Miria was not dead. Though bits and pieces of her corpse were scattered across Calun V, and her broken cadaver had long become a feature of the land, she was not dead. Her structure, a jagged black shape dominating a vista of verdancy, lay silent for many years, so it was understandable that people would look on and mistake her for a derelict ship. They were wrong. She was only asleep. However, the creatures who made their homes in her body did not know this. To them, she was another mountain, one filled with strange caves.
Her hallways echoed with the chittering of beasts and the screeching of vermin. Rodents scurried along her ribs, steel beams that were twisted and warped, making nests in the many empty spaces. Vines hugged her sides and draped across the many protrusions that burst forth from her gut. On the most primitive of levels, she was aware of the creatures in her body, even if subconsciously. She had a thousand eyes, a thousand noses, and a thousand ears, both inside and outside of her corpse. No creature approached without her knowing. Several scurried up her cables, a 6-legged beast nestled into one of her dorms, and serpents coiled up in her ventilation shafts. But she did not react, she did not dream of them. She knew they were there, but they were inconsequential.
Her hull was often noisy with activity, both from the wildlife that took refuge in her passages and from the wind that often blew across her chassis. Sometimes it would make her hum with reverberation, a sound that could be heard from a mile away. Her skeleton would groan and her stomach would grumble as the panels vibrated and the beams shook. But deep within her body, sealed away from the outside, the halls were silent and the air was stale. Not even an insect was able to penetrate her depths. Corridor connected to corridor, shaft to shaft, and accessway to accessway. But nobody walked these passages, not anymore. These halls have not heard a voice for ages. They have remained untouched from the moment of Miria’s demise. Occasionally, a whisper would flutter through the air, but nobody was around to hear it except Miria herself.
If there had been a light in these corridors, one would see walls streaked with rust-colored spatterings, sterile white ceilings stained with black whisps. But there was no light in Miria’s gut, only darkness, impenetrable darkness. The only entity present was Miria, sleeping. Her dreams were blank and her thoughts were flat. Occasionally, her awareness would stir and she would take note of the surroundings. A thousand cameras showed her a crater with a jungle at its edges. She inhabited a bowl-shaped meadow which the forest was hesitant to encroach upon. Only small bushes and grass dared to take root in her domain. Her fires had long ago scorched the land upon her crash-landing, making it uninhabitable for ages. But over time, the soil became fertile again and plants began to take root. Still, she remained the centerpiece of her own green tapestry, hull gleaming in the sunlight.
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After taking note of her surroundings, she would drift back into a deep dormancy, with only the whispers to keep her company. Occasionally, sentient beings would approach her domain and she would become aware of them, dream of them. When she dreamed, she became hungry and the inhabitants learned to fear her hunger. They posted warnings all around her domain, telling others to stay away, for fear of being forced to join her in her endless somnolence. Her tomb had become a forbidden ground, taboo to set foot upon. Her carcass jutted into the sky, a monolith seen from miles around, but none dared approach.
Miria had memories, but they were broken and shattered. Her captain screamed, her navigation systems had been scrambled. They had lost their way, drifted into a system many coined “The Bermuda Triangle of the Milky Way”. Static and corrupted data lay as blank spots in her core. She knew she was only a shell of her former self, but she did not know how much had been lost, who she was, or where she came from. She knew nothing. She was nothing more than an algorithm.
The sun rose, the sun set, storms came and went, causing waterfalls to drizzle off Miria’s hull, and waves to pour down her sides. Time eroded her carcass, causing paint to flake away and panels to fall, but she remained standing in defiance of it, even with her guts spewed across her tomb. Some of her innards had been reclaimed and obscured by brush, but she remained a fixture that blighted the jungle, always watching. She would awaken occasionally when an inhabitant of this world drifted too close and joined her in her dreams, but for the most part, she remained a silent, thoughtless observer.
Ages without action passed by. Days and nights cycled and the land around her shifted as the time lapsed. Fires speckled the forests at night, distant caravans rustled the treetops during the day. She watched through her many eyes, constantly observing, listening, smelling. Though conflict broke out in other parts of Calun V, nobody dared to approach her domain. Nobody until now. She awoke and began to dream of a couple traveling through the woods. Her impressions of them were faint, for they were still far too distant, but they were getting closer. 345 of her eyes honed in on the newcomers, watching their approach. An ebbing of hunger stirred.