a wheeled cart across the room, and the two armored Eeee struggle with the unwieldy bug, shoving it into a box-like container, and then latching down a lid. One of them gives the Fnerf a thumbs-up, and he starts rolling the cart away, while they unbuckle their gear.

"Why would you need to issue it to soldiers?" Alptraum asks. "We're not at war with anyone right now."

"Of course we aren't," the sergeant says. "Now, it should be safe for us – so long as none of you go vaulting into the firing range to play with the burning mannequin," Sergeant Garn says. "I'll turn this over now to Captain Kesekis."

One of the leather-armored bats unfastens his chitin helmet, and Alptraum immediately recognizes the face underneath as belonging to one of those who had intercepted Ariel Azale's airship on the way to the city.

Alptraum moves back just a bit, hoping to not be noticed right now.

Kesekis shows no sign of recognizing – or even noticing – Alptraum, as he grins and gestures to the flaming mannequin. "We've got some very interesting toys down here in the Testing Chambers. While I'm not going to let you handle anything quite this dangerous, we do have a few devices we'll let you try out, and test your marksmanship skills. First, I like to call this one the 'Webber.' It's meant to immobilize your opponent. It's not technically lethal, but it's a terrible thing to use on someone who's flying." He picks up a chitinous, almost cylindrical device that only remotely looks like a bug, with a leather strap connected to some organic hooks so that it can be supported from the shoulder and slung beside the waist. "Next," he says, putting that aside, and picking up a very small device that looks like a scarab with a handle sticking out the bottom, "is what we like to call the 'Gooper.' Point this end toward the mannequin."

Alptraum breathes a sigh of relief. "Perhaps he doesn't even remember me," he thinks and steps back forward, craning his neck to see the weapons.

"This is an Egg-Launcher. Now, the eggs that are loaded in the tube here are harmless – if smelly. This could, of course, be loaded with far more harmful substances, so it's not something to take lightly. And this next one is the Dart-Spitter. The tips are blunt, but don't point it at anyone else. We don't want someone losing an eye," Captain Kesekis continues, rambling on as he points out several odd weapons, many of them quite colorful and bizarre in appearance.

Captain Kesekis hands out the weapons, and assigns members of the tour group to the different booths, some of them in teams. When he gets to Alptraum, he hands him, "The Fumer. It shoots out a pretty strong stream of foul smoke. It's short range, not really effective as a weapon, but we actually use it here to take out small swarms of bugs. It's useful in case something gets loose."

Alptraum makes a face. "Does that happen often in here? Why would you have small bugs in here anyway?" Alptraum asks, looking at the Captain, then down at the odd weapon. He turns it slowly in his hands, looking at it.

The captain blinks, then looks up at Alptraum. "Hey! It's you again."

Alptraum grins a bit. "Yes, I didn't expect to see you again. Surprised you remember me, really. Seems my stay in Babel has become – indefinite," Alptraum says.

The captain pats him on the shoulder. "Hey, can't blame you for wanting to stay a bit longer. I'll have to ask you how you came out. Now then… " He walks over to the bespectacled bat boy and tells him, "This is a Slug-Thrower. A more disgusting weapon, you will never find, believe me… "

Alptraum continues to check out the weapon, testing the weight and balance. "I think I prefer my crossbow," he comments.

Down the row, the poodle mannequin that Alptraum picked out looks back at him with a googly-eyed stare. (The Fnerf replaced the burnt-out husk with a fresh one, and this one even has a few tufts of curly "hair" for that added touch, and a pink bow on top.) The Fumer is small enough to be handled by a single person.

SPLAT! "Hey now, sport, don't fire it just YET. The ceiling is not your enemy."

GLORCH! "YEEEEE! Rekha! I HIT it!" "Yeah, and you hit MY mannequin, too. Big deal!"

Alptraum grins maniacally, silver eyes narrowing. Carefully, he levels the weapon at the poodle mannequin. "I've always wanted to lessen the population of those Gallee," he comments to himself and depresses what he figures is the firing mechanism.

"Hey, why'd he call this one a Wild Wormer?" "I dunno. Pull the trigger." "What's a trigger?" "Maybe you should wait for him to come back." "Naw, I'll figure it out. Can't be too hard. I mean, it's just a bug." *SPLAT* "I think that's the trigger." "AIEEEE! WORMS! GETTIM OFFA MEEEEEE!"

The bug-thing in Alptraum's arms convulses violently, and then the head belches out a steady stream of noxious smoke toward the mannequin with enough force that Alptraum has to brace himself. Alas, it does NOT ignite the poodle in flames, or otherwise tear it to pieces. If it were a REAL poodle, however, it most assuredly would be complaining mightily.

Alptraum sets the gun aside and grins. "Pity the thing doesn't blow it up, but hey," he says, turning to watch the others. He watches for about three seconds, then bursts out laughing.

"Uhm, mister?" the bespectacled bat boy asks timidly, tugging at Alptraum's sleeve. "Do you think you could smoke down my sister? She's got wormy things crawling all over her. Do you think smoke works on them?"

Alptraum looks down and grins. "I'm not sure. It might do something to them, but," Alptraum replies, considering. "What the heck, it's harmless," he then says and picks the gun up. "Hold still," he then shouts toward the girl covered in worms, trying to take aim.

"EEEEEE!" the girl squeals, doing ANYTHING but holding still. Still, all she's doing is rolling and convulsing in place, so that SHOULDN'T be too hard a target. The captain appears to be occupied with a problem with a curious man who decided to try to find out where the ammunition was for his Bug-Belcher, and now there's ammunition scurrying all over the floor.

Alptraum again depresses the trigger, trying to keep the end pointed right at the girl. "This is silly," he thinks, trying not to laugh. Not at the moment, anyway.

The bug-gun convulses, and lets out a strong gust of smoke. The bespectacled boy is bowled back, squealing in surprise, and the girl just shrieks. Unfortunately, Alptraum forgot to brace himself for the back-blast, and he's knocked backwards a few steps … just enough to step on the Slug-Thrower that Bespectacled Boy set down during this little distraction.

The Slug-Thrower lets out a high-pitched shriek, accompanied by the expulsion of several rounds of sticky, slimy ammunition.

Alptraum manages to avoid the bulk of the slimy bursts, but unfortunately the young man with the Webber gets a hit in the face, and he responds by firing back blindly. THAT in turn snares the two kids giggling and firing away at a fox mannequin with a goo gun, and instead they start spraying wildly in panic once they're snared. It all goes downhill from there…


Some while later, the tour group has been introduced to the amazing technology of showers, and after some cleaning up, Sergeant Garn tries to make the most of it by explaining how this all just demonstrates how unpredictable ancient technology is, and why it will be a long, long time before it can be widely distributed (even if anyone wanted to).

The next part of the tour involves filing into an auditorium – mostly empty, for the capacity is for a much larger group than what they represent – and then listening to an older bat give a history lesson on the conflicts between Babel and Rephidim, and then the collapse of Civilization As We Know It, starting with the Sabaoth's War and progressing to the current day. In other words, this part is covering what Alptraum is already for the most part familiar with.

"So, you might be asking yourselves," the white, shaggy, battle-scarred bat says, "just what do the Guardians of the Tower do now, other than investigate the mysteries of the ancient, and keep them from being confiscated by the Technopriests? That is a good question, and exactly what the General asked. For, you see, there is no single leader in Babel now. We have no king, no queen, no prince or Sabaoth, and the Sisters Themselves haven't dictated to us what we should do. There is a vacuum, and power abhors a vacuum."

"So, is the Tower seeking to unify Babel, then? Under one person, a group, or what?" Alptraum inquires. "What are the Guardians of the Tower's goals?"

"And that is what I'm getting to," the old man says, nodding. "Our goal is to unify Babel. We do not have a new leader yet, but that time will come, and we are certain that a hero who will emerge who will capture the hearts of the people strongly enough to rally behind. But without that political leader, we will continue to supply Babel with a military strength for the purpose of defending it against those who would take advantage of us in our time of weakness. You all know that we are plagued by territorial gangs, roaming bandits, and foreign treasure-seekers. There are even some who claim that we would be better off annexed by Rephidim, assigned a 'peacekeeping force' under their authority. But that is not our way. Our way is to be Babelites first."

"So, the General is acting as defense, then? Not as an interim leader?" Alptraum then asks.

"Exactly," the old man says. "It is the primary reason we know him as the General – and not by any other name. He is first, and foremost, a general, a commander of armed forces, not a ruler over us as a people, nor does he seek to put himself into such a position. And should we be attacked, and should he die in the defense of Babel, when another General will take his place, carrying on the tradition of the Guardians. We will not allow our ideals to be bound by the lifespan of a single mortal being. We will not fall apart because we had a Sabaoth we thought to be immortal – but who proved to be all too mortal in the end."

"Forgive me asking this, but how come you are not working with Thath? He seems to seek much the same thing," Alptraum replies.

A few murmurs and head nods suggest Alptraum wasn't the only one wondering this, though so far he's got the lion's share of the questions to be asked.

"Ah. Thath. How can I put this delicately?" The old bat drums his fingers together. "Thath is a politician, yes, and a recognized name. The Sabaoth ruled, with Thath by his side, and then the Sabaoth died. The High Prince ruled, with Thath by his side, and then the High Prince died. The High Princess ruled, with Thath by her side, and then the High Princess died. Yes, he's been around quite some time, hasn't he? But I do not think that those who have dealt with him have fared very well in the long run, hmm?" He smirks.

"But more seriously, Thath is one who tries to be all things to all people – understandable, I suppose, but not what Babel needs. We do not wish to bring Rephidim's wrath upon our heads, but neither do we wish to become their slaves," the old bat continues. "In time, war is inevitable. As we assert ourselves as a nation, Rephidim will tell us, 'No, you will do no such thing.' It will be as with the Nagai Empire and the Savanite revolt. The Savanites took one of the Nagai cities – the City of Hands – and occupied it, claiming it as their own, cutting a piece right out of the heart of the Empire. The Nagai sought to deal with this rebellion. They had declared the Savanites to be free in their nation – and what more could the slaves ask for? – but no, they did not ask for a city of their own. They took it."

"Were the Nagai right or wrong to seek a violent resolution to this rebellion? That is not the point. What is the point is that Rephidim sought to tell the Nagai what they could do – Nagai, a sovereign nation, with its own emperor," the speaker says. "And when the Emperor did not concede, Rephidim sent its fleet to enforce its will."

"Yes, but banging your sword when you're not capable of fending off an assault is foolish," Alptraum points out. "If you're not careful at this time, you might bring down their wrath before we're capable of standing against them. I don't want to see another catastrophe befall Babel. I don't miss the Sabaoth, for personal reasons. You need to be a bit more quiet in your attempts to build up again. My ship was boarded and searched when I returned to Babel. Do that to a ship with ties to Rephidim at this time and … " He sighs and lets it go.

The old bat laughs at this, then leans forward over the podium, showing a fangy grin. "Sometimes, it is good to let everyone know you still have a sword." He stands up straighter again. "Rephidim would be foolish to attack us now. We do not have the resources to win a war – far from it – but we would charge them a very high price indeed for seeking to crush us once and for all. They know that – and that is why Babel, for all its travails, still stands today. In the time of the Coalition War, Babel allied itself with the Nagai Empire, and countless small nations and groups of the disenfranchised who had taken the brunt of Rephidim's oppression. Such a coalition will not rise again anytime soon … but Rephidim must not be allowed to think that it has won, and that all Sinai is its domain. If that be the case, then we will see far worse things happen."

Alptraum grins back fangily as well. "Point made. But take care you don't rattle too much. I'd like to see Babel survive, and grow. I don't want to see us crushed before we can shine again," he says.

"Nor do we, young man. Nor do we," the old man says, with a hint of annoyance starting to creep into his features. A bat courier steps up to the podium, and whispers into his ear. A frown creases the old man's face, and then he says, "I am sorry to inform you that something has come up, and the General will not be speaking to us. However, he is to be disembarking on his flagship – and you shall have the honor of seeing it off, if you are so inclined. Thank you for your time." He steps down from the podium.

"Can you tell us what came up, then?" Alptraum asks, rising.

One of the younger tourists murmurs to his fellow, "He asks more questions than my sister!"

"Your sister hasn't said a thing since she had the worms all over her. That doesn't count," comes the reply from the unseen other.

The old bat smiles forcedly, then says, "I will venture to guess that it's a challenge from some brigands that have been raiding food convoys from Zannara."

"Then may the blessings of the Sisters go with him," Alptraum replies with a polite smile.

Some guards open the doors to the auditorium, and the tourists start filing out. "This way, please. Please move quickly, or you'll miss the launch."

Alptraum heads out with the crowd, occasionally trying to glance back at the older bat. "Hmm," he ponders.

It might just be his imagination, but it looks as if the old bat might have been looking his way, before whispering to an aide. However, considering that Alptraum is in a crowd of nearly a score tourists trying to shuffle through the doorways just now, that might be overly paranoid…


The observation platform that the tour group is escorted to overlooks the central vertical shaft. As they file into place, they witness an airship drifting upward, attesting to the sheer size of this structure. The airship has an appearance of it like older craft Alptraum has seen, though it has been refitted to be equipped with side-slung engines (which are not presently running) and the gondola has been more snugly positioned under the envelope, with only a very few thick windows providing even a glimpse of the interior. Along the sides are staging platforms where clusters of Eeee soldiers mill about, in leather and chitin armor, ready to leap off to join into combat – hinting that whatever battle they're expecting must not be very far outside of Babel … if outside of Babel at all.

The airship slowly rotates. The bespectacled bat boy cries out, "Look! It's him!" and leans out over the rail to point. Sure enough, the light is just right for a moment to catch a view of the interior of the bridge, as the airship is just high enough to line up with the observation platform. Inside, several Eeee officers man positions, and a lone, very tall Eeee stands, decked out in chitin armor and robes of a complexity Alptraum has not seen before.

Alptraum narrows his eyes, trying to strain and see the Eeee.

His armor is especially insectoid in appearance, his right forearm covered in a ceremonial skedat, with a long spiny whip cord extending down to the floor, and a sharp barb at its end. A chitinous chest plate glistens blue, then green, then purple in the refracted light, and his wings are folded back, partially sheathed in membranous insectoid wing-coverings that must serve as some sort of armor when he's not in flight. His robes have a shifting quality about them, as if formed by multiple layers of giant insectoid wings, and his helmet has a stark, predatory look about it, with outsized mandibles flanking his jaws, and hard chitin frames to protect his ears. His eyes are lost in the dark hollows of his helmet.

At first it seems as if the crewmen on the bridge are all especially short … but no. The General must stand head and shoulders taller than anyone else on the bridge. Perhaps it could just be an effect of the armor … but even accounting for that, he strikes a large and imposing figure.

"Who are you?" Alptraum ponders. "Are you really what the old man said, or do you have other plans?"

---

GMed by Greywolf

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Today is 15 days after Candlemass, Year 29 of the Reign of Archelaus the First (6128)