Zeroth Directive

Archive II

After the war, Rhodes Island made a temporary stop at Londinium. Catherine, who was assisting with the reconstruction effort, jumped at the opportunity to visit the landship for the first time. When submitting her request, she candidly stated that she wanted to visit her grandson, Feist, who was 'messing around' in the Engineering Department. She was also curious and wanted to see, with her own eyes, what kind of people would be so eager to wade into the murky waters of Londinium. An HR operator politely mentioned that she had already met with Rhodes Island's top management and several key squads on various battlefields across Londinium. The old worker simply raised an eyebrow and waved it off. 'If you want to befriend the workers, you can't just meet them in the beer halls while they're drinking and boasting and spitting at 'the man'. You need to go into the factories and visit their homes.' In her view, the 'professional' Rhodes Island operators aren't much different from the workers of Highbury, herself included. That's why she was particularly eager to visit the ship. When the HR operator opened the door to Engineering's workshop, she saw Closure, Stainless, Rockrock, and several other operators with their heads down, intensely focused on a single task. The drill hummed, and the argon arc welder cast an eerie white light on everyone's goggles. Catherine held up a finger to signal the HR operator to remain quiet and not disturb the group. She then picked up a spare welding mask and, rather confidently, joined in the effort. 'Wait a minute, the turret won't rotate. This motor seems unreliable, doesn't it?' 'I knew it! Lemme have a crack at it! I'm the Chief Engineer—I can fix it!' 'Feist, Closure, hold on a second. The original plan was to just make a model as a gift for Catherine, right?' 'Sure, but this is the scaled-down, movable, self-propelled version of the Crawler! Isn't it awesome?' 'But...' 'Oh, so you were planning to give this to me as a bribe, Feist?' Silence fell around the workbench as people exchanged glances through their goggles and welding masks. Stainless was digging at his ears, wondering if he was hearing things. When Catherine pushed her mask up to her forehead, the hearty laughter and exclamations finally drowned out the hum of the machinery. What followed was a family reunion, brief yet precious. As for how Catherine was welcomed by the kids over the next few days—or how her anecdotes in the factory made them laugh so hard they forgot to eat, attend class, or even sleep—that's another story.

Archive III

When I walked into Highbury, I saw an elderly manager perched on atop a ruined street corner. She watched the workers around her, shouting out orders as they moved giant piles of construction materials. Some nodded at her as they passed by. They were disheveled, and their faces weary. Many were injured. However, not a single one stopped to rest. They were too busy pushing carts filled with mortar, stacking building materials near the scaffolding, and using noisy diggers to free their streets of the wreckage left by the war. This area was once the industrial heart of Londinium, no, of all Victoria. We need not endlessly recount the grandeur of Victoria's industrial clusters and automated assembly lines, or how the dense, efficient transportation networks delivered raw materials and intermediate products to every corner of the land. Now, the refuse often overlooked by 'gentlemen', the brave souls who only recently fought to the death with the invaders on the streets, are scraping the rust off the ironworks. After confirming that I wasn't a thug trying to steal building materials from the construction site, the grey-haired construction supervisor—who refused to reveal her name—took me to a high platform overlooking most of Highbury. The high-rise dormitories, planned by City Hall at the edge of the plate, had been severely damaged in battle. The defense artillery had blasted a huge crater in the main building, rendering it unusable. The supervisor told me that hundreds of blue-collar families from Highbury had once lived there. Now, she sends people to patrol the area frequently to prevent young punks from sneaking into the building, which could collapse at any moment, to scavenge for scraps. I continued chatting with the woman. I mentioned a newspaper column I had once read which denounced the dormitories, and Highbury in general, as an 'urban prison' designed to separate the dirty factories and stinky workers from the shining city of Londinium. I asked her whether the workers, who once fought valiantly for Victoria, were still willing to live behind the prison wall. Just then, the factory whistle blew in the distance, signaling the shift change. After the sound faded, she raised a cigarette and pointed at the crater in the building, off in the distance. She told me that the building, now burned down to its frame, had once been the Auchterigg opera house. On the other side of the hole, the detached villas and large gardens of the Magna Borough still smoked amidst the rubble. While we spoke, a team of Highbury laborers was working in the factory to produce the prefabricated components needed to repair Londinium, while another had already arrived at the construction site. This city was built by the hands of the workers, and it is those hands that will eventually restore it to its rightful state. She cynically remarked, 'Londinium's walls couldn't stop the invaders, and the Sarkaz's defenses couldn't stop the Self-Salvation Corps. Well, that prison, and its walls, won't stop anyone either.' —A clipping from a 'Daily Salon' column; the photographer captured Catherine's silhouette.

Archive IV

'Please wait, Catherine! I beg you to be patient. I assure you my request is sincere—I come on behalf of the Royal War Museum. I only wish to showcase your brave struggle to the public. I have no ulterior motives! Don't you think there's still room for discussion?' 'I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing left to discuss. I've had people look into your background. A friend of mine told me you were unwilling to leave the museum and escape the city, and said you even opened up the warehouse, used for holding valuable artifacts, as a temporary shelter for refugees. I figured you were a man of character, someone I could trust, which is why I agreed to this meeting.' 'You honor me with your praise. In that case, may we continue?' 'No, we may not. The Crawler will not become an exhibit locked in a glass case for tourists to take photos with.' 'But... I don't understand. Haven't the Sarkaz already been driven out? We've won. Victoria has won! Shouldn't the walking war machine be moved to a museum to prove to the world that Victoria has not lost her bravery, her very soul?' 'The 'soul' of Victoria lies in the hearts of the brave warriors who sleep, every night, beneath her streets.' 'Please... hear me out, Catherine. On the day you blew that whistle, the others and I were hiding underground, too terrified to do anything. Finally, someone opened the door and told us that Londinium had been saved—the workers drove the 'walkers' right through the Sarkaz defenses. You don't know how happy I was!' 'Sigh...' 'I've worked in the museum my whole life, Catherine. I know very well that if we rely solely on words and images, people will easily forget things they should never forget. I didn't witness the Self-Salvation Corps liberating Londinium with my own eyes, but if we could display the Crawler as an exhibit, everyone would understand the heroic feats you accomplished!' '*Sigh* You really shouldn't have sent such a nice old man to do this kind of thing, Vina.' 'Hm? What was that about the Madam Speaker?' 'It's nothing, sir. I know you mean well, but I still can't grant your request... At least, not now.' 'What do you mean?' 'We won't hand over the Crawler. However, I know a few skilled artisans who can help you create a full-scale replica of it to display in the museum.' 'But... but if it's just a replica...' 'Don't worry, sir. Even if it's just a model, every single screw will be tightened by our own hands. As long as you don't tell anyone, no one can say it's a forgery.'

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