Year 248 P.L. Rychter Calendar
Coordinates: 15.4°N; 29.8°E
Site Designation: Rubicon (City of)

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Deep beneath the splendour of Rubicon, the white walls of stone fell away. Colourful banners no longer adorned the walls and the looming twin suns of Rychter no longer blazed down upon the world.

Buried here was the first dot in the violent history of this world.

Lanto walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, chin held high with the reverence this occasion deserved. The corridor was long, hewn out of the same stone of the great cliffs that ringed the capital, and if you listened – really listened – you could just hear the thunder of the waterfall and the river itself, far, far above.

Ahead of him guards in the crimson and black livery of Commissariat Security waited, their uniforms crisply pressed, military caps perched on their heads and long truncheons and pistols holstered in their belts. The spherical armoured door they stood in front of loomed like a boulder blocking the passage.

The measly task force that Xanthus had allowed him to have walked in his wake. No survey teams, no cadres of engineers, no military escorts to delve into the wastes. Just a team of archivists. Good people – intelligent people he'd hand-picked – but nothing like the kind of resource he would need to truly unravel the mystery behind the Crawlers.

But he had to start somewhere.

"Sir." The guard on the left took a small step forward as they approached. Lanto halted, inclining his head to the man as they observed the niceties of protocol.

"Corporal," he said.

"May I see your authorisation please?"

Lanto motioned the leader of the archivist team forward. The woman stepped up, handing over a data slate to the guard. She was tall, pale-skinned and lean-framed, with a short bob of grey-blond hair tucked under her dark blue archivist beret.

"Senior Archivist Karrin Thaniakas," she said. "Commissariat Authorisation for access."

The guard nodded, running his eyes slowly down the page. Maybe a little over-committed to his duty given that there was a Commissariat Minister standing right in front of him, but Lanto preferred that to laxness.

After scrutinizing the authorisation for a moment, the man raised his head, smiled through his stubbly beard and handed the data slate back to Thaniakas. "Everything looks to be in order. Please." He stepped aside, making a gesture to the door and giving his companion a nod. She punched an access code into the control panel beside her, and the grind of mechanisms vibrated through the hallway.

Lanto braced himself. The slab of heavy metal rolled gently aside and he took a deep breath of the air that flowed over them. It was a damp, metallic smell, filled with mineral richness; an oddly cooling sensation against the heat of the surface. Allowing himself a feeling smile, he glanced at Thaniakas.

"Well, Archivist," he said. "Shall we?"

"After you, sir."

Raising his head, Lanto strode forward, into Rychter's past.

He stepped through the circular aperture and out into a vast cavern of grey-black rock, its walls festooned with walkways and gleaming strings of light installations that filled it with a fearsome brightness. His feet clumped against solid metal plating as he emerged onto the main gantry and looked down.

All of that light shone on the vessel that had brought the human race to this world.

A long time ago the ship had sat where the Commissariat chambers now held dominion, the centre of the fledging human civilisation. As years rolled by and as this world developed its own identity, the Nautilus had been moved, its whole structure transported down into the city's archive, forming the centrepiece of history instead.

Even in twilight, the dormant cavern was breathtaking. The lights outlined the great mass of the colony ship, its dark, oblong mass stretching out beneath him, a full two kilometres from end to end. Huge spines of metal rose up from its back where solar sails the size of buildings had once been unfurled. The starboard flank of the massive machine lay open, spilling blue-white light onto a man-made concourse that thrummed with life. He could hear the voices rising like ghosts of a lost world.

All around it on broad ledges and fabricated platforms, satellite labs, ancillary libraries and classrooms for Rubicon's universities had sprung up, like a little subterranean village of its own. People came from all over Rychter to try and catch a glimpse of the Nautilus, the great sailor of the stars, the repository of all things from before.

Lanto smirked. Of course, not everyone had his level of security clearance. Most people would only scratch the surface of what the ship's archives contained.

He heard Thaniakas let out an impressed whistle, and when he glanced back at his entourage, he could see that the team of archivists all looked suitably awestruck, even those he knew had been here before.

"Never lose that," he said quietly, inclining his head to them. "There are some things that should remain wondrous."

Then he was walking, a renewed sense of purpose putting a spring in his step. Without his long jacket he cut a determined figure in his commissar's uniform, hands clasped behind his back as he strode down the ramps towards the Nautilus. The side of the massive hull sloped up and away into the heights as he drew closer, its shadow falling over them as they joined the flow of people.

Despite it all, when he stepped onto the main concourse and saw the great open maw in the side of the vessel, Lanto couldn't help feeling happy. Today was a good day. No matter what he found, it did his old bones good to see what the human race was capable of at its best.

"Tourist season seems to be in full sway," one of the older archivists muttered moodily.

"Careful, Baul," Thaniakas chuckled. "You might end up teaching some of these people if they like what they see. Wouldn't want them to overhear you and get a bad impression."

"Drown their impressions," Baul grunted. "I'll wager less than a thousandth of the people who come through this place will ever amount to true archivists. I swear to the Watching Lords, half the oafs they graduated this year floated on their family names and landhold accounts. They have no appreciation for the art."

"Which is you are here and they are not," Lanto said. "Come."

He mounted the shallow ramp into the gaping opening. When the decision had been made to convert the ship into a static installation, a team of engineers had peeled off a whole section of the outer plating almost a hundred feet across.

People saw Lanto's uniform and parted around him as he walked, the archivists staying close on his shadow. Ahead of them the Nautilus's atrium opened in a glitter of shining three dimensional displays, sign-in desks, directory consoles, and six levels of doors that littered the walls like caves in a metal cliff face.

A handful of security guards strolled languidly through the place on their patrols, keeping beady eyes on the constant comings and goings. Noise echoed up through the atrium; people debating clearance levels with archive staff, machines humming, lights sizzling and audio-visual displays belching out content. He even saw one group of children, most of them ten or eleven years old, being shepherded along by a prim looking young woman. He wondered just how much it had cost a school to arrange such a trip.

"Minister Numitor?"

Lanto turned to the sound of the voice, and found a trio of guards standing respectfully, hands clasped behind their backs. The leader was a brawny young man with corporal's bars, backed by an equally brawny man and woman. No amount of respect would disguise the soldier's identity though.

Lanto was almost insulted at the brazenness of it – that his rivals would think so little of him. Built like a barrel, the leader of the patrol had a thick, short beard covering the lower half of his face, but that couldn't hide a family resemblance.

"Yes?" Lanto turned to face him, anger beginning to bubble up inside him.

"Sir, my name is Lieutenant Almar. I understand you have requested clearance to the restricted wing of the Nautilus archive."

He bristled. "I know who you are." He narrowed one eye, examining the young man up and down. "Your father's going to some lengths to keep eyes on me now, don't you think, Lieutenant Ventes Laemen Almar Nastassos?"

Lieutenant Almar cleared his throat awkwardly. The female guard gave a silent shake of the head, as though she'd known exactly how this was going to play out.

"I prefer not to use my father's name when I'm on duty," he said. "And I assure you, Minister, I am not here to interfere in your work."

Well, at least he wasn't denying it. Lanto sighed. Beside him, Thaniakas gave the young man an expectant look.

"We have Commissariat clearance," she said icily. "You do not have the authority to keep us out."

"Everflowing, will you all relax?" Almar snapped. "I'm not here to stop you doing anything. We've been assigned as your escort, that is all. All visitors to the restricted sections of the ship are to be accompanied by security personnel – no exceptions." He controlled himself quickly, taking a quick breath in and gesturing towards a security access door behind him. "Now, if you'll come with us, I'll be happy to take you wherever you would like to go."

A thin smile played on Lanto's lips. "But you will be reporting to Minister Nastassos?"

"If he asks, I will have to tell him," Almar replied. "But only because he is a superior officer. Frankly, I have no interest in getting involved in whatever Commissariat pissing match is going on between the two of you. I'm just a soldier."

Lanto considered the young man for a moment. He'd never actually met Nastassos's son before, but anyone in his position knew it paid to keep a close eye on your opponents. He'd followed Lieutenant 'Almar' and his progression through the ranks of Rubicon's security regiments for years. More than once, his father's hand had kept him from disciplinary action over bust ups with his superior officers, but all in all, he seemed competent enough.

Whether he had the same cut-throat ambition as the elder Nastasoss was not something that could be determined from pictures and reports.

"Very well, Lieutenant Almar," Lanto said, waving a hand vaguely towards the door. "It doesn't appear we have much choice in the matter. We are going to the Sensor Archive. Lead the way."

Some of the tension seemed to unwind from Almar's body. He frowned for a moment, then nodded and turned. His companions parted, allowing Lanto and the archivists to walk between them, until they could step into formation at the rear of the group.

Ahead, Almar didn't seem to be in much of a talking mood anymore. He punched in his code and led them through the security door, out of the hustle and noise of the main atrium, and away from the toys and trinkets that would keep most people sated.

They passed into a quieter, darker section of the Nautilus, heading towards the bow of the ship, through broad, rectangular passages where the air didn't smell so clean. Faded white text adorned the walls, and there were unobtrusive consoles installed at regular intervals – for those with the right clearance.

On they went, rising two levels on one of the Nautilus's original elevators, painstakingly maintained by the dedicated phalanx of engineers and technicians who watched over the vessel's slumber. Part of him found it a little unnerving to be using a piece of technology that was probably more than three hundred years old, but he wouldn't have changed it. Replacing pieces of this ship would be the worst kind of sacrilege against the Riverlords that had carried them so far.

The upper decks were darker; less welcoming. Almar had to enter his access code at two further bulkheads, passing several pairs of patrolling guards until they eventually reached a simple, black metal door. The inscription above it in was printed in an old-Earth script, but beneath it, the room's new purpose had been painted in Rychter's blocky, geometric type.

NAUTILUS SENSOR LOG ARCHIVE: RESTRICTED ACCESS.

"This is where you wanted to go?" Almar glanced at him.

"Indeed it is."

"What is it you're hoping to find, exactly?"

"Didn't your father tell you?"

Almar sighed. "I know you're looking for information on the Crawlers. I don't see that as a bad thing."

"Well that's something," Thaniakas grunted. "Can we do inside?"

Shooting her an annoyed glance, Almar keyed his code in one more time, and placed his face up close to the retinal scanner that had been installed above the keypad. After a few seconds it bleeped with acceptance and the doors retracted.

He followed Lieutenant Almar inside, into the inner sanctum of the Nautilus. Despite its innocuous name, the Sensor Log Archive collated everything that the ship had experienced on its long voyage. A large, ovoid space, its ceiling climbed forty feet above their heads, with ancient wiring spilling down the walls to disappear behind arrays of massive consoles that ringed the room.

The sheer amount of data here was staggering. Hundreds of petabytes of the universe crammed into these drives, and it was all just a touch away. They filed through one by one, with Almar's guards taking up station by the door, hands resting lightly on their truncheons.

"Do you pay much attention to history, Lieutenant?" Lanto asked, moving forward to stand beside him.

"I dabble," Almar replied with a hint of petulance. "But it's not exactly part of our training."

"Then I suggest you pay attention. If you're going to be spying on me, you might as well learn something while you're at it."

"I'm not spying."

"What should we be looking for, sir?" Thaniakas asked as the archivists began to disperse, plugging in data slates and firing up work stations to interface with the great knowledge banks of the sensor archive.

"Clues, Karrin," he murmured, drifting into the vaulted space of the deep Nautilus archive. "Clues."

She smiled thinly. "And where do you want to start?"

"Where indeed?" Lanto turned to her with a grin. "How about, at the very beginning?"

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