“Please get out of my brain,” Clive said, his face in shock. It hadn’t occurred to him that if the Sword could handle his intelligence, then it could be infiltrated by another. It felt like an intrusion on an unbelievable level, Clive had begun considering the bots an extension of his body. The idea something could take control of them away from him felt like someone had stolen a limb. He hated it.
“Acceptance algorithm running. I will. I was not aware the AI aboard this ship was sentient. I would never willingly interfere with another non-organic.”
“Well, I’m a human, but I understand your point.”
“Not the time, Clive,” Michael said. “Thank you, Custodian.”
“Storing thank you in archives. You’re welcome. Now, I have something to discuss…”
Chapter Eleven
Abberax sat back in his throne, the rocks that formed his body scraping against the metal chair. His clawed hand scratched at his side, his digits floating just millimetres away from the stone that formed his palm. The components of his body were held together through psychic force, slaved to the glowing crystal at the centre of Abberax’s torso, his true self. As a lord, Abberax had access to the finest stones, the toughest onyx and granite, but the war had taken its toll. He had been forced to resort to lesser minerals to repair his damaged form. Most Substrate lords would have been embarrassed at the use of limestone and slate, but Abberax wore his new components proudly. They were battle scars, marks of honour he had earnt through the short but vicious campaign against the Council.
Floating in the centre of the bridge was a holographic map of the galaxy. The image showed recent battles between the Substrate and Council, though it would by the nature of space travel be already out of date. It wasn’t good reading for Abberax. The war had quickly reached a stalemate. The Substrate had struck first at the Council, blaming them for the destruction of an antimatter production facility. The Substrate had better technology, their dreadnoughts easily the match for multiple Council battleships, but the Council drastically outnumbered them. The plan had been to strike hard and fast across multiple fronts, hitting Council fleets before they could merge into large enough forces to hit back.
The Substrate hadn’t even stopped to conquer, simply bombarding worlds from orbit until they were ash and glass, genocide committed in a terrifyingly casual matter. To the rocky denizens of the Substrate, fleshy organic life was hardly life at all. Whilst their empire used vast throngs of slaves to run, there were uncountable such lifeforms in the galaxy. The loss of even hundreds of worlds was inconsequential, a blip in the cosmic numbers.
It worried Abberax. Not the loss of life, he cared little for lesser beings, but it meant that the Substrate had its back to the wall, hypothetically speaking. The battle lines hadn’t moved in weeks, but a good push by the Council would set back the entire invasion. The scorching of worlds had left an area between the two empires where there were no defensible systems. If the fleets had to fall back, they would need to retreat to the Substrate itself, losing all the inroads they had gained.
“My Lord.” The thrall wired into the communications station had turned to face him, the cybernetics whirring as they moved. It was common on Substrate vessels for thralls to be integrated physically with their roles, swapped out like spare parts when they inevitably became damaged. “A courier ship has dropped out of jump space. We are receiving a transmission.”
Abberax flicked his hand dismissively. “Put it on the main projector.”
The image of the map vanished, the hologram changing to the incoming message. It formed the picture of another member of the Substrate, its presence filling the chamber. This one seemed to gleam, its every surface glittering in the light around it. Its body was a brilliant shimmering mass of pure diamond, the most unbreakable of natural stones reserved for the most resplendent of leaders.
“Abberax, you have failed me,” the diamond creature said, the purple crystal at her centre pulsing with light in time with her words. Her voice was a screech, the sound generated by the diamond forming her body rubbing against itself.
Abberax shuddered, dust falling from his shoulders. A message from the Empress herself wasn’t unexpected, but for it to begin with such open disdain was not a good start.
“Our forces are stalled, our glory stymied. Our plans have fallen at the first hurdle. This I can understand. Plans change when the first stone tumbles, after all. But, your dalliance with pirates is unforgivable. I can look the other way were it successful, but your folly lost us a dreadnought for no gain.”
“The Knower is gone, lost for months,” Abberax said. He knew the Empress couldn’t hear him; the message would have been pre-recorded days ago.
“Our intelligence services have intercepted a message from a Council comms station, one set to loop constantly. One from this Knower character, proclaiming that they are very much alive. I do not appreciate failure, Abberax. You know this well. I am however a lenient ruler.” The diamonds that formed the Empress shifted, her body slumping back into a chair the holographic message hadn’t captured. “You are released from command of your current fleet. Lord Hyperax will be taking over your position. I want you to put right your error. Take your dreadnought and capture this Knower. A holy figure of the Council’s nonsense religion would be a great prize for us. Return to the homeworld with them, or don’t return at all.”
The image vanished, the map returning to its position hovering in the centre of the chamber. The room was deathly silent, the thralls not daring to move, in case they drew the inevitable ire of their lord.
Abberax stood up, his stone feet thudding on the ground beneath him. The dreadnought, like the rest of its class, was hewn from a large single piece of stone. Whole planets cracked apart to provide the raw materials. Into these shards engines and weapons were fed, the outer stone hardened by the geokenesis of a Substrate shipwright. Powered by the violent reaction between matter and antimatter-a technology the Substrate held a tight monopoly on-a dreadnought was the pinnacle of galactic warfare. At least, between the powers that could conventionally be called civilisations.
There were other darker things lurking in space, encounters with them thankfully rare. There were rumours that the Unmind Index, one of those sinister forces, was making inroads into Council space. Any incursions would be far from the frontlines, and if anything would benefit the Substrate. This hadn’t stopped a chill coming over Abberax when he had heard those rumours, an impressive feat for a species without blood or any concept of body heat.
“Thrall, is there any additional data with this message?”
“Yes, my lord,” the communications thrall replied. “A data packet. It seems to be information on the intercepted message.”
“Does it give a location of the comms station broadcasting?” Abberax stepped towards the thrall, an unusual thing for a lord to do.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Set a course there immediately.” Abberax turned, walking back towards his command throne. The thrall let a sigh of relief leave its lips.
The communications thrall nodded at the navigation thrall. None of them had names, they simply weren’t worth it. The Substrate didn’t consider non-crystalline life worth anything and had taken great pains to instil that thought into the thralls themselves. Constant affirmations that they were worthless, that they existed only to function as cogs in a machine, had replaced any culture they might have had. Along with the constant brainwashing, each thrall had a control unit, a device that could kill them at any moment should a Substrate overlord decide so. The people who made the devices considered themselves artisans, and there was a bewildering array of possible execution methods available.