Page 41 of Blightfall

On Detritus, the Superiority had attacked us relentlessly, and we’d broken down into nomadic tribes, always moving from cavern to cavern to prevent our total annihilation. Even after we built Alta Base aboveground, we risked the lives of our people in the upper caverns daily. One well-placed bomb, and our entire civilization would have collapsed.

“They aren’t defending themselves,” I said. “There aren’t any gun emplacements, no bunkers, no bomb shelters.”

Alanik looked at me with pity, and I was immediately sorry I’d spoken. But the idea that these people lived right in the sights of a Superiority space station and were allowed to just, well, live without having to worry about spreading out for safety—

I should have been relieved for them, but instead I felt angry.

“If they have no ships,” Alanik said, “perhaps the Superiority did not consider them a threat.”

That hurt too. They’d attacked us on sight the moment we arrived. They’d been so ready for us, and yet these people lived here in apparent peace. “We fought so hard on Detritus to preserve the apparatus that let us build starships,” I said. “But if we’d let them destroy it, would they have left us alone?”

“There wasn’t a lot else for us on Detritus,” Nedd said. “It’s basically just a rock.”

“Except the taynix,” Sadie said. “We would still have had hyperdrives, right? So we would have been able to escape eventually, even if they did destroy the apparatus.”

“And they didn’t destroy you,” Alanik said. “They’re gone now. Whatever outpost is here is only a remnant.”

“Like a ghost,” Sadie said. “We’re not fighting a war. This is more like…an exorcism.”

It did feel that way, given that all we knew of Ivy was her disembodied voice.

“If they can build power plants but not starfighters,” I said, “then our scanners were probably correct. They must not have a source of acclivity stone here, though they obviously still have engineers, if they can build waterwheels to power their factories.”

“It’s not that hard to build a power plant, is it?” Sadie asked. “Those have been around for ages.”

“If our flight were marooned on a planet and our starships destroyed,” Alanik said, “would you be able to build a power plant?”

“Um,” Sadie said. “No.”

“We also wouldn’t be single-handedly populating an entire city,” Nedd noted, “so they have a lot more varied expertise than we do.”

Ahead, the barge docked at the wooden platform. By the time we reached it, a large wagon with another oversized cage had rolled forward. The barge workers lined the cage up with the one on the barge and opened the doors between them before poking the tree creature with hooks and wrangling it into the new enclosure. Then they transferred the pruned tree creature into the wagon’s yoke.

We approached from behind the wagon, walking by with purpose, and the barge workers paid us no mind as we passed them and continued up the hill toward the city.

I watched over my shoulder and craned my neck to see the path ahead, waiting for someone to stop us, ask for our identification, or otherwise notice that we were sneaking into an alien city unannounced. Other pedestrians strolled by, walking or riding in motorized carts.

None of them seemed to think we were out of place.

“I wish we could preschedule a hyperjump,” I said to Alanik, “in case we need to leave quickly. I feel more exposed here than when we were attacked.”

I understood the reason for the new rules; if everyone asked for permission anytime there was the slightest chance they might need a hyperjump, it would bog down the system, delaying hyperjumps for those who really needed them.

“If we hyperjump again, we might give away our position,” Alanik said. “We should only use one if our lives are in immediate danger.”

She was right, but that only made me feel less protected. I looked over at her illusory human face, and something occurred to me. “Could we use Hoid’s illusions, then?” I asked. “Would a cytonic be able to tell?”

“Probably not,” Alanik said. “Illusions are much harder to sense than hyperjumps. Like the difference between a whisper and a shout.”

Just then the caged wagon passed us, headed into the city. The tree creature poked its branches at us menacingly, though its forked limbs caught on the bars and prevented it from reaching us.

I wondered if they intended to domesticate this one, or if the one that pulled the wagon had been raised in captivity. It seemed cruel to prune the creature—they’d basically sawed off its arms and left it with only enough limbs to walk.

We crested the top of the hill, passing through an arch in the white city wall—it wasn’t painted, I realized, but made from some sort of naturally white stone. I wondered if there was a quarry nearby, maybe farther up in the mountains. Above the arch, chiseled in relief, was the phrase Welcome to Epiphany. Words were inscribed below in three different alphabets, likely translations in the various languages spoken by the humans here.

“Interesting name for a city,” Nedd said quietly.

“It’s pretty,” Sadie added.