Mothership

The sky was dark and starless. Under it the sea shimmered faintly with the lights from aboard. It could be seen from afar, navigating through uncharted waters and exploring the deepest corners of the planet. It bounced little with the flow of the sea, but its balance was not familiar to those who had never met such a rare sight.

Khelabadir it was called, and since long and past years it had been known as the Mothership. Enormous, imponent, majestic. One of the last hopes of mankind after the Great Drown, holding a few of the remnants of civilization upon its back to escape obliteration. It was nothing more than a seed adrift, waiting for better times to come.

And it was alive.

The Mothership was a domesticated colossi, gigantic being who had a whole city built upon him, and as amphibious as it was, swam away from savagery and destruction as soon as they came. Through a telepathic channel it could communicate with the Navigators, men and women prepared to motion the huge intellect and ask for its cooperation. It was mutual and agreed.

The Navigators existed since humans learned to befriend colossi. They bonded in ways that were not possible among people themselves. Their minds worked towards a common ground, step by step, and so the colossi moved and did what was asked of it.  Their psychodance was beautiful and rewarding.

On that day, on that very day, the sky was dark and starless. The Mothership could be seen from afar, far into the horizon. Unscathed so far, and yet unknowing to the tragedy the future withheld in its tepid waves.

(a story on a ship. Past, present or future.)