Blood ran down Abberax’s knuckles, it was a thick dark brown, barely visible against the stone that formed his hands. The Council troopers were insectoids of some kind, Abberax didn’t really care. They were fleshy creatures, and therefore beneath him. Useful only to give information and relieve his tension.
“I say again, where is this… Knower, going?” The light from his crystal illuminated the dark cell as he spoke. The Trooper had been stripped of his armour and chained to the rock. It was crude but effective. Few species could break the heavy shackles, and they didn’t fail if there was an issue with the power.
“I don’t know. Please, I don’t know.” The alien’s voice was an annoying buzzing. Abberax hated it.
“Why then, did he leave you alive? Were you not working for him? Were you not an inside man?”
“No! No! He just left us!”
“Nonsense. What benefit was there for him to leave survivors?”
“He’s the Knower. He was merciful.”
Abberax let out a laugh that sounded like a knife being drawn. “Yes, this is mercy. Leaving you to the hands of your enemy. It sounds to me like you were lucky, this Knower was not so merciful when he boarded your ship. The others I’ve questioned mention that his men were armed, and more than willing to fire upon you. Does that sound like the actions of a messiah?”
The insectoid just stared back, blood running from its mandibles.
“I thought not.” Abberax struck out, his rocky fist hitting the alien with a crack. “Still, I am impressed he managed to steal an entire battleship. It shows ingenuity.”
“Rhythm forsake you,” the insectoid said, his voice fading as he spoke. His motion stopped, his head drooping loosely.
Abberax turned and knocked on the door of the cell. It swung open, an armed Substrate guard standing ready. His stones were much lighter than Abberax’s, dust falling off the softer rock as he moved.
“Yes, my lord?” the guard said with a rumble.
“This one is spent. Have this chamber cleared like the others. How many more do we have remaining?”
“Two, my lord. Though if you forgive my question, what more could we hope to learn?”
“Nothing,” Abberax said, his stones rearranging into a shrug. “With a battleship in hand, our quarry’s next destination is obvious. At least this is something to pass the time.”
Orson had a dozen suggestions on his deck before him, possible next steps proposed by his various aides. It felt odd to Orson, to have aides, but that’s what it had come to, the captains of the various resistance vessels stepping into the role naturally now they all occupied the one ship. Each had several ideas, but all of them had presented some version of a single idea independent of each other.
Euria. A world relatively near their current position. It was out of the way, a backwater really, notable for two reasons, both relevant to Orson. The first was that the planet apparently had a culture that promoted mercenary work, the second was that the Council had bombed the planet within living memory, angry at supposed divergence from the official creed. Orson hoped that the combination of trained soldiers and anger at the Council would give him a good supply of new members. The Shield was powerful, even though it were an older model, but without a proper crew, it could only operate at a fraction of its ability.
“Nguyen,” Orson said, activating the intercom. The Shield’s wasn’t automated, instead relying on panels on the wall. Orson wondered exactly how old the ship was. “Set a course for Euria. Seems like it’s the most popular idea.”
“Aye, sir.” Nguyen’s tapping at her console was audible over the intercom. They had been forced to connect the Gallant’s translation software to the Shield’s computer, the battleship lacking the option for English.
“Good, how long will the jump take?”
“About a week, sir. We can do it in a single jump though. Perhaps we can run combat drills, whilst we travel?”
“Good idea, Nguyen. You never know when we might run into trouble.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was strange how quickly things had settled into a rhythm at Brekt’s landing, people creating new daily routines. Get up, dig a new field, plant more mushrooms. The large fungi had taken to the soil well. A little too well for the Custodian’s liking, who had insisted that the mushrooms be well monitored. There were limits to how much the Custodian was willing to upend his perfect garden. The Purnaxians had adapted well, working just as hard as the existing inhabitants. There was a kind of unspoken bond between the groups, one forged in the flames of two dying worlds.
The shimmering field in the sky above faded, the artificial star coming back on with a sputter, casting light in a circle below up, determining what part of Eden was experiencing day with its complex swirling pattern. This was the sixth jump they had made in the last few months, moving Eden constantly. The planet’s jump drive wasn’t particularly powerful but moving an object the size of Eden was beyond the abilities of the rest of the known galaxy. Slowly, but surely, Eden was crossing Council space towards its goal. Euria.
Michael was sitting on a gel bench that had been ripped out from a disassembled ship and bolted onto the roof of a broken shuttle. One enterprising Purnaxian had worked out a way of distilling an off-grey liquor using the mushrooms. Taking over the tiny shuttle he had cut a hatch into the side, using the ship as a makeshift bar. Whilst not all species consumed alcohol, enough did that the bar had been quickly expanded, a wooden extension added to the back. Chairs had been arranged outside and a kind of beer garden had sprung up on the roof.
Something about it just felt like home. Sitting in a grotty beer garden with an ill-advised drink in hand, half-listening to the conversations around him. He could be in any number of trendy London dive bars, the only sign he wasn’t the greenery surrounding him.
“You alright?” Brekt sat down in the couch beside him, the shuttle creaking beneath the mercenary’s boots as he did. He had a canteen of water in his hands, alcohol did nothing for Eurians.
“Yeah fine and dandy, excepting the obvious.” Michael took a sip of his drink. The glass had been salvaged from a mess aboard one of the ships. They hadn’t worked out how to blow new ones yet and the Custodian’s supply was limited. It had a faint earthy aftertaste and burnt going down. “Otherwise, yeah, can’t complain really. You?”
“I’m good. Great even. I’ve been away from home for too long. Eager to see my kids, you know?”
“Not personally, but I can guess.” Michael had seen the photographs, Brekt had a staggeringly large family. Michael had no idea if it was normal for Brekt’s kind and had been too embarrassed to ask. It felt a little too personal, asking about someone’s biology unprompted.
“I think we’ve got something here. Something great, possibly. Somewhere safe from the Council, from the Substrate, hell from anyone who wants to tangle with us.” Brekt leant back in the couch, the gel squelching as he did. Free from a ship’s control, the gel had simply reverted to acting as a slightly sticky cushion.
“Maybe? Personally, I’m not too keen on this whole Knower cult having a home base. Feels a bit Waco, if you know what I mean?”
“Not really.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. The problem with having a place to defend is that it means you’ve got to stand and fight for it. It’s really easy to find yourself cornered in that case.”
“And would you? Fight for Eden that is?”
Michael thought about it for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. For months he had constantly complained, asking incessantly to be taken back to Earth. What was he really pining for? A single bedroom flat with iffy plumbing, a dead-end job that paid next to nothing, and a total lack of social life. It hardly seemed worth going back to now.