Sworded Affair

Chapter 178: Voyager

Emma was on guard as she drifted toward the open airlock, wary of it being yet another trap, the latest of many. She’d switched back to her armour as soon as the space station appeared, and true to her expectations, it remained visible even with Magus Austere’s mask shoved back into Eden’s Echo. Emma couldn’t claim to know what the various filters being applied to her did, but whatever they were, they persisted between her different forms. That was a blessing, as remaining in space with a broken suit was a deeply unpleasant experience, even with magical assistance to keep her alive through it.

Approaching on her flying sword, she noted the way runes crawled along the station’s surface, keeping eyes on her at all times but doing nothing more that she could see. The interior of the airlock was an empty grey square, the paint on the walls chipped and flaking away to reveal patches of bare metal beneath. Despite the generally dilapidated decor, the room was still functional: the doors slid closed behind Emma, as the hissing of vents announced the return of oxygen to the facility. Eventually, the airlock was deemed suitable for human habitation, and a second pair of doors slid open, this time leading deeper into the station proper. A brief straight line down the corridor led to a central junction, one that was helpfully signposted for first time visitors.

[Integrating Galactic Basic, please stand by.]

There was a translation issue, of course, which Babble Fish+ immediately kicked in to correct. This took a lot longer than previous occurrences, which were largely instant, but on the bright side provided Emma with a first-hand view of the experience.

“That’s really weird,” Emma remarked, as the unknown, cyrillic looking alphabet resolved itself bit by bit, rearranged to appear in plain English for her benefit.

[Integration complete.]

There were three corridors to choose from: Cryogenics to her left, Hydroponics to her right, and the somewhat out of place Ideological Training Facility dead ahead. Emma didn’t like the sound of that last one, nor was the idea of visiting somewhere specialised in the science of making things cold an appealing prospect, so off to the right she went, towards Hydroponics. The decor remained largely the same, lifeless grey, though as Emma advanced, small signs did hint towards the lived-in nature of the facility. Small sticky notes, written in a shorthand that Emma couldn’t make heads or tails of, their titles hinting at instrument readings or similar. They were affixed on every surface, clustering next to handlebars that Emma guessed were used by the residents to manoeuvre themselves inside the station.

“Shouldn’t there be artificial gravity of some kind?” Emma wondered, as she floated past them. “There’s mechs that can lift off into orbit, and planet cracking explosives, so you’d think they’d have the technology for it.”

[Indeed. I’d suggest they were a backup in the event of gravity failure, except the handlebars are almost worn smooth, indicating regular use. Strange.]

“Maybe this place was built further back, with older tech? Or maybe they were just saving costs.”

Either guess was possible, in the absence of answers. None were forthcoming, as she’d yet to encounter anyone else, nor the automated system that surely existed and was monitoring her movements. Despite Emma’s rising paranoia, it was smooth sailing to reach Hydroponics, at least, until she got to the door. This one looked quite different, being made of wood, for one, and boasting a conventional handle that none of the others had possessed. Emma did the obvious, and tried the handle: it was locked.

“Apprentice!”

Emma nearly jumped at the booming voice in the loudspeakers.

“Of the Great Dukes of Hell, who boasts command over thirty-seven legions?”

“Excuse me?” Emma blinked, only to wince as a buzzer played.

“Incorrect! You have two attempts remaining! In the Grecian tradition, what was the primary financial aspiration of the Order of Alchemy?”

“Um,” Emma paused, before realising that she actually knew this one, steeped as it was in contemporary pop culture. “Turning lead into gold?”

“Incorrect!” To her surprise, the buzzer returned.

“Answers must match the lingua franca of the subject matter! You have one attempt remaining, or it’s detention for you, Apprentice. Final question! Who bestowed revelation upon the founder of Thelema, in the year 1904 of the Old Calendar?”

[Aiwass.]

The System’s response was immediate, and Emma seized it gratefully, giving it in place of anything on her part.

“Correct! It seems you’re not completely ignorant of our history. You are permitted one hour within the Hall of Life. Departure will terminate this hour prematurely, requiring another answer to return.”

Without any further preamble, the door swung open, barely missing Emma as she took a hurried step back, not wanting a repeat of the broken nose incident, for all that it would barely harm her armour. The moment she passed the threshold, a familiar pull returned, one Emma would never have noticed were it not for its recent and conspicuous absence.

“There’s the artificial gravity,” Emma groused, dismissing Epitaph in favour of walking, now that it was an option again.

[More than that, you moved over ten miles crossing that door, or so the System’s telemetry data claims. Safe to say, the inside of this station is unlikely to adhere to linear principles.]

Indeed, the Hydroponic wing was far more homely; not just the addition of gravity, but also the copious wooden panelling, shelves filled to the brim with bobbleheads and snowglobes, and a traditional sloping roof all reminded Emma of a holiday cottage more than anything else. Were it not for the absence of windows and doors, she might even have been fooled entirely. There were a few red folders filled with paper as well; but upon leafing through them, Emma found not magical mysteries but mind-numbing print-outs complete with titles such as “Statistical Analysis of Recycling Efficiency at Stratified Temperature Configurations”, which quickly went right back where they came from.

“So, odds that this is Magus Austere’s secret holiday home?” Emma snarked.

[Higher than I was expecting, in a place like this.]