P Hillard - The Teller of Lies

“Because, if two troopers went missing, something made them disappear. Which means there is something on this planet. Come on, you knew that.”

“I thought maybe if no one said it, it wouldn’t be real. They could have just deserted? Decided they’ve had enough of the Council and run off into the forests?”

Aileena shook her head. “I’ve never heard of someone deserting the Council. I can’t imagine they would take it very well. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it doesn’t feel likely.”

“You have to remember Occam’s razor though,” Michael said. The blank stares told him the translation hadn’t been clear. “It means that the simplest solution is usually the right one.”

Mellok removed a small tablet from within his robe, his finger tapping on the screen happily. He had begun writing down samples of what Michael said, things Mellok considered to be worthwhile holy quotes. Michael realised this was how religions become codified, distorted through the lenses of what the followers thought worthwhile to remember, rather than what was actually said. Michael wasn’t a religious person himself, he didn’t discount it, but it had never had a big place in his life either. It was simply, there, something other people did. As a child, his family would celebrate Christmas and Easter, but more as an excuse to give presents and eat chocolate than anything else.

“We have any other information, aside from just them being missing? Not a lot to go on.” Brekt said. His head was brushing up against the canvas, having misjudged his height compared to the structure he had built. He had intentionally made it smaller, necessitating that you sit beneath it rather than stand, but he had gone a little too far to comfortably accommodate his frame.

“Not really. We know where the Council ship is, so we have a general location,” Aileena said. “Still, it’s basically nothing.”

“Wait,” Michael said, waving his hands in front of himself. “You want to go looking for them? We could just leave it to this Horsk. He has other men that could search, doesn’t he?”

“He does, but let’s be honest, it’s our only lead. We haven’t seen any buildings, from either scans or by eye. No entrances to the structure below, no people, nothing. This at least is something . A lead is a lead. It could just be an animal, or they fell into a hole, or something benign. We still need to at least check though. None of the other ships has reported anything.”

“God, I wish you would stop talking sense.”

“Glad you agree, because you’re coming with.”

“Wait, what? Why me? Why not take Brekt? If something happens, he’s at least useful in a fight.” Michael didn’t like where this was going. Camping on a pleasant looking, if fake, countryside was far different than traipsing around it searching for trouble.

“Because Brekt can fly the ship. He’ll have to drop us off then return to the campsite. And let’s be honest, you’re still better than Mellok in a fight. No offence, Mellok.”

“None taken, I agree with you. There is a reason I hired mercenaries, after all. I prefer to leave such things to professionals.”

“Can we not take everyone? Use the actual ship to look?” Michael wasn’t relishing scouring the countryside on foot.

“Best not. If it is an animal, you may scare it,” Mellok said. Michael shot him a glare.

“He’s right,” Aileena said, standing up from under the canopy. She stretched her hands out towards the fire. It had gotten colder, the fake star projecting warmth as well as light. “Plus, this pair can investigate elsewhere, in case this is a dead end.”

“Splitting up never ends well for us,” Michael said.

“We’re already split up. The rest are up in the Sword.”

“Well, I meant, more split up. The arena, being chased by ice crabs, working for weeks as a salvager just for a single part. It’s never been great when we divide the group.”

“All of those ended fine. Besides, we’re going for a stroll in the woods, basically, and the others are just sat watching us. They’re probably bored. How much trouble could we get in?”

Clive stroked his digital chin. This was trouble, he knew it. The machine hadn’t acted as intended. Kestok and Skorra, with the help of some bots, had thrown in a pile of scrap metal. That was straight forward at least. Clive had set the program, inputted the design he wanted, and started the machine.

What had come out was not what Clive had expected. Not what anyone could have expected, at least not any reasonable person. The machine had broken down the metal, rearranging the component atoms into the desired shape. It had taken a few hours, the machine lowering to cover the scrap, then rising once its job was complete, steam escaping with a hiss as it had opened.

It was a bed, at least that much was clear. Four legs, a metal frame with rods to support a mattress. It even had a headboard, a simple flat panel, but functional. It was almost the platonic ideal of a bed, the design thrown together by Clive, his program never expected to be creative in the least. No, the problem was a lot stranger. It was the fact the bed was moving, galloping around the chamber, metal legs bending like they were limbs.

“This… this is weird. I can’t think of any other way of describing it. Just Rhythm damned weird.” Kestok shook his head, his hands tucked in the loops of his tool belt. “I don’t even understand how the metal is moving like that. It’s well, metal, aluminium, it doesn’t do that.”

“I think it’s amazing,” Skorra said, her ears twitching as she spoke. “It’s alive. We put something in a machine, and it came to life!”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to do this,” Clive said. His form flickered, vanishing from where it was and appearing nearer the bed. It backed away, startled despite having no obvious head or eyes. “I mean, why would you build a machine like this? What would the point be?”

“Might be useful for colonising a new world or something, lets you build your own beasts of burden, in a way?”

“Maybe, but what about the bots, they don’t work like this.” Clive moved his image again, returning to his original point. As he did, the doors to the chamber opened with a hiss, and three bots slithered through, more scrap metal wrapped in their tentacles. “I think building anymore would be unwise, not until we’ve worked out why it does this.”

“I mean, sure,” Kestok said. “But why did you bring down more scrap then?”

“I didn’t. I assumed you commanded the bots.” Clive peered at the machines. He could control them directly, if required, pouring a sliver of his mind into them. He had set most of them to run semi-autonomously, constantly being badgered by the people living within the ship had gotten boring, and he had simply assigned a number of the machines to do menial tasks on demand. “Hmm, that’s strange.”

“That’s not a good hmm. What’s the matter?”

The bots began to move again, heading towards the waiting construction device. “They aren’t responding. This is very bizarre, normally the bots feel like extensions of myself. It feels a little like my fingers aren’t listening when I tell them to move.”

There was a clatter as the metal was tossed into the area beneath the machine, where they had loaded the materials that had become the living bed.

“Ok, is there a manual switch off?” Kestok said, walking towards the machines. He didn’t get close, the nearest bot simply flicking one of its thicker tentacles. It slammed into Kestok. He was a mountain of muscle, taller and wider than anyone else on the ship except his husband, but the blow sent him reeling backwards.