After approximately half an hour of walking through dark tunnels, I come to a region where the wall lights still work. I close the tricorder. The power cell has considerable, but not infinite, endurance, and I may well need the device later.
I am not clear what my goals are, at this point. To evade the Voth and the security swarmers, certainly; beyond that, I must take whatever opportunities offer themselves. It would, naturally, be helpful to make contact with the Timor, or the survivors of the Tapiola - I hope no one has been so ill-advised as to follow me onto the transport pad, assuming that Twosani Dezin has managed to reactivate it.
The possibility of making contact with whatever agency controls this spire... is an intriguing one. However, I see no immediate prospect of this. I have seen no living things in all my walking.
In the circumstances, the isolation is - oppressive. There are tasks which I need to perform, urgently, and I have no way to go about them. It is frustrating. And that, too, demands that I reprove myself. Frustration is an emotional reaction; it accomplishes nothing; it should not be permitted to influence my actions.
Just because I am alone, with no one to see or judge me, is no reason to allow my mental discipline to lapse. It might be argued, in fact, that discipline is most essential when its absence might go unobserved.
I am still musing on this matter when I come to another round door, which opens before me in the normal manner.
The room beyond is brightly lit, not just by the light sources in the walls and ceiling, but also by glowing screens and holographic displays. It is a circular chamber, with a pit-like depression in the centre, and rounded consoles all around the walls. My eyes narrow. Evidently, this is an active control centre of some kind - I must be on my guard for security swarmers, or for the unknown occupants of the spire.
But there is no sign of life, or of swarmers. The displays constantly change, updating themselves, but that flickering is the only illusion of motion in the room. I step forwards, warily.
The central pit has a transparent floor - perhaps a force field, though there is none of the watery rippling that characterizes Solanae force fields. It could be transparent aluminium, or some variant thereof. I walk towards it, and look down.
There is an immense space beneath me, and some way down - it is hard to estimate how far, exactly - there is a flat platform jutting out of the wall. And on that platform -
I kneel down, then bend forwards, bringing my face as close to the transparent floor as possible. There is something, in among all the grey and black and matte-finished Solanae technology, that gleams, down there, on the platform. Something shaped like a rounded dart.
It is the Timor. I am - certain of it, within acceptable limits of error. I have come to some sort of control station above the internal spacedock where M'eioi's ship has come to rest.
I stand up, slap my combadge. "T'Pia to Timor. Come in, please. This is Admiral T'Pia calling the USS Timor."
No response. My combadge should have automatically detected Timor's comms carrier waves, tuned itself to the other ship's network... but there is no response.
I chide myself. Obviously, this control station must be carefully shielded against unauthorized transmissions. But if I can find a way through those shields -
I turn to inspect the consoles ranged along the walls. I have no idea what most of the data streams are telling me. I move from console to console, looking for something - anything - that I recognize.
One workstation is showing a schematic of the docking platform below me, and there is no doubt left, now. On the 3-D display, the inarguable shape of a Dauntless-class starship appears, surrounded by a cloud of status icons, some of which I can read. The system has registered the Timor as an unauthorized but harmless intrusion. I am inclined to worry over what these automated devices might do, if they decided the ship was other than harmless.
Communications. This area must have communications. If it is the local traffic control station for the spacedock, then there must be a way to communicate with visiting ships.
I know what Solanae internal communications stations look like. I find this one, on the fourth console I check. I touch the glowing symbols on the panel, tapping out the sequence to activate comms -
A red icon glows in the air before me. Security lockout. The system is demanding a passcode, one that I do not have. And I dare not tamper with these systems, in case I draw hostile attention either to myself or the Timor.
I repress the urge to slam my fist onto the console in frustration.
Alternative channels. Any comms station has backups, has spare capacity, unused frequencies - I set to work, exercising the utmost caution. I key in another sequence, and a panel pops open at the edge of the console, revealing another set of controls. An emergency backup of some kind? That is hopeful - such a system would, necessarily, have little or no security, once engaged.
I touch the controls, searching the available frequencies. The control readouts are calibrated in an unfamiliar notation - I find what must be a subspace channel, one which is showing significant activity. I punch in codes to transmit on that frequency.
For a moment, there is no response, and then there is a terrible squealing and snarling of electronic interference. I suspect the communicator is trying to send an automated handshake using protocols which the other system does not recognize. Possibly, one or the other has adaptive systems which can resolve the problem. If not, I must consult my tricorder and hope that I have data libraries on file which will enable me to make manual adjustments.
The squealing stops, and I hear a voice. "- clear this channel! I repeat, you are encroaching on Joint Command subspace traffic, you are directed to clear this channel!"
Joint Command. The device is an emergency comms system, for reaching out beyond the spire itself - and Joint Command's subspace comms were the first active frequency it found. I suppose I am fortunate: I could be talking to the Voth instead. "This is Admiral T'Pia of Starfleet," I say. "I am declaring an emergency. Connect me with Subcommander Kaol, immediately, maximum priority."
"Admiral T'Pia? What -?" The voice falls silent for a moment. Then it demands, "What is going on?"
"I am declaring an emergency. I have accessed this channel using a Solanae comms station. I do not know how long I can keep this channel open." If I have drawn attention, I could be running from swarmers or the Voth at any moment. "The situation is grave. Connect me with Subcommander Kaol, immediately."
The voice - it sounds like a Romulan male - evidently belongs to someone with some degree of intelligence. "Calling Subcommander Kaol now. I hope, for your sake, this is not a hoax."
"It is not. Thank you for your prompt action."
Another pause, agonizingly long. Then, finally, a voice I know. "Admiral T'Pia?" Kaol demands. "What is happening? Where are you?"
"I am at a control station in the anomalous spire. The situation is grave. The Voth are here, and they, or some other agency, have disabled the Tempest and the Tapiola. I was attempting to contact the Timor, but happened upon Joint Command frequencies instead."
"We can send an immediate relief force. What do you require?"
I have to phrase my response carefully, bearing in mind Kaol's informal authority. "I would not recommend that course of action. Whatever forces were used against our ships might be used against any number of others, with equal efficacy. Any relief force might well be incapacitated in its turn."
"What is the nature of the weapon? Is there a defence?"
"Someone - most probably the Voth - is using the technology of this spire to generate intense tetryonic fields. The Tempest was subjected to the field, and is most probably disabled, with total crew casualties. The Tapiola's particle converter protected the crew, but exploded in the process, damaging the ship itself, possibly irreparably. It is conceivable that a vessel with a massively reinforced particle converter might be able to approach the spire safely, but to my knowledge we have no such ships or converters available."
"What about the Timor?"
"The Timor entered the spire and is intact, but I am unable to make contact due to the high levels of internal energy shielding. Contacting the Timor will now be my first priority. They must be made aware of the danger, and the resources of the ship may be invaluable at this stage."
Kaol's voice sounds anguished. "What can we do?"
"Regrettably, Subcommander, I do not see any immediate way you could be of assistance at this point. If you have sufficient stealthed troopships, it might be possible for you to mount a discreet rescue mission to the base of this spire, and retrieve the crew of the Tapiola. Even that, though, would require you to be very sure that your stealth systems were equal to the task. I mean no disparagement of your people's cloaking technologies, but -"
"But Voth sensors are superior to ours. I know." Kaol sighs. "What is the Voth strength?"
"At least one Bulwark-class vessel. Their military resources, though, are probably a secondary consideration, if they have control of the spire's systems. I should note that the spire appears to have suffered significant internal damage, perhaps from misuse or overloading of its systems."
"Oh, this gets better and better!" Romulans have no philosophical requirement to contain their feelings of exasperation. "You tell me the situation is grave, but there is nothing I can do -"
"But you should be informed, Subcommander. I would suggest immediate research regarding the nullification of tetryon discharges. If I can contact the Timor, I can use her data transmission channels to send you the records of the Tapiola's incapacitation. This Solanae system, I regret to say, does not have such capacity. I submit to you that my priorities must be to gather what information I can, and to contact Admiral M'eioi's ship and arrange for you to receive that information. With that, and the resources of Joint Command, I am sure you will be able to formulate an appropriate response." I pause, then add, "Also, I must make what arrangements I can to protect my crew."
"Of course, of course," says Kaol. "I suppose you are right - some spire-based weapon could wipe out a fleet as easily as your two ships. I will have to, ahh, refer this matter upwards. If the Voth gain the capacity to disable our ships at will -"
Then our hold on the sphere - and our lifeline to the Delta Quadrant - would be gone. "The situation, as I have said, is grave. I will do all that I can to assist. I should not delay much longer - this channel is not secure, and if my transmission is detected, my own situation is apt to become untenable."
"Are you even sure you can reach the Timor? That the ship is still intact?"
"I can actually see the Timor from this room. The spire's internal shielding prevents me from making contact. I will confess that I find that... disagreeable."
I hear Kaol mutter something; it is indistinct, but sounds very like "Vulcans!"
"I will go now," I tell him. "I cannot say when next I will contact you - I hope that, next time, it will be from the comms station of the Timor. However, I cannot risk further discussion at this time." Actually, I simply have no more stomach for argument. Kaol has to be informed, but there is nothing he can do to help. He must be as frustrated as I am -
I switch off the transmitter, pace back to the centre of the room, and look down. Perhaps not quite as frustrated as I am. The Timor is beneath my feet - no more than two kilometres down. I can see her, but I cannot talk to her.
I kneel down on the transparent floor. Perhaps there is some way to generate a visual signal - if they see a bright light blinking in a regular pattern from above, they may investigate. There must, surely, be a way I can create a bright light.
I raise my tricorder. The imaging function can be used as a visual magnifier - if I can get a good look at the Timor, I should be able to aim a light where someone will notice it. But the tricorder is not designed, ergonomically, for this sort of application. The image wavers and trembles as I try to point it at the starship. I take a deep breath and hold it; I wrap my left hand around my right wrist, steadying it; I aim the tricorder's sensor head at the Timor; I discover I have misaligned it, and am looking at a stretch of wall instead....
There are windows in the wall, and shapes moving behind them. I frown. With a careful, awkward motion of my right thumb, I increase the magnification.
The shapes are not security swarmers. Nor are they Starfleet. They are big, lumbering, reptilian; some with scales, some with shining alloy armour. Dinosaurs, and saurian battlemechs.
The Voth are moving.
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