Close to Sage 17

Nathan Alpers had been the first human to see the Old One refueling station and the shuttle with his own eyes not so many years ago. Things had changed since then. The Old One shuttle had been towed much closer to Kopernikus station where it was intensely studied. A lot of the old plumbing had been removed and replaced by a far more clunky and less efficient set of gear made by humans. Tugs would bring tanks full of water and bring the empty tanks back to the solar smelters which rendered some celestial bodies for all they were worth. Gantries and robotic arms were attached to the station, allowing space ships to dock and take on propellant.
Sighing the astronaut pulled himself from the view and pushed the button before him.

"Crew, this is the captain. Station check."
"Captain, this is engineering. All systems nominal." By now Nathan did not even register Bashurr's Bavarian accent.
"Navigation, check. Course laid in, we are ready to go." Erik Bär had no discernible accent, but at least as much time in space as any other human one cared to name.
"Sensors, telescope and parabolic array stowed, we are good to go." Frank Herbert, the closest thing to a new guy Morgenstern's crew had.
"Weapons, all systems nominal, ammo at 100%." Svea Rausch had surpassed her aunt`s footsteps considerably.
"Sick bay ready, pillars working" Irina Kosava was no longer the only Ice Mage in space, but by far the most experienced one.

Silence. Nathan silently counted to ten before engaging the mike again.
"Hypatia, how is your status?"
"Oberstleutnant Nathan Alpers, how else could it be but operational and what would you do if it were not?"
"Please keep communication protocols Hypatia, thank you very much."

Nathan had to swallow twice before he trusted his voice again.

"Very well. Kopernikus Station, this is Morgenstern. All stations confirm readiness, we are good to go."
"Morgenstern, Kopernikus. Solid copy on readiness, mission is a go. Godspeed Morgenstern."
"Kopernikus, copy mission is a go. Nav, execute."

Erik Bär told the computer to do its thing, but not much could be felt but a slight push in their behinds . The Vasimir drive did not provide much power, but it used even less fuel than the Rune of Fire engines that would be used for more energetic maneuvering.

Morgenstern had a great distance to travel and not much time to do so. Naturally, the ship slowed down to do so. Accelerating would have meant that going for a higher orbit which would take much longer to orbit the sun. Instead Morgenstern scrubbed some five kilometers per second from the velocity it needed to stay in this orbit. It dropped towards the sun as it did so and would cross Deiamol's orbit as it went. It would still take months to reach the stargate that way and it would tax Morgenstern's heat sinks. Still it was the fastest way the ship and its crew could reach their target.

Ottokar Proktor´s living room

Even a man like Ottokar Proktor had some free time. Less than he might have wanted, but free time nevertheless. So when he sat down in his prefered wingchair, there were two things he wanted to read. The first was the new book of the popular „Gräfin von Hagendorf" (Countess of Hagendorf) crime novel series, which was set in the Empire and Germany, the latter was a report on the situation concerning Magic.
To get the work-related stuff out of the way, Ottokar started with the report. First the Empire. The Academies of Altdorf might be the most prestigious institutes of magical learning in the Old World, but they were not the only ones. There were other schools, academies, colleges of Magic in Karl Franz's realm, not to speak of various private mentors.

Of comparable prestige to the Altdorf colleges was Middenheim´s Wizards and Alchemists Guild, which had been the premier Imperial Academy before Teclis came to the Old World. Since the events following the Weltensprung invigorated magical research, the Middenheim Guild had begun to regain the renown which had been lost after the establishment of the Colour Academies.
While the Middenheimers had a less deep well of Colour magical knowledge than the Altdorfers, they had a vast corpus of Petty and „standard" Arcane Magic dating back millennia and expanding continuously these days. Not for nothing they had a sterling reputation for being great „Allrounders". While only their best could unleash powers comparable to those of the Color Academies in the capital, there was not much which could catch a Middenheimer on the wrong foot.
Talabheim´s main college of magical learning, one of the oldest in the Empire, was not on the same level of reknown as the institutes in Altdorf and Middenheim, but had an exemplary reputation in the Talabheim region. This was thanks to their unfailing service for Talabheim, they were looked at with far less distrust than other wizards in the old days. These days the local wizards were something akin to praised heroes and VIPs.

One of the largest changes wrought by the Weltensprung concerned the Nuln University Faculty of Magic. In the old days, the main attributes were being a training school for those wanting to go to Altdorf and a fierce rivalry with the nearby Eldritsch University for Elemental Magic.
Dekan Maria Glockenspiel used the new era with its massive changes for the Empire to totally revamp the curriculum (And upstage their rivals in one swoop as well).
These days the Faculty churned out specialists for the Armed Forces, with an eye towards cooperation with firearms and artillery. „With gunpowder and soulfire" is something of the official motto. This amalgam of combat mage, engineer and artillerist is in high demand throughout the Empire. And not only there, the Bundeswehr had several „Nulner" in its employ and together with Altdorf and Middenheim they were a primary location for Germans studying in the Empire.
The list of „average", standard colleges of magic in the Empire was quite a bit longer, but Ottokar could guess the results of the report on those. Solid, dependable, but nothing outstanding.
Instead Germany´s Spymaster searched explicitly for the minor or eccentric schools, since there would be the interesting news to find.

And Ottokar was not let down. The Empire sure had its share of „colorful" schools and colleges.
One of the most interesting ones was the Einzelheit College of Magic in the small city of Ravenstein. While the reputation of old was not the best, a college full of magic learners even other wizards considered eccentric, it stood out in many ways for a man like Ottokar.
In the old days, it had been the only official institute sanctioned to grant licenses to hedge wizards learning there. That alone was remarkable!
And still today the number of individualist or eccentric wizards there was exceptionally high. Even if there was now competition for this position by the new Von Carstein School of Magic, the official Sylvanian institute for magical research and learning in Drakenhof (City).
Ottokar was sure that the Einzelheit School was one of the go to places for unusual or rare magic. And not only him. In the last few years Germans and other Imperials searching for magic outside the standard avenues of research went to Einzelheit for it.

This led to more interest and observation by the States involved as well. Today the Einzelheit College was in modernized buildings and growing. It was a minor shock for School Head Heidi Eriksdottar and her husband when four years ago for the first time in ages, and continuously since, they got invitations as representatives for Einzelheit to the yearly Convention of all School Heads for Magic in Altdorf.
Reading about the next school brought a little smile of amusement to Ottokar´s lips. This institute surely made the Imperial officials unsure of what to think. The Empire´s newest major center of magical learning and research easily led people to assumptions.

Among the large, renown, in good standing, and officially sanctioned institutes the Von Carstein School of Magic was easily the most notorious. It had wrestled that title from Einzelheit without even trying. Rumors about the supposed topics, teaching staff, guests, and other things abounded in both Germany and the Empire. Ottokar knew that some of the gossip delighted and amused Manfred von Carstein and others to no end.
The Elector-Count of Sylvania found it splendid that despite the heavy-duty gossiping about the young School everywhere, the prestige of it among those well-versed in magical knowledge or arts was steadily climbing and already stood far above the likes of the laughed about College of Noble Sorcery or the renowned, but obscure Öbelstein School.

Ottokar knew from his sources, that while some gossip was actually true, the School was well away from some of the darker rumours. While being watched by several institutions, both Berlin and Altdorf knew that having many of the „colorful" sorcerers of both nations in one place was far easier and additionally the school did useful research on enemies and their „arts".
The school had some leeway about who was let in or taught stuff and some of the knowledge you could not officially get elsewhere at all, but there were limits. Von Carstein with his full coffers was busy polishing the reputation of Sylvania. To what ends would be seen, but he had reaffirmed the allegiance of his family and realm to Altdorf and the Empire.

Nobody could deny that despite the youth of the institute, they were already responsible for several breakthroughs and many students or sorcerers furthering their own knowledge there, became shockingly competent medics. Despite the gossip surrounding them, meanwhile many emergency services tried to hire Drakenhofer graduates.

Free Hamburg Harbor, Germany

The rules of the Free Harbor are comparatively simple: Bring in what you want, you do not have to stop at customs. If you need confirmation on the other side of the trip your cargo will be inspected, containers sealed and documents signed. If you want to bring something from the harbor you better have your documents in a row or the German bureaucracy will be on to you. By now the customs officers were used to checking documents written on vellum and bearing elaborate seals, inscribed into clay tablets or those that spoke to them. They did draw a line at knotted Quippus though and by far preferred cargo that had been processed by the net of Free Harbors that spanned the world.

The truck passed the customs gate at Zweibrückenstrasse without stopping. It was a low-sided truck heavily loaded with something hidden by a combination of wooden sides and tarpaulins on top. The truck left the trailer on a vast parking spot with a host of similar vehicles. They would be pulled into a Ro-Ro freighter bound for Kislev and could be offloaded very quickly there. The trailer parked in a spot next to the road connecting several such lots and trucks passed by it all day. One of them was gong a bit faster than the others. The container on the truck was quite heavy, but had not been leashed properly to the truck. "It is only from shed 50 to shed 67, what could possibly go wrong?"

A combination of being a tad too fast, tires which could really stand a bit more pressure, and a pothole showed what could go wrong, which was quite a lot. The truck tilted to the outside of the curve when a wheel hit the pothole and exacerbated the movement. The container had just been set on the trailer so that its eyelets met the bolts of the truck. They had not been secured and that meant that they could lift off the truck when it started to go down again.

The truck driver saw the movement in his rear mirror and was about to scream "Scheisse" when the container collided with the low-slung trailer to the side. It crushed some of the wooden sides and ripped a large part of the tarpaulin off.
He needed a few seconds to collect himself before he made it out. All thoughts of what story he was going to present to his superiors escaped when he saw what had been hidden under the tarp so far.

The truck driver had done his stint in the army a few years ago, that was where he received his driving license. But he had not seen guns like the one on the trailer before him then or ever since. The police and customs managed to sweep things under the table a bit later when they learned that the pieces were meant for the Kislevite government. Given that both were mildly pissed about having not been informed they delayed the release to the point where it missed the closing date of the vessel they were meant for.

Hag Graef, Naggaroth

"Take the city."

Oh yes, somebody was taking it, in the behind, but who got buggered the most was an open question. Ernutan Doomshackler had thought that this city would fall like Karond Kar. Once the walls had been breached, once the Battlemechs had been let loose inside the city the defenders had deserted the walls. They had fled back into the city, back to their home and hearth to somehow save their family, their riches or their lives. By destroying any semblance of organized defense, they had lost all of that.

None of that had happened here and he would not be too surprised if it had not been planned that way. Some of his vanguard had made it through the breech in Hag Graef's walls, just to find themselves hemmed in by a hastily constructed semi-circular barricade. There they had been wasted by rifle fire and grenades. The barricade had yielded to a combined assault of Battlemechs and infantry. Two of the Mechs had yielded to mines in turn, but they had their breakthrough. His troops had swarmed through that breach, storming Hag Graef's roads, eager to kill, to plunder and to take the city in Lord Mordred's name.

Mistake, big mistake.

The Druchii clans all distrusted each other and their Drachau for good reasons. All dwellings except for the poorest ones were fortresses in their own right, built to withstand anything but a determined assault, preferably with modern weapons. Hag Graef lacked Karond Kar's broad alleys used to parade the new slaves. Instead there were countless small ways, streets and catwalks that connected the city's many towers. Running these paths exposed the DawiZhar to close-range fire from murder holes and arrow slits. The company that had been first through the breach was gone for all practical purposes.

Ernutan quickly learned that there was no fast way to storm Hag Graef's center, no place that could be leveled by artillery fire to make the inhabitants quit or even shake their resolve. That Lord Mordred's wisdom forbade killing too many women and children did not help matters any. What remained was taking the city one tower, one fortification, one quarter at a time. The DawiZharr could do that, they had the training, the guts, the weapons and Lord Mordred's wisdom at their side.

But they had ceded many of their advantages to the Dandelion eaters when they had entered the city. Their rifles might outrange the Druchii crossbows considerably, but in the city's close confines nobody cared. They had Battlemechs that could withstand nearly any weapon that they faced. Except for mines, and those had been liberally emplaced in Hag Graef's ways. Every cobblestone could hide enough explosives to rip the leg of a Mech and evict the demon empowering it to the Warp. And the Dandelion-Eaters were clever enough to build them so only a Battlemech's weight would trigger them. So, he had to have his sappers clear the mines, often under fire. Doomshackler wondered what he would run out of first, sappers or Mechs.

And that was why the brunt of the fighting was resting on the footsloggers, the poor bloody infantry. They took Hag Graef, one tower, one building, one pile of rubble and one true dwarven warrior at a time. The DawiZharr had always been good at fighting in close confines, in tunnels and caves. They were met by an enemy who was still in love with cold steel, with traps and ambushes. Ernutan had lost more warriors than he had started the battle with and only the reinforcements that a far-too-generous Lord Mordred sent him kept the battle going. Currently he was on the march himself as he had to shift his headquarters' location to one closer to the fighting.

The route had been carefully planned to avoid all places that had not been totally cleared or reduced to fine rubble. It led past the dead of both sides, past towers that were burned out husks, past discarded weapons, blood splashes, ash, and rubble. The depth of winter prevented the worst of stinks, but that was the only blessing to be had. His warriors did not march as proud warriors should, they sprinted from cover to cover. Their heads were always turning here and there, trying to spot ambushes before they happened. None of them wore the marks of the ranks they were entitled to, they would make them even more of a target.

A warrior behind him grunted and stumbled to the ground. Ernutan was about to dress the soldier down when he saw the bolt sticking from his back and the cramps that tortured the DawiZharr. Another soldier swore when another bolt left a bloody crease on his arm. Ernutan immediately dropped down to venerate his harsh mistress again who extracted her price immediately by grazing his right palm and knee. It certainly beat dying to the poison the pointy ears smeared on their bolts. He trusted his helmet enough to lift his head and tried to spot where the shots were coming from. Like his warriors he did not have much luck in that, there was no muzzle flash and no bang to help spotting the hecklers. The only thing that became obvious soon enough was that it came from the pile of rubble that used to be a Druchii clan fortress. It had been bombarded into rubble and the "cleared" sign mocked him while another bolt was caught short by his mistress. Staying here would certainly do no good, his skin was crawling with every second he was pinned in place.

He had to struggle a second to remember the names of his retinue, even his bodyguard had to take in replacements during the last few days. Crawling deeper into cover he tried to whisper just loud enough to be heard, but not to be a target.

"Thaurid, frag and smoke on this heap, the rest of us provides cover. When the smoke is up, Persad, do your thing."
"We hear and we obey Lord."

Ernutan raised his head minutely and pushed his revolver forward. The big weapon kicked in his hand, pushing the muzzle up even against true dwarven strength. The big lead wad hit the rubble on the other side of the street, punching into nothing of greater value. It was joined by the bullets of his retinue who also hit obsidian, wood and dirt. None of them took the time to look closely for targets or take careful aim. That would have been far too dangerous. Their intent was to keep the dandelion eaters' heads down while one of their number raised up and threw three grenades in short order. Two produced loud bangs and fragments whizzed over everybody's heads. The third produced a lot of white acrimonious smoke that the wind blew over the offending pile of rubble. If the true dwarfs had few chances of hitting anything before, they were reduced to none now. But so were those of the Druchii and that was what Doomshackler wanted. Others might think about disengaging, but neither the Druchii nor the DawiZharr were willing to let an opportunity to kill go.

Several bolts whizzed evilly through the air, none came close to the spot where another true dwarven warrior rose. An accomplished noncom he had been rewarded for many years of service in a manner fitting for Hashut's children. He ran as fast as his equipment allowed and pointed his weapon at the smoke before him. An evil hiss served as the first sign, followed by a long gout of liquid fire that clung to everything it touched. Moving the nozzle here and there Persad made sure that the enemy's positions were completely covered in fire. As it ran into depressions and covered all it did not matter how well the dandelion eaters had hidden themselves and how deeply they tried to bury themselves, they could run or they could burn. And the screams that rose from the smoke said they burned.

Now Ernutan and his retinue could make for the new headquarters.

Achaes, the Border Kingdoms

The blade slid over Peter Michael's throat, a hairsbreadth away from drawing blood. Peter wisely remained silent and instead listened to the prattle of the man wielding the knife. He had been warned about such things and of course he had thought it would not happen to him.
"Oh you Germans. You have brought such changes to the world. We are all safe from pirates, or so they say. We can now treat the sick they say. All these wonderful things are at the market, making life better they say. But do you know what the change that really takes my heart is?"

Given his situation Peter refrained from answering. Like many German students he had taken a break after finishing the Abitur, like many he had gone on a trip where the railroads and the ships would carry him. A little money went a long way outside of the Reiksbund and there were many ways of earning the little needed to pay for local food or accommodation. Often it was sufficient to write letters, read something or show a film on the Siemens pad to earn enough for a couple of days. Peter had always been the guy to take things up to eleven and went to the Border Kingdoms instead of the Republic of Bretonia or Albion. He had been moderately successful during the last few days and the coins that burned in his pocket had brought him to the point where an exceedingly sharp edge was very close to his jugular.

The barber had been recommended, he did seemed to do a good job and Peter really needed a haircut and a shave. But the barber also had taken up a nonstop prattle which Peter could hardly avoid. That he had used a cloth doused with spirits to burn his ear's hairs away had further reinforced the notion that resistance was futile.

"Color, that is the change that you brought and that warms my heart the most. Can you imagine the old times? Practically everybody was walking around in homespun, the color the fabrics have naturally. Brown, beige and grey was all they could do. Yes, there were some colours, but they were so very expensive and bleaching the cloth was so hard. Can you believe that you needed 8000 snails to make one gram of purple color? Well, your BASF ended that nonsense for good. Now it is so easy to buy cheap cloth, to bleach it and make it any color that your heart desires. So now you no longer see grey, beige and brown, you see all the colours of the flowers in the spring, the ones of leaves in autumn and some I have never seen before. Oh, our maidens look like beautiful flowers, don't they?

And the houses, it is the same thing. No longer the dirt brown of brick walls or unburned clay, nor the funeral white of a whitewash that tries to imitate marble, an illusion that will wash away with the next rain. Now we can buy such colours, bright, won`t wash away and covering up what is underneath. Now we can make this place really exciting and beautiful. Now this place looks so much more alive. Why, just last week I saw this house in the brightest pink you can imagine. I`d love to paint my house like it young man, but I am of meagre means…

Given that the razor was rather close to Peter's nose he declined to comment, even when he thought that he thought that the white houses had better style than the harlequin-like riot he saw outside. But maybe the barber had a point. Germany had not just brought medicine and safety to this world. Books became cheap, electric lights illuminated the nights and radios played the music of two worlds. And he was here to see the change and talk to the people who saw them happen before their very eyes. Not bad, not bad at all.

Leviathan, 250 km the Kislevite coast

Jacub General's hands clutched around Leviathan's islands's rails till they showed white knuckles. During the last months he had simply been too busy to worry much about the grander scale of things. He had to solve one problem after the other, there had been no time to ponder the size of the mission he was an important part of. Today was the day when that came crushing into his consciousness with a vengeance.
The seas were unseasonably quiet presently, which allowed Captain Scheer to reduce Leviathan's speed to zero. The water behind the two tugs still boiled from time to time as they corrected the Ice Ship's orientation. During the last few hours a cruise ship had approached Leviathan from behind and finally docked between the two arms that held Nordsee and Klauensee. The liner was a huge ship, being four times the size of old Bismark, and Leviathan still dwarfed it. The former Aida ship had been chartered by the Cathayan government to transport the Heavenly Expedition Corps to Nagaroth. She had fallen on hard times as there were many more opportunities for Germans to see the new world than expensive crews and so she was for rent. Normally it could cater to nearly 4000 passengers and 1500 crew. Now more men had to share a cabin and fewer stewards looked after them. More than 6000 soldiers had been transported half way around the world and now made their way into Leviathan's bowels so that the cruise ship could bring more of them.

They were two unending lines of people who made their way along two walkways, marching forward through huge gates. This procession had started half an hour ago and it showed no sign of stopping. If anything was needed to show Jacub how big he had aimed for this was it. Now the quarters and facilities his Kislevites had built would be tested and he could only hope that he had done enough.
A polite cough managed to pull him from the depths of self-doubt and he turned to find himself facing a wiry man of middle size in a uniform mostly hidden by a long coat.

"Good afternoon Herr General. I am Wolfgang Böhler, commanding officer of the Wild Geese. Captain Scheer and Brigade Leader Bane both tell me that you were the right man to answer a lot of questions."

BMW Plant, Berlin Spandau

The bike felt right to Gotrek, he had no other words to describe it. It was rock-solid and heavy to boot. It probably weighted 60 kilograms more than the Harley-Davidson Sportster he had left on Earth. Yet the weight was very low to the ground, making it easy to handle. Anything he touched was just so, all the levers and buttons moved with silken smoothness. The throttle opened with just the right amount of resistance and the brake lever did the same until it came to a hard stop. Whatever he touched, checked or knocked was solid. Except a few places like the fenders there was no plastic or sheet metal, only armour-plate-solid steel and aluminium.

While the "Hog" had been good the finish on this one was on another level. He had come to love riding the Harley on Earth and was looking for a replacement. Unfortunately the Harleys left in Germany were either getting very long in the tooth or were a bit too expensive for what he had in mind.
Somehow BMW had gotten wind of that and they had an offer for him that sounded too good to be true. So now he was at the place where they made their motorbikes. They had only made them for a hundred years or so by now, but they really seemed to have it down.
Looking at the bearded engineer to his left he lifted an eyebrow. Kürt Böck just nodded and Gotrek pushed the starter button. The engine started on the first turn and for a second the former Slayer was a bit disappointed. The shakes and the vibrations that his hog had produced were much muted, as was the sound that came from the huge mufflers. But what came out was a deep basso profundo and when he turned the throttle the bike pushed against his leg with a huge amount of torque.

"This is a flat twin, like the first bikes that we built instead of aircraft engines. Most of the forces cancel each other, unlike on a V-2 with less than 90 degrees. But this engine has 1.8 litre displacement, it gives serious power and torque."
"Not bad for human work Herr Böck, really not bad. Can I give this thing a spin?"
The engineer smiled. "Oh yes, you can, but might you give our photographer a chance for a few pictures first?"

The adds would pop up a couple of weeks later. They showed Gotrek on the new BMW R18, wearing a leather jacket, a set of sunglasses and the axe slung on his back. The text below read:

"Do you think we'd dare sell a bad bike to this dwarf?"