It was grim reading. On the screen was the data Nguyen had acquired, something Orson had reasoned was less stealing, more unauthorised requisition. The Council hadn’t been forthcoming about everything, something that most humans, Orson included, had been willing to write off as embarrassment at the situation. After all, discovering natives on your holy planet was a little awkward. What he was reading though, was something else.
The Council had crusaded across the galaxy looking for the earth, for thousands of years. Whilst humans were still in caves and knapping flint, the founding races of the Council had been taking their first tentative steps into space. Orson knew this, it had never been a secret that the Council had cut a violent swath across space. What had been concealed was the exact scale of it. Thousands of worlds burned, billions killed, all to find one tiny blue-green planet nestled in the Orion arm of the galaxy.
It was a sobering feeling, to be the source of such devoted fervour. The data Nguyen had collected included anything she could find related to earth, and her search had found dozens of entries extolling The Council’s great victories. It wasn’t surprising they had hidden exactly how far they had gone, the scale of the conflict across their history would have gone down like a lead balloon. Orson had been proud, to be chosen to be amongst the first humans to serve, to be one of the forerunners for human membership. Now, he recognised it for what it was, propaganda, the first steps on a long road of indoctrination for his people. Sooner or later, humans would be cheering these same victories, baying for the blood of killed infidels. There was no way the Council would stop their conquests, not with thousands of years of momentum behind them.
“What’s this fucking knower thing then?” Orson said, vocalising his thoughts. His hands slid across the tablet, searching through the documents. “Ah, here we go.”
The fleet was resplendent, a glorious assembly of slave-hewn stone, held together by the will of a single substrate lord. A tribute to the power and majesty of the Substrate, a memorial to their superiority over the organic races. Lord Abberax was pleased with what he saw, the light of the nearby star cascading into his central crystal, his mind unravelling the beams of energy into a visible image.
“So,” Abberax said. There was an implication in the word, an unspoken weight heavier than the stone that formed his jagged body. He had been on Ossiark for barely two standard days, and already he was beginning to tire of the constant fawning from the pirate lord and his cronies. “Do you agree to our proposal?”
Greddog adjusted himself in his chair. He felt heavier than he ever had. The Substrate members had kept themselves to a small building on the docks, cranking up the gravity higher than most organic races were used to. Greddog thought it was a power move, a subtle proving of their self-proclaimed statement of being higher lifeforms.
“I have allowed your fleet to dock in Ossiark, to refuel from our stocks—”
“And have you not been suitably compensated?” Abberax said. The interruption would have meant death in the arena for anyone other than the imposing rock creature.
“Oh, we have. We have. You have been extremely generous.” Greddog sneered. He hated fussing the Substrate Lord. Greddog found him abrasive, in more ways than one. “I did not expect this many ships though. You made it sound like you would be bringing scout fleets, maybe one or two dreadnoughts. Not this, this is an entire battlefleet.”
“Does it worry you, pirate King? Are you afraid of our might?” Abberax lifted his arm, gesturing through the window to the ships beyond with a pointed finger. The fleet was unusually close. Hundreds of ships were in view, whilst thousands more were just out of sight, lost in the blackness. It was a standard-sized combat fleet, the product of having an unfathomable amount of industrial worlds and workers, near-infinite resources turned to one purpose.
“No,” Greddog said. He was deathly serious. Greddog’s fleet was minuscule by comparison, a few hundred ships at most. Still, he was sure every creature on Ossiark would die for him, if needed. He had left them little choice. “What I’m worried about is what it would mean. I’m willing to let your fleet stop here, to gamble in my casinos and drink my fuel like water. You’re asking me to fight for you, to strike out against the Council.”
“Haven’t you been waiting for this day? Are you not sick of collecting scraps from under the table?”
Greddog chuckled, the rolls of his fat rippling. “Is that what you think I do? I long ago learnt that I could make people come to me and happily scrape off the tops of their tables into my lap. Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Greddog pushed against his hovering chair, causing it to dip and clink against the metal floor. He stood up, straining under the increased gravity, his muscles screaming in defiance. He was making a point, a display of his determination. Greddog was as tall as the Substrate lord when he stood, and he stared down at the circular crystal in the centre of its mass.
“A fair point,” Abberax conceded. He laughed, the noise emanating from his body as a strange sort of ringing. “Still, a chance to draw blood from the Council, you can’t pass that up, can you?”
“I can, and I will. Do you know what happens to pirates who take too much? They quickly cease to be pirates. My fleet is no match for any reasonable Council force. I’m not stupid.”
“We don’t want you to strike at a fleet. We have that handled. If all goes to plan the Council will be too tied up to react to you.”
Greddog’s eyes narrowed. “So, it will be war then?”
The segments of stone that formed Abberax shifted, his people’s version of a nod. “Yes, we’re certain now. The shot that destroyed our facility came from a Council patrol vessel. We’ve narrowed that down to an eighty-five per cent certainty.”
“Fifteen per cent is a lot to base a war on. Millions will die.”
“Millions did die,” Abberax said. “When they destroyed our stations. Of course, those were thralls, but the cost alone was astronomical. No, it is time.” Abberax shifted slightly as if the collection of stone was sighing. “What we want you to do, is to capture one ship.”
“One ship? You want me to send my fleet after one ship?”
“Yes,” Abberax said. He approached the screen on the wall, reaching up with his hand to the touch-sensitive glass. Nothing happened. He tapped it again, and still nothing. “You!” Abberax said, snapping his stone fingers to a nearby thrall.
It stepped forward from the row of near-identical creatures that had been lined up against the wall. Across its eyes was a metal ring, a control device ensuring compliance. It was thin, bones showing through pale grey skin. It stepped over, swiping its biological hand across the touch screen. It responded, bringing up an image.
“This ship, specifically,” Abberax said. On the screen was a small silver ship, its hull shaped like a bullet, large engines attached to the front and rear.
“Ah,” Greddog said. He recognised it, its image cast in his mind. “The knower.” Greddog smiled, slipping back into his seat. “I’m in.”
It was an incredible sight, cast large across the viewscreen on the bridge of the Gallant. Orson and his crew had never seen such an array of materiel, a vast collection of ships capable of incredible, world ending, violence. The fleet around Earth had been expanding constantly for the past few days, as the Gallant continued its patrol route. It now numbered in the thousands.