Transformer Ship Novels & Stories

Did this make him decide if he was ready to kill Connor? I forced my gaze to the landscape ahead. I really wanted to not be surprised anymore, and yet I was still easily capable. "Goddess's hell," I breathed, just as Kael said, "Goddess above…" In our defense, our shock was warranted, because not too far in the distance was the ocean shore, where a massive ship was docked. It was twice as large as the Galiot, and maybe because it was carrying an uncountable amount of cars rolling out of it via plank.

We landed on a meadow of white, silk-like grass that didn't just cushion our fall—it seemed to breathe in rhythm with our arrival, absorbing the kinetic energy of our landing like a massive, organic sponge. ​Behind us, the Mother-Hive’s tractor beam hit the empty, granite cliffside with a frustrated roar of energy that shook the very foundation of the continent. We had escaped the "re-indexing," but as I looked up, the victory felt hollow. The massive ship didn't retreat into the void. It began to tilt on its axis, its massive, city-sized underside glowing with the ominous, red heat of planetary-siege cannons.

"That," She was pointing towards the enormous main enemy ship perched far up in the sky behind vanguards of smaller flying machines. It looked like a massive floating basalt rock in the distinct shape of a bull's head with curve horns, silhouetted by the sun. A blinding blue light flared from the center of its facade. "It called me," the child said again when the mother didn't say anything. Queen Tisha turned to look at Milo's reaction. But like her, there was only slight bewilderment in his face. Yet she couldn't at all dismiss the child's observation. She wondered about it and intended to make it known to the king.

"Neither have I. Look, over there. Enormous, isn't it?" Careful lest he get sideways with the sometimes testy admiral who controlled the surrounding fifty thousand cubic miles of space, the Terminator's captain had successfully negotiated his way through heavy traffic and dropped into final orbit. Now, as the warship's navigation computer made some final adjustments, the one time battle wagon came into view. Though originally of human manufacture, the vessel had been overhauled, rebuilt, and modified so many times that she could no longer be considered the product of any particular race. A fitting symbol for a diverse organization.

​The heavy-duty transit rig roared to life in the bunker’s dry dock, its armored chassis vibrating with the raw torque of a twin-hybrid core. Designed by Arthur Vance to look like a standard corporate reclamation transport, the vehicle was reinforced with military-grade ballistic plating and equipped with a localized active-stealth cloak.

There were faint lights scattered around the shape. "Nathaniel," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Is that... is that a ship?" He didn't answer. He dropped the case of fruit in the sand, his eyes fixed on the distant dot. He reached for the signaling mirror in his pocket, his movements fast and shaky. "It’s a vessel," he said, his voice tight with an emotion I couldn't name. "It’s too large for a fishing boat. It’s a freighter or a tanker."