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Fjordstoker

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She talked about Magrathea as if it were a child’s sandcastle, waiting to be knocked down, not by the natural erosion of waves or wind or time, or even someone who just hated sandcastles, but by the terrible, violent hand of someone deeply satisfied by, and only by destruction. He looked out the viewport at this dull, old planet, grey and sad against the contrasting red and blue plumes of its nesting nebula in the distance, silently wondering to himself if this would be the day its twin suns would go as dark as their planet had millenia ago. Dominator grabbed him by his good arm and lifted him up as if he were a toy. He wiggled and kicked. “I never wanted to be an economist,” she finished saying. “Were you paying attention? I hope so. I’m not repeating myself.”

“You k-know that there’s no one there that can help you, right?” he ventured, feeling the joints in his wrist and hand popping a bit at the pressure.

“I’m aware. I’ve sent bots down to collect data. I’m looking to harness the same white holes that they did for production.”

He stared at her blankly, feeling his fingers going a bit numb.

When he didn’t ask why, she shook him a bit, eliciting a cry and some loose fur flying. He still wouldn’t ask. She glared him down for a moment before tossing him closer to the viewport. He landed, rolling, and did his best to sit up upon coming to rest.

He looked up at her as she stepped forward, hips swinging, and shaking the hair from her face with a nod. “I’m going to use them to make planets full of Volcanium. Maybe even some with Frostonium. My power supply will be unlimited.”

“…And Magrathea?”

“You’re front row for it. That’s the fuel that will stoke the forge.” She stopped just shy of him, and kicked at his shoe. But she wasn’t looking at him now - she was looking out the viewport.