Chapter Four
The Seeker slipped out into space, escaping from the belly of the Sword. The two ships were stark contrasts to each other, differing not only in size but in design. The Seeker was minuscule compared to its counterpart, the vast ancient ship looming above it. The Sword seemed to shimmer in the starlight, it’s outside coated in the same pearlescent metal as the interior. The ship resembled its name, wide at the back but sweeping to a point towards the front. The flotilla assembled around it looked like gnats hovering around some great grazing beast.
It was hard not to be impressed by the Sword, though Michael felt a little bad for it. The Sword had survived thousands of years buried in the side of a mountain, undamaged by its crash and untouched by the hands of time. It had been woken from its slumber only a few scant weeks when it had been thrust into battle, suffering more damage in a few short minutes than it had in a thousand years. The outside of the ship was fine, protected by its miraculous energy shield, the exotic energies of weapons fire absorbed by the shield and then released in its own retaliatory blasts. The constant building energy had overloaded multiple conduits within the ship, starting several fires. Kestok and Clive had restored what they could, finding a stash of spare parts in one of the ships expansive cargo holds, but they both advised against using the shield, except in an emergency. This fact had not been shared with the flotilla. Even a single Council patrol ship was a threat to an effectively unarmed vessel.
The Sword and its small fleet had been left at a reasonable distance from the object. That had been the subject of some debate, Kestok and Clive arguing that the Swords advanced sensors would be more useful closer to the planet. Ultimately, they had come around to Michael’s point that so far everything had tried to kill them on some level, and agreed safety was the better choice. They had somehow lucked their way into the Sword, losing it would be wasting a once in a lifetime opportunity.
The strange planet hadn’t moved, its flat surface still pointing off into space, illuminated by its artificial sun. The lack of any real star close, or at least close on a relative scale, provided at least the knowledge that they were within the void that existed between systems. This slim bit of information didn’t help them, the galaxy was just too vast for it to be useful. Aileena had tried to explain how navigation worked to Michael, talking about using pulsars as galactic locator beacons, using the unique nature of each to orient themselves. Michael had grasped that, but when Aileena had started talking about wavelengths and frequencies she had lost him.
As the Seeker flew through space, its engines pushed out unfathomable force, the G forces damped by complex technology within the ship itself. Within, the only hint that the ship was moving was the slowly growing object before them, a flat world rushing to meet the glass of the control room. Behind the Seeker, the others followed, a swarm of ships heading to the world below. Each were seekers in their own way, of glory, the thrill of exploration, some religious truth, or simply a way home. Everyone who descended onto the flat surface of that world was looking for something, even if they didn’t know exactly what that was.
“So,” Michael said, sitting back in his chair. The seat lacked any cushion, instead, being covered in thick blue gel with just enough resistance to prevent you from sinking into it. Michael knew from unfortunate experience that the gel was smart on some level, adjusting itself to absorb crushing forces, even growing over the seat’s occupant if needed. Some of the gel chairs in the control room had been damaged by the same crash that had wounded the Seeker, splattering apart as the forces grew beyond its tolerance. In the intervening months, it had grown back, self-regenerating until it seemed like new. Michael wondered if it were the result of some complex computer program, some manmade design, or if the gel was alive in some way, a creature simply healing back to its base state. “Where are we landing? The docks?”
“Docks? I can’t see any buildings?” Aileena was sat in the pilot’s chair. She leant forward, peering at the sensor results floating before her.
“No, it’s a reference to…” Michael shook his head. He sometimes forgot that the people around him were from cultures literally alien to his own. “Never mind, there’s no actual dock. Think of it more like a metaphor. We need to find land somewhere useful, but still away from the others. There’s no point clumping up together.”
“Makes sense,” Brekt said. The mercenary had a soft singsong voice, the voice of a man so sure in his abilities that taking on any other tone was unnecessary. Brekt had the same kind of energy about him as a panda. A total overwhelming calm born from the knowledge that because he could tear your arms from their sockets, and that because everyone else knew that, it would never be necessary. “We should choose somewhere close to water and relatively flat. Near to trees or plant life would be good. We don’t know how long we’ll be down here. If we could get maybe near some kind of sheer face so we could build a shelter covered from one side, that might be good as well.” Brekt seemed oddly excited.
“That’s some specific advice there,” Michael said.
“I like to take my kids camping when I’m back home. It’s fun, but it’s also useful. You never know when a job might go wrong and you need to hide in the wilderness on some random planet.” Brekt had dozens of children, something he was more than happy to share, proudly showing an impressive pile of images to anyone who would ask. He and Aileena had mentioned more than once that the only real careers for anyone from their world were as either a farmer or a mercenary. Teaching his kids about the wild made sense for both of those.
“I must confess, I wish someone had taught me when I was younger.” Mellok was sitting on the gel-covered couches that ran across the back of the control room, his insect-like legs folded up beneath himself. Michael stifled a laugh, Mellok looked like a duck coasting across a pond. “My search for the Knower led me to some places that would certainly count as wilderness. A lot of the most ancient temples are not well maintained.”
Michael struggled to picture Mellok delving through jungle, machete in hand as he strode boldly up the side of ancient temples in search of some sacred secret. The image conjured two-fisted pulp heroes, not slightly doddering and often overly formal birds.
“Well, I guess it’s up to Brekt then. Closest thing we have to an expert on the matter.” Michael suddenly became aware that his suit probably wasn’t the best attire for exploring. It wasn’t the best attire for anything, being slightly too tight in all the wrong places. Replacing it hadn’t been an option. It wasn’t like the Sword had a clothing rack that Michael could just wander down to. He shrugged. It would have to do.
The cloud of machines forming Clive’s face shifted, twisting the mouth of the image into a smile. He was standing in the entrance to the chamber, arms wide as the lights across the room switched on, illuminating the machinery within one section at a time. Clive had called Kestok and Skorra down within the bowels of the ship, into the unexplored areas, controlling the carts that whisked them to him. Clive had been insistent, promising something particularly exciting for the engineers.
“What am I looking at?” Kestok said. The room was full of strange machines, but that wasn’t particularly unusual for the Sword. Clive had adapted quickly to running the massive vessel, but a lot of its rooms and functions were a mystery even to him. Kestok wasn’t sure if it was because Clive wasn’t designed for his new function or if the Sword had safeguards for its AI controller, limiting its overall power.