The enormous station dominated the view, tilting generously, as if it had been expecting their arrival and had wanted to provide the most memorable first impression it could. The body of the station itself was made up of three tremendous cylinders, wider than they were tall, stacked end-on-end, each one slightly thicker than the one beneath it, but what drew the eye was what sat atop the broad surface of the uppermost drum: beneath a halo of azure light, a shimmering semispherical force field enclosed an entire metropolis, a city of soaring skyscrapers laid out in grids and circles and districts around a brilliant white central tower that rose from the centre of the city, almost touching the glittering dome of the force field. Even the tallest of the skyscrapers surrounding it was dwarfed by its towering form, a brilliant beacon of light. Beneath the tips of the soaring towers, the depths of the city glowed, uncountable tiny shards of brightness shining in the artificial dusk of the towers’ shadows.
As the crew stared, the Tengri’s automated systems chimed, throwing estimated measurements across the viewscreen, the digits annotating the view hurtling higher and higher as the ship’s computer revised its estimates, finally settling into a readout that said the city was just over 84 kilometers in diameter. Beyond the edge of the glowing dome, a veritable forest of long, spindly joists, arms and girders jutted from the uppermost rim of the station’s drum-like body, each long enough to dock a pair of Terran superfreighters. Below them, a cavernous trench circumvented the middle of the station’s uppermost drum, with millions of blinking lights piercing through its veil of shadows. Ship after ship came and went, glowing with the flash of engines, swarming to and from the depths of the artificial chasm, flinging themselves along the station’s surface and between the spindly docking arms above. Beneath the flashing vessels the station’s hull was covered in thick hull plating the size of battle ships, some of which sported veritable forests of small towers jutting from their base at strategic intervals.
Now that the initial shock had passed and he could tear his eyes away from the enormous station, Marcus saw that all around the Tengri, thousands of ships of all shapes and sizes streamed in all directions, going about their business in a virtual beehive of commerce and industry. Off their starboard bow, what could only be a grand warship kept a leisurely watch over the busy traffic, its smooth segmented hull gleaming in the light from the system’s orange star, broken only by tremendous weapon ports, the enormous cannons half-buried within, each larger than an entire Terran frigate. Near the battleship’s aft section, the shimmering hull gave way to dark-grey panels and bulbous protrusions, a bluish glow emanating from the windows, numbering in the hundreds and thousands, lining its surface. She measured over a kilometer and a half in length.
Navigator Wei was so stunned by what he was seeing that it took him nearly a minute to recognize the blinking light on his console, which was displaying an incoming message from the vessel that had brought them there.
“Captain,” he finally cried. “The vessel is sending us a signal.”
“Uhm… which one?” Mitchell muttered under his breath, gazing out into space. “Ah… put it through.”
“Vave livo duey vaguna jia. Nuogi lobaha,” the alien voice came over the ship’s comms.
“Serena?” the captain prompted, praying that her skills would not fail them on such a momentous occasion.
The faint blue halo of light that had been projected around their ship by the alien vessel finally dissipated, and the Tengri began to glide, free from its influence.
“They said we’re on our own, and that they wish us luck, Captain,” Serena informed him.
The entire crew stared in silent wonder at the spectacle before them. Some had gathered on the bridge, while others had taken up station in the ship’s observatory. The moment seemed to last for an eternity, as not a soul aboard the Tengri uttered a single word. The ship sailed gently through the sea of traffic in utter silence, a cloud of smaller ships buzzing past them in a hurry to reach their port of call, whilst a hauler the size of a Terran battleship lumbered past them with dozens of gigantic containers in tow.
“Captain, we have another incoming signal,” Wei eventually broke the silence.
“Put it through,” Mitchell ordered.
After a short moment of static while the Navigator desperately attempted to adjust the frequency and interpret the incoming signal, the noise warbled suddenly before finally clearing up, producing a low-pitched, pleasant voice.
“Kikikun Semeh’yone aukii. Tana no bastakone zijani osuru. Sonodakoy Sarale,” the voice droned.
Captain Mitchell looked to Serena for advice on how best to proceed, but the linguist simply shrugged. Having no basis for interpretation, there was very little she could do on such short notice.
“Uhm, this is the TLS-Tengri,” Captain Mitchell stuttered hesitantly.
There was a pause before the voice responded.
“Welcome TLS-Tengri. This is Semeh’yone Traffic Control. You are currently queued for docking at docking bay B-714. Please adjust your course,” the voice enunciated carefully in near-perfect Terran.
The crew stared at each other, stunned that the message had been communicated in their own language. Mitchell fumbled with the controls on his armrests, his mind reeling, before finally blurting out.“Uhm, Semion traffic control, this is TLS-Tengri. Where exactly is docking bay B-714?”
“TLS-Tengri, the coordinates for docking bay B-714 have been transmitted to your vessel. Please adjust your course,” the alien voice calmly reiterated.
“How are they doing that?” Serena gasped in disbelief. It had taken her two weeks to grasp even the very basics of the Golan’s primitive tongue, yet these aliens… whoever they were… seemed to have mastered the Terrans’ own language in just a few seconds, without any assistance, or even hard data.
“Captain, they’re definitely transmitting some sort of data, but I can’t decipher any coordinates,” Wei informed him, tapping frantically at his controls.
“Semion Traffic Control, we are unable to read the coordinates you transmitted. Please advise,” Captain Mitchell replied, an astonished look on his face.
“TLS-Tengri, please wait. Deploying docking drones to escort you,” the alien voice concluded before audibly shutting off communication.
Less than a minute later a pair of drones the size of small frigates approached their ship. They were little more than metal spheres with thrusters arranged neatly around their aft hemispheres, and what resembled a small cannon mounted at their rounded prows, wedged between a pair of powerful floodlights. They took up position at the front of the ship, one on each side, and, without warning, the same halo of faded-blue light that had brought her from Ga’ouna suddenly enveloped the Tengri once again, and the drones began towing them towards the massive equatorial trench on the colossal space station.
As they approached, they began to see openings, hundreds, if not thousands of docking bays, covering the entire inner wall of the trench, some the size of small freighters, others large enough to hold entire battleships. An energy barrier blocked access to each of the docking bays, and as the Tengri approached one of the mid-sized openings, the shimmering barrier dissipated and the tow drones began to ease the Terran ship into position for the docking clamps. As a pair of gigantic robotic arms grabbed a hold of the ship’s underside, a mechanical docking ramp reached out and aligned itself with their docking hatch, the sound of metal scraping against metal abruptly reverberating throughout the ship, which shuddered to a complete standstill.
Marcus suddenly became very much aware that they had finally reached the destination they’d longed for, the city from his visions.
Chapter 12
The bathroom mirror flickered to life, revealing rows of glowing symbols and a viewing pane depicting a slew of dauntingly invasive and personalized commercials. Takahashi stood by the alabaster ceramic sink, which was as much a sculptured piece of art as it was a fixture. He leaned against the countertop, one hand probing the stubble on
his chin as he eyed himself in the mirror, casting wayward glances at the viewing pane. He wore a simple dark-gray cotton bathrobe with a velour weave and a shawl collar, folded back from his neck to reveal his bare skin and graying stubble.
He pulled out a small drawer on the side of the counter, retrieved his shaving utensils and proceeded to eject a stream of foam directly onto his face from the canister, forming a big white smile, above which his eyes betrayed his true demeanor. How pathetic he looked, he thought. If anything, the false smile made his inner sadness even more obvious.
He started to shave, a smooth line of skin down one cheek, tapping the razor on the sink. As he finished his top lip, he caught sight of the end of the commercials, just as the regular program resumed its course. He poked the mute button on the mirror, smudging the glass.
“…over as CEO of the Muromoto Group, Mariko has revolutionized the robotics industry,” chirped a female news anchor, whose manner was so cheerful that it could only have been brought about by medication. “Her now-retired father was a visionary designer and engineer in his own time, spurring countless advances in the field of applied robotics: the L4 series labor drone, the Z-16 surgical assistant, even various components of the Golem project were conceived by Takahashi Muromoto.”
Takahashi ran the razor under the stream of hot water running from the faucet, doing his best to ignore any coming mention of his departure from his corporation.
“As recent years have shown, however, his daughter Mariko is not without her own vision, transforming how we Terrans view robotics,” the news anchor continued, drawing a disappointed sigh from Takahashi, who stared vacantly at the steady stream of hot water.
“There’s hardly a Terran household today that doesn’t come complete with a set of Muromoto products. With everything from common custodial automatons to robonannies and mechanized guard dogs, household chores are a thing of the past.”
Takahashi discontinued the feed and finished shaving in silence.
He’d tried calling her for days, weeks even. She never answered. He could barely remember the last time they’d spoken for more than a minute, and all of their conversations ended with her hanging up on him in anger. She still blamed him, even after all this time. He’d thought that with time the scars would heal, but they’d only festered. If anything, they were more estranged now than ever before.
He dragged his feet as he slouched back through to his lavish bedchamber, pausing momentarily by the raised floor at the foot of the bed, as if climbing the two steps to the mattress were too much of an effort for him to bear. Finally he turned and continued his restless pacing towards the window that made up the entire eastern wall of the room. Lights flickered all over the city throughout the silent night. He felt nothing. He was nothing… no one.
Grudgingly he raised his hand to the small panel attached to one of the window panes, depressing one of button under his fingers. The window in front of him slid to the side, allowing a gust of cold air to fill the chamber, his robe billowing behind him like a cape. Hesitantly, he drew his feet nearer to the edge, inching his way closer. How easy it would be, to end it all. All he had to do was lean forward and let go. He didn’t even have to jump.
A man with my means, he thought, letting out a brief, slightly forced chuckle. He should be happy. Everyone always focused on his accomplishments, his wealth. Yet he had failed in so many ways. He’d failed as a husband. He’d failed as a father. And he was about to fail his mentor, the one who had started this all.
“I tried,” he whispered, his voice quivering.
Would anyone even care if he died tonight? His wife was gone, his daughter refused to even acknowledge his existence, and he hadn’t even heard from any of his old colleagues in months. She would do well, probably even better if she knew he wasn’t there anymore to pester her. But… his mentor… would never forgive him. After all, so much was depending on him.
“I can have anything I want,” he whispered to himself. “But I cannot afford the luxury of death. There’s too much work to be done.” He stepped back from the edge.
“Enough,” he spat. “This has gone far enough. Stop pitying yourself, you old fool. Remember your purpose. This, everything you see, is just a means to an end.”
It had been a tiring time, trying to figure out what Division 6 was up to. Whatever it was, it was something on a massive scale. They had redirected unbelievable amounts of their resources and refocused their blocks, so scrying no longer had any effect. What’s more, he suspected they’d been receiving funding from some of his former competitors. He assumed it had something to do with the wreckage on New Io, all those years ago, but all his attempts to find out what they were planning had been in vain.
He backed away from the window and stormed over towards the bed, grabbing the half-empty bottle of spirits on the bedside table. He stared at it for a brief moment before taking a hefty sip, then smashing the bottle on the floor.
“No more,” he said, calm and full of conviction. It was time he reclaimed his legacy.
* * * * *
There was a resounding crash as the tray smashed onto the tiled stone floor, shattering the long-stemmed crystal glasses and half-empty bottles of fine champagne it had held.
“Nyla does it again!” the jovial youth roared. “Careful where you wave that enormous ass,” he chuckled, grabbing another bottle from the cooler next to the moonlit pool. He took a huge swallow of the sparkling liquid, then shook the remainder of the bottle’s contents all over the face of a naked brown-skinned girl, whose bosom seemed to defy the laws of gravity.
“You jerk,” the girl exclaimed gleefully as she helped Nyla, a busty, pale-skinned blonde with a cloud of freckles on her cheeks, back into the pool. “And her ass is not enormous!” she added.
“Thank you, Bianca.”
“You would say that,” said the boy, grabbing Bianca’s exposed bottom firmly. “Sporting a monster of an ass yourself.”
“You pig!” Bianca shouted, leaping to the side and smacking him across the cheek.
The young man just laughed, averting his gaze from the two pouting beauties, stretching his arms along the rim of the circular pool, leaning back to arch his head as he gazed at the stars above him in the night sky.
“Ellis…” Bianca said after a long pause, once it became clear he wasn’t going to apologize for his boorish behavior.
“Yeah?” he sighed, not taking his eyes off the sky.
“Aren’t you even sad that he’s gone?” she asked as she propelled herself towards him, wading through the waist-high water.
Ellis raised an eyebrow. What an odd thing to ask, he thought. Weirder still, he didn’t know how to answer.
“I know you weren’t close, but… he was still your father,” she added.
“Good old Mr. Moneybags,” he muttered. “The only time my father could tear himself away from his work was when he was fucking his girlfriend, or his mistress, or any of the other… women… he kept around,” he finished carefully, not wanting to further offend the girls by sneering at their profession.
His father, Benedikt Bauer, had been the CEO of Garvan Motors, having inherited control of the company when his father, Lukas Bauer, had passed away decades before. The company had fallen on troubled times under Lukas, but thanks to Benedikt’s foresight and tireless efforts, Garvan Motors had seen a steady rise in market share and production over the last two decades, so that by the time of his death it was one of Terra’s leading manufacturers of ground vehicles and hovercraft. As was common among men of industry, Benedikt’s success had come at the expense of his family life.
“The only thing my father was ever good for was buying me things. Now that he’s gone, I can do that just as well for myself,” Ellis finally retorted with a sneer, attempting to suck more champagne from the empty bottle, shaking it in frustration.
“Laurentz!” he shouted. “We need more wine. And clean up this mess!”
He leaned back, allowing Bianca to sit on his la
p. With a sly smile, she started to position herself on top of him, gyrating her hips slowly and biting her lower lip.
“Laurentz,” he shouted again, this time loud enough to awaken the entire household.
Finally he heard footsteps approaching the pool, down the path from the estate.
“Senile old fool,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes as he continued to enjoy Bianca’s performance. “Utterly useless.”
“What about me?” said Nyla, feigning jealousy. “I want to play t…” her words were cut short by what sounded like soft coughs, followed by a misty spray of liquid across Ellis’s face and chest.
Bianca stopped moving, falling limply backwards into the pool.
Ellis opened his eyes in confusion, only to freeze in horrified panic. Bianca’s body floated on the water in front of him, blood spiraling lazily into the pool from a hole in her temple. A few meters away on the stone poolside, Nyla lay clutching a gushing wound on the side of her neck, blood gurgling from her open mouth, her teeth stained red and her eyes wide with terror and despair. He couldn’t move. Should he run, scream?
Nyla’s eyes flickered for a brief moment, finding his, then she slumped head-first into the water, which was now stained with swirls of crimson blood. Finally gathering his thoughts enough to focus his eyes in the direction of the approaching footsteps, Ellis trembled when he saw that it was not his aging manservant that stood at the opposite side of the pool. In his stead stood a young man, tall, yet slender, dressed in simple dark dress pants and a long coat, his sleek blond hair combed back over his head.
“Hello, Ellis.”
“Who… who are you? You won’t… I have powerful friends!” the youth stuttered, attempting to intimidate the intruder. “If you kill me, they’ll find you and boil the flesh from your bones!”
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 8