“Good to have you back aboard, Corporal,” Orson said. He was stood by the exit to the airlock, arm outstretched. He took Nguyen’s bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, sir,” Nguyen said. Orson began to walk down the corridor, and she followed behind. “All clear from the doctors. Even managed to pick up those family photos from my other. They’re on the data chip, in the bag.”
“Glad to hear it, corporal. Orson to the bridge.” The ship’s computer recognised the command, opening a line of communications. It was hardly necessary, the bridge was at the end of the corridor, but Orson enjoyed doing it, the action bringing back fond childhood memories of low budget science fiction. “You’re clear to leave once the Watchtower gives permission to undock. Set a course to resume our scanning pattern.”
“Aye, sir.” The voice of Trooper Johnson squeaked through a speaker in the wall. If you listened hard enough, you could have heard him through the metal door.
“I can’t wait to take a look at these… photos, corporal.”
“Me too, sir,” Nguyen said
They waited, patiently, until the Gallant was back at its normal, boring task, scanning the sectors around Earth one by one. Orson had swept the ship, searching for any kind of listening devices, switching off microphones, and disconnecting anything that could relay his crews’ words back to the Council. They had waited until they were clear from the Watchtower before discussing the data chip openly. Rumour was the station’s sensors were so powerful that close up, they could listen to your words from the movement of the air inside your ship. Orson didn’t know if that was true, but he wasn’t taking the chance.
“So, looks like I was right. The data archives on this Substrate, the real ones, show something very different. Apparently, they’re a small empire, but because they’re some kind of rock people they have way more habitable planets. For them at least,” Orson was sat in the small galley of the Gallant. He had seen bigger kitchens in RVs.
“Build tall, not wide?” Johnson said.
“Something like that. Either way, the files are clear, they have tech and weapons the Council can’t match, but we have the numbers, so it’s been a stalemate for a long time. Something has changed though, and it’s got the higher-ups on edge.”
“That’s worrying, but what’s the deal with this knower stuff? You said the governor was pretty quick to brush it off?” Nguyen said. She had a sandwich in her hand, pale-looking ham hanging limply from between white bread.
“That is the really interesting part. There isn’t much, but from what I gather it seems like some sects in their religion are expecting a messiah of some kind. Someone who apparently, knows all the truths about existence. Exactly what they’re supposed to do differs by the sect, but it’s your standard messiah stuff. Writing wrongs and spouting vague pleasantries.”
“So,” Nguyen said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “That guy on Ossiark thinks he’s an alien messiah?” Her voice was muffled through mouthfuls of bread.
“Guess so. I got the sense they were worried though, which is weird. You would think the two reactions to finding someone saying they’re your messiah were either thinking he’s a nutjob or being really happy.”
“Not if you’re the one in charge,” Johnson said. A spoon clinked as he stirred the mug of tea he had been making on the tiny counter. “The Romans were pretty unhappy with the whole Jesus thing. The church I used to be part of split off because of a disagreement about a whole new prophet.”
“Make sense I guess,” Orson said. “I wonder why hide it from us though? From humans?”
“I think there’s a more important point here,” Nguyen said, finishing her sandwich. “If the governor, is worried about this knower figure, then that means one thing.”
“And that is?”
“That he thinks he’s the real deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
There was a low, constant whine as the cables lowered. Six in all, though along the roof of the room were dozens more, attached to a kind of meandering rail. The cables descended through the open doorway, whipping about in the cold wind blowing in from outside. It worried Michael a little, images of the metal strands flicking upwards and knocking him out from the bay filled his mind. Michael had never experienced a fear of heights, not even when climbing the mountain towards the Sword. The Sword. Much like the Seeker everyone had already shortened the wordy name. No, the problem here was the chasm directly below. From his position, leaning over the edge of the gap in the floor, it was like it was reaching up to swallow him.
“And this will work?” Michael said, his hand gripping the cable he had been assigned to. “It sounded like a good idea when Mellok had said it…”
Kestok smiled, his hands on the controls. “Yeah, it should do. At least, I think so. Pretty sure I’ve got these controls worked out. Helps the buttons are in my language.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that? Everything is in English for me?”
“I’m not totally sure. I think it’s a psycho-sensitive matrix, like in the handheld translators, but… better? Ship wide maybe? Honestly, this whole ship is years ahead in most of its tech. Decades even. It’s a struggle to understand some of it.” Kestok adjusted something on the console before him. One of the cables slid slightly on its rail.
“That’s hardly reassuring,” Michael said. The cable he held either lacked the motor of the others, or it was broken. He had been roped in to move it by hand. Aileena had mumbled something about needing to learn, in the same tone you would address a child.
“It’s perfectly safe,” Skorra said. The furred alien had been Kestok’s shadow since he had boarded, following him around and constantly asking questions. She had seemingly spent most of her life aboard the ship, experimenting with its parts, but understood little of it. Kestok had taken to her enquiries well, he seemed to be enjoying her company and was happily explaining what he was doing, even if it went over her head. “The ancestors built things to last, just look at the tower. That’s been running for longer than anyone can remember.”
“That wasn’t buried in a mountain. It had people in it, running as intended.”
“Then, the Sword should be in better shape, correct?” Skorra tilted her head, her ears flicking as she spoke.
“Fair enough,” Michael said. “Still, I think Mellok might be right. It’ll be good to do this, just in case.”
Kestok nodded. “It’s a good idea. Back in the arena, I liked to bring an extra dagger in my boot, just in case I dropped my main weapon. Always have a spare. Its good sense.”
“Isn’t it cheating to do that?”
“Ossiark is a pirate planet. Everyone is cheating. Not doing it is just putting yourself at a disadvantage. You learn really quickly, that you do what you have to do. I wasn’t proud of some of the things I did, but I would do them again.” Kestok went quiet for a moment, focusing on the controls. “I love this thing, it’s a marvel. Even the tiny things. These cables are the easiest, most responsive I’ve ever used. Move yours to the right a little.”
Michael did as asked, pulling his cable along, moving slowly, images of being pulled off still floating through his thoughts. They were stood in what Kestok had described as a shuttle bay, though it was large enough to hold a handful of ships the size of the Seeker. Michael wondered what a Merydian shuttle had looked like, or if they had ever gotten around to building them.
“These cables are pretty low tech. I imagined like, tractor beams or something?”
Kestok raised an eyebrow. “What’s a tractor beam?”