The Shield had been in jump space for a few months, crossing Council space towards Euria. The strange mechanics of jump travel meant that the Gallant would have gotten there much faster on its own. The amount of time it took to travel scaled exponentially with the distance, and whilst the Shield had a much greater range, its size meant there was a much longer recharge time between jumps. The Gallant could have reached the planet within two weeks, making multiple short hops.
This restriction was partly why the war between the Council and the Substrate had reached a stalemate. Once fleets jumped into a system, the capital ships were committed, retreat unlikely. It meant the first few months had seen enormous battles, vast swaths of ships destroyed on each side. Their sizeable forces depleted, each was now licking their wounds and working hard at scrounging up every reinforcement they could find.
Orson had decided that the Shield was an important part of his pitch. Proof his resistance could strike at the Council in a meaningful way. Part of him had wanted to set a course straight for Earth, to try and liberate his home. It was just a dream; Orson knew that the Council would never leave Earth undefended. It was a holy planet to them, the destination for their millennia-long crusade. It would take much more than one outdated battleship.
Orson pushed the uniform to the side, grabbing a khaki coloured shirt from the rail next to it. He had delayed moving his belongings from his cabin on the Gallant onto the one on the Shield. It didn’t seem important, not next to the hundreds of other things he was worried about. The rest of the humans aboard the Gallant hadn’t waited. Whilst Orson had his own captain’s cabin, the rest of them were sharing racks or bunk beds. The Shield had enough individual rooms-meant for officers originally- that everyone got their own, and the newfound privacy had been a welcome morale boost.
“Nguyen to Orson.” The voice was coming from a communicator strapped around Orson’s wrist like a bracelet. “We’ve got about an hour before we drop out of jump space. I thought you would like to know.”
Orson already knew how long was left. He would be a poor commander if he didn’t. Of course, Nguyen would be a terrible second if she didn’t remind him.
“Thank you. I’ll be up shortly.” Orson put the shirt back on the hanger. Moving quarters would have to wait. The Shield was massive, and the walk back to the bridge would take twenty minutes at the very least. “Get everyone on a combat standing, just in case. You can never be sure what we’ll run into.”
There was a ship, travelling through real space towards Euria. From its design, Michael could tell it was a Council ship. They were all the same, long sweeping curves coming to a point like a circle of knives being drawn into a black hole. The ship emerged from jump space just moments after the Sword had arrived. It was just cosmically bad timing on their part.
“That’s a Council battleship,” Brekt said, the holographic image of the vessel spinning slowly before him. “An old one, couple of centuries maybe, but it’s one of theirs.”
“Possibly called up to battle the Substrate? Though I’m not sure why it would be out here.” Mellok rubbed the side of his head as he thought, ruffling his feathers. “Perhaps they’re taking on mercenaries? Is the war that desperate?”
“Who knows. We should give them a wide berth until the jump drive recharges then get out of here,” Aileena said. She was already plotting their course out of the system. The jump from Eden had been short and only a few minutes were needed before the drives were ready again. “We can probably take them in the Sword, but it’s not a good idea to get this ship on their most wanted list.”
“You’re assuming the people who turned down settling on Eden haven’t gotten back to Council space and told them everything,” Michael said.
“Oh, we’re getting a message, shall I play it?” Mellok had a bad habit of automatically accepting incoming channels, one that he was making a conscious decision to stop.
“Might as well,” Michael said. “Better they talk to us whilst the drive charges than shoot at us.”
“Very wise, Knower. Putting it through now, though it is audio-only, strangely.”
“Unidentified ship, this is the Knower of Truths, my people and I mean you no harm. We have no quarrel with yourselves,” the voice said. Michael recognised it. It was the same voice he had last heard fleeing from Ossiark.
“Orson? What the hell?”
“Who is this?”
Michael was surprised the recognition didn’t go both ways. “This is Michael, you know, I’m the Knower of Truths. Why are you pretending to be me?”
“I think we better talk,” Orson said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hanging above Euria was a station, a sprawling bulbous thing. It looked worn, used, its outer hull covered in tiny dings and dents, centuries of debris colliding off the metal. It was the only sign of spacefaring civilisation in orbit around the planet, aside from a handful of tiny satellites. There was no Council presence at all, Euria wasn’t important enough to warrant a single patrol ship. That hadn’t surprised Michael. Aileena had explained that the monks who raised her had practiced their specific version of Rhythm worship for centuries before the Council had noticed and taken offence.
The Seeker was drifting slowly into one of the station’s hangar bays. Orson had been reluctant to discuss things through an open channel, insisting they meet face to face instead. The station had been the perfect meeting place. It wasn’t Council run, instead, it belonged to the Mercenary Guild, an organisation that acted as the middlemen for contracts. This meant that it was, at least in theory, neutral ground.
“Right, I’m taking control again,” Brekt said. He had allowed Michael to pilot the Seeker as they had approached the station. It was an easy straight shot, the perfect chance for Michael to put the few lessons he had received into practice.
“Fine by me.” Michael knew landing the ship was beyond his abilities. Crashing into the deck and exploding into a fireball wasn’t in any of his plans.
“You did well.”
“I mean, it was just flying in a straight line for five minutes. Not much that could go wrong there.”
Brekt let out a snort. “You would be surprised. Aileena once hit an unmoving freighter. In space! She had literally infinite ways to avoid it.” The green-skinned mercenary turned to face Michael, all six of his eyes staring at him. “Don’t let her know I told you that.”
Michael had never seen Brekt looked worried before. Apparently, galactic empires, deadly aliens and killer robots paled in comparison to Aileena. Michael agreed with him.
“Fine by me,” Michael said.
The Seeker thudded as it landed, dropping into its designated place in the hangar. The bay was full of ships, dozens of different models and sizes. At the far side, Michael could make out the intimidating shape of a Council patrol ship, likely the same one that had chased them from Earth all those months ago.
Michael had no idea what he would say to Orson. He had spent most of those same months arguing he wasn’t the Knower, but now someone else was making that claim he felt oddly defensive of it. Michael realised it had become part of his identity, creeping into his personality like weeds in a garden. It was more than that though, Michael was afraid of disappointing the people who believed in him. As annoying as Mellok and his nascent church were, Michael couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. Orson was abusing their beliefs; he could feel it in his gut.