“You would think so.” Michael stopped moving, staring at the image. “Anyone else thinking about going down there?”
The rest of the crew nodded as one. The enigma proving irresistible.
“Glad it’s not just me.”
Chapter Two
The news of the strange world spread quickly through the flotilla. It had been only a few months, but the forced contact had caused rumour networks to spread quickly, stretching out across the fleet like a web. Every ship had seen the odd flat planet as they had emerged from the jump, and the theorising had been immediate and near-infinite.
Two camps had quickly formed, the first claiming that the planet was a miracle, a gift from the Rhythm of the universe. How could it not be? The Knower had saved them from their dying planet, whisked them across the galaxy and now here was a wondrous new world. The second group was more cautious, claiming it was either a massive coincidence, or the plan all along, to arrive at this bizarre place.
Michael hated both theories. He agreed more with the second, that it was all one giant coincidence, though he wasn’t a fan of the elements that assumed malice on his part. Michael wasn’t surprised at the first theory, the legend that had built up around him seemed to be self-perpetuating. People thought he was the Knower, therefore everything he did was cast through that lens, further proof of his divinity.
He certainly wasn’t helping himself. Michael was stood on the bridge, adjusting his suit. It was getting threadbare, but it was the only clothes he had, his tour guide uniform he had been wearing when he was abducted. At one time it was brilliant white, a shining glossy thing that made Michael feel like a TV evangelist. Now it was mottled and stained, not even the technology of an ancient powerful race enough to wash away the past. The metaphor was lost on Michael, though it did not go unnoticed by his followers.
Before him, Clive was standing. He had formed a full body this time, rather than the floating head. Next to him was a glowing blue camera. The nano-machines in the air could film Michael from any angle, but Clive had generated the object both to act as a focal point and for his own amusement. The AI seemed to be enjoying his directorial debut.
“Ready?” Clive asked. The rest of the crew was assembled behind him. They didn’t need to be, the image sent across the fleet would be a composite, a digital Michael generated by recording a million angles at once. Still, it felt like the right thing to do, standing behind the slightly fuzzy image of the camera.
“No,” Michael said. “Not really. I hate all this attention, this Knower stuff. I feel like I’ve been clear on that.”
“Come on, this is what you were doing when I found you, right? Talking in front of people. And Rhythm knows you’ve spent the last three months getting complained at, breaking up fights, and having people hang on your every word. Let alone giving the speech you did at Cortica. This should be nothing.” Aileena was leaning against a console, her arms folded. At her waist was a weapon, a sidearm in a holster. They had acquired a large supply of weapons when they had fled Ossiark. Aileena was almost always armed as a matter of course, but she had been wearing her weapon more openly since Council troopers had been welcomed aboard the Sword.
That had been a point of contention amongst the crew. The last Council troopers they had encountered had been set on blasting holes in them. Aileena and Brekt had been against it but were outvoted. It wasn’t like the handful of Council patrol vessels in the flotilla were a threat to the Sword, and they were as much victims as anyone else in the fleet. Several of the troopers who had boarded had joined the throng worshipping Michael, whilst bots and nano-machines kept a close watch on the others.
“Yeah, but that was spur of the moment. This feels more… planned, I guess?” Michael shrugged. “It feels like a big step. I’m not in any positions to be telling anyone else what to do.”
“These people trust you, Knower,” Mellok said scuttling from side to side, a nervous tick shared with the rest of his species. “Though I worry about the reaction…”
“You’re worried no-one actually believes and they all just leave. I would actually like that.” Michael smiled at Mellok. The alien had always been a true believer, pouring over documents, scrolls and fragments of ancient text, looking for spurious connections to prove his theories in volumes that would make any conspiracy theorist proud. Michael still didn’t quite understand how Mellok’s years of searching had ended up with a guy in his late twenties from London. Michael had tried to get the feathered alien to explain it once, in-depth, and he had felt like his brain had melted out of his ears.
“A lot of people would kill for a position like yours. Like the Council, just as an offhand example.” Just because she had been outvoted, didn’t mean Aileena hadn’t been vocal in her disagreement. “Like it or not, there’s a lot of power in a title like this. That’s probably why they wanted you dead, that need to keep a grip on their control.”
“I hate it, I feel like I’m lying. Like I’m misleading people every time I use it. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, I am lying. I feel like I would know if I was a messiah.” Michael let out a long sigh. He realised putting it off longer would only make it worse. “Let’s get this over with.”
The channel opened, the message transmitting between the ships nearby. Commander James Orson, former commander, he had to keep reminding himself, was standing before the holographic image. The other captains were sharing the screen, four small images staring back at him. It had been months since Orson and his crew, the first human ship in the Council fleet, had abandoned their post. They had hidden in the wreck of a larger ship during a ferocious battle, hoping to have themselves written off as killed.
The Council had not been honest with humanity when it had arrived in orbit around the Earth. Sure, they had been upfront about their religious nature, and that they had been searching for Earth for a long time. They had conveniently forgotten to mention they had cut a bloody swath across the galaxy for millennia to do it. Orson had seen enough records of genocides, indoctrination and constant oppression to make him sick. His crew had agreed with him, becoming willing accomplices in his plot.
Before they had headed into battle, Orson had left copies of stolen records with a trusted friend, hoping he would share it with the world once the fleet had left orbit. They had gone with that fleet, into battle, to maintain the appearance humans were cooperating. Now Orson had seen what the Council was capable of, he knew they had taken a soft touch with humanity. He had no plans on changing that, yet.
“Evening gentlemen. I trust you’re well.” Orson waited a moment for the translation software to alter his words. It was fast, incredibly so, but there was still a slight delay that could trip you up if you weren’t careful. It reminded Orson of more than one awkward video chat with his parents.
“Better for this victory,” snarled one of the aliens on screen. He had a thick layer of hair that obscured all but his pale blue eyes. There was a thin trail of smoke wafting up into the image from behind him, a remnant of the brief battle they had just fought. It wasn’t much of one, a short scrap against a single defensive satellite, but the Council was massive, its forces overpowering, any small win felt like it mattered.
“The first of many!” said one of the other images, a blue scaled creature, webs between its fingers.
“We better hope so,” Orson said. His fledgling movement wasn’t much, a collection of frustrated civilians more than anything else. Still, people had answered his call, and if he had to embellish a little to get what he needed, well that was the price of war. “The more of these communications stations we take, the more we can push our message out there. My men will prepare to board momentarily. Leave this part up to my marines, you’ve done well here, but you let the experts do their jobs.”