P Hillard - The Knower of Truths

“You make a valid point, cardinal.” The officer shuddered. The governor, like most elected councilmen, was not a reasonable man. “All ships to accelerate to maximum.”

Space was filled with wreckage, dead husks of ships torn apart by the blistering fire. Shards of Council ships floated next to the stony debris of Substrate vessels. Commander Orson was watching the graveyard outside on the viewscreen. It had been a sobering experience, watching the sheer carnage that had gone on around him.

Caught off guard by the reaction of the Council fleet, the Substrate forces had suffered unexpected losses, the aggression of the Council armada tipping the scales back in their favour. The battle had raged for hours afterwards, each force suffering enormous damage. The size of the debris field was a testament to that, thousands of ships stricken, millions of lives lost. The battle had continued until there was only a handful of ships left on either side. Technically the Council had lost, jumping away first, but Orson thought it hardly mattered. What really chilled him was that this was only a single battle between two fleets. Both nations were capable of fielding dozens at a time.

“We’re looking clear,” Nguyen said, her eyes locked on the sensors.

“Take us out, trooper,” Orson said. It had been his idea, one he wasn’t proud of, but the opportunity had presented itself.

A battleship had taken a hit just ahead of the Gallant, a vessel the computer had identified as the Crusader. The ship had split into two, the force of the blast cutting clean through its hull. It had seemed perfect, so Orson had ordered the Gallant to hug the wreckage of the dying ship.

“Am I still a trooper?” Johnson said.

“I guess not. I guess we’re not anything. Hopefully, we’re listed as KIA. That sounds strange to say out loud.” Orson stepped over to his chair, taking his seat. His bridge crew had agreed with his choice, and he knew the marines would. They had a sense of honour, one that had been sickened by the knowledge of what the Council was really like.

Nguyen spun around in her chair. “So, we’re dead people, glorious heroes dying for humanity and the Council. What do we do now? Where do we go?”

“Anywhere but here, Nguyen. Pick a course and let’s go.”

It was slow going, picking away at the ship, stripping components. The salvagers worked from the top down, peeling away layers like an orange, leaving only the inner frame of the ship in their wake, ants feasting on a corpse. They had moved the pair of defensive cannons to the back, the outer layer of the engineering section still attached. The salvage ships lingered nearby; their holds filled with the stripped metal. The ships had been long and thin when Michael had been strapped inside one. Now, the bottom of them had opened, a shimmering blue field ballooning outward from the underneath, like a frog stretching its throat. The ships had clamped to the side of the capital ship like remoras on a shark, their blue energy field fizzing as it contacted the ground, cargo visible through the barrier. It reminded Michael of meeting Aileena, of the grenade she had thrown.

Aileena had taken to working with the salvagers reasonably well, even becoming friendly with some of them. Still, she was constantly pushing them to start on opening the engineering bay, to resolve their part of the bargain. Murt and his crew had responded by dragging their feet. The original three-day estimate had gone out of the window, they were now on day six and counting. It didn’t help that the days on Arkessa seemed longer than those on Earth.

Michael took a bite of the sandwich they had given him. The bread was brilliant white and had an odd slightly too sweet taste. It reminded Michael of some American bread he had the displeasure of eating once. The inside of it was full of thin off-pink luncheon meat. Michael hadn’t seen any wildlife since arriving on Arkessa but wasn’t going to ask questions about where the meat had come from. Anything was an upgrade on the constant unending supply of mushrooms aboard the Sword. It seemed like they had somehow more than the Merydians had provided. Michael wondered briefly if Meggok was growing it.

“Another sandwich, knower?” Mellok had swapped his usual collection of canteens for a selection of the sandwiches. The salvagers seemed to take considerable pleasure in the resplendent bird, with his elegant robes, being essentially their manservant. Mellok certainly didn’t complain about it, though Michael was starting to know him well enough to see traces of annoyance in his overly diplomatic tone.

“Haven’t finished this one yet. Why don’t you see if Aileena wants one?”

“I can’t find her. She seems to have taken to this salvaging rather well. She is… doing as the Romans do? Is that correct.” Mellok’s feathers ruffled, pleased with himself. He knew full well it was right, he had used the saying frequently since hearing it. A little too frequently for Michael.

“Yes.” Michael took another bite of his lunch. “We still have to come to some sort of agreement about this whole, messiah, thing. I keep telling you I’m not, and you keep telling me I am. That’s an impasse that can’t go on forever.”

“I for one, don’t see how you can deny it anymore, knower.”

“Michael. My name is Michael.”

“Michael,” Mellok said, sounding out the words. His voice was different, harsher. Michael realised the alien had spoken his name properly, instead of relying on his psychic translation abilities. “It is simple. I have to believe. For all my life, I’ve seen my people oppressed by the Council, our beliefs twisted to their ends. I can’t give up on them.”

Michael let his hand drop, the sandwich flopping as he did. “Look, I’m not sure what you expect me to do? I can’t overthrow an entire galactic empire. Luke Skywalker I’m not. I don’t know everything, I have no magic powers, I’m not fond of wisdom. I don’t even stand up when compared to our crew, team, gang, whatever you want to call it. I’m smaller, I have worse eyesight, weaker. I can’t climb like Skorra, I don’t know anything about engineering like Kestok. I can’t even work most of the stuff out here. I’m a caveman trying to drive a sports car, just turning the wheel and hitting buttons.”

Mellok put the tray down, balancing it precariously on the section of girder Michael was sat on. He tried to sit down beside him, before giving up, straddling the metal with insect-like legs. “Everything I have seen from you so far, says otherwise. I have seen a man who has acted with kindness to his enemies, has turned a crowd with simply his words, who has saved an entire world by choosing to talk rather than attack.”

“The Merydians didn’t see it like that.”

Mellok nodded. “People often don’t. You know it was the right thing to do though, and I agree.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably on the girder. “Is that all it takes, just doing things you agree with? What if I did something you didn’t?”

“I don’t believe that will happen.”

“Fantastic,” Michael said. “Way to layer the pressure on a guy.”

“Are you moaning about this again?” Aileena said as she strolled down the corridor. She bent down, scooping up a sandwich and plonking herself onto the girder in one swift motion. “Some people would kill to be in your position you know? A messiah, a hero! Imagine all the adulation you could bask in. People throwing flowers at you as you walk past.”

“So far all people have thrown near me is grenades.”

“Hey! That saved you!”

“From the guys shooting at me, because you kidnapped me.” Michael stuffed the remnants of his lunch into his mouth, chewing angrily.