(This is the story text from the corresponding Radio Cataclysm podcast episode. If you prefer audio, you can subscribe here. Read and listen early on Patreon.)

The ship trembled. “Obstruction resolved,” said the ship's voice. “Crew member overboard.”

“Remove that crew member from our roster,” said Zeck. “He's no longer welcome here.”

“As you command,” said the ship. “We are now clear for takeoff.”

“Yeah, yes, please,” said Zeck. “Take off, get us out of here.”

“Would you like to resume our previous course?”

“Tell you what,” said Zeck. “Keep the data for that previous course, but for now, just take us as high as you safely can and circle the Earth.”

“Course plotted,” said the ship. “We are underway.”

“Ship, show us the place we just left, please.” The view screen switched to a view from under the ship's belly, zooming in as the ship rose into the sky. Stone pillars like fingers were sinking into the ground. The bubblegum colored mass of flesh bulged and crept and grew to fill the space they'd left. There was no sign of the Colonel. “Do you think he's really gone?” said Zeck.

“I lost hope a long time ago,” said John, “but it's not looking too good for him.”

“Well, Commander,” said Steven. “I can't believe I just said that. What do we do now?”

“I don't know about the rest of you,” said Zeck, “but I made a promise to Burts. I have a delivery to make.”

“We should return to Churlia,” said Bob. “This ship is capable of travel through the air, outer space, and underwater. We can bring it to the Isle even while it's submerged. First, we should contact General Sluice and let him know what happened.”

“I'm not too keen on going somewhere that considers me a traitor,” said Zeck.

“I'll second that,” said Steven.

“I'll plead your case before the Iron Court,” said Steven. “I'm sure they'll take into account the Colonel's erratic leadership and your relative inexperience. I doubt you'd get more than a year of hard labor.”

“Well, in that case, absolutely not,” said Zeck.

Sheryl entered the bridge. “Sorry for the delay,” she said. “I stopped by the bathroom to wash my hands. This will need a good scrub before anybody uses it.” She tossed the gauntlet onto an empty chair.

“Sheryl,” said Bob. He stood up. “We saw what happened on the cameras. We couldn't hear any of it, but... You did the right thing. The Colonel was unfit. Corruption of the mind, possibly from a malfunction of his suit, or exposure to Plumwine's meat golems.”

“It's Valeria,” she said. “My name. The name my parents gave me, before I was a Child of War. Valeria Torres. It was, anyway.” She paused.

“Shall we call you Valeria, then?” Bob asked.

“No. I don't know. Just call me Sheryl for now. The Colonel wasn't corrupted. He didn't go insane, he wasn't turned evil by some infection of the mind. That's just how he always was.”

“We have reached the mesosphere,” said the ship. “Current cruising altitude of fifty-five kilometers is the highest we can safely go without converting the ship for exospheric travel, which must occur at a lower altitude.”

They were above the volcanic shroud now. The viewscreen was a smooth expanse of purple-gray.

“Er, cool. That was fast,” said Zeck.

“I am a fast ship,” said the ship.

“We were just discussing what our next course of action should be,” he said to Sheryl.

“Firstly,” said Sheryl, “Even after all of that, I'm technically the ranking officer here. It's still wartime, so Churlian martial law is still in effect. I hereby pardon Zeck Strauss, Steven Broyle, and John Derman. I pardon in absentia Meat Rom and Burts Fawth. All of the crimes you have been charged with by the Churlian Empire will be stricken from the record. Any and all charges and criminal records in local municipalities and states will remain.”

“I'll take it,” said Zeck.

“Thanks,” said Steven.

“It's the absolute least I could do,” said Sheryl.

“There you have it,” said Bob. “You're free men.”

“You're fine with it, just like that?” said Steven. “You were itching to put us on trial a second ago.”

“Not out of vindictiveness,” said Bob. “I'm a man of the law. Now that you've been absolved of your crimes, you have no reason not to take this ship straight to the Isle.”

“I have plenty of reasons,” said Zeck. “Chief among them, I made a promise to a friend. With this ship, I can find that package and deliver it to the Pyroclasts in no time at all.”

“Our priority should be defeating Plumwine,” said Bob. “You saw the broadcasts. People are dying. People are being brainwashed and subsumed into Plumwine's army of meat. The Empire is pinning their hopes of victory on the Cormorant. We have an obligation.”

“I have no interest in aiding the Empire's war machine,” said Sheryl, “but Bob does have a point. With the Cloud under Plumwine's control, and recruitment domes in every well-populated area, the Arterians have already taken the world over. This ship may be our only hope of stopping them.”

“I don't believe for a second that people are actually going into those domes,” said Steven. “A handful, sure. Maybe one out of a thousand. There's no way they're getting as many as they want people to think. Nobody hates the Empire that much, and that's coming from me.”

“It may be difficult for you to understand,” said John. “I don't mean any offense by that. But you grew up under the gaze of an elder god. So there's already a stake on your loyalty, as it were.”

“I don't have any loyalty for Guglass,” said Steven.

“Maybe not,” said John. “But he's got a claim on you, all the same. You might not worship Guglass, or even care about him. But you're from his little realm, which is a bit like being branded cattle. Not all of the elder beings operate that way, but Guglass has a reputation. The Keeper tasted him on you, remember? Any gods, or aspiring gods, would think twice before poaching you. It might not be a bad thing. It could be that you have a natural resistance to his animus fog.”

“Plumwine, an aspiring god?” said Bob. “Now I've heard everything.”

“Whatever you want to call them,” said John.

“It's not so outlandish,” said Sheryl. “Plumwine is more like the gods than he is like any of us. And his lure is more tempting than you might think. It is his greatest and most terrible strength. I've felt it. I feel it still, from time to time. If I saw one of those domes, caught a whiff of that purple fog, I can't guarantee that I wouldn't go inside.

“The only way to stop it is to stop Plumwine. If we can destroy him, destroy the source of his animus, the rest of the Arterians will perish. Maybe not all at once, but as surely as the leaves fall when Summer is gone. Those who are under his thrall will regain control of their faculties, if they're not too far gone. And if they are too far gone, then at least they will have no master left to serve. Our only option is excise Plumwine from our world, just as you'd cut out a cancerous mole. The Cormorant has the weapons necessary to do it. I know where to find him. We can do it without even landing.”

“What about Meat and Burts?” said Steven. “If we bomb the Arterians, we'd be killing them, too.”

“Burts made a foolish mistake,” said Bob. “It's unfortunate, but we can't hold one life, or two lives, over the lives of three billion people.”

“Are we the ones who should be making this decision?” said Zeck. “I don't know what the best course of action is. I didn't ask to be commander of this ship. I'm not a strategist.”

“You know who is?” said Steven. “Meat Rom. He was literally designed to plan things like this. That's why Plumwine wanted him in the first place.”

“We could launch a rescue party,” said Sheryl. “I know the way in. I know how Plumwine operates. I can advise whoever goes. But we'd need more people. And we'd have to move fast. I don't think we have much time. Weeks. A few months, at most, before it's too late to stop this.”

“That settles it,” said Bob. “We need to return to Churlia. Zeck, you don't have to know what the best course of action is. It's not your job to know. There are people there whose entire purpose is to make these decisions. Generals who can decide whether to bomb Plumwine or send in a squad. Soldiers who can go in and rescue Meat and Burts, if that's what they decide.”

“I think we all need to sleep on it,” said John. “Or at least eat on it. It's been a long day, we're all stressed out. None of us are in the best frame of mind, to be frank. We could do with some rest and a good meal before we decide whether or not to drop a demi-magical bomb in the middle of Antarctica.”

On that point, nobody raised an objection.

Sheryl stood over the cradle that held Captain Irving. She placed a hand on the translucent cover. The door to the corridor slid open.

“Oop, sorry,” said John. “I hope I'm not intruding. I couldn't sleep. Went for a walk and found myself here. Thought I'd check on the patients, see how they're doing.”

“Come on in,” said Sheryl. “The computer gave me a progress report a few minutes ago. Private Murkle is doing well. He may be awake in a few hours.” She looked in at Irving. “She's stabilized, but the cradle is still mapping her nervous system. The blade hit her spinal column. It's too early to tell if there's any permanent damage.”

“I've heard legends of these healing cradles,” said John. “Nothing short of miraculous, if I believed in miracles. They can just about bring a person back from the brink of death.”

Sheryl was quiet for a moment. “She looks peaceful in there. Like she's sleeping. She's not an orphan, you know? She has family back on the Isle.”

“If, uh, you like,” said John, “seeing as it might be a while yet before these two wake up, I do have something that might help you get some shuteye. There's a nice lounge for visitors off to the side here. Couple of cots in there. It'd be better than standing around worrying.”

“Isn't that why you came in here?” said Sheryl. “So you could stand around worrying?”

“To be honest, I've just been wandering the ship, going where my feet take me. I don't sleep is in the cards for me tonight. But at least one of us should get some rest.”

Sheryl shook her head. “Thank you anyway, but I have chemicals I can take.”

“It's not a sleeping pill or anything. It's kind of a magic charm.” He reached into a hidden pocket of his robe and pulled out a small object.

“The wooden owl your dreamwalker friend left behind,” said Sheryl.

“You remember,” said John. “He was a lot more than a friend, you know? He was a lot of things to me, and I didn't deserve most of them.” He looked down at the owl. “I don't even deserve this, really. He explained to me how it works, but I only understood about half of it. It does something to your brainwaves, doesn't knock you out or anything, just kind of lowers you gently into sleep.”

“Why aren't you using it tonight?”

“I, er. You remember I told you there's a door in my mind, and he went dreamwalking in there, and closed it for me? So I could have a modicum of peace. So I could live with myself on a daily basis.”

“I remember,” said Sheryl.

“Well, the door is open now. The waters of the forest kicked it ajar, and that thing in the swamp blew it off its hinges. I'm afraid to go to sleep. Because I know some of what I'll see, and I'm not sure how much more is in there.”

Sheryl nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. And I think you're right. We both need rest. So how about this: We both stand around the medical bay, waiting for the two of them to wake up. Or we both use the owl charm, and we face the nightmares we face, and we get what sleep we can.”

John mulled it over for a moment. At last, he nodded. “You're braver than I. Or a lot more tired.”

“It could be both.”

There were thick blankets and soft pillows on the cots. John set the owl on a small table between them, where it could see them and they could see it. The ship automatically lowered the lights in the room when they laid down.

The owl stared unblinkingly ahead, keeping watch over the space. Sheryl stared back, finding her eyes drawn to the deep brown wood of the carving. John did the same. Within seconds, they were both asleep.

The alarm was gentle but insistent. It grew steadily louder, accompanied by a gradual brightening of the lights in the visitors' lounge. “Patient Murkle has recovered,” said the ship. “Visitors may enter the medical bay.”

John leapt out of bed, instinctively grabbing his staff and holding it like a shield. After a moment, he had his bearings. Sheryl was awake, too. She sat up on her cot.

“Thank you,” said Sheryl. “I don't- Thank you.”

John nodded. “Thank William.” He took the owl and stowed it in his robe.

They found Niewt sitting on the edge of his cradle, wearing a plain robe the ship must have provided for him. He was running his fingers over the back of his hand, a look of dismay on his face. “The tine marks,” he said when he saw John and Sheryl. “They're all gone.”

John realized his mouth was agape and he closed it. “Niewt, I don't know how to tell you this, but...” He trailed off.

Niewt raised a reluctant hand and touched his face. He slid his hand over the top of his head, down his neck, pulled his robe open and peered at his chest and shoulder. “It's gone,” he said. “The litany. It's all vanished. What? What does this mean? How? What happened?” A look of panic crossed his face.

“Do you remember the swamp?” John asked. “How we got separated?”

Niewt nodded. “I saw a vision of my old mentor. A lie from the swamp, I know, but he spoke the truth. All I remember after that was the fire. Fire and darkness.”

“I found you,” said John. “You were burnt pretty badly. Long story short, we found the Cormorant. That's where we are now. We brought you to the med bay, put you in one of these healing cradles. Sorry to say, but that's probably why your litany is gone. It healed your burns, but it healed all of them.”

Niewt shook his head. Tears streamed from his eyes. “I never should have joined the Tephra. This,” he gestured at his face, “this is my punishment. I strayed. Betrayed my brothers and sisters. Lost the way of Causticism.”

“I don't think that's true,” said John. “I've known some Caustics in my time-”

“It would have been better if you had let me burn,” said Niewt. “I need to be alone. I know you mean well, but you cannot understand what all of this means to me. Where are my robes? My tine?”

“Burnt to a crisp, I'm afraid,” said John.

“Any source of heat, then.”

“I'll help you pick out your quarters,” said John. “We'll find one with a kitchen. Would that help?”

Niewt nodded. “Anything that burns.”

John brought Sheryl a breakfast of cold rations. They ate together, then he left her alone at her request.

Captain Irving woke up a few hours later. Sheryl brought her a robe from the dispenser in the wall. She took it without a word and quickly put it on. “We were all so worried about you,” said Sheryl.

Irving backed away a few small steps. “Where are we?” she asked.

Sheryl gave her a brief explanation, including the ultimate fate of the Colonel but spare on details. “The swamp,” she said. “It gets inside your head. Makes you see things. What did you see?”

“I saw you,” said Irving. “Stab me in the chest.”

“I can't tell you how sorry I am,” said Sheryl. “I thought you were- I saw the Colonel. I saw all of the terrible things he's ever done. Things I was complicit in. I thought I was attacking him. I tried to help, tried to give you first aid.”

“It's fine,” said Irving flatly. “I understand. Don't worry about it.”

“Can I do anything for you? I can show you to some nice quarters, bring your clothes.”

“I, I'll find it,” said Irving. “I'll find my way. If that's all right, Lieutenant.”

Sheryl nodded. “Of course. As you wish.”

An alert sounded over the intercoms, shipwide. “Attention all crew,” said Zeck. “And if you're hearing this, that means you. I've added everybody to the ship's roster, so you should have all the privileges that affords. We're having a staff meeting on the bridge, as soon as possible. There's something I think you all should see.”

“It's good to see you all here,” said Zeck. “Niewt, Captain Irving, glad to see you up and about. Much to my surprise, I find myself in command of this vessel. It's been a hell of a couple of days, hasn't it?”

Niewt didn't respond. He looked as if his mind was elsewhere.

“I've been briefed on the situation,” said Captain Irving.

“This better be important,” said Steven. “I was just getting the hang of the food replication system. It's pretty complex. I was gonna program it to make scalloped potatoes.”

Zeck spun the captain's chair to face Steven and nearly fell out from the momentum. “While that does sound delicious, and I'm definitely interested in continuing discussion of potato based dishes, I think this supersedes our lunch plans.”

“It happened when we were trying to find a channel to contact the Isle,” said Bob.

“Mind you, we haven't sent any messages just yet, we just wanted to see if we could,” said Zeck. “And I was listening to see what was out there, to see if there were any good movies on the dark bands or anything-”

“Or to see if the Isle was trying to contact us,” said Bob. “Presumably, they have the old radio codes for the Cormorant, so this would be a perfect opportunity for a secure transmission that perhaps even Plumwine couldn't decrypt.”

“Right, well, we did receive a transmission,” said Zeck, “but not from Churlia.” He nodded to Bob, who pressed a button on his console.

The view screen lit up. The familiar face of Meat Rom filled the screen.

“Meat!” shouted Steven with a grin. “He's all right, then?”

“Just you see,” said Bob. “It's a video recording.”

In the video, Meat Rom stood in a dark corridor rimed with frost. He spoke directly into a camera that he held in his giant hand. “To anybody who might receive this transmission,” he said. “Plumwine is lying to you. And so is the Churlian Empire. This war is not for any of you, it's for them alone.

“Plumwine is right about one thing: the Arterians are not what you think. They were banished here by the Empire hundreds of years ago, left to die in the freezing cold. And the Empire is right about one thing: Plumwine and his clones are the only Arterians fighting this war. But they're not the only ones who live down here.” He turned the camera away from his face.

The corridor ended in a steep drop-off a few feet away. At the edge of the corridor stood three unfamiliar people. They had the rough shape of human bodies, but everything about them was slightly unfamiliar. Arms that were longer than might be expected. Eyes of vibrant green that glowed in the dim light. Patches of feathers amongst their hair.

One of them approached the camera and spoke. Their voice was like a bell made of ice. “We are all Arterians. So named because we were once considered the lifeblood of the Empire. We were banished here together. Plumwine is his own lord, not ours. He speaks only for himself. We have as much interest in his defeat as does the Empire. Yet we have as little love for the Empire as does Plumwine. For now, we have reached a stalemate with him.

“We understand that you might be tempted to obliterate this continent, or at least our place on it. You may also be tempted to join Plumwine and take up arms against the Empire. Those actions would serve both Plumwine and the Empire in equal measure. Destroy this place, and you would not be destroying him. Only us. Take up arms against the Empire, and you give them leave to annihilate not only us, but yourselves.”

Meat Rom moved the camera past the Arterians that stood with him and walked to the edge of the corridor. Far below and beyond, carved from the ice and rock, was a vast cavern. It went on for miles, farther than the camera could see. Filling the floor of the cavern was an entire city. Ethereal lights lined the streets and filled the windows. Strange vegetation grew on nearly every surface. Countless people bustled from place to place, the size of ants from this distance. “We are not Plumwine,” said the Arterian. “We are an entire people. An entire nation. We can end this war, but we need your help.”

The story will continue in

Zeck

The Fog of War