«Oh, I will gladly tell you how you can help», Arma replied. «Just don’t touch anything.»

Smorg thought about this.

«So the less I do, the more I help?» he brightened.

«You are close to grasping a great truth», Arma answered in his tone. «And may all the gods of the universe spare us from your revelations slipping into that very ‘insidious hole’!»

On the eleventh day, a minor gravity fluctuation occurred. Smorg was flung out of his chair onto the floor, and then hurled against the starboard bulkhead.

«So that is what it means to be a thought», he said, getting up with a groan and rubbing the bruised parts of his body. «You just fly along without knowing where or why, and with no certainty that, upon arrival, you’ll be welcomed at all.»

«A little more of this», Arma replied, with notes of cosmic exhaustion in her voice, «and I may start considering quietly dropping you off somewhere in the nearest peripheral worlds with a sign that reads: ‘Absolutely Not to Be Returned!’»

The twelfth day, strangely enough, passed in relative silence. Smorg sat by the viewport, gazing thoughtfully at the stars. At times he muttered something under his breath; at times he simply sat there, gripping the handrails, as if trying to hold on to that fragile barrier before all that awaited him.

«We are almost there», Arma reported. Her tone was gentle, almost quiet. It was as though she sensed that loud sounds would be out of place now.

The ship shifted smoothly into deceleration mode. A faint vibration ran along the hull; somewhere, a stabilizer clicked as it initiated corrective impulses.

«That used to be my home», Smorg said, without taking his eyes off the screen. «Surely something must still remain. We need to know… if anything at all is left.»

«We will find out soon», Arma replied.

A star-system silhouette flared into view on the projection display. At its center – the orange-amber star, Grennar. Around it – three large planets: Veltora, Trianna, and Veilid, and one small, frozen, tiny world – Unra.

Arma guided the ship slowly toward the second planet from Grennar, Trianna. Once, billions had lived there. Once, great cities had shone with light, and the skies were mirrored in waters filled with the living glow of biofluorescent depths.

Now, all was different.

«Course set», Arma said. «Trianna. Coordinates – sector 7-4. In your archives this region is marked as the ‘Primary Vault Zone.’»

Smorg rose with effort, as though each thought weighed more than his body, and nodded in silence.

Through the upper layers of the atmosphere, which from time to time wrapped the planet in a dense, dusty veil, Trianna appeared dull and grey. But once the Armaon passed through that outer shroud, an entirely different sight unfurled before them: the planet blossomed into a soft rose-tinted hue, with fine green veins of vegetation interlacing across its surface, all wrapped in a gentle haze of almost transparent clouds.

Smorg watched the screen without a word. There it was – his homeworld, the one he had observed for most of his life through the viewports of an orbital station, with no hope of ever setting foot upon it.

«Something must still remain», he whispered hoarsely.

He was silent for a moment, then added, as if to himself: «Even if nothing remains, I must go there all the same.»

Arma said nothing, merely reduced speed a little.

The landing platform, according to Arma’s calculations, was expected to be relatively even. For additional safety, she set the ship down upon a massive slab of blue granite. Climbing onto it from below would have been quite difficult, and that alone became one of the key arguments in favor of choosing this spot. A faint vibration passed through the hull, as if the planet itself beneath them did not wish to be disturbed again.

Smorg stood in the airlock, breathing heavily inside his helmet, though the suit was steadily maintaining pressure and oxygen flow. His gear was designed for expeditions – comfortable, reliable, providing both protection and long-term life support.

«Opening the outer hatch», Arma said. «Temperature is within norm. Atmosphere is suitable for breathing. No biosignatures detected. Of known lifeforms – so far only mosses, microflora, and pollen bacteroids.»

«Well, rather lively for a dead planet», Smorg muttered.

The airlock exhaled with a sigh, followed by a scrape of metal and the sound of wind. He gathered himself and stepped outside.

The suit’s braking modules and exoskeleton softened the impact as he jumped down from the granite slab. Dust rose around him. The ground beneath his feet was firm, yet had a slight spring to it. Something old, and possibly even technological, lay beneath this layer. He bent down, touched the surface with a gloved hand, and a grey-blue residue clung to his fingers, like ash, only with a metallic sheen.

«Are you detecting some kind of structure underneath?» he asked, addressing Arma.

«Scanners indicate at least three volumetric levels beneath you. There is something below those as well, but I can’t resolve it. The signal is being shielded. The entrance to the upper tier is most likely blocked or buried under debris. I am detecting localized power. At least part of the old system appears to still be active.»

«This may be what we’re looking for», Smorg said. «The pattern on these tiles is familiar to me.»

«And in what way, I wonder?» Arma inquired in the tone of a caring, attentive mother.

He hesitated for a moment, then replied with a slight stammer:

«Fragments of this ornament… were shown in the old schematics. I must have gone over them a thousand times while living on the orbital station, and even tried to make them out on the planet through telescopes.»

He took a few steps forward, slowly and cautiously, as if hoping the planet would notice him… and recognize him.

«When they were here last time… I went outside only for a moment… and then I stayed on the ship», he said quietly. «And now… I’ve come on my own.»

Arma did not reply. For a few seconds she analyzed the incoming signals, then issued a command to the airlock of the technical bay.

«Activating an escort droid», her voice sounded at last. «Model online, all systems nominal. It will accompany you, and this way I will remain with you at all times. I have calculated – under current conditions, this option is far more effective than a biodrone.»

One of the combat droids appeared in the side airlock. Massive, yet rather agile and reliable, it resembled modern Vriinian military support units. Under Arma’s watchful supervision, several such models had been refitted for autonomous patrol duties during ground reconnaissance missions. Its sensitive sensors and detectors were already studying the surroundings, transmitting all data to the Armaon.

«Well then», Smorg said, giving the droid an approving once-over as it came to stand beside him. There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice. «At least someone else didn’t go on vacation either.»

«He is fully under my control», Arma replied. «Please try not to stand in his way or run ahead of him. Otherwise, I will shock you.»

He looked at the droid, remained silent for a moment, then added:

«We’ll get along. As long as he isn’t too noisy.»

«He is definitely not noisy», Arma answered. «If anything, he is lethally quiet.»

Smorg nodded with respect.

Ahead, at the foot of the hill, an opening was visible – a shaft, spiraling like a seashell. Its smooth, almost mirror-like edges glowed with faint shades of blue and dark grey.

«Be careful. Who knows who might have been here before us. There could very well be defensive circuits or traps left behind», Arma warned.