The Hand of My Enemy

Ozrik turned as the Undersecretary of Military
Affairs rushed into the room, trailed by a concerned looking technician.

"My Lord," he gasped, chest heaving,
trying to catch his breath.  “Something is wrong at the testing grounds at
Carg.  We've been trying to contact them for more than an hour, but get only
static.”

"Isn't there a communication silence in
effect?"  The monarch asked in irritation, wondering why they bothered him
with such trivial matters.  "We're doing research there that will change
the course of our world’s history.  Our Hurd enemies would go to great lengths
to gain access to that information.  Their listening posts spy on us,
monitoring our every word, jamming our signals, hacking our networks, trying to
thwart us at every turn.  Perhaps the cadre there suspect their messages are
being intercepted, that the Hurds have managed to crack our encryption codes;
and that's why they've refused to acknowledge your communiqués.  If it concerns
you so, try contacting the garrison at Tanith; they're not far from Carg.  Now
leave me.  I've important business to attend to," he snapped.

Ozrik turned, expecting them to leave, but they
didn't.  "Is there something more?" he said annoyed, spinning on his
heels to face them.

"We've already done that sire," the
nervous looking Undersecretary responded, "and the outposts at Moreau and
Lux as well.  They don't respond either."

His brow furrowed.  Ozrik looked concerned.  The
years of endless war and the resulting famines and plagues had aged him.  Once
he'd been a strong young buck, afraid of nothing.  Now he appeared wasted and
old.  In his youth, he'd been a tall strapping fellow with strong thighs, a
tight flat stomach, a broad back, and hard rippling muscles; but now his
shoulders stooped, his belly sagged, and the thick brown curls that once
crowned his head had turned silver and sparse.  He blamed Crax.  That
bastard
fiend
Hurd had stolen his youth!

"Perhaps they're on alert," he
reasoned, looking for a plausible explanation for the communication silence,
even as his unease began to grow.

"Without our knowledge?” the Undersecretary
protested.

"General Velmot is in command there; he
knows what he's doing!  He was waging war against the Hurds when you were still
sucking on your mother's teats.  He has his reasons I'm sure," Ozrik
insisted.  "Now if that's all?”

The man hesitated.

"Is there more?"  Ozrik barked,
beginning to lose his patience.  "Well...?"

"Tell him," the Undersecretary
commanded, turning to the trembling technician.

The man paled, beads of perspiration forming on
his brow.  He lowered his eyes, then swallowed hard, but the words did not
come.

"Out with it!”  Ozrik growled.  “Have you
something to report or not?"

"There is a seismographic station at Fagara
your Excellency."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," he snorted. 
“Now get to the point!"

"We received a report from them indicating
that they’d experienced some sort of tremor."

"A quake?"

"That's what they thought at first.  The
initial bulletin said they'd detected what they thought might be a minor quake
in the western end of the Haggard Region.  Moments later, however, they
reported they were getting readings from what appeared to be a massive quake,
with its epicenter at Carg.  Seconds after that, they issued their last
message.  It said the tremors were the result of a massive explosion.  Then the
transmitters went dead and all communications ceased.  There have been other
reports though, from as far away as Elgin.  Reports of ear-splitting thunder,
balls of fire visible in the sky, and black clouds of smoke blanketing the
land."

Ozrik paled.

"We've received reports of gale force winds
fanning fires that now burn out of control all over the region.  The
transmissions speak of smothering darkness, clouds of choking smoke and ash,
and a tremendous heat that causes everything to ignite and explode.  The
sensors in the region that are still operating are recording dangerously high
levels of radiation."

"The Hurds," Ozrik raged. 
"They're responsible for this!"

The technician shook his head.  "No my
Lord.  The defense network was not breached.  There's no way Hurd missiles
could have evaded our new hyper-detection radar system.  They have no stealth
weapons, nothing but prototypes.”

"If not the Hurds...then who?  Then
what?" he demanded to know.  "What kind of cataclysm could have
caused the destruction you describe?"

The Undersecretary drew in his breath.  "We
think it has something to do with the weapon we've been developing at Carg.  We
think there was an accident."

Ozrik's hands were shaking, face ashen,
expression changing by turns from horror, to disbelief, then back again.  He
shook his head.  "That can't be.  The weapon we've been working on was a
new kind of bomb.  Powerful yes, but you can't expect me to believe that a
single bomb could have caused this."

“It was based on an untested theory, sire, little
more than a mathematical equation, a series of logarithms.  The scientists were
convinced the new fissile material they’d developed would perform according to
plan, but something obviously went awry.  The force they unleashed couldn't be
controlled.  It set in motion a chain reaction, more devastating and
destructive than anything we've ever known."

"But it can't be..." Ozrik insisted.

"I'm afraid that it is Sire," the
little man from Military Affairs said, eyes glistening with tears.

"How many dead?”  Ozrik asked, voice
cracking.  "And the injured?"

"There's no way of knowing yet, perhaps tens
of thousands dead, ten times that many wounded.  We'll know more when the
surveillance flights radio back their reports.  We've sent a squadron aloft,
equipped with cameras, radiation sensors, and chemical analyzers.  They'll be
able to assess the damage and give us some idea of what's happening.  Once we
know what's out there, we can formulate a plan of action."

Ozrik nodded.  "How long before we know
something?"

"The first pictures should be relayed within
the hour.  The analysis of digital readouts of the various test results should
follow soon after that."

The technician whispered something in his ear and
the Undersecretary nodded to him.

"My Lord, I have taken the liberty of
summoning your cabinet ministers and scientific experts in a variety of fields:
physics, chemistry, seismology, medicine, agronomy, and meteorology.  They'll
be arriving shortly."

Ozrik covered his face with shaking hands.  He
felt numb, powerless.  In his whole life, even when he'd stood outnumbered upon
the Plains of Antour to face Crax and his armies, he'd never been this
frightened.  He looked at the despairing faces and then sat down upon his
throne to await further word on the disaster.

The news, when it arrived, was worse than anyone
had imagined.  This was the greatest calamity in the history of the world.  The
apocalypse!  The once mighty island continent of Galt now lay in ruin.

The explosion generated by the bomb at Carg was
far more powerful than had first been thought.  The underground vaults, where
the weapon had been tested, were not sufficiently hardened; and on detonation,
had literally blown apart, sending flames, dust, and debris a thousand feet
into the sky.  But the bomb was only the catalyst.  Fields and forests ignited,
as did frame buildings and fuel storage tanks, anything combustible.  In a
matter of moments the entire area was swept by a firestorm, a conflagration
where metal melted and raging winds incinerated everything in their path.”

The quakes cracked pipes in the cooling systems
of reactors hundreds miles from Carg.  Seconds later everything burst into
flame.  Workers panicked, leaving their posts in a vain attempt to save
themselves.  Water quickly drained from the cooling pools, exposing the uranium
rods.  The cores began to melt, producing a toxic fog of caustic, highly
volatile gases.  Explosions blew apart the containment buildings, releasing
clouds of poisonous steam and smoke laden with lethal radioactivity into the
air.

The same scene was repeated over and over again
as firestorms swept region after region in an ever-widening circle of death and
destruction.  Everything was burning: power plants, chemical plants,
refineries, plastic and textile factories, even abandoned mines.  Acrid smoke
and noxious fumes filled the air.

The magnitude of the earthquake caused by the
bomb was unprecedented.  It was the most destructive ever in recorded history. 
Seismic waves of destruction had pulsed out from the epicenter at Carg turning
buildings, roads, and bridges hundreds of miles away into piles of rubble.  It
was unclear whether there was an unknown fault in the planet’s crust there to
begin with or if the change in underground pressure caused by the explosion
created the fault and triggered the quake.  Above ground the concussion from
the blast and shock waves pulverized everything in their path.  The intensity
of the blast winds only dissipating when they reached the sea.

Two weeks later, the reactors were still burning,
spewing radiation, and spreading death.  Smoke rising from smoldering cities
created a smothering gray fog that clung to the hills and valleys, depositing
ash and dust that withered plants and suffocated all life.  Shifting wind
patterns and spring storms spread the fallout far and wide.  No area of the
once great nation was spared.  Isotopes of barium, krypton, plutonium,
strontium, ruthenium, iodine, curium, cesium, and cobalt mixed to form a toxic
lethal soup, which fell as rain on the once lush land below.

For some unexplained reason, the radioactive
debris had not been carried aloft into the upper atmosphere where the movement
of wind currents could have spread it far beyond the borders of Galt.  All the
contamination remained at the lower altitudes, where a stream of swirling air
kept the worst of the fallout confined to the devastated island nation.

The authorities had, at first, hesitated warning
the population about the lethal levels of radiation, fearing a panic.  They
thought they could manage the crisis and contain the danger, but they'd deluded
themselves.  With vast portions of their communication network inoperable,
government efforts to silence the remaining media failed.  As bulletins about
the noxious fallout were broadcast, hysteria spread.  There were riots and
widespread looting as cities, towns, and villages emptied in a futile attempt
to escape the menacing clouds.

The government initially refused to acknowledge
the disaster, fearing that the Hurds would lose no time in attacking.  But as
drifting fallout began to trigger monitoring stations all over the planet, the
Galts finally made the announcement.

Within days officials came to the sobering
realization that they couldn't deal with a disaster of this magnitude on their
own.  They sent envoys to all their allies requesting aid and technical
assistance.  They were in desperate need of food, water, and trained medical
personnel.  Twenty percent of the population had already died of injuries or
illness resulting from the disaster.  Another twenty percent were suffering
from radiation sickness or chemical poisoning.  Their recovery depended on
prompt medical intervention and the availability of lifesaving drugs and
equipment.  Without help, Galt would soon become a vast graveyard.  Scientists
could only speculate on the epidemics and cancers, which would strike the
survivors of this holocaust in the months and years ahead.  The future,
however, was a long way off; their main concern was surviving the present.

The animals in their herds were sick and dying,
their milk and meat contaminated.  Crops withered in the fields, poisoned by
toxic chemicals and radioactive soot.  All the surface water had been poisoned
by the lethal dust.  Though the underground wells were still untainted, with
power out and most pumps inoperable, there was no way of bringing the
unpolluted water to the surface.  Those who'd survived the initial devastation
faced a bleak future: death by thirst, starvation, or disease.

The Galts sent out an urgent plea to their allies,
asking them to airlift the needed medical supplies, emergency food rations and
water filtration units.  With the reactors still burning and spreading deadly
radiation, the government could do little to protect their people.  They had to
stop the radiation at its source, before any kind of relief action or recovery
program could be undertaken.  To that end, they'd asked the world community for
low-flying aircraft capable of dumping smothering mixtures of lead, sand, clay,
and neutron absorbing boron onto the flames.

Their pleas for help, however, were greeted with
stony silence and inaction.  The official diplomatic replies said their
requests were being studied.  Government ministers told the Galts that their
hesitation was due to fears that shifting winds might bring the disaster to
their own lands; and that they couldn't commit resources elsewhere which might
later be needed at home.  Their reasons, however, had less to do with fear and
the desire for self-preservation than with jealousy and greed.