Chapter 3
Encounter at Celestia
The pilot stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief as the enormous Black Ship loomed before him, docked at the Transport Shrine orbiting Celestia Sanctum. He had heard the tales—whispered in reverence by those who claimed to have seen them, dismissed as legends by those who hadn't. The Black Ships were the stuff of myth, a reminder that the Church alone held the keys to the stars, their sleek, obsidian hulls capable of slicing through the fabric of space-time itself.
The pilot’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the vessel's sheer size, its surface a seamless expanse of dark metal that absorbed the light around it. No markings, no insignias—just a smooth, inky blackness that seemed to devour everything in its presence. The ship appeared almost alive, a sentinel of the Church’s ancient power, ready to awaken at the slightest command.
On to the ship's main hull, the sprawling hangar bays and docking ports stood as proof of its capacity to transport and house other vessels. Whether these ships were attached to the ship's structure or nestled within its confines, it was unclear. The purpose and intentions behind this capability remained veiled, leaving the pilot uneasy about the true nature of the ship's operations.
He knew that ships of this magnitude, dedicated primarily to FTL travel, were exceedingly rare in a galaxy where Transport Shrines dominated interstellar travel.
The Church, renowned for their meticulous control over FTL knowledge, jealously safeguarded these secrets.
As big as the ship was on the outside he knew the interior space was very limited, with no confort in mind. The ship had been designed to carry other ships and 99% of its space represented the intricate FTL systems.
Even so, the ship had been overbooked, its passengers carefully selected after meticulous negotiations between the Church, the Planetary University of Thalos and the Hegemony. Officially. Unofficially, the Doomsayers and the Quasarion Sigma Federation were also involved.
Each faction had sent its representatives to try and control a situation they had little information about. The situation had been described in various terms, from “a great disturbance in the natural order of the galaxy”, to “the death and destruction of everybody”.
So the pilot had to go through a rigorous process of validation before being given any data about the mission.
A PS-Biosenser had been sent to the pilot. It consisted of two parts: a vial that he would have to drink and a big cube with a funnel. The technology was secret but the procedure was pretty straight forward: he would have to drink the nano fluid in the vial. The fluid would analyse his DNA, heart rate, general dimensions of his inner body and organs. If anything was wrong the fluid would behave like a poison and he would have a very painful death. If everything turned out fine, the nano fluid would mutate, reacting with his body and he would just have to wait for nature to take its course. He would have to pee in the funnel and the message would be revealed:
“Report to docking bay 114, Transport Shrine Celestia Sanctum. FTL Hypercluster Carrier. Passengers: seven plus pilot. Passenger data: unknown. Assumption based on intel received: the identity of one of the passengers has been changed and should not be on this flight. Act carefully. Destination - QGSP coordinates: Q3-G801-S110.4x226.8-P2. Departure time 32:00 Celestia Sanctum standard time.”
That had been it. He, of course, was not worried about the “identity” of one of the passengers or about a spy. It was him.
There had been no way to fool the Biosenser, however, often, the simpler solutions are the correct ones: he had waited for the real pilot to decode the message and after he had disposed of him taking his place.
Of course, if there was one substitution on board there could alway be more… He had to be careful indeed.
His actual instructions were pretty clear: probably no one on board wanted this mission to succeed if it was not in the interest of their faction and some would go so far as to destroy the ship in order to see the mission fail. His preliminary mission would be to try and find out the true intentions and identities of the passengers and report back if possible.
So he placed himself next to the entrance of the ship and waited. His boarding pass he had taken from the real pilot was a Church Decree naming him the pilot of the mission. As the departure was in less than two hours he wanted to stay there and study each passenger as they boarded the ship.
The first ten minutes were quiet, but such a large ship could not remain unnoticed for long.
As his gaze darted back and forth, a steady stream of curious tourists and passersby were drawn like moths to a flame, their curiosity sparked by the vessel’s size.
As the group approached, questions tumbled from their lips like a cascade of raindrops "What kind of ship is this?" "Where is it headed?" "Can we take a look inside?" Their voices, a blend of excitement and curiosity, filled the air around the pilot.
He remembered the Pilgrimage was in full swing and realised that it could be difficult and even dangerous to just stand in the door, waiting.
He extended a gloved hand in a calming gesture, trying to maintain a semblance of order. "Please, hold your inquiries," he began, his voice carrying an authoritative tone. "This is an Official Church Business vessel, and access is restricted." The words were measured, an attempt to convey a mix authority and discretion. None were his forte.
Undeterred, some bolder souls pressed closer, their eyes hungry for a glimpse beyond the threshold. "Surely a quick peek won't hurt," one insisted, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. Another chimed in, "We just want to say we've been inside something this massive!"
The pilot's expression tightened. With a deliberate motion, he unclipped a stun gun from his belt, its metallic sheen catching the station's artificial light. The sight of the weapon sent a ripple of caution through the crowd, silencing their chatter.
"I urge you to respect the boundaries," his voice was stern, each word a subtle warning. "This ship is not a mere spectacle for casual exploration. Any attempts to breach its security will be met with appropriate measures." His stance grew assertive, the stun gun held conspicuously in his grip.
The crowd faltered, the playful curiosity now tinged with a healthy dose of apprehension and slowly started to move on.
As the crowd dispersed, the pilot's shoulders eased, and a measured exhale escaped his lips.
He wondered if he should get in and close the door or wait a little longer. The next two-three tourists were easy to handle so he decided to stay and wait for the passengers.
A small figure, around 12-16 years old, with eyes wide and filled with wonder, approached the entrance of the ship. The pilot, internally cursing his inability to gauge the age of children, braced himself for another round of inquiries. "Hey, mister," the girl chirped, her voice carrying a hint of innocence, "what kind of ship is this?"
The pilot offered a faint smile, though the intention was clear—to deter her curiosity. "It's not for public viewing, little darling," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm. "You should find your way back to your group."
Unfazed, the girl tilted her head, her eyes still fixed on the pilot. “How many people are inside a ship this big?”
“It’s empty kid.”
“Are you the pilot?" she asked, her curiosity shifting from the ship to its guardian.
The pilot sighed inwardly, attempting to create a subtle barrier. "Yes, I am," he confirmed cautiously. "Now, run along, there's nothing for you to see here."
The girl, however, was persistent. "My dad says pilots get to see the most amazing things. Is that true? Have you seen other planets?"
The pilot's patience wavered, but he offered a vague nod. "Yes, I've seen my fair share. But right now, I have important matters to attend to. You should go find your family."
The young girl's curiosity seemed boundless, her questions flowing like a stream of unending wonder. "So, where are you from?" she inquired, her gaze fixed on the pilot's eyes.
The pilot shifted uncomfortably, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I've been to many places," he replied evasively. "But right now, I'm focused on my duties here."
Undeterred, the girl pressed on. "Are you a member of the Church? My mom says they're really important."
The pilot's expression tightened, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. “This is a Church ship and I am the pilot, so what do you think,” he responded, carefully.
“Wooow! The pilot! And how did you get such an important mission? Did you have to prove yourself?"
He suddenly realised he had said too much. Now the girl would not stop with the questions. He imagined slapping himself over the face.
"Some things are better left unsaid," they replied cryptically.
The girl just stood there watching him, tilting her head to one side waiting.
The conversation seemed to be reaching its limits, the pilot ready to bring it to a close. But then, as if by design, the girl produced a Church Decree from her pocket, unfurling it with an absent gaze.
"I have Church business," the girl announced, her voice unwavering. "I'm authorised to be here… Mr. Pilot”.
The realisation dawned on the pilot. He had been engaging with one of the secret passengers. The girl's persistence, her clever questions—it had all been a test, a deception.
One should always recognise when he lost a battle so he could survive to fight another day.
He inclined their head slightly, acknowledging the girl's cunning. "You've certainly piqued my interest," a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Feel free to find your cabin. You are the first to arrive. All are empty. Take your pick.”
The pilot watched the young girl vanish into the vessel's depths. He couldn't deny the intrigue that had been ignited by this unexpected encounter, a reminder that even in the world of secrets and shadows, there were those who held the potential to unravel the most carefully woven plans.
Resigned, the pilot decided to wait for the other passengers even more careful than before.
The pilot's watchful gaze fell upon a figure approaching the ship, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight. It was a pregnant woman, her belly seemingly housing a small galaxy of its own. As the woman drew nearer, the pilot's hopes of a swift interaction grew fainter. Her determined waddle made it seem as though she might drop anchor and deliver right there in the docking bay. The pilot briefly contemplated the possibility of playing midwife during the journey or even here.
The woman reached the ship, her expression a mix of urgency and discomfort.
"Excuse me," she panted, placing a hand on her belly as if to steady the celestial dance occurring within. "I'm looking for the nearest clinical facility. Can you direct me?"
The pilot offered a sympathetic smile, holding back the urge to ask if she was traveling for two. "Of course," he replied. "You'll want to head down this corridor, take the second left, and it should be right there."
The woman's eyes widened momentarily, her lips parting as if to ask a follow-up question. The pilot anticipated her query and quickly interjected, "Oh, and don't worry, it's quite noticeable, you won't miss it."
Relief washed over the woman's features, and she nodded her thanks. "Thank you so much. I'm hoping I won't have an impromptu space delivery right here."
"I certainly hope not," he quipped, offering a parting nod as the woman continued on her path, likely pondering the possibility of a story involving space stations in her baby's future bedtime tales.
No one minute later he noticed a man and a woman approaching the ship. Their demeanour was distinct—furtive glances, occasional pauses, the air of someone who felt watched. As the duo neared, the pilot couldn't help but mentally estimate their ages, a task at which they had a less-than-stellar track record.
The man seemed to be in his thirties, the pilot thought. Or was it his early forties? As they got closer, the pilot's internal guessing game intensified. The woman accompanying him was probably around the same age.
Attempting to appear inconspicuous, the pair continued to glance around as they moved closer to the ship. The pilot suppressed a chuckle at their obvious attempt at subterfuge.
"Hello there," the pilot greeted, a subtle curiosity lacing his words. "Interested in the ship?"
The man glanced at the pilot, his eyes narrowing slightly, and then turned his attention to the ship. "Yeah, just checking it out," he replied nonchalantly, a practiced casualness to his tone.
“Official Church business. Please move along!”
The duo kept looking around as expecting the station to fall on their heads from moment to moment.
In an almost synchronised motion, they produced the Church Decree from their pockets, presenting it to the pilot. The sight of the emblem was a clear indication that they were authorised passengers with a legitimate purpose.
"Very well," the pilot said with a nod, a note of formality in his voice. "You're permitted to board. Choose one of the empty cabins for your stay."
The man's shoulders relaxed imperceptibly, and he offered a grateful nod. "Thank you."
The pilot gestured toward the ship's interior. "Feel free to make yourselves at home. The cabins are numbered—take your pick. Only one should be occupied”.
He already felt better about himself. He was getting better at this. He felt confident he would identify the next passengers.
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