Now viewing Prisoner 342: Charges are treason, murder, and aggravated sexual assault.

“Whoa,” Sasha protested, “How about we find someone with a brighter personality to talk to.”

Please re-state the request.

Sasha sighed. He’d been talking with the machine for hours. It had been a one sided conversation. Finally, he’d said the right command, by chance. That was over an hour ago. Since then, it had been reading back prisoners and their various offences.

“Show me your prisoner with the least number of offenses.”

Please re-state the request.

“Gods, this thing is stupid,” he whispered, “Why would anyone design a machine that takes ten times longer to do what a human can do?”

Please re-state the request.

An idea spawned and Sasha tried again, “List all prisoners and offences.”

A positive sounding tone announced that he’d finally said something right. Suddenly, his vision was filled with list of text in a muted green. Though the image was in his mind, he squinted his eyes instinctively to read the tiny letters.

As he did, suddenly the words enlarged. He had to hold the console with his free hand to keep from losing his balance. Using the same logic, he leaned back slightly. The text zoomed out, and slowly the list retreated to a comfortable distance.

As requested, the data was arrayed by prisoner name and offense. He slowly crept down the list. Each title was followed by a number of frightening crimes. His eyes scrolled the list faster and faster. Instead of reading offenses, he would just look for lines with the least amount of text and stop to read. So far, murder or rape were his “best” choices.

He kept scrolling. Suddenly, the frame around the text changed to a sky blue. Sasha stopped. The offense boxes beside the blue names were empty.

“Hey uhh, machine, what does the blue box mean?” he asked.

Please re-state the request.

Sasha grit his teeth and tried again. He read off the name of the first prisoner in blue, “What is the offense of… Stephan Fischer?”

The same positive tone sounded, followed by the computer’s voice, Stephan Fischer - Prisoner of War.

“Oh? But, what was his crime?” Sasha asked.

Please re-state the request.

Sasha growled, “The hell with it. Show me Stephan Fischer.”

Stephan Fischer’s reprogramming is 83% complete. Are you sure you wish to release the prisoner?

“What reprogramming?” Sasha asked.

Please re-state the re-

“Oh, shut up!” he shouted. “Confirmed, approved, yes, whatever. Show me Stephan Fischer.”

A high pitch whine began from somewhere in the room. He quickly withdrew his hand from the console. The artificial vision faded and the world took form around him. As before, the room was a mix of soft white light and blue glow from the transparent cabinets of blue ether cubes.

Suddenly, he saw movement in one of the cabinets. He quickly drew his scimitar. From somewhere above the enclosed space, a grey mechanical claw descended. It grasped the topmost ether cube with a clank.

The whine increased in pitch and volume for a moment while the claw hung motionless, still grasping the cube. Then, there was silence. For a moment, nothing happened. Sasha began to move toward the cabinet. Just then, the cube started to hum.

He doubted he would have heard it at all if his surroundings weren’t so quiet. Then, a voice echoed through the room from somewhere above, personality implant complete. Proceeding to corporeal adaptation.

“Corp what now?” Sasha asked the voice. It didn’t answer.

Almost too fast for Sasha to see, the claw withdrew into the top of the cabinet, taking the ether cube with it. There was a sound of whining gears followed by a very loud metallic clang.

Again there was silence for a moment. This time, Sasha waited. Suddenly, there was a hiss of escaping air nearby. He turned to see a set of large doors seemingly materialize within the smooth wall. As they slowly opened, they revealed a machine man. He stood on a large metal ball.

Sasha recognized it. “A clockwork man!” he exclaimed. The machine rolled forward slowly until it had exited the chamber. From within its body, a familiar blue hue shone outward. It turned to Sasha and stood at attention.

Then, it spoke in a deep but still faintly metallic voice, “Soldier awaiting your orders, sir.”

***

“So what now?”

Jim stared at the gray metal door that separated them from the cannibals. Outside, the shouts and curses continued. Small vibrations rumbled across his feet. He assumed they were now trying to hurdle rocks at the hull. Jim knew they possessed no technology that could break through the thick steel plating, but he was still on edge.

“Uhh, sir?” the voice repeated.

Jim suddenly realized he was the target of Crewman Vale’s question. He sighed and turned away from the door. The two remaining crewman, Fredrickson, and Henry stood in a semicircle around him looking lost. Kalandra had been set carefully against a nearby bulkhead and had fallen into a troubled sleep.

“I…” Jim stumbled over the right words, “I’m not sure why you think I’m in charge.”

Henry replied, “Seems you’re the de facto captain, Jim since, you know…”

Jim scowled at Henry whose shade darkened. “Sorry.” Henry said.

Jim looked at the questioning faces staring back at him and spoke as confidently as he could muster. “Well, this is a ship. I’m assuming it has an engine room. Maybe… I don’t know. I guess we should find it.” he replied.

Fredrickson crossed his arms, “An intact ship of the ancients. A burrower, no less. Seems we’ve been exceedingly lucky in finding it.” He raised a suspicious eyebrow and added, “How exactly did you say you found it again?”

Jim hesitated. Malachi had given him specific instructions not to reveal his existence. Not that I would want to anyways. There’s still a chance I’m crazy and Malachi is just a construct of my very sick mind. “I told you, ambassador,” he replied. “I came across it by chance while I was out for a walk last night.”

The ambassador shook his head, “That doesn’t explain why you insisted we risk everything. By evacuating the goods from the submersible and bringing them here, we left behind our one working turret and the relative protection of the ship’s hull. How did you know this was more than just a slab of metal in a cave wall?”

Alia had accused him on more than one occasion of being a terrible liar. Worse, he didn’t like the added attention Fredrickson’s questions were calling upon him. Vale and Hath glanced at each other and Henry rolled back and forth nervously.

“I’m an awakened of earth, Fredrickson,” he replied. “We can feel the soil around us if we reach out. I reached out and felt a large gap. I assumed it was either a ship or at the very least, some abandoned structure. The submersible would have been a death trap. At least here, we’re safe.”

Fredrickson stared at him for a moment. Finally, he relaxed and replied, “Well then, I suppose we’re in your debt.” Jim stifled a loud sigh of relief. The ambassador continued, “I agree with Captain Jim. Let’s find the engine room.” Henry chuckled at the title.

“Ok,” Jim ordered shakily as he handed them a torch, “Crewman Hath and Vale, you two pair up and start looking.” He handed the next one to Fredrickson, “and you, see if you can find some sort of button or lever and maybe some gaslights we can light.”

The ambassador smiled and replied, “Sorry… captain but, these vessels came from an era beyond the use of gaslight.”

“What do you mean, and don’t call me captain,” Jim replied.

Fredrickson swept the room with his arm, “These things used some kind of ancient power mechanism. Similar to the power of ether cubes.”

Seeing the confused stares from around hi,. Fredrickson added, “Look. This ship is the very embodiment of ancient tech. Protectorate science is advanced, but we haven’t come close to what our progenitors accomplished. The truth is, there is so very little remaining of the time before the Fall, we have extremely limited information. I’m no expert. I just know a few more things about them than you all do. I’m not lording it over you.”

“Ok fine,” Jim said, “We still need to find the engine though.” He turned to Henry, “You stick with Kalandra. I don’t think those cannibals will ever break through the hull, but if they do I want you here waiting for them.”

Before Henry could protest, Jim turned to the ambassador, “And you, Fredrickson,” he handed him a second torch, “Since there’re no gaslamps, help Hath and Vale find that engine room. I’ll take the last torch and head the opposite direction. There’s a better chance of finding it if we split up.”

He quickly grabbed the last flaming pole and started walking away from the group toward the nearest hatchway. Henry called back, “Are you sure you want to go off by yourself?”

Jim shouted back, more sure than he had been about anything that day, “By myself, yes. Absolutely.”

***

It had been at least an hour. Jim’s torch was a glowing ember. Small blue flames occasionally flickered and crawled across its surface and then promptly disappeared. He had more oil and rags in his travel bag, but his eyes had adjusted well to the darkness. He’d found that he only needed a little light to find his way and opted to conserve precious torch fuel as much as possible.

Ahead, another hatch, just like the other dozen he’d come across, stuck out against the endless grey walls. Also like the others, it had a large wheel connected to metal bars meant to hold it into place. Whoever was last on this ship locked every damn door in the place, he mused.

As he approached the door, he thought he saw something unusual about the coloring. Though most of the paint on the ship had cracked and fallen away, there were still bits of it spread around in patches. On this door though, it had been peeled in odd lines across the surface. Also, the hatch appeared to be closed but not latched.

He exhaled slowly as he realized, he would need more light. Jim knelt down and unslung the travel bag from his back. From it, he withdrew an oiled rag. It’s scent was pungent with the sharp odor of the flammable concoction it had been dipped in. Careful not to burn his hand, he quickly wrapped the torch with the strip of fabric.

The smouldering wood quickly flamed back to life. Jim held his hand up to the light as his eyes slowly re-adjusted. Finally, blinking through the tears, he drew the light toward the door.

What he had seen was not paint. In fact, there wasn’t a fleck to be found on the door. Instead, hundreds of thin lines criss crossed its surface. Jim recognized the pattern. Running his hand over one of the deeper cuts he thought, these are scratch marks.

As he continued to probe the metal, he found any number of dents, scratches, gashes and other blemishes on the metal. Yet, the door was clearly unlocked. Jim’s heart quickened. He had to remind himself that the ship had been abandoned for thousands of years. Whatever had taken place had happened before recorded history.

Re-slinging his bag, he grabbed the hatch handle and pulled. The door shrieked as metal fought against metal. Thousands of years of dust buildup fell away in a choking cloud as the door swung slowly open. Jim coughed and covered his face with his arm as he stepped inside.

The dust fell behind him and gave way to the light of his torch. It filled the room. Immediately, he knew, this place was different from the others. Where all of the areas he had explored so far had been vast but otherwise barren, this one was smaller and furnished. He spotted a collapsed bed or perhaps couch to his right. Springs lay in a pile of dust and worn fabric. The chamber smelled stale.

Jim crept cautiously into the small space, careful to step lightly for fear of waking imagined ghosts. As he moved slowly across the floor, the light of his torch gave shape to more of his surroundings. Ahead of him on the floor, more fabric lay in a bundled mass. To his left, an ancient wood desk had crumbled into a heap. Its lacquer flat top had long ago degraded into a dust covered slab.

Jim made his way to the pile of fabric first. He knelt down to grab one of the strips, hoping to find fuel for his torch. It was stiff in his hands as he palmed it. More like stale bread than bendable fabric. He pressed a piece of it between his thumb and index finger. The material crumbled like a half dried cake of sand and fell from his grip.

Had Fredrickson witnessed this blatant disregard for historical artifacts, he no doubt would have panicked. Jim smiled at the thought and continued fingering through the material.

The years had long ago faded any color from the fabric, but he did spot something. Jim brushed more fabric aside. Much of it crumbled against even the gentlest of his efforts. Finally, he blew as hard as he could.

A large cloud of dust slowly cleared. Beneath it, the form took shape. “Whoa!” he exclaimed in a loud whisper, stumbling back a step as he did so. His voice echoed off the bare walls and into the room he had come from. Jim brought the torch closer to examine the human remains that had been resting under the time worn fabric.

The skeleton was incomplete. Pieces of it lay spread out under the garments in a very inhuman shape. It was as if the person had fallen or been crushed. Maybe they crashed and this person was mangled, he thought. But, despite the aged furniture, the room didn’t appear to be damaged. Then, he saw something that turned his stomach.

The bones had marks on them. Teeth marks. Nearly every bone did in fact. Some horrible creature had been the end of this venerable soul. Jim pieced what he had seen together. Then it dawned on him. Now the marks on the door made sense. This person had met their end when a creature or perhaps creatures had broken through the door and devoured them. Savagely from the looks of it.

Jim stood and walked to the table, eager to leave the grim scene. This time, he was not careful. He had no reservations about damaging the inanimate object and bullishly rummaged through the wood pile in search of torch sized pieces to bring back to the group.

Soon, he’d gathered a pile of decently sized wood pieces. What remained of the desk was little more than kindling. Jim kicked through the pile as he searched for pieces large enough to turn into firewood. Suddenly, his toe struck something hard. It skipped along the deck plate.

Jim walked over and picked the small item up. It was a metallic box no bigger than his hand with a tiny lock the size of his pinky. Before he could examine the lock further, there was a strange buzzing followed by a low hum that seemed to vibrate through the deck plating. Overhead, a faint light slowly came to life. It was milky white and seemed to pour in from a slat in the ceiling.

The ship lived again.

***

“Well done captain!” Henry exclaimed as Jim stepped through the hatchway onto the main bridge. “You revived a ten thousand year old marvel.”

Jim shook his head, “not me, and I told you, don’t call me captain.”

A few hours without Fredrickson to drag him down had put Henry back into high spirits. He laughed and replied, “Face it, Jim. It’s either you as captain or that walking gamail’s ass, Fredrickson.”

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to talk about someone behind their back?” came Fredrickson’s voice from the far end of the room. The pale man stepped onto the bridge through another hatchway followed by crewmen Hath and Vale. The men looked resigned while the ambassador was almost beaming.

Henry turned and replied, “Oh I’ll happily repeat my observations to your face.”

Fredrickson was unphased and waved Henry’s insult away, “Perhaps it would brighten your day to know that I found the engine core. I’m also happy to report, we have an ample supply of fuel onboard.”

“Oh?” Jim answered.

Fredrickson smiled, “You know, I have to admit. That was a pretty clever bit of intuition transferring the entirety of the submersible’s cargo bay over here.”

Henry scoffed, “This is the part where we ask you to elaborate and then you go into a long and boring story about how you are so smart because you know something we don’t and blah blah blah. How about we cut to it and you tell us how to get out of here.”

The ambassador shrugged, “quite simply, this ship runs on black crystal. Not like your steam engines either. It somehow draws its power directly from the material. Something our scientists have experimented with but thus far, have been unable to produce.”

Henry brightened, “As in, the contents of half the cargo crates, black crystal?” He pointed and the hastily laid pile of wooden crates.

Fredrickson nodded, “I’ll save you the technicals… since I know you don’t care anyhow, but yes, no steam power here boys. Tonight, we ride in the vehicle of the ancients.” He was beaming.

The mood in the room improved. Outside, they could still hear the occasional curse and shouts. Now though, the fear of being trapped between a dead machine and a hungry cannibal hunting party was fading. Henry turned to Jim and joked, “well, the ambassador earned his keep today. What about you? Maybe an ancient machine that makes you attractive? You could use it.”

Jim smiled and shook his head. There were few things that could put him in high spirits. Aside from his memorable and exhausting nights with Alia, Henry’s sunny disposition could be counted among them, albeit at a distant second. “I did find something you might find of interest, ambassador,” he said nodding toward Fredrickson.

“Really? Do tell,” Fredrickson said.

Jim unslung his travel bag and opened the leather flap. From within, he produced the strange metal box. “I found this in an old wooden desk in what I think may have been the captain’s office or quarters. I also found a pile of old bones. I’m pretty sure he or she was killed in some sort of animal attack.”

Fredrickson’s eyes went wide, “I… I don’t believe it! You found remains? What’s more, an actual intact artifact from before the fall!”

Jim nodded, “I guess they were pretty well preserved. This place is buried far down, and in a really dry region. I don’t think it’s ever rained here.”

Jim could see the look of anticipation on the ambassador’s face. “You Protectorate types practically worship old tech don’t you?” He asked.

Fredrickson eyes remained fixed on the box as he replied, “History is what makes us who we are. What you and everyone else seem to have forgotten is that the ancients were far greater men and women than us. Our achievements pale in comparison to theirs. Every piece of technology from that time should be treated with tremendous respect and careful attention.”

“I wouldn’t say they were so great,” Hath commented. “They’re dead after all.”

The ambassador reached out and carefully stroked the small lock, “I wonder what secrets this was meant to hold. The lock is so tiny. Perhaps a jewelry box? Maybe for keepsakes or other small items.”

“My thought too,” Jim said.

“Let’s find out,” Henry said bluntly. Before Jim or the ambassador could protest, he gripped the small lock with two fingers and crushed the brittle metal. It fell to the floor with a clank.

“Are you insane!?” Fredrickson shouted, swatting Henry’s hand away He howled as his hand made contact with the clockwork man’s metallic appendage. “This thing is nearly ten thousand years old. You just damaged an irreplaceable piece of history. I swear, you people have no respect for -”

“Hey,” Jim interrupted, “look at this.” He had opened the box and was peering in. Within, a pile of clear thin sheets lay stacked. He reached in and carefully withdrew the top one.

“No, don’t!” Fredricson protested, “You could damage them.” New beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead. “I… wait, look. I think… yes. There’s writing on that material.”

Jim held the sheet up against the artificial ceiling light. Indeed, thin lines had been etched onto it. “What was that about damaging them?” he asked, smiling.

“Yes, you could… Please, for the love of all things, let me handle those,” Fredrickson snapped. After Jim placed the sheet back into the box, Fredrickson gently grabbed it and held it against his chest. Then, he turned and walked to a nearby console that was perfectly located beneath one of the artificial lights.

“You know, ambassador,” Henry noted dryly, “if you showed people the same level of care as you do artifacts, they might not find you so disagreeable.”

Fredrickson ignored the insult and carefully placed the first sheet on the console. With one hand, he motioned for the group to gather, “Yes, yes. I can see it now. Oh yes, I recognize this writing. It’s one of the languages of the ancients.

“And what does it say?” Henry asked as he came to a stop next to the ambassador.

“I don’t know,” Fredrickson replied with resignation. “We’ve only recovered a handful of artifacts from that time and I only know of two with any reference to this particular written language of those days. Even then, they were so old and worn, we couldn’t discern enough letters to decipher it. I do recognize the pictographic composition though.”

Jim leaned over Henry’s broad metal shoulders to catch a glimpse. What he saw both confused and amused him. He began to laugh.

“Is there something funny?” Fredrickson asked, finally looking up from the old page.

“I can read it,” Jim replied.

Fredrickson furrowed his brows and shook his head, “I highly doubt that. Nobody has read or spoken the ancient languages in millenia.”

Jim shrugged and said, “I guess I just know something you don’t. Try not to let it bother you.” He turned to Henry and asked, “Do you recognize it, Henry? Look closely.”

Henry leaned in toward the paper. Though he could not squint his eyes, his brass eyebrows lowered and his eye apertures closed in slightly, giving the vague impression of concentration. Suddenly, he leaned back and let loose a metallic laugh, “haha! Of course, It’s the -”

“It’s best if we don’t share that information with others just yet,” Jim interrupted. Both he and Henry saw it as plain as day. The writing was Ll’tal. Only the crew of the Liberator knew of their existence though. Emat had insisted it be kept that way. For now, until the time is right, he had told them.

“Do you mind, ambassador?” Jim asked. Fredrickson grunted and stepped to the side, allowing Jim to stand in front of the clear material. Jim leaned in. The characters were small and hard to read. A stray thought passed through his mind, I wonder if my premature aging is starting to affect my vision. Another image of himself in a rocking chair, forty years old but wrinkled and wearing thick glasses passed through his mind.

“Well, are you going to keep us all in suspense?” Henry asked, pulling Jim from his thoughts.

Jim took a breath and began to read aloud.

To whoever finds this letter.

This will be my last entry. I suppose it’s fitting that I write it by hand. I’ve always held a special love for the navy captains of old. Stories like Treasure Island and Mutiny on the Bounty were front and center on my bookshelf in my childhood years.

With no power, no food, and now no water, it seems I’ll become the buried treasure for some other poor soul to find. Whoever you are, I’m sorry I couldn’t leave you with a more valuable prize. I am writing this on nano film since it is all I have in my desk. At least it will survive the elements better than paper ever could.

I want it to be known, regardless of the inhuman creatures my men have become, they served with distinction and dedication. The end of this war was was a foregone conclusion years ago, but they soldiered on and brought honor to their uniforms and their planet.

It’s been a month to the day since the pulse stalled our ship and stranded us beneath the surface. Unfortunately, we were nearly one hundred fathoms down, the limit of our depth ability. The fuel for the reactor was completely fried in the blast and the emergency power cut out just a few hours later. I guess The General finally got his way. I just pray that our forces were able to get to the World Engine before he was.

I have very little time, so I must explain the actions of my crew for whoever finds this. Our food stocks ran out weeks ago. Order became more difficult to maintain with each passing day. First, it was just little incidents of insubordination. The drive to eat outlasted their training to obey, and soon the crew mutinied. I was powerless to stop them.

Their thirst drove them to do something terrible. They turned on our Ma’amal comrades and, well, they ate them and drank their blood. It was horrific. Their screams still haunt me whenever I close my eyes. Such gentle and kind beings, and they slaughtered them like cattle.

God, the universe, karma, I’m not sure what, but something punished them for what they did. Their appetite may have been satiated for a short time, but the flesh of the Ma’amal did something to their minds. Somehow, it poisoned them and drove them completely mad.

There was a break in the page, as if the writer had gotten up between words and then resumed at a later time. Around him, the crew was utterly silent, drinking in the words as he continued to read them aloud.

They are at my door. Banging, snarling, scratching. I’ve barred the way, but they have inhuman strength and a terrible fury. I can’t help but wonder if the Ma’amal’s flesh somehow enhanced them physically. If that’s so, at least they will die down here with me. God help those above us if they get free.

Goodbye

Captain Bianca Moto

4th Subterranean Naval Atta

Her words had ended abruptly.