Streaks of light streamed past the viewport, brilliant bolts of gold and blue. Amity watched as they passed through her reflected image. Two years. She had left her home two years ago, and now here she was, no closer to her goal.
She turned away, taking a seat on the edge of her blanketless bed. Hunching forward, she stroked her hair with one hand and stared at the floor. Steel: cold, heartless. The structures of her home had been made in stone, carved by the hands of artisans. She shook her head. Nothing could replace Cerinia.
Stretching to the front of the bed, she reached up and flipped off the light switch. Curling up, she rested her head on the pillow and looked out the viewport again. Stellar fragments, remnants of a solar explosion… why were they so beautiful?
The next day was signaled with the automated activation of her room's lights and a knock at the door. Groaning, Amity rubbed her eyes and sat up. Some stations had gradual lights to simulate sunrise; why couldn't this one? Sitting on the side of the bed, she put a hand to the back of her neck and stretched, gradually loosening her spine. The knock came again and Amity turned her head to the door, then to the viewport. The stellar storm had ended. Scooping her jacket off the bed post, she pulled it on and answered the door.
A thin man in brown working clothes and a brown cap waited for her, holding a datapad. "Miss Amity, is it?"
"It is." Amity yawned.
"Sign here." He held out the pad and she wrote her name with her index finger. Taking the pad back, he pressed his thumb to it to confirm the delivery, then passed her the tall package he had leaned beside the door. "A pleasure."
"Likewise." Amity set the package inside, shutting the door behind her. Who was it this time? Some love struck admirer, hoping to…
She set the package on her small dining table and noticed the labels. No return address. Odd…
Pulling a strongbox from under her bed, she withdrew a bomb scanner and ran it over the surface of the package. Negative, not a bomb. After running similar tests for chemical, biological, and digital threats, she put the tools away and stared at the package again, rubbing her chin. What could it be…?
Cutting the side open with a spare pair of scissors, she pulled out the packing sheets and looked inside. A sword? She smirked. Customs was getting sloppy.
Taking hold of the handle, she attempted to lift it but found it far heavier than it should be for its size. What was this thing made of? She settled for cutting the top panel from the package and looked at it laid out on the table. That design… that couldn't possibly be efficient! Imbalanced hooks protruding from the hilt, a golden blade that grew thicker as it extended out… and so heavy?
Scratching her head, she looked around the room. Who sent it? Why? Where would she be able to find out? Tapping the comm. panel on her wall, she typed in the number of delivery assistance. A gentle computerized voice answered: "Thank you for contacting Emerson Shipping's customer service department. Please enter your user passcode and order number now."
Amity did so and waited for the information to process.
"Thank you," the computer spoke after a few moments. "Our logs show that this package has arrived and been signed for. Is this not so?"
"Yes," Amity pressed a hand to the wall beside the panel and leaned forward, frustrated. "What I want to know is who sent it?"
A pattern of flashing squares displayed while the question processed. "No such information is recorded in our logs. Will there be anything else?"
Amity glared. "How can you not keep information on where your deliveries are sent from!"
The processing display appeared again, followed by the response: "I am sorry, but I am not programmed with the information necessary to answer your question. Will there be anything else?"
"No." Amity tapped the panel off. "Goodbye."
She looked at the sword again. Golden blade, silver hilt… was it real gold? She reached out and brushed the blade's surface with the tips of her fingers, feeling a soft throbbing moving through it. She pressed her palm to it and the throb became more apparent, more rhythmic. Like a heartbeat…
She lifted her hand and stepped back. Alive? Impossible. It's… it's a sword! It's just metal! She brushed her hair with her hand and paced the room. Why? Who sent it? What was it, really?
A vibration from the sword caused the table to jiggle. Pressing her hand to the blade, Amity held it down in an attempt to stop it. However, this time the sword's throbbing was different: more deliberate. It was a code. Gradually Amity felt the vibrations move through her bones and to her ear canals, where they became sound.
"Amity…" it spoke.
She stared at it, eyes wide in amazement.
"This is Machina, our gift to you… Take it now."
Running her hand along the surface, she grasped the handle and lifted, now far lighter than before. Lighter even than it appeared to be.
"Machina will guide you to us, in time…" the message continued. "For now, continue your life. Our next contact shall be made through Machina, so keep it with you. When you have questions, take hold and we shall try to answer them. We will speak again soon, destined one."
The vibrations ceased.
Amity held the sword out and watched the light glint off its surface. Machina… she swung it a couple times, then began to set it down, but stopped. They said to keep it… it could only communicate with her when she touched it. Taking her utility belt from the corner table, she clipped it on and hooked the sword through one of the loops.
Setting up the small pocket mirror on the corner table, she turned from side to side and looked at the sword with her. Didn't exactly go with her outfit… or any outfit for that matter, but it had been a long time since she'd cared about such sentiments.
Reaching for the door, she stopped. Could she really afford to be walking around with a giant golden sword in public? Appearances were one thing, but weapons? Reluctantly she looked down at the sword again. "I can't…" she spoke, placing a hand on the grip.
"I'll return soon," she said as she laid it on the foot of her bed. "We'll speak again then, I promise."
Shutting off the light, she took one last look at the sword shimmering in the dark, then closed the door behind her, locking it shut.