“Yeah, I get that,” Orson said. “You cope how you can I suppose. You’re right though, it is odd. They didn’t expect to find us, you know, assumed Earth would be empty. An Eden.”
“Guess we messed that right up.”
“Perhaps it’s a philosophical debate they don’t want to get into? Imagine your holy planet is full of creatures, who have their own religions, totally different from yours. Throws a spanner in the works I would think.” Orson span around lazily in his chair. “Maybe they’re just buttering us up? If you’ve spent thousands of years on a holy quest, you can afford to spend a few more years on it.”
A light flashed at the side of the bridge, pulsing, awaiting a reply. Johnson pressed a key on his console, sending the message over to his unit.
“It’s from the Watchtower, we’ve been asked to return and dock. Nguyen is ready for collection from her medical leave,” Johnson said.
“Good to hear it, trooper. Let’s hope she’s feeling much better.”
Corporal Mai Nguyen felt ill, her head screaming defiance at the volume she had drunk last night. She had ordered one drink after the other, careful to choose the lowest proof the bar had. That had been more difficult than she had imagined, her ability to read Council basic was a lot worse than she had realised, and that had only gotten trickier the more drinks she had. The pace of the drinking had been set by the young archives guard who was knocking back his own beverages quickly. The liquid within far too toxic for Nguyen to drink herself.
She staggered down the hallway awkwardly, her head protesting just as much as her legs. Clutched beneath her arm was her holdall. Within it held two days’ worth of uniforms and tucked deeply within those was a data chip. A clear plastic thing the size of a credit card, the alien equivalent of a USB stick. Acquiring it had been almost laughably easy, the access code to the main archive pulled out of an intoxicated guard, one who was thankfully also late for his shift. His annoyed and tired colleague had simply nodded as Nguyen had typed the code into the access pad.
Nguyen came to a stop, taking her place at the back of a long line. Ahead of her, strange aliens were slowly passing through two metal gates, sensors scanning them as they passed into the lounge beyond. Despite all the advanced technology and strange creatures that called the galaxy home, it seemed that somethings never changed. Nguyen could just as easily have been in any small-town airport, preparing to spend an hour drinking overpriced coffee and buying duty-free perfume she would never use.
“Next!” barked one of the guards, gesturing to the head of the line, which moved forward in a sort of staggered march.
Nguyen was sweating. Part of it was nerves, but mostly it was the hangover. She suddenly became aware that her constant shaking and thin sheen of sweat could be construed as suspicious. She tried to push the thought to the back of her mind, taking a deep breath in. It wasn’t unusual, to carry a data chip with you, certainly not for a Council trooper. Her uniform felt itchy, tight in all the wrong places, as if she had slid into the wrong skin that morning.
The line moved again, bringing her closer to the large scanners, archways of gleaming silver.
“Next!” shouted the guard again.
Nguyen placed her holdall onto the conveyer that ran past the sensors and stepped through the archway. She shot the guard a smile, making sure he could see her corporal pips clearly. She wasn’t exactly a corporal, but the translators had decided it was the closest fit for the rank she did hold.
“Random bag check,” snarled the guard’s partner by the conveyer. He was tall, his dark red skin covered in thick bony plates. He lifted the bag, pulling the zip open roughly. “Got anything you want to declare?” The alien bulged in his uniform, the sleek black suit pressing tight to his skin.
“No,” Nguyen said, shaking her head. “Just a grunt heading for pickup by my ship, couple of days of clothes, some books to read whilst I waited for a medical appointment.” She could feel her stomach looping into knots. The data chip was in there, stuffed full of unauthorised information. The console next to the guard was more than capable of reading it.
“All good,” the guard said after rummaging around in the clothes briefly. “Hey, you’re one of them, right? Those humans?”
“Sure am.”
“You don’t look so holy to me. Didn’t think they were letting you into the Council proper yet.”
“They are, slowly. Aren’t that many serving humans. We’ve only got one ship under our command, and it’s a tiny patrol ship. There are a couple of marine squads, and a fair few ground battalions being trained,” Nguyen said as the guard handed her bag over. She took it from him, trying not to seem too eager. “We might not look it, but we humans are handy in a fight.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” the guard said, nodding. “Everything ok, I hope?”
“With?”
“Your medical appointment?”
“Oh,” Nguyen said, “right. Yeah, all fine. Got into a scrape with some pirates, banged my head. Thought I might have a concussion, you know?”
“All too well.” The guard knocked his scaled hand against his head. There was a deep thud. “My people have thick skin and tough bones, but that means it’s all the worse when you take a really bad knock.” He smiled, revealing a row of thick off-white teeth. “Glad it all worked out. You have a nice day now.”
Nguyen turned and began to walk away, slowly letting out a deep breath, the smell of alcohol escaping with it. She walked away, as quickly as she dared, eager to get past security and lost in the crowds that filled the departures area.
Whilst the Watchtower was a military installation first and foremost, it was also the main hub for ferrying pilgrims to the surface and back. Its lower decks were filled with civilian sleeping quarters, which meant that the station turned over a tidy profit, paying for its own expenses easily. It was a smart idea, logistically speaking, but Nguyen couldn’t help but think should the station ever find itself attacked it meant there were a lot of non-combatants aboard. Cynically, she thought that might somewhat be the point.
She took a seat at a table in the food court, the window next to her exposing space beyond. She knew from her training that it wasn’t really glass, instead, it was a kind of clear metal, but the feeling of being next to infinity was a little unsettling. In her hands was a paper cup, filled with a hot brown liquid. She had thought it strange at first, how wasteful the Council seemed to be. Paper cups, plastic straws and not a single recycling bin in sight. It seemed like when you had access to so many planets, caring for the ones you had went out the window. It made Nguyen a little sad, and she wondered if there were planets somewhere in space that were just giant garbage dumps.
She took a sip of her drink. It was sweet, but had a bitter aftertaste, like hot chocolate with a kick. Nguyen had picked up a taste for it during her training aboard the Watchtower. It was a popular alien drink, called sutcha. It was made from ground and pressed beans, not unlike coffee. Directly next to the stall she had bought it from was a large human chain selling exactly that, coffee, proving that cultural contamination went both ways.
Nguyen glanced down at her watch. She could just about make out the Gallant, waiting motionless in line to dock at one of the bays. There were military exclusive bays, further up the hull of the station, but those had been taken by the massive warships that had been building up for the past two days. Instead, the patrol ship was being forced to queue behind civilian ships dropping off yet more fawning tourists. It was taking longer than she had expected, which wasn’t helping with her nerves.
Nguyen watched as the Gallant grew slowly closer, caught in an orbital traffic jam. She waited, inhaling the warm steam from her drink, staring into the beyond.