[20] SEED doesn't respond, but the Silverfish scurries back into the machinery, squirreling itself away into its depths,
"A single cell in an organism of war. You swept across the galaxy and burned order into the entropy. Soldiers, warriors, gods, demons, and angels. There are as many names for you as there are stars in the night sky. An army armed with the language of the universe."
"You are not the first of that line, only one of many, a man-made virus passed down over thousands of years, evolving."
"You will be my angel, Pheobe Gainer. What comes later wo--000."
A spark flies from the machinery, and SEED is silent.
A door opens into the Sanctum, and two burly guards in heavy robes wheel something that looks very much like a stretched cabinet beside the Altar. They key a code into the front of the locker and the door swings open.
Inside is a magnificent panoply, and you rise to your feet shakily, the guards having the excellent idea to provide an arm for you to lean on. The full suit of combat armor gleams, finished with gold and silver, a dense material that weighs next to nothing for you. As an experiment, you pass it to the terrified guard, and he nearly drops it with the weight.
"How heavy is that?"
"Six [pounds]." He stammers, shocked. You nod, ticking your head back to the slot for it. Folded in the center of the armor are faded, moth-worn synthetic leathers, and you brush your fingers over them, confused. They are not designed for you, you can tell, far too big and bulky, especially in the shoulder region. Looking over the armor, you notice that you'll have to have it fitted once you make a recovery-- whoever owned this before you was a giant of a man, and you're lucky that you're the same height.
But what draws your attention is the sash with a strange rectangle of metal upon it. It hums with power, more than anything you've encountered in this world. You reach out for it, taking it in your hand.
[17] A memory comes back to you, and you push your willpower against it, willing it to live. The air around you grows stale and confined, a slight breeze filtering in through the field of energy that pushes everything back. Its durable, that is true but weaker than your old one.
[5] A tremor runs through you, and you stumble against the guard supporting you, breathing hard. Blood drips from your nose, and you brush it away carelessly with your ornate robes, staining the fabric a dark red.
An automatic carbine las-gun sits above it all, but it doesn't look active-- its probably broken, you realize, and a quick tear-down inspection that drives a sharp gasp from the two guards confirms that is the case. A lot of the contacts have rusted away, the old internal battery is corroded from the inside out, and the coolant within is non-existent, a grey sludge that is warmer than the cold room. You're tempted to throw it on the ground in disgust, but restrain yourself.
But what draws your attention is a gleaming Cutter hilt at the belt of the armor. The reactor within hums perfectly, and it fits comfortably within your off-hand. A dial, held in place by a safety mechanism, sits near your thumb, you point it away from the panoply and activate it. A thin filament pops outs of the top as you scroll the dial-up, and across its length, a white-hot fire burns to life. The heat doesn't bother you, instead filling you with an odd comfort. The display on the side begins to count down- faster or slower, depending on how long the blade is.
You turn it off, letting the metal cool before slipping it back into the holding. There's a few knives, a knuckle-duster, and an odd sort of rigid-frame backpack designed to clip on to the torso of the armor.
"Your armor. Modifications will be made according to your specifications. What name do you wish to be known by?" Seed startles you as it begins speaking again, that Silverfish back and fixing yet another part on the machine.
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Topic: McCreary's Planet -- (FINISHED) (Read 253175 times)