“Are you not listening? Dust in your ears? If a normal matrix is rare? How often do you think we get cap ship ones? Never is the answer. It’s never happened.”
“Why don’t you make it happen?” Michael said. Murt’s confused face was all the response he needed. “That beam, it comes from the station above, right? Why don’t you just, change the settings or something?”
“Change the settings?!” Murt turned away, placing his head in his hands. “Change the settings he says,” he muttered to himself. He lifted his head again, turning back to Michael. “If we could change the damned settings, you think we would be living like this? Constantly trying to stay ahead of a damn death beam? Giving up most of your salvage to build more tracks for your pain in the arse city? Of course, we tried! We can’t even get in. The damn doors won’t open and whatever stuff they built it out of is cutting beam proof or some shit.” Murt sighed. “If you’re supposed to be a messiah, then the galaxy is fucked.”
“Well, I mean, it wouldn’t let you in. Might let the Sword in though. It’s from the same sort of era.”
“That’s a good point,” Aileena said. “Like, an actual good thought through point.”
“Damning praise,” Michael said. “If we can do it, we’ll need a crew, to help us get at what we need.”
“And keep everyone else away. Something like that is going to be hot property, right?” Aileena said with a smile.
“Oh yeah, you would have dozens of crews after it, maybe more.” Murt stroked his chin, his quills shivering. “You think you can do it?”
“We’ve done crazier shit,” Michael said.
“I would want exclusive rights. No other crews coming on board. I’m already behind talking to you now, I ain’t going to risk this unless I get some guarantees.”
“We just want the matrix, everything else is yours. Has to be a lot of value in something like that,” Mellok said, adopting what Michael had referred to as his diplomacy voice more than once. “Lots of profit to be made here.”
The Sword turned and pulled in close to the station, angling itself to connect one of its port side docking clamps. This close, the station’s long black gothic arches loomed, a cathedral to creation, a temple wrought in the stars. All traces of the green energy had faded, for now, the station sleeping once again. That was, until Clive woke it up.
“We’re getting a response,” Clive said. He had ditched the robot body, the machine being needed elsewhere, and had switched back to the nanobot cloud. Clive was standing next to the communication’s console, pressing buttons. Not that they were doing anything, the cloud lacked the strength to actually press the keys, and for Clive, it was as simple as just thinking about what he wanted to do. The whole thing was strangely performative.
“A good one?” Skorra said. She stood next to Clive, examining his movements. She was as fascinated with him as she was the rest of the ship. There had been a delay in her reply. This far from Mellok, his translation abilities weren’t working, so they were forced to rely on the handheld units. Skorra had tucked hers under the straps of her overalls.
“A good one. We have permission to dock. I think? Honestly, the station is a little… out of it. I’m fairly sure we have permission. About fifty-fifty.”
“OK, well lets dock. The longer you keep talking the lower our odds seem to be getting,” Kestok said. He had removed his apron, instead, stepping into one of the handful of space suits they had. The material had stretched to its limit, barely containing his muscled frame. A rifle hung over his arm by its strap. “So, Skorra, whilst we’re gone, don’t touch anything. Messing about with technology you don’t understand, can be dangerous.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” Skorra said, her ears laying flat against her head, a sign of annoyance.
“Yes. The difference is I know what I’m doing. Kind of. Anyway, I want you to stay here with Meggok, in case things go wrong. Which, so far, seems almost a certainty.”
“So, you’re going on your own?”
“I won’t be on my own. I have the Clives with me.” Kestok thumbed over his shoulder and the bridge doors slid open. Behind them was a cluster of seven robots, each identical to the one that had been activated in engineering.
“Hello!” they said in unison, each waving a tentacle.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The airlock door opened silently; the sound lost in the vacuum. Kestok could only hear his breath, hot and heavy within the glass of his helmet. The docking clamp had extended out from the hull of the Sword, a tunnel across space. The door of the station’s airlock was a smooth solid black like obsidian. It had responded to his presence, thin lines of lime green light growing around the doorway, the only thing making it visible against the hull. Kestok stepped through, the lights mounted to the sides of his helmet illuminating the corridor beyond.
Kestok swept his head around, taking in the interior of the station. The corridor was a mixture of blacks and greys. All along the walls were alcoves. They looked like shrines, monuments to someone or something long gone. Kestok shifted the bag on his shoulder, adjusting the strap. Gravity inside the station was a little higher than he was used to, and the collection of heavy tools was weighing him down. He had thought about having one of the Clives carry it but had changed his mind out of pride.
The Clives, followed behind him, stumbling on their tentacles. They were clumsy, awkward things, tripping over each other as they moved forward.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake”, said the first, the voice of Clive emanating from it. “Come on, why won’t my legs just, ah, there we go,” Clive said through another.
“Everything ok there?” Kestok asked, his voice escaping through a speaker on the chest of the suit.
“Yeah, I think so.” The voice had shifted to another unit. “It’s a little difficult, walking with seven different bodies at the same time. You think you’ve stepped forward with number five, but really it’s number four, and your tentacles just get everywhere.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had the experience.”
“Well, I would not recommend it. It is very confusing. It does not help that there is a very slight delay between my thoughts and these bodies moving. Only a millisecond to two, but it feels like a much longer time.” The robots shuffled forwards, following along the corridor. They were moving in a single file now, each making the same mirrored motions, an attempt to make it easier to control them.
“Look,” Kestok said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fix your body. Your original one. It must be very strange to suddenly find yourself a spaceship.”
“Oh, I am still very much human.”
“Uh, huh.” Kestok wasn’t paying much attention, they had reached an intersection and he was trying to decide which direction to take.
“I am not totally oblivious. I know I’m inside a spaceship. Well, a second spaceship, I used to be another one. But I am still human. Inside myself. Does that make sense?”
“Well, you were never human, not really. But, yes, I get it. Any idea which route we should take?”
“Right,” Clive said.
“Oh? Managed to get a scan of the interior finally?”
“No, but this station is circular. Going right heads towards the thickest section.”
“That’s a good point,” Kestok said. “Find anything else in the records about the people who built this place?”
“Not much. The Merydians were aware there was a shipyard here, and had completed brief scans of the system, but had not engaged in diplomacy with the occupants. They were rather more… preoccupied at the time.” The first robot tripped, its tentacles tangling on themselves. The robots behind it slammed into it, and the entire line toppled. “Oh, Rhythm damn it!”