Vectors 4

M'eioi

A sense of scale is everything.

We know, intellectually, that space is vast... the vastest thing there is. But the immensity is abstract, too huge for the imagination to comprehend. It is a thing of mathematics, not of the spirit.

But as the Timor emerges from the Iconian gateway into the Solanae Dyson Sphere, I know what vast is.

My sleek little ship is hurtling through a sky, and there are clouds around us and land beneath us, and I can sense the scale of the place, and it is... it is vast.

It is not even a particularly large Dyson Sphere. The central star is a brown dwarf, barely type M; the diameter of the sphere is of the order of a third of an AU. It is a small sphere, a bijou sphere. Why, it would barely support the entire population of the Federation... a million times over.

I see the landscape on the viewscreen, and my eyes seek in vain for a horizon; cities, continents, oceans stretch off indefinitely into the distance, until they are lost in a blue haze. Behind us, the gigantic gateway itself, a thing big enough to swallow a fleet of starships and fling them thirty thousand light-years through space, is a toy by comparison.

"Traffic control hailing us, sir," says Sumal Jetuz. The impeccably groomed blond Betazoid is at the combined operations station, and if he is awestruck by the structure around us, it does not show in his manner. I yank my attention back to practicalities.

"Put them through." I straighten in my command chair. "This is Admiral M'eioi aboard the USS Timor, requesting transit clearance for the Jenolan gateway and beyond. Ship's ID and Starfleet orders are coming through on your data channels now."

The awesome view on the main screen blanks out, to be replaced by the face of a quietly composed Romulan woman. "This is Subcommander Arett at Solanae traffic control. Reading your documentation now, Admiral, and we will have you on your way shortly. Please take up station keeping around the central spire until an outbound vector can be assigned to you."

"Will do," I say. "Thank you, Traffic Control." I nod to Marya Kothe, the human officer at the helm. "Make it so."

The Timor turns, buffeted a little by atmospheric turbulence. We do not yet have the specialist systems to operate in the sphere's atmosphere.... Because the gravitational attraction inside a hollow sphere is effectively zero, there is atmosphere at surprisingly high levels. Radiation pressure from the central sun drives it towards the outer wall - and there are localized gravity generators everywhere - but, still, there is air here, and Timor is a spaceship, and air is not her natural medium.

The central spire is on the screen now - a megastructure that could only be built in zero-gravity conditions. It is not a spire, exactly, but a massive arcology supported on four columnar legs. It is only one of many such in the sphere, too... and yet, each of the thousands of layers in each of those four legs is the size of a city... there might be entire nations living in such a place.

We have only explored a tiny, tiny fraction of the Solanae sphere. It is... mind-boggling. There could yet be anything out there. Oh, we have some idea now of its purpose, its origins... but there are still so many mysteries....

The Romulan's voice breaks in on my musings. "Timor, your credentials and orders check out. I am transmitting a departure vector and appropriate security clearances to your nav console now. Please be advised that we are at security status three due to recent hostile activities, and we would suggest you proceed at yellow alert status. Please also double-check your solar shielding on approach to the Jenolan gateway. Safe journey, Admiral."

I glance at Marya, who nods in confirmation. "Outbound vector received and confirmed. Thank you, Subcommander. We'll be on our way, then." I pause, then add, "And we will take that security warning seriously. Yellow alert. And, Commander Joaj -?"

"Solar shielding checked and ready," Joaj replies. The engineer is of a species new to me, small in stature, with skin like tree bark and antennae bristling from her forehead. She is highly competent, though, which is good. The Iconian gateway to the Jenolan sphere is in close orbit around this sphere's central sun. Iconian artifacts can take close proximity to a star in their stride - our starships, though, cannot.

Timor arcs up and away from the spire, the huge structure dwindling in the aft imager, to become one of many such, lost in a landscape of bewildering, fractal complexity, fading beneath clouds and ever-increasing thickness of atmosphere.

Ahead of us, the sky darkens around the central sun. With less air to scatter light, the blue of the sky fades to a deep indigo... not quite a black, because there is still light reflected from the far side of the sphere's interior. Between the distance and the glare of the sun, it is impossible to make out detail, though, and I am obscurely glad of that. I do not think my mind could contain the full image of the Dyson sphere.

I am restless; I stand and prowl around the Timor's bridge, my tail swishing moodily. It is the flashing of alert lights that bothers me, perhaps. Are they even justified? I stop by the main science console, where Onguma, a calm and phlegmatic Saurian, turns her huge slit-pupilled eyes towards me.

"Is there a problem, sir?" she asks.

"I'm not sure...." I think for a moment. "Main sensors are clear, yes?"

"Only identified traffic around the gateway. USS Hurricane and RRW Aehallh are running standard patrol in near-stellar orbit." Two heavy battleships - that amount of firepower should discourage most casual raiders. But the Voth... the Voth are still here, their rigid social hierarchy determines that they must keep fighting a war they can no longer hope to win... and the Voth are technically advanced and highly devious....

"Set my mind at rest. Run a tachyon scan for cloaked ships."

Onguma starts to punch commands into the console, her hands moving swiftly and methodically. I make myself go back to the command chair, sit down, try to relax. Surely I am fretting over nothing?

"Secondary deflector engaged, beginning tachyon sweep," Onguma reports. "Immediate vicinity is clear, nothing in weapons range. Forward sector... is clear. Port sector... clear. Starboard sector...." She turns, suddenly. "Contacts to starboard. Range two niner zero, closing."

"Red alert." I fight to stay calm, to project confidence in my voice, though I can feel all my fur bristling. "Can you get me details?"

"Trying, sir." Onguma bends over her console. "Four traces. One is notably ahead of the others... I have a faint radiation profile, running it against our databases now."

"Tactical. Shields to maximum. Charge all weapons, prepare for immediate combat." There can be no good reason for cloaked ships to be approaching, here. I try to think calming thoughts. This is a good ship... I have seen combat before....

"Ship decloaking," Marya reports. They must have spotted our scan, or noted our shields and weapons heating up. "Confirming ID... Voth Palisade class scout vessel. Closing to intercept."

"One ship? What of the other three?" Though even one of the Voth ships is bad enough news. "Stand ready photonics... and charge the singularity projector." Timor is based on a design taken from the Delta Quadrant, but several of her systems are the fruits of technology exchanges with the Romulan Republic. We have several tricks up our sleeve... we will need them.

"Signal the Voth. Inform them that we are on a peaceful mission to the Delta Quadrant and do not desire conflict." It will not do any good, but it must be done. We are Starfleet, not... thugs.

"Transmitting signal," Sumal says. "No response."

"Voth ship is closing, shields up and weapons powered," says Onguma. "Still no match on the other cloaked contacts... I don't think they read the same as the Palisade, but -"

"Approaching weapons range," Marya interrupts.

So, it begins. "Photonics, project decoy!"

An outside observer might see Timor's gleaming sides shimmer, might see the ship appear to jump a little forwards... no more than that. The photonic deception is as near perfect as our scientists can make it, and is accompanied by a barrage of sensor noise that should confuse even Voth instrumentation.

And it does. The Palisade turns sharply, its smooth, blunt shape coming about to face our projected image. Scarlet slashes of antiproton beams sear out - to pass through the decoy, while we lurk invisibly behind it.

It won't fool them for long. "Singularity projection, go! All forward batteries, open fire!"

And the real USS Timor announces her presence in no uncertain terms. The singularity projector is an experimental Romulan weapon, which does as its name implies - throws a captive quantum singularity at our target, with consequent massive energy release and gravitic disruption. The Voth ship yaws violently, its shields flaring and wavering under the assault.

Our forward plasma banks - Romulan technology, again - lash out, and even those stubborn Voth shields fail, the beams punching through to scar and blister the smooth metal carapace of the Palisade's hull. But the enemy ship is only hurt, not crippled, and it knows its target now.

"Incoming fire!" yells Marya.

Antiproton beams shoot out again, and it is the turn of our shields to flare under the vicious impact. Timor trembles, and damage lights flash on my command console. And they, too, have tricks up their sleeves - "Hard evasive!" I order.

"Coming about," says Marya.

"Sir!" Onguma's voice is excited. "The other ships are decloaking! Sir, they're Klingons! Birds of Prey!"

I have never before been glad to see Klingons.

The three rakish vessels swoop towards the Palisade, disruptor cannons chattering with eye-hurting green light. They have other weapons too, specialised for use against the Voth. Sections of the Palisade's hull implode as gravimetric torpedoes strike home. Our own plasma beams are still blazing, and under the combined onslaught, the Voth ship staggers. Flame belches from one hull breach, then another, and then the Palisade comes apart in a tangle of blazing ruins. Timor slews hard to port, taking the debris and radiation from the warp core breach on a relatively undamaged shield.

The Voth ship is dead.

"Signal from the Klingons, sir," says Sumal.

"On screen."

The Klingon commander is... typical. Scars, beard, and a jovial laugh. "Brigadier General J'dak here. We have been pursuing that petaQ' half-way across the sphere... we knew he would be tempted out by easy pickings, but you proved not quite so easy as he expected, no? Are you damaged?"

I glance across at Joaj, who shakes her head. "Admiral M'eioi of the Timor. Nothing that won't polish out - but it was good to see you, General!"

He laughs again. "Glad to be of help, ally."

"Will you want help recovering any survivors or escape pods?"

"We can handle that. The Voth are not without honour, in their way - they value their own people highly, and prisoner exchanges work in our favour. The survivors will be treated fairly as prisoners of war."

"Then we'll be on our way, General - we have appointments in the Delta Quadrant."

Another hearty laugh. "A safe journey to you, Admiral."

"Thank you, General, and good hunting to you!"

The Klingon's face vanishes from the screen, to be replaced by the image of the shattered Voth ship, hull fragments glinting in the light of the Solanae sun. Somehow, I feel better. Blooded. My ship is blooded. We Caitians may be civilized, peaceful people, these days, but we are still predators at heart....

"So," I say aloud, "on to the Delta Quadrant, then."