Omake
Vachir in Silver Skies carefully rotated in place, reaching her wings to grasp the next tray of crystal glyph inlays for the torpedo guidance baffles. Only three glyphs remained to complete the sutra on this side.
She was the lone Pterok worker surrounded by hulking, blunt-nosed Mosok, all over twice her size and completely comfortable in the void beyond the Tokati atmosphere. Unlike them, Vachir couldn't enjoy the feeling of freefall, the utter lack of any wind guiding her wings or touching her feathers, the worrying distance to the nearest truly stable perch, or the strange airless silence. But it didn't sicken her with the stomach-dropping nausea that made most Pterok unwilling to work in orbit.
Perhaps it was the view. Tokat spread "below" her in graceful sweeps of green and blue and white, touched by the brilliance of Kinich as the rays of dawn burned across the horizon like a heart-stirring hymn of unbowed glory. Although Tokat could never be lost Creation and Kinich certainly was not the Dirigible Engine Daystar or the Most High (Vrah to his name!) the clean Gaian world held a breathtaking beauty nonetheless. Every Pterok loves the view from on high as they soar over land and sea, watching green forest and white mountain glacier and rocky nunatak flow past in intricate patterns of landscape and dragon lines for uncounted hours. Her soul spoke of Creation's deeply beloved vistas, of watching highland rivers sparkle in the Sun as they rushed over whitewater to the waiting lowlands, of contemplation as the airs softly caressed her wings, of the snow and clouds reflecting the Sun's perfection back to him in worshipful admiration. But no memory told her viscerally the shape of Creation. She had seen maps and geomantic diagrams, but here she could view a small world from an altitude that would not even fit beneath the adamant dome of the Firmament. She could see the magnificent curve of the near-mathematical sphere, watch the dawn announcing each astromancy-blessed day first with rosy tendrils, then the diffuse golden glow, and finally the burning disk, all from a vantage point that could take in half of the wakening planet at once. No doubt some Elders would have chided her if she ever voiced such feelings aloud, but contemplation needed no clatter of words. From here the manses, towers, hard defense points, factories, belching ork trukks, and myriad other installations blended into the world's natural colors, leaving an unimpeded and uncluttered view of Tokat itself, as itself.
"Hey Vachir! Stop daydreaming and get your inlays in line. Klaakass is still waiting to connect the last Essence vane."
Vachir in Silver Skies suppressed her first surge of irritation as the interruption shattered her peaceful thoughts and left her briefly disoriented from snapping her head around too fast in insufficient gravity. The Pterok reminded herself that it was natural for Mosok to prefer contemplating what they could wrap their big meaty claws around instead of enjoying the lovely vistas of a mountain range to the degree she felt it deserved. Vachir also remembered, somewhat belatedly, that she was up here at this dizzying height to do a job vital to the Tokati Realm's defense, even in the drowsy sunlight. Some portions of the torpedo defense system required the delicate touch and slender fingers of a Pterok to complete satisfactorily.
Raptok, with their love of intricate ornament, had designed torpedo launch tubes with 4 rows of external guidance sutras. Although the tubes had been launched into orbit mostly complete, each glyph of the sutras needed carved crystal and gemstone inlays to shape and confine the Essence force propelling the torpedo. Besides imitating the devotional poetry of holy prayer cannons, each row of glyphs ended in a four meter long, violet crystal Essence vane. The Mosok Klaakass floated nearby, ready to set the last vane in its place. The three completed vanes on the other sides of the launch tube each projected three meters beyond the tube's end, and when activated would produce violet hardlight constructs ten meters further to help control and aim the torpedo as it exited its tube.
Vachir delicately positioned a small sapphire carving into the lower quarter of the third-to-last glyph, exactly 2.4 millimeters from the adjoining tourmaline piece. Forcing themselves to stay alert in Kinich's light, they would finally have the last guidance baffle and Essence vane completed well before noon. Privately she thought that the delays over the last several years had more to do with other people's drowsiness and distractions than her own. Vachir could hardly have inlaid delicate glyphs for tubes that hadn't been launched or positioned yet! Nor was she confident that the Raptok truly needed to design the tubes with such decorations. But these thoughts also remained unspoken as she returned to work.
Note: I originally wrote this for the Defense Grid, but prefer to spend any successes on something else such as the Flotilla or maybe skyships. Especially if I can cannibalize the existing Defense Grid successes?
