Noonday Sun 27

T'Pia

Cold air gathers itself about me as I fall.

The surface of the sphere is spread out before me, a tapestry of buildings and grassy spaces, veiled here and there by low-lying fleecy clouds.

The gravity is variable, depending on factors such as the proximity and power of local grav generators. Air density, consequently, is also highly variable. In one respect, this is fortunate - if I were on a conventional planet, I would be so high that the oxygen content of the atmosphere would be insufficient to maintain consciousness. However, it does mean that there are too many variables for me to calculate my effective terminal velocity. I do not know how many minutes I have to live.

I am sure, though, that it is a small number. I touch my combadge. "T'Pia to Tempest. Urgent."

There is a brief pause, but the comms system has reconfigured itself. Twosani Dezin's voice replies. "Tempest here. What's your situation, sir?"

The wind is gathering as my speed increases. "I am falling from the interior of the spire. Please lock transporters onto my combadge and beam me up."

There is another pause. That is disconcerting. The communications link has already been established; the delay, therefore, must be down to some other factor. This becomes clear when Twosani's voice replies, "Sir, the transporters are still slaved to the spire's transport system. We can reset and test, but it will take time -"

Time I do not have. I review my options, and fight back panic. "Very well. We must attempt a physical interception. I assume you have helm control?" If they do not, I am dead.

"We have - but, sir -"

"Plot a rendezvous course. I will modify my own trajectory to match, as much as I am able, when I have a visual on the ship. Take appropriate precautions, but proceed expeditiously." My voice is louder than I would like, as I say that last word. I could, of course, blame it on the increasing wind, which is forcing me to shout, now -

"We'll - do our best, sir!" Twosani's voice is faint.

"I am sure you will. I will await your arrival with keen anticipation! I cannot maintain voice communication any longer!" The air is howling around my face, tugging at my clothing, at my hair. Twosani's voice says something more, but I cannot make out the words.

There is, strangely, little sense of falling. The sphere is so vast, it is hard to gain an impression of my speed from visual cues, and I am familiar with the feeling of weightlessness. The only real clue comes from the wind, as I plummet through the air. I spread out my arms and legs, increasing the surface area I present, slowing my fall by some infinitesimal fraction.

I must not fear. The primordial dread of death is beating at the back of my mind, but I must not let it in. There is no one to see me, no one to witness my shame if I break down, if I let my logic slip.... It is precisely because of this that I must not fail. No one will know, but me. It is what we do when no one will know... that defines us.

I must not fear.

There is much to distract me, in the landscape beneath me. Buildings larger than many cities, insignificantly small at this distance... each one has a purpose, has a story, perhaps a longer story than that of my entire species. The spire... I can see, in the distance, one of the three towering legs of the spire. Even allowing for the space-wasteful interior architecture designed by the Solanae, the spire must have enough surface area, all by itself, to accommodate a nation.

Indeed, it does house a nation... the last remnant, perhaps, of the Solanae. I would prefer, on an intellectual level, to remain alive so as to witness our efforts to establish relations with these Solanae, to learn their story, perhaps to reach out, through them, to their cousins in subspace. I would prefer to be alive... to see this, and so many other things....

I must not fear.

The wind is howling in my ears, and behind it comes another sound, a great bellowing roar that comes from no living throat -

Tempest rises beneath me like a whale surging up from the deeps. Someone - most probably Pascale, with her mechanical precision - has driven the ship into a steep dive, to get below me, to rise up now and match my vector. I steel myself. I must do whatever I can to help them -

The white-grey rounded bulk of the main saucer swells, blotting out my view of the sphere. I draw in my arms, changing my angle of attack, moving myself closer to the ship. If I can reach an airlock, all will be well.

Tempest looms up beside me, her thrusters roaring. The air around her becomes like her namesake, a turbulent, swirling mass that catches me and sends me spinning. The hull is a grey blur, sliding past me -

I slam into the side of the ship, my head and my upper torso smashing heavily against it, hard enough for stars to explode across my vision. Then the air takes me and hurls me aside again, limbs flailing as I seek to regain control.

There is a flash, a fugitive gleam of bright metal, in the corner of my eye -

Tempest's hull is out of reach; I bring my arms close to my body, making myself narrower, allowing me to fall faster, straighter. The airflow around the ship's hull is a deafening barrage of blasts - and the thrusters are adding their own sounds, again. I reach up, carefully, feeling at the breast of my torn tunic.

Nothing. My combadge was torn loose in the collision. And Twosani is surely tracking that, instead of me -

Tempest slides by at terrifying speed. Caught in the turbulent flow of air over the hull, I am tumbling towards the stern of the ship. I strive to compose myself, to find a handhold, something to grip, something, anything, within reach.

My flailing right hand touches something - hot metal, almost hot enough to burn - but it is something, and I grasp it, instinctively. Rough, hot edges dig into the palm of my hand, and a smell of burning fills my nostrils, and I come to a halt with a jerk that nearly wrenches my arm off at the shoulder.

I am hanging, one-handed, to a grille at the trailing edge of the engineering hull, my body flapping like a flag behind the Tempest - and I know what the grille is; it is the rear starboard RCS thruster. If Pascale needs to fire that thruster, at this distance, it will blast the flesh off my bones - I grit my teeth, and pull with my aching arm, pulling myself in, towards the Tempest.

I get a grip with my other hand, and manage to turn and bend my body, and find a foothold. I scramble over the top of the thruster assembly, to find myself clinging to the upper surface of the engineering hull. The wind is blasting around me; Tempest is gathering speed. But I am partly within the ship's deflector field, and there is enough artificial gravity leaking through the hull to hold me - if I am cautious.

Hand over hand, moving on all fours from one precarious handhold to another, I make my way forwards. The blank metal door of the shuttle bay. That is where I need to be. In the lee of the blasting winds, safer, steadier. I fix my thoughts on that goal, think of nothing else, as I pull myself forwards.

It takes an age, or what feels like an age. But, finally, I am under the overhanging edge of the shuttlebay doors. And - I look around. I am remembering, correctly, some details of the Pathfinder-class starship's exterior.

Just outside the shuttle bay are two emergency airlocks. I pull myself to my feet, stagger the few steps to the starboard lock. There is a comms panel; I key it with shaking, bloodied fingers.

"T'Pia to bridge," I say. "I am at the starboard exterior airlock beside the shuttle bay." I check; there are no security conditions in effect. "I will let myself in."

---

Inside, it is blessedly calm and quiet - by comparison, at least. The corridors are crowded, though. It looks as if Twosani has successfully evacuated the whole of the Tapiola's surviving crew, and the Orb Weaver's complement is several times larger than the Tempest was designed for. I pass along the corridors with as much energy and confidence as I can muster. It is not a lot.

I can feel, though, a sense of... approval. A Starfleet crew will respect a commander who takes risks - it is, perhaps, not logical, but it is a fact. I am saluted, on several occasions, with military precision, and return the salutes in like fashion. I must concede, though, that I would desperately like to rest.

I get to the turbolift on the shuttle deck, and its door opens to reveal Twosani and the Trill doctor, Lishin. "Sir -" says Twosani, her concern obvious in her black eyes. "We thought we'd lost you."

"I lost my combadge. I am, however, here and uninjured."

"You're not uninjured," Lishin says severely. She has a medical scanner in one hand.

"Minor abrasions, burns and contusions. Nothing of significance." I step into the turbolift. "Bridge," I say to the capsule, then I turn to Twosani. "Situation report."

"We're operational - just. Life support systems are overloaded, but they'll last out for a quick run to Joint Command, or to a relief ship if we can get one. But the main problem is the burned-out bioneural circuitry. That did a lot more damage than we'd thought. A lot of the ship's systems are on secondary or tertiary emergency backup. We can get a better picture from the main systems board -"

The turbolift doors hiss open, and I step through onto the Tempest's bridge. It is crowded, like the rest of the ship, and even a cursory glance shows me far too many red and amber lights on status displays. And... everyone appears to be standing up. It is peculiar, but the only person occupying a bridge seat is Pascale, at the helm.

I walk up to the command chair, and I stop, and I see why.

The seat covering is scorched and blackened, and there is a dark ashy residue on it. And, among that residue, a few tarnished scraps of metal - discoloured, but still recognizable. A Starfleet combadge, and the rank insignia of a Rear Admiral, Lower Half. The mortal remains, such as they are, of Daniel Fallon.

I do not sit. I put both hands on the back of the command chair, though, and rest for a moment. I am sore and bruised and desperately tired.

"Repairs are in progress," Twosani says quietly, beside me. Lishin is scanning my injuries - she will discover that I am right, that they are superficial only. "We should be in a position to go to impulse within an hour or so - and if we can get through to Joint Command, they can send help -"

"I recall the frequencies I used, to contact Subcommander Kaol from the spire." I straighten up, and suppress a wince. "Let me see the comms board." I move towards that station, with Lishin swearing under her breath behind me.

There is an indicator light flashing on the comms panel. I raise one eyebrow. "It appears," I say, "that someone is attempting to communicate." I touch the board, opening the channel.

A voice sounds first, before any image appears on the viewscreen. "Starfleet personnel. We see that you have reactivated the USS Tempest." The voice is familiar. "We will state the conditions under which you will be permitted to depart. You will instruct your Joint Command that this facility is now under the control of Voth forces, and that interference will not be permitted -"

A face now appears on the main screen. It is one I have seen before; the massive, scaled, craggy countenance of the Voth commander, Stannark. From the background behind him, it appears that he is in the cockpit of some small vehicle. He stops speaking as soon as he sees me.

"This is Admiral T'Pia," I say. "I regret, Commander Stannark, that the factors which we discussed during our previous conversation have not materially altered. We are unable to give you the assurances you require, and we cannot permit you to take control of the spire."

Stannark remains absolutely still and silent for a second. Then, "You," he says, in tones of undisguised anger. "I thought I had killed you - This changes things. This changes everything." He leans forward, his face filling the screen. "You will not escape my anger again. I will end this, now. I will end you."

Noonday Sun 26

"Thirty heavy exosuits destroyed, and nearly eighty per cent of our furiadons," Karzis reported, his voice heavy with gloom. "Casualties among lighter elements were... substantial. The exosuits themselves are easily replaceable, but the trained operators are, unfortunately, another matter."

"And the dinosaurs?" Stannark demanded.

"We have clone stock for replacements, but it will take time to decant them, force-grow them to maturity, install the enhancements... At least a week before we are back even to minimum complement."

Stannark ground his teeth. "This is a serious setback. We need our ground units to pacify the spire, to remove the arthropods.... I need another approach. Suggest something! You are my intelligence analyst, analyse some intelligence for me!" He turned and stamped irritably back and forth across the command deck.

"It would be helpful to have more intelligence," said Karzis. His dry tone was back. "I suggest we open negotiations."

Stannark turned to face him. "What?"

"To gather intelligence." Karzis tapped one of his ocular implants. "My facial expression categorizer and voice stress analysis software is adequate to determine the truth or falsehood of any primate's statements.... Let us talk to them, ask them questions... and receive, whether they will or no, truthful answers. Once we have a fuller picture of their capability, we can tailor our strategy to suit."

Stannark stood still, considering. "Certainly, we need to know what accommodations they have reached with the Solanae arthropods.... Very well. The Starfleet primates are supposed to be in favour of negotiation over conflict. Supposed to be.... Set it up."

"I will pre-empt some of the spire's comms channels and open a video link," said Karzis. "I will need to see the primate's face." His taloned fingers rattled on his console. "This is more difficult than it should be. The spire's systems are engaging countermeasures - antivirus protocols, firewalls to block our software probes. It is... annoying." Stannark said nothing. Karzis worked at the console for several minutes, then leaned back in his seat. "Transmitting a signal with comms channel information and a request for parley. It is now a matter of waiting, while they decide if they want to parley...."

"Starfleet claims to be peaceable," said Stannark. "More to the point, their own position is hardly secure... they should welcome the opportunity."

"What proposals do you intend to make to them?"

"I will give them the opportunity to withdraw peacefully from the spire. I may offer more... for the sake of appearances... but the only outcome I will accept is complete victory for us."

"Well," said Karzis, "our ground losses are only a setback, after all -" A light pulsed on his console. "I have a response."

"On screen." Stannark turned to face the bridge viewscreen.

The face that appeared on it was pale, with green eyes and red-brown hair. Stannark could see Solanae walls and consoles in the background. "This is Admiral T'Pia. You have indicated a desire to communicate. I am glad to oblige you in that."

Stannark took a ponderous step forwards. "I am Gavron Stannark, commander of the Gendratis, responsible for the Voth mission to pacify and control this facility. I require you and your remaining Starfleet forces to withdraw from this area."

"I see," said T'Pia. "It is not possible for us to comply with your request. There are several reasons for this, which, if you will permit me, I will enumerate. Firstly, the spire is properly the home territory of its Solanae occupants. Secondly -"

"The Solanae are parasites! They are - they are squatters, occupying Voth property!"

"That may be Voth Doctrine, but it is not accurate," said T'Pia. "Secondly -"

"You dare to challenge Doctrine, you - you mammal?"

"Secondly," T'Pia continued, "it is contrary to our interests to allow you to take control of a military facility which you would use against us - have, in fact, already used against us, inflicting considerable loss of life."

"Justified," Stannark snarled. "We destroyed the primate Fallon, who had taken many Voth lives with deliberate malice! We are entitled to destroy those who oppose us!"

"I had the opportunity to observe Rear Admiral Fallon's methods," said T'Pia, "as did my colleague Admiral M'eioi, who was disturbed by them. Such behaviour is often found in times of war, however. Realistically, therefore, it is one more sound reason to bring the conflict between our cultures to a peaceful, negotiated conclusion."

"Peace? Peace can be attained simply and readily," said Stannark. "Merely leave the sphere to us, its rightful occupants! Simplicity itself."

"Again, I must question your species's Doctrine in this respect," said T'Pia, "and, again, military reality precludes such an arrangement. Your experiments with the sphere's Omega particles pose a danger which we cannot accept."

"Our scientists know what they are doing!"

"That assessment is inaccurate. Also, we have of late had direct experience of the military potential of a fully-armed enemy Dyson sphere. It is not an experience which we are anxious to repeat. A negotiated settlement - which must, now, include the Solanae - might set up a joint administration and research project, to investigate the sphere and examine its technologies safely. Both we and the Voth would gain much from such an arrangement."

"We do not need you! Your people are a distraction, an annoyance -" Stannark broke off. He took a deep breath, forcing himself back under control "In any case - this is broad policy, and not an area where either of us can make commitments. Here and now, Admiral T'Pia, I must arrange for the departure of your forces from this spire."

"I see. Such a departure could only take place if we were convinced that the Solanae's rights would be respected by you, and that the spire's military potential would not be deployed against us. I assume that you are not willing to make binding promises in respect of these matters. We must, therefore, continue to work to counter your efforts."

Stannark glared. The creature looked soft, scaleless, noisome, with that mop of reddish fibres over the naked membrane of its face.... Its whole face looked like an open wound. "You cannot win," he ground out. "I have the full resources of a Bulwark-class battleship. It will take time, it will be tedious, but I will gain control."

"My colleague, Admiral M'eioi -"

"I do not wish to know about your pet!"

"Admiral M'eioi is in consultation with the Solanae authorities," said T'Pia, "and together they are able to deploy the resources of the spire against your forces - and those resources exceed those of your battleship by an order of magnitude. It is true that our control is, as yet, incomplete. Nonetheless, I feel confident that we will achieve our ends."

"I can bring in other resources! I can call in a fleet!"

"So can I," said T'Pia. "I have access to Joint Command, and you cannot create your biolytic fields while we dispute with you over the spire's control systems. If you wish for a massively destructive conflict, it can be arranged. You will, of course, recall that Voth military superiority in such conflicts is by no means guaranteed."

Stannark bared his teeth. "You expect me to negotiate, to reach a compromise, to make concessions," he growled. "Well, I will not! I speak for Voth Doctrine, and our Doctrine is inarguable fact! You will be defeated, and I will make you pay for your insolence!" He rounded on Karzis. "Screen off!"

Karzis touched a control, and the viewer went blank. "Interesting," he commented.

"What did you get?" Stannark demanded.

"T'Pia is a Vulcan, and that species of primate is culturally predisposed towards accuracy," said Karzis. "I am reasonably confident, I am afraid, that she is telling the truth about her ability to reach Alliance Joint Command." His voice sharpened as he turned his head towards his commander. "Would High Command send a support fleet if you asked for one?"

"Doubtful," said Stannark. "Not in the face of a full-on counterattack by the primate forces, certainly. That is alarming." His face worked as if he were tasting something foul. "To know that my threat is hollow, where hers is not...."

"She is on less certain ground in some things," said Karzis. "She speaks of the Solanae authorities, and of working with them... but either the authorities, or Starfleet's alliance with them, is considerably more tenuous than she wishes us to think. Possibly both. She does not have mastery over the spire's systems." He shook his head. "But she is confident that she will have it... more confident than I would like."

"Anything else?"

"She speaks of her colleague, M'eioi.... I gather that she regards the creature as a capable partner, absurd though the idea might seem to us. However, the way in which she said it...." Karzis's tone grew pensive. Stannark could see data flashing on his ocular implants.

"Tapiola is wrecked, her crew sheltering in the sphere's infrastructure. Timor is still on the docking platform," Karzis said. "I think that both T'Pia and M'eioi are detached from their commands. That they have only their own resources, and a very uncertain friendship with the Solanae, to rely on. In which case...."

"What?" snapped Stannark.

"If either one were removed from the equation," said Karzis, "Starfleet's position would be significantly weakened. Now, M'eioi is with the Solanae in their command centre, and hidden behind shields and security barriers that are still proving obdurate. But T'Pia... T'Pia used the resources of the docking station against us. She is in the control room for the docking platform, and she is alone there, I am reasonably sure of that. She must keep her position in that room, or she sacrifices several of her few advantages."

"She is isolated, and pinned down to a specific location," said Stannark. "She is vulnerable."

"Quite so," said Karzis. "And I am, again, reasonably certain that I know her location, and it is within reach of our troops. Shall we despatch an assault team to take her?"

"No," said Stannark. "No, I am tired of this. It is more than time that I took a personal hand." He turned, and strode to the bridge doors. "Prepare my Dacentrus."

---

The mammals called the exosuits battlemechs; ridiculous, Stannark thought. The metal and electronics of the Dacentrus were not like a vehicle, not even like a suit of armour... they meshed with him, they were an extension of himself....

And in the Dacentrus, he was strong, and powerful, and fast again, as he had not been fast in a long time. He raced down the spire's corridors, his mighty footsteps booming as he went, and he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation of the hunt.

"Local mapping complete. We have the location of the docking controls," Karzis's voice sounded in his ear.

From the outside, the Dacentrus presented a face of implacably blank metal armour; the holo-systems in the interior made that as transparent as glass. Now, the readouts drew a map in the air before Stannark's eyes, showed him the path, identified his destination.

"Not far now," he muttered. A twitch of one finger readied the exosuit's armaments.

"I have no readings on local defences," said Karzis's voice, "but we must assume there are some -"

"I will be equal to them," growled Stannark. "More than equal. The primate cannot use her tractor arrays in here."

The first barrier confronted him now - a simple closed door, one which refused to open at his approach. Another twitch of his finger - and blasts of scarlet light from his arm cannons smashed the door into flaming flinders. He rushed through without breaking stride.

"Security alert level has risen at your location," said Karzis.

"Obviously," Stannark snarled back. He was already taking aim at the next closed door.

"You are approaching the -"

"I can read a map!"

The next door exploded. A short, curving corridor lay on the other side. Stannark thundered down it, cannons blazing.

"It is likely that she has prepared -"

"She cannot prepare for this."

The Dacentrus's indirect-fire cannon belched, once. There was a moment's pause, and then the explosive shell detonated at the end of the corridor. Stannark fired again. This time, the shell hurtled through the smoke and wreckage to explode in the room beyond.

Stannark charged through the open doorway, and into the docking control room. The exosuit's motion sensors were jangling, but the movement of a living body was easily distinguishable from the falling of wreckage. Antiproton blasts lashed out from the arm cannons, leaving a trail of devastation across the opposite wall.

"She is moving fast," Stannark muttered.

"I do not have a positional fix -"

"I do. Now, silence." Stannark looked around the control room. His weapons had left consoles shattered and sparking, and there were ominous creaking sounds coming from the structure. He trod cautiously around the transparent panel at the centre of the room. The exosuit could take a fall - it was rated for insertion via sub-orbital drop - but it would take a weary time to climb back up from the docking platform, and he would lose his target in the process.

The overlay display flickered and changed. Karzis was sending additional mapping data. Wisely, he was doing so without comment. Stannark could make out a fleeing, moving point, an object which could only be T'Pia -

There was other movement. Stannark snarled.

The first security swarmer emerged from a panel on the ceiling, firing immediately. Its antiproton beam splashed harmlessly off Stannark's shields, and his return fire blew it to smoking ruins. But another was behind it, and another. Stannark muttered an oath. "This will require finesse," he said to himself, and he crouched and leaned forward.

The swarmers fired, swung around in a swirling of tentacles, fired again. Stannark ignored them. His eyes narrowed as he judged the angles. "Now," he muttered, and triggered the indirect-fire cannon.

The explosive shell flew on the exact trajectory Stannark had planned, and he allowed himself a smile. The round passed through the ceiling panel and detonated inside the access channel the swarmers were using. The control room shuddered and rocked with the explosion. "That will slow them down," Stannark said with satisfaction, and he swung his arms, cannons blazing, to cut down the swarmers in mid-air.

"Reacquiring main target." The blip that was T'Pia was further away, now, but nowhere near out of range. Stannark moved forwards. One console in the control room still seemed to be functioning; as he passed it, he lashed out with one clawed steel foot, reducing it to ruins.

"I have her," he announced. "Oh, I do not have a visual, yet, but I have her."

In the exosuit, he was fast and tireless. He could thunder down the tubular corridors all day, at speeds no organic could match. T'Pia was moving, was dodging down side passages, attempting to lose herself in the maze of corridors - and it would do her no good, could do her no good.

He was closing on her. She had to know that. The Vulcans were supposed to suppress their emotions, he knew, but the fear of death had to be rising in her, now - would rise further, with every stride he took.

"You are approaching the outer wall of the spire," Karzis's voice said.

"She is looking for an exit, perhaps. She will find none." The motion sensors showed her closer, now, only a few twists and turns ahead. "She is running out of options."

His sensors were on high alert, but there was no sign of any more attacking swarmers. No sign, either, of T'Pia deploying weapons. She had a personal shield, that much he could see, but it would be useless against the power of the exosuit's cannons.

He rounded another corner, charged down the next passage. Only a little further now -

And then there was a round doorway before him, and a room beyond, and light, sunlight falling in through narrow arched windows in the opposite wall. The slight, black-clad figure of his target was silhouetted in the sunlight. Stannark slowed to a halt. He raised his weapons - then he cut in the suit's external speakers.

"Admiral T'Pia. Let me show you why you should not question Doctrine." He took aim.

And T'Pia turned, and flung herself bodily out of the window, into the empty air beyond.

Stannark stared. He checked his maps. There was nothing below, no outcropping of the spire's structure - only the surface of the sphere, many kilometres below. And he could see T'Pia's signal on the motion detectors, dwindling into the distance as she fell....

He switched back to internal comms. "This is Stannark. The primate T'Pia has destroyed herself. I am returning to the ship."

Noonday Sun 23

"I do not trust them," Dyegh whispered.

Siffaith glanced around. The two aliens were some distance off, hunched over a console together, apparently conferring. The dark, hairy one, M'eioi, was checking some hand-held device, while the mechanical, Pearl, studied the console readouts. They looked strange, alien... but were they dangerous? Though that weapon still rode on Pearl's hip....

"I am not sure we have a choice," he said to Dyegh. "They are here now, and I do not see how to eject them."

"It is as I said it would be. Temporary alliance, followed no doubt by another, and then another, until -" He was visibly trembling. Siffaith reached out and touched his arm.

"Until what, Dyegh?"

"Until they become as the old gods. The Iconians. The Iconians owned the Progenitors, Siffaith."

Siffaith looked from him to the two aliens, and back again. "That will not happen, Dyegh," he said firmly.

"How can you prevent it? You cannot trust them, Siffaith!"

"I can prevent it very easily," said Siffaith. "We tell them no, Dyegh. That is all we need to do. Even if they threaten with their weapon, they cannot follow through on that threat. They need our specialist knowledge of the Home's systems, and if we withhold it, they can do nothing."

"They are learning," said Dyegh. "They are not like the People, Siffaith." He made a swift, dismissive gesture in Tyonovon's direction. "They have quick minds and a willingness to acquire knowledge. How soon will it be before they no longer need us? How soon -"

"I think they can be trusted," Tyonovon said suddenly. Siffaith and Dyegh both turned towards her. "They did not kill. The others, the Voth, they killed, wantonly... People, who had offered them no harm. But these two - I do not believe they take pleasure in killing. I think they are what they say they are - peaceful people, perhaps driven to violence if the need arises, but not killers by nature."

"They killed one of the Voth, if your account is correct," said Dyegh.

"But the Voth was a killer. It is -" Tyonovon waved her claws, searching for words. "It is different, Dyegh."

"Self-defence," said Siffaith. "We are killing in that cause, Dyegh. Or, at least, I am sending the swarmers out to kill on our behalf, and that amounts to the same thing."

"Even if that is true," said Dyegh, "their own self-interest may lead them to take control of the Home. To use it for their own purposes, not for ours."

"They have laws -" Tyonovon began.

"They say they have laws," said Dyegh. "Can we believe them? Can we believe they will hold to these laws, if they see advantage in breaking them?"

Tyonovon made another exasperated gesture. "We do not know. We cannot know. But perhaps - perhaps we must trust, Dyegh. One thing we do know. The Voth will take the Home if they are not stopped."

A footstep sounded on the deck plates nearby. It was the dark-furred alien, M'eioi. "I hope I'm not interrupting," she said.

"What is it you want?" Dyegh was fairly vibrating with suspicion, Siffaith saw. Did the alien notice? She was so very different from the People....

"We've finished setting the security measures in place around your populated sectors," said M'eioi. "I think the force shields will hold against any portable weaponry the Voth can bring to bear - unless they use the firepower of their ship against the spire, in which case all bets are off anyway. But the shields will stop antiproton fire from a personal weapon, or the larger cannons mounted on a cyborg dinosaur or a battlemech." She touched one black, hairy hand to her face, smoothing the long whiskers that grew above her mouth. "Part of the problem, I guess, is going to be persuading the rest of your people to stay in the safe areas. You'll have to talk to them yourselves, I think. They won't want to take orders from weird aliens like me and Pearl, that's for sure."

"That can be arranged," said Siffaith. "There are communicators, we can make announcements."

"Even so," M'eioi continued, "the secure areas will only stay secure if we can maintain the force fields, which means keeping the power running throughout the spire. If the Voth can hit critical distribution nodes or generators, we're in trouble. Pearl and I have been running some scans, and, well, there's some stuff we'd like your thoughts on."

"What is it?" Siffaith asked.

"There seem to be some problems already, balancing the power load on the spire's systems. It's as if some parts of the distribution network - your equivalent to our EPS grid - has failed already. Like - sections of it burned out, or something."

Dyegh made a wordless sound. M'eioi started at it, and stared at him. "It is - possible," he said. "It is something I feared - the Home's systems are very old, the whole of the Land is very old - it is possible that the Voth damaged something when they subverted my systems -"

Or that Dyegh's ambitious project had already stressed the Home to its limits, Siffaith thought but did not say.

"If you could come and take a look at our sensor readings," said M'eioi, "you might be better able to identify the problem areas and work around them. You're the ones who know this place and its systems, after all."

"Yes," said Dyegh, "it is our Home." He shuffled towards the console, M'eioi walking at his side, Siffaith and Tyonovon following.

The mechanical, Pearl, turned to face them, metal eyes gleaming. They looked deeply forbidding to Siffaith. "I've set up the power flow diagrams," she said. "You can probably see the problem areas already -"

"The north-east capacitor banks at level 22372," Dyegh muttered. "Always a problem - I will initiate automatic reset.... There are others, though, more than there should be. And what is that?" He tapped the display with one claw. Siffaith leaned in, peered at the images, tried to make sense of them.

"Self-contained power sources," said M'eioi. "Not part of your network, but they're registering anyway. That one is almost certainly the Voth ship."

"There are others. Smaller ones. Let me refine this...." Dyegh's claws almost caressed the icons on the console. Siffaith could not quite make out the sequence of instructions, but a schematic of the Home glowed to life in mid-air, speckled with bright dots in seemingly random patterns. There was a brilliant group of them in one place... a smaller grouping lower down, inside the Home... individual dots moving about....

"Voth battlemechs," said M'eioi, "they must be. Dyegh, this is invaluable. It's giving a complete real-time readout of the disposition of Voth forces inside the spire."

"What is that group there?" Dyegh asked, indicating the smaller grouping. "It is radiating on somewhat different frequencies from the Voth...."

"It must be my ship, the Timor. If we could get a message through to them," said M'eioi, "it'd be a big help."

"Your communicators do not work?" asked Siffaith.

"I can't break through all the additional interference since we raised the internal defensive shielding. If we could interface our combadges with your comms net, now -"

"It should be possible," said Dyegh. He gave a wheezing sigh. "It will divert more computer resources from what should be our main aims... but it should be possible."

"Let's try it," said M'eioi. "Please."

"Another thought, sir," said Pearl. "If we can extend this scan outside the spire, we might be able to locate the Tempest and the Tapiola."

M'eioi's head bobbed; a gesture of assent, Siffaith realized. "Those ships will have resources we can use, too."

"You ask much," Dyegh complained, but he started to tap in commands on the console. "I will set up the display to discriminate between you and the Voth... and I will extend the range.... That is strange." He pointed with one claw. "Very faint, but... one of your power sources. Not ours, and not Voth. And some distance from your ship... I do not see how they can have reached that point, with the security fields up...."

M'eioi peered at the tiny glowing point near the tip of Dyegh's claw. "A straggler, maybe. Lost like I was. If we can open comms, maybe we should talk to them, guide them home...."

---

"We are encountering heavy resistance from swarmer groups." Davrak Karzis was using a light pointer to place icons within a three-D schematic of the spire. Stannark glowered at the display. A depressing percentage of the map was still blank - unexplored, and outside Voth control. "We have also encountered force-field barriers, at the following locations." The spec ops analyst sprinkled a different set of icons about the map. "The fields are resistant to even our heaviest mobile weapons. I am forced to an annoying conclusion."

Stannark grunted. "Which is?" He turned around, to pace irritably across the command deck of the Gendratis.

"That the Starfleet primates and the Solanae arthropods are combining forces. Starfleet cannot have command of the spire's systems, cannot erect these force shields... but the Solanae appear very well informed as to our troops' capabilities."

Stannark's scowl deepened. "Our capabilities are insufficient. I should have been assigned a Viriosaurus Rex for this mission."

"The heavy dinosaurians are needed for combat missions on the ground. And I do not think a Viriosaurus could easily traverse some of these tunnels."

"It would have the capacity to defeat any force shield! And in situations like these, they can make their own tunnels. It is no secret that I am unhappy with the management of the ground battle zones. I was discussing this matter with General Folluma, during his last hospitalization -" Stannark stopped. He took a deep breath. "Well. I must work with what I have. What are our options?"

"Computer subversion, of the type which gave us control of the tetryon emitters. It will be slow and chancy, though. The Solanae will be alert to the possibility, and Starfleet can advise them on some of our protocols. They have experience, painfully gained."

"Implement what measures you can. What other choices are there?"

"Our troops can secure segments of the spire's power generation and distribution network. They cannot generate force shields if they have no power - and, if we shut down their replicators, they will eventually run out of security swarmers, too."

"Eventually," Stannark repeated, in tones of contempt. "No. The spire is too large, my troops too thinly spread. Striking at their power supplies would take too long."

Karzis turned his head. There was something quizzical in his expression, even though his eyes were hidden behind his implants. "Then I am bereft of suggestions, Commander."

"I have an idea," said Stannark. "Hostages. Take a substantial number of the Solanae arthropods prisoner, and use them to compel cooperation."

"A wise move, Commander, but I fear it may be impractical. I would be, frankly, amazed if the bulk of the arthropod population was not already safely hidden behind those force shields."

Stannark stomped across the command deck once again. "Then we will try a different approach. You suspect Starfleet is cooperating with the Solanae?"

"It make sense. And I did see Admiral M'eioi in company with one of them." Karzis rubbed his neck with a rueful expression.

"Then we will break that cooperation by taking Starfleet hostages. One of the advance scouting parties reported radiation emissions and comms chatter consistent with the mammals' activities. I believe we have a provisional location for the absurd Admiral M'eioi's ship." Stannark turned, and stabbed one taloned digit into the holographic map. "Somewhere near here. We will send a squadron, in force, and we will find the Timor, and take it."

Noonday Sun 19

"An error on my part," said Davrak Karzis. "I had forgotten the mammals supplement their forces with mechanical units." The spec ops analyst was sprawled, half-sitting, on a domed console, while a white-suited medic checked the readouts from his battle armour. Occasionally, his limbs twitched, as the armour's nanotechnology completed the job of rebuilding his vertebrae and repairing his brain stem.

"The, um, the transporter signature," said Lieutenant Tyzel. "The one we detected. From the Tempest. It must have been - "

"Yes," snarled Karzis. "The last survivor of the Tempest. These Starfleet androids are of some interest - this one should be dismantled for study by the Circles of Engineering." His right hand closed in a fist. "I will take pleasure in attending to that matter personally."

"All in due time," said Gavron Stannark. He lumbered over to his aide, looked down on him. "We have not been entirely idle during your misadventure. This chamber, at least, has been secured - though it seems to serve no useful purpose." He cast a brief, dismissive glance at the coloured lines that marked the centre of the arena. "Our thinking is that it is a sporting venue, a place of amusement. However. We are using it as a staging area, and our advance parties have already located some more promising machinery rooms."

"What progress has been made interrogating the residents?" Karzis asked.

"As yet, none." Stannark kicked casually at the charred remains of a Solanae. "We have taken none alive, or even reasonably intact. They know these corridors, this locale, as we do not. They have fled, and gone to ground. No matter. We will take some of them in due course, and learn whatever we can."

"Is it confirmed that they are - what they appear to be?"

"Organic Solanae. Yes. The members of the Circles of Science are processing the data now, but it appears the ancestors of these creatures survived the initial disaster, somehow. Possibly the heavy shielding on this spire was designed to protect against such mishaps. Of course, we may never know the whole story. It is very likely these creatures are the descendants of generations of inbreeding. Degenerates. That would account for their staggering incuriosity at our arrival. Dissection of the brains of some of the corpses might confirm this."

"I admit," said Karzis, "I am in a mood to dissect some brains." He shrugged off the medic and rose, unsteadily, to his feet. "With the commander's permission, I will join the teams examining the machinery. If we can identify some of the control circuitry, I have special operations software packages that should make it... amenable to our wishes."

"This structure," said Stannark, "poses a challenge, simply by virtue of its sheer size. I could call for more ships from Command, but... our military forces are stretched already. No, I think it better that we identify the local command centres and take control of them. If you are fit for duty, by all means, take command of the search teams."

"I am not one to malinger over a minor injury," said Karzis. He looked up, and his ocular implants flashed and rippled with data. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Stannark demanded.

"I'm reading something," Tyzel said. He had a scanner in his hand, was studying it intently. "Motion in... it looks like some kind of ducts overhead. Motion, but no life signs. There might be power sources -"

"There are," said Karzis grimly. "And my devices tell me there are gravitic fields in operation - flight units. All this suggests one thing to me - Watch out!"

Fifty metres distant, a circular hatch irised open in the ceiling, and the first shape glided through. The security swarmer made a leisurely sweep through the air, seemingly getting its bearings, then turned towards the nearest group of Voth. A scarlet beam lashed out from its front section, and a security trooper yelled in shock and fright as his personal shield flared and wavered. The swarmer shot forward, its tentacles trailing behind it, and fired again.

Behind it, a second swarmer emerged from the hatch, and a third. And other hatches were opening in the ceiling, in the walls.

Red light threaded the air. The shrill sound of the antiproton beams was drowned out by Stannark's roar of anger. A swarmer had targeted him, was firing repeatedly, but its shots simply bounced off the Voth commander's heavy-duty shield. "This is insupportable!" Stannark shouted, levelling his handgun at the swarmer and firing back. Now, it was the turn of the swarmer's shield to flicker under the onslaught. The machine turned to flee, and Stannark pursued it, his hand weapon glaring viciously in his fist. Sparks shot from the swarmer's body as one shot punched through the shield and hit home - and the machine dropped to the floor, its tentacles a hopeless tangle, smoke pouring from its forward section.

But there were more of them, and still firing. Lieutenant Tyzel screamed as his shield blew out - and his scream ended abruptly as a sustained beam from one swarmer struck his head and burned downwards, bisecting him from head to crotch. Karzis aimed his weapon at that swarmer, blasted it out of the air with a series of long bursts. The Voth troops, startled by the sudden onslaught, were starting to coordinate their responses. Lightly armoured technicians fled for cover while the armoured troopers formed fire teams and shot down the swarmers with concentrated barrages, overwhelming their shields. Shattered and burning hulks of machinery crashed to the deck.

The attack was over as quickly as it had begun. The hatches in the walls and ceiling closed, and the remaining swarmers, outnumbered and outgunned, were quickly disabled.

Stannark strode back towards Karzis, his expression furious. His battle armour was scorched in a few places where swarmers had breached his shields. He looked down at the two halves of Lieutenant Tyzel, then shot a questioning glance at a nearby medic.

"Not recoverable," the medic said shortly. "Too much damage to the central nervous system. We can't work miracles, sir."

Stannark nodded curtly. "To die in the service of Doctrine is... no bad thing. His relatives may be consoled by that... but he was Voth. These creatures and their robot functionaries have no right to kill Voth. They must be made aware of that. Forcefully, if need be."

"We have numbers here sufficient to withstand an assault," said Karzis. "The smaller exploratory teams, now, they may be in graver danger. We should take steps to protect them."

"We shall," said Stannark. "I will order up some heavier ordnance. And we will redouble our efforts to locate and take over the control centres. Once we hold those, these swarmers will answer to our will. As it should be."

---

"I have thousands of swarmers," Siffaith muttered, "but they are dispersed, scattered into many small groups.... I do not know if I can coordinate all of them together, swamp the intruders with too many swarmers to hold off.... Dyegh, where can I obtain more swarmers? There must be repair stations for the damaged ones, or fabricators to make replacements...."

He straightened up. He felt twinges of pain in his carapace - he had been crouched over the security console for too long. He turned to face Dyegh, who was standing a little way off, clicking his claws irresolutely.

"Dyegh. Fabricators. I have many swarmers, but they are in finite supply - if the new gods destroy them all, my defences will fall. How do I access the fabricators?"

"There are security fabricators." Dyegh spoke slowly, reluctantly. "I... could give you access... I think. But my work - "

"This need not affect your work," said Siffaith.

"How can it not?" demanded Dyegh. "The fabricators demand power! Resources! Scarce elements, which must come from my stockpiles, or must be made by transmutation, which takes more power! You are taking things that I need for my work!"

"Temporarily," said Siffaith. He fixed his large eyes on the other's face. "Dyegh, see reason. Your work will be stopped if the new gods take control of the Home. Let me have what I need to drive them out, and you will only be delayed. Neither is good, I admit, but my way is the lesser of the two evils."

Dyegh turned away. He walked slowly to the other side of the control room, and paused, leaning over a console. Siffaith could see him trembling, even beneath his robe.

"I have a goal," he said in a dull voice. "I have an aim in view... I want to restore the sun, to bring the Land back to its full glory and power. Why must it be so difficult? Why must so many people try to stop me? Even you...."

Siffaith came to stand beside him. "I do not want to stop you, Dyegh. I want to help. But we must keep the new gods from interfering, and to do that, I will need the Home's resources. For a time. For as short a time as I can make it."

Dyegh made a faint moaning noise. Then, "Do what you must," he said. "Go to the primary console and the security menu, and enter access code Gold, Gold, Cyan, Red, Gold. You will have control of the second-tier security responses, then, and those include permission to queue replicator requests. You will have all the swarmers you need. And other capacities besides."

"Thank you," said Siffaith. "I will do what I can - I will drive off the intruders and let you do your work in peace."

"I hope so," Dyegh muttered.

Siffaith turned and went back to the security console. "The new gods are divided into two factions," he said. "One is unquestionably hostile, but the other... the other spoke words of friendship. If we could enlist the help of that side against the hostiles, we could use their resources, perhaps."

"No," said Dyegh. "No. If we become enmeshed in the gods' squabbles, we will never make our way out again. It will be temporary alliance after temporary alliance, and no end in sight."

Siffaith nodded. "Perhaps you are right." His claws touched the console, entering the colour-code sequence. "Well, then. Both factions of the gods have sent ships, have entered or docked with the Home...." On the console screen, command menus opened up, symbols indicating a wealth of new possibilities to Siffaith's eyes. "Perhaps I should give some thought as to how those ships might be destroyed."

Noonday Sun 16

Even with the power assists built into his battle armour, Stannark moved slowly, ponderously, up the slanting corridor to the position where the advance troopers were waiting at the door. He stopped in the doorway, stood, and stared.

"Are those what I think they are?" he said.

"Confirmed." To his left, Lieutenant Tyzel was fidgeting with a scanner; beyond him, Karzis had a scanner in his hand, too, and seemed to be peering at it intently. "The readings match - um, the hypothetical characteristics established by the Circles of Science - that is, within an acceptable margin of error - They're Solanae, sir. But not from subspace. Biological Solanae."

Stannark turned his head from side to side, deliberately taking in the scene before him. "What are they doing?"

"They're not paying us much attention," one shock trooper muttered. Indeed, though a few of the closer Solanae had turned to look at the Voth group, most still had their attention fixed on the centre of the room.

"It, um - it could be some kind of ritual, I think, sir," said Tyzel.

"Ritual?" Stannark took a step forward. "This was the largest concentration of life signs we could detect! They must be engaged in activity of critical importance! That was the conclusion of our intelligence analysts!"

"Of importance to them, perhaps," Karzis said, in an absent-minded tone, as if his own attention was being drawn elsewhere. "But whatever they are doing, it is not critical to the control of this spire. There are no command or science consoles in evidence, no major power circuits operated from this area, no secure communications lines.... No. We must conclude that this is some sort of - social activity."

"Social activity?" Stannark's voice was loud enough to make a few more Solanae heads turn, now. No expression showed on the immobile chitinous faces, or in the huge eyes, but the creatures made no move, either towards or away from the Voth party. They seemed, Stannark thought, simply - incurious.

"We know the Solanae to be an erratic and foolish species," said Tyzel. "Their, um, their accident with the sphere - their failed attempt to utilize, um, ancient Voth technology which they did not understand - it indicates, um, poor intellectual organization -"

"We are here to take control!" Stannark shouted. "I have no interest in watching the rituals of some debased species! If these - Solanae - cannot assist us, they must not be permitted to impede us!"

One of the nearby Solanae, who had been looking at Stannark, now turned away from him to regard the centre of the room again. The Voth commander's teeth ground together in frustration.

"Useless crustaceans! Clear them away!"

The shock troopers raised their rifles, aiming over the Solanae's heads. Thin scarlet lines of antiproton fire screamed out of the guns, to scar the domed ceiling.

More of the creatures turned to look at the Voth, now. The frantic activity in the centre of the room - the dance, or ritual, or whatever it was - slowed to a halt. The Solanae were not moving, though; they simply stood there, looking at Stannark and his troops.

Stannark snarled, drew his pistol, took deliberate aim at the creature who had turned away from him, and fired. The Solanae made a brief shrieking noise and fell lifeless to the floor.

The Voth troopers dropped the muzzles of their weapons, and fired again. Beams tore through the crowd of Solanae, leaving a dozen smouldering corpses on the deck. Suddenly, the rest of them were in motion, a panicky chittering noise filling the air as they milled in confusion and attempted to flee. The troopers fired again. Stannark aimed carefully and shot down one Solanae, another, a third.

"The Circles of Science would probably appreciate a specimen or two," Karzis observed.

"They may have them!"

"In good condition, I mean. This is a scientific find of some interest. We should not exterminate all of them, immediately."

"We will clear this room and hold it as a staging area." By now, the surviving Solanae were fleeing through a dozen or more exits, dotted around the walls. The troopers fired a few more bursts, casually and without aiming, not caring if they killed or only terrified. Inside a minute, the big room was empty of living Solanae.

Stannark strode over to the nearest corpse and kicked it. Then he turned to Karzis. "What is amusing you?" he demanded.

"A minor detail, but perhaps a fruitful one." The intelligence officer held up the scanner in his hand. "Another life sign, nearby - very nearby, in fact. Not one of these. A mammal."

"Starfleet?"

"Oh, definitely. In fact, I believe it to be the absurd Admiral M'eioi. Certainly, a female of the same species. The creature was nearby when we entered this room, and withdrew almost immediately. She is retreating down the corridors now - she probably imagines herself to be safe." Karzis smiled. "With the Commander's permission, I will go now and retrieve her. She may have useful intelligence to give us, concerning the current status of the Timor."

"We should tie up that loose end." Stannark nodded. "Be quick about it."

Noonday Sun 13

"That did not look," Gavron Stannark said, "as if it went entirely according to plan."

Lieutenant Tyzel stared up at him nervously. "Checking the data feeds now," said Karzis, information flickering at terrifying speed across his ocular implants.

"The Tapiola seems to have burst into flames and crashed," said Stannark. "That was not what we expected. True, it is adequately gratifying, but it is not what was in the plan."

"Processing," said Karzis. "Lieutenant. Replay sensor logs between A-220 and C-271, ten per cent speed."

While Tyzel tapped out commands rapidly on the console, Stannark strode up and down the bridge, the deckplates creaking beneath his weight. He looked, from time to time, at the main viewscreen. The spire looked no different, but, just visible near one of its massive legs, there was a faint streak of darkness - the trail of black smoke left by the Tapiola as she crashed.

"Processing complete," said Karzis. His ocular implants settled back to a blank blue-green.

"Well?" Stannark demanded.

"The bad news is, they had a defence," Karzis said dryly. "The good news is, it does not work.... Some particle conversion system aboard the Tapiola, probably a holdover from the basic Tholian design. It intercepted and absorbed the tetryonic pulse, but was catastrophically overloaded in the process. The results rather speak for themselves."

"What of the Tempest and the primate Fallon?"

"Events, there, proceeded according to plan. The biolytic field pervaded the whole of the ship."

"There are no life signs," Tyzel added. "But, sir -"

"Shall we destroy the hulk of the Tempest?" Karzis asked, his voice cutting across the junior officer's.

"Let me think.... No, not for the moment. The Circles of Science may wish to examine it later, to see the final effect of the biolytic field. And it may serve as a stark message to any other approaching mammals - do not interfere with our plans, or this is what will happen. What is the final situation of the Tapiola, though? Is there any potential threat?"

"The ship has crashed into a body of water. Our scans indicate massive damage, complete power loss... the crew is evidently in the process of evacuation. A single volley from our beam banks might destroy the wreck, or wipe out the survivors -"

"No," said Stannark, "no, it is... unnecessary. And inaesthetic."

There seemed to be a frown on the intelligence officer's dark face. "Inaesthetic?"

"The wreck of the Tapiola, too, is a fitting monument to our power. As for the crew - the normal hazards of the sphere will account for them, as they begin their very long walk back to the mammal-occupied territories. If there are survivors, they will have a miserable tale to tell. No, no, we have done enough. To show our superiority, to extinguish our opponents."

"The third ship still remains, though," Tyzel pointed out. "And, sir -"

"The Timor is not important," said Stannark. "We will deal with it and its absurd commander in due course, when we occupy the interior of the spire. Karzis, you and I will discuss our plans for that, now, in my ready room." Stannark turned and strode away.

As Karzis made to follow, Tyzel plucked nervously at his sleeve. The intelligence officer span around, his face forbidding. "What is it?"

"Sir," said Tyzel, "I think it is significant - my sensor logs show - sir, there was something that looked like a transporter signature. From the Tempest, and after the tetryon pulse."

"You think to bother the commander with this?" Karzis glowered down at the cringing lieutenant.

"Sir, it may be -"

"It may be nothing," Karzis snapped. "A sensor error, a false reading. Or perhaps some automated system engaged, to send away a recorder marker. I noted the same detail, Lieutenant. You may rest assured that nothing escapes my notice."

"But, sir, it might be -"

"No," said Karzis, "it might not. Were there life signs on the Tempest when this reading was detected?" Tyzel shook his head. "Well, then. It cannot have been a survivor, can it? It must be some error, or some random mechanical action, and it is of no importance. Do not bother your superiors with it again." Karzis turned and stalked off towards the ready room.

---

"No," Dyegh whispered, and then he screeched, "No!", a loud high-pitched wail which woke echoes from the domed ceiling of the console room.

Siffaith watched, aghast, as Dyegh ran from one console to another, his claws pounding furiously on the glowing icons, his shouts of anger degenerating into an incoherent series of clicks and rattles.

"What is it?" he asked. "Dyegh, what is wrong?"

"A thousand hours of work!" Dyegh shrieked. "They have undone it all - the primary capacitance banks are drained, my power reserves are gone - the settings for the emitter grid, they have been scrambled -" He slammed his claws down hard on the console. "I have to do it all over again! Those fools! Those vandals!" He sank to his knees on the rippling surface of the force-field floor.

"Dyegh." Siffaith went to his friend, lifted him back to his feet. "It is a blow, I can see that. But we must see what is to be done, now."

"Take the console," Dyegh said, waving one claw in a gesture of despair. "See what you can salvage - I cannot face this -" He turned and staggered off, towards his little nest of fabric by the wall.

Siffaith sighed quietly to himself. He studied the console display. He had been watching Dyegh for some time, now, and asking questions whenever he dared - and he had been working, too, with the teachers. His knowledge was growing in leaps and bounds. He reached out and touched the console interface, cautiously at first, then entering commands with gradually increasing speed and confidence.

"The new gods," he said. "They interfered."

From his nest, Dyegh wailed, "I know!"

"But how did they interfere?" Siffaith asked. "If we know how they did it, we might stop them doing so in future...." He turned to another section of the console, started to call up the system's logs.

"Computer intrusion," he muttered to himself. "They have some of our system command codes... not all, they cannot have them all, or this console would be locked out...." His claws rattled on the interface. "Two different classes of intrusion. It makes sense - the new gods fight among themselves...."

He hunched over the console, his eyes intent. "Four vessels. Three moved in concert, the fourth approached from an entirely different vector... and it is attempting to conceal itself with false readings. One of the three sent messages... standard access codes, opening doors, and... hmm. Data transmissions, declarations of peaceful intent, offers of friendship, even. But are such offers to be trusted? They are warlike, we have seen them fighting. But the other...."

He worked for some time in silence, then straightened his back, and went to where Dyegh sat.

"I need some control codes for the main computer," he said.

Dyegh stared up at him. "What codes? Why?"

"Security," said Siffaith. "One group of new gods - one faction within them - sent pre-empt commands into the systems of the Home. They overrode your configuration files, they triggered the capacitance banks and expended the stored energy. I believe we can instruct the Home to prevent them from doing this again - but it requires access to the central security system, and I do not have the control codes for that. Do you know them? And, if so, can you let me have them?"

"I... see," said Dyegh. He rose to his feet, slowly, stiffly. His body was still trembling - even through his robe, Siffaith could see that. "I - When I first accessed the computer core, there were - certain options. Backups and defaults - the original operators have been dead for an immeasurable time. I became registered, automatically and by default, as an authorised user." He started to make his way to the console. "I can add you to the list of authorised persons. It will be no trouble. If you think you can help -"

"I do," said Siffaith firmly. "The intrusion of the new gods has created problems - I can see that. I can see, too, the measures we can take... to make sure they do not trouble us again."

Noonday Sun 10

Tempest moved slowly over a forest of industrial spines, the energies crackling between them striking brilliant reflections from her hull.

"Outside weapons range of the Tapiola," Tom Kowalski reported. "If we get jumped now... no support from her, certainly none from the Timor...."

"Any signal from Timor?" Fallon asked.

John Brinkman shook his head. "Nothing, sir. All channels are jammed solid, inside the spire."

"Only to be expected," said Fallon. He glanced at the main viewscreen, then turned his attention back to his tactical console.

"Signal from Tapiola, sir," said Brinkman.

"On screen."

T'Pia's face appeared on the viewer. "Rear Admiral Fallon. Your ship is out of weapons range of the Tapiola. In the event of combat, we will not immediately be able to support you. What is the reason for your action?"

"We have a reading on some anomalies in the industrial towers," Fallon said easily, "and we're moving to investigate more closely. Is there any immediate sign of enemy activity? We can be back with you in minutes at the most."

"What is the nature of these anomalies? Tapiola's sensor equipment should be able to supplement yours."

"Sir," said Fallon, "I think it might be best if one of us held station near that entrance hole, ready to support the Timor if she needs it. Now, we could break off our current investigation, or we could swap places with you, but -" He spread out his hands. "We spotted this thing, I thought we'd follow it up." He glanced at the science station. "Pearl, transmit our sensor data to the Tapiola."

"I follow your logic," said T'Pia. Her green eyes were calculating and unreadable; like so many Vulcan eyes, Fallon thought. "There is no imminent danger of combat, so I think it reasonable that you should pursue your own objectives for the present. Please keep me informed of your planned movements. Tapiola out." The screen blanked out, changed back to the exterior view.

"Vulcans," Allan MacAndrew muttered.

"She's keeping her eye on us," said Fallon. "Very commendable. It's what I'd do, in her position."

"She's wrong about the imminent danger of combat, though," MacAndrew remarked.

"Sir," said Pearl. "We should inform the Tapiola of our sensor contact and its probable significance."

"Probable significance," said Fallon. "I don't think we'll bother her with a mere probability. Tactically, we're better off with the Tapiola in a long backstop position, anyway. We can hardly catch the Voth between her and us, if we're bunched up together with her."

"Sir, Admiral T'Pia needs to know," the android persisted.

"No," said Fallon. "She's good, but she's not a tactical commander. If things come to a fight, we will have to win it, and never mind about ranks and formalities." He tapped his forefinger on the tactical repeater, on the bright zig-zag line of the energy signature. "Besides, if she doesn't already know that's a Voth sensor-spoofing signature, she doesn't have the experience she needs to direct combat operations. She can see that reading just as plainly as we can."

"Sometimes, that worries me, sir," said MacAndrew. "The Voth must surely be learning from their mistakes. They must have figured out that we can spot their stealth signatures by now."

"Well," said Fallon, "only some of us can spot their stealth signatures. And besides, the Voth are hidebound. Static. Even if they do figure it out, their command structure is so moribund, it might take them years to change their procedures." He smiled. "And, in the meantime, we get to kill them."

---

"The primate Fallon has taken the bait," Davrak Karzis reported.

"Good." Gavron Stannark stood, and lumbered across the bridge of the Gendratis to the specialist science station. "What of the others?"

"The Tapiola is maintaining position. It is possible they have not detected the decoy drone, or that Fallon has not chosen to inform them of his sensor readings." Karzis raised his head, briefly, from the console displays. Information was flickering across his ocular implants, too fast for Stannark to make sense of it. "That would be consistent with our assessment of Fallon's personality. He is not necessarily respectful of his superiors. It is not an uncommon failing among the Starfleet primates."

"He surely cannot hope to overcome a Bulwark-class battleship without Tapiola's support," said Stannark.

"He is vainglorious, he might... but I judge that he is trying to obtain an optimum tactical position for himself. Caught between Tempest and Tapiola on opposite sides, even we might encounter difficulties." There was a faint smile on the intelligence officer's face. "If this were actually the situation Fallon envisages... he might cover himself in glory. What a pity, for him, that it is not."

"What of the third vessel?" Stannark asked.

"Still inside the spire. It will not be a factor in our operations. It would not amount to much, in any event. A tiny laboratory vessel, commanded by a feline primitive."

"We will need to... roust it out, afterwards," said Stannark. "If this test is successful, we will need to secure our position on that spire. Occupy it. It might even make a suitable replacement for our operational command."

"That is a suggestion well worth making to higher authority," said Karzis.

"Indeed." Stannark turned to an adjacent console. "Lieutenant Tyzel. What is the status on the special systems?"

Tyzel was small, brown-scaled, inoffensive; he looked up at the towering bulk of his commander and answered, "We have secured comms access to the spire's emitters. There is substantial data traffic, not all of which we have completely analyzed... but we have control over the primary tetryon antennae."

"Show me," Stannark ordered.

Tyzel punched commands into his console. "The anomalous tetryon pulses have been generated here," he said, indicating a spot on a three-D map. "We still do not have full details of the spire's interior arrangements, due to the heavy shielding... but we have identified that emitter array as one of type L-16-D, and we have command and control protocols for this type -" he indicated another panel. "There have been some glitches and stutters in the system as our data subversion packages were inserted, but there has been no response from the primates. Commander Karzis has the details on, on -"

"The specialist weapon," said Karzis. "Yes." He leaned over, put his hand on Tyzel's console, then rapidly tapped in a string of commands. "There. Data unlocked... and the program is initialized."

"Give me the specifics," said Stannark.

"All of them?" asked Karzis.

"The basics. The exact technical details, I can do without - and what is classified, will remain classified. What will it do?"

"The Solanae were forced out of normal space, into subspace, by an intense biolytic tetryon field," said Karzis. "It flooded the whole interior volume of the sphere... we do not have enough power for that, not from that one emitter array. But we do not need, or even want that widespread an effect. We can deliver a smaller, concentrated burst, in a spherical or ellipsoidal volume -"

"The Solanae committed an error," said Stannark. "No doubt because they were unfamiliar with the ancestral Voth technology they were meddling with."

"No doubt," said Karzis. "But we are in a position to replicate their error, only in a manner controllable - by us. We cannot generate the field at too great range from the spire itself, but our enemies have been obliging enough to come to us...."

He turned back to his own console, and called up a tactical map. "I have set up for an ellipsoidal field," he said. "The Tapiola is not changing position, and so it is neatly placed at one focus of the ellipsoid." One black claw clicked against the map screen. "The other focus is here...."

Stannark leaned over, peered at the screen, at where Karzis was pointing... and at the bright dot nearby. "The primate Fallon is rapidly approaching that position."

"Indeed he is. Following our decoy, in search of his ideal tactical situation. He will be in optimum position in only a few more seconds."

Stannark smiled. He raised his right arm, closed his taloned hand into one massive fist.

"Execute."

Noonday Sun 4

The deck plates shuddered under Gavron Stannark's ponderous tread, and junior technicians and specialists scurried out of his way. Stannark looked down at them with a sort of benevolent indulgence. Once, he had been like that himself....

But that was many years ago, and the exercise of authority produced physical changes among the Voth. Dominance hormones flooded the bloodstream, darkening and reddening the skin, lengthening bone and bulking out muscles, until senior commanders like Stannark were immense, carrying with them the literal weight of authority: Voth Doctrine made flesh.

Stannark strode onto the bridge of the Gendratis, and settled himself on the command chair. Reinforced though it was, it creaked beneath him. His yellow-eyed gaze swept across the bridge of the Bulwark-class battleship. All seemed well.

"Status?" he asked.

"Ship is holding station at designated rendezvous point, one seven point five gigametres from central command," a lieutenant reported. Someday, Stannark reflected, they would have to rebuild central command - or move it to an intact spire. The treacherous Undine attack had interfered with Voth organization. "Ship is in readiness at alert level two. No hostiles on local or long-range scan." The lieutenant appeared nervous, though, somehow. "There is, ahh, as yet no sign of the Sartulphus...."

"Hmm." Stannark shifted his vast weight slightly in his seat, and stroked his chin in thought. His fingertips rasped on his scales. "Commander Varrotz is not often unpunctual. Signal command. Make enquiries."

"Yes, sir!" The lieutenant turned to a comms console. Stannark leaned back and thought. His ship was adequate, itself, for the planned investigation - but it would be useful to have the Bastion-class cruiser Sartulphus as a backup. What could be causing the delay?

He busied himself with routine reports and preparations. There was always much to do, and his ship was a model of correct organization and discipline. Stannark took great pride in his attention to detail.

The lieutenant at the comms console was joined by another figure, now: the dark and sinister shape of the Special Ops intelligence analyst, Davrak Karzis. Stannark looked down on the two, quizzically. Karzis bent his black-scaled head over the console, the ocular implants glowing blue-green in his eye sockets. Stannark frowned. If Intelligence was involved, something was amiss....

"We have reports from forward monitoring stations towards the primate incursion area." Karzis spoke in clipped and precise tones. "The Sartulphus detected a primate vessel and engaged it in a routine act of pre-emptive self defence. Unfortunately, primate treachery on this occasion overcame the Sartulphus's natural advantages, and the ship was damaged beyond utility. A repair vessel was activated, but it was intercepted and destroyed by another primate vessel. Any survivors are captives of the primates. I have additional information."

"Speak," growled Stannark. His benevolent mood was punctured. The primates had destroyed the Sartulphus? How dared they?

"Level three security. For the Commander's attention only," Karzis said.

Stannark muttered irritably and stood. "My office, then." He stomped off to the ready room, and the Spec Ops analyst followed silently at his heels.

"Well?" Stannark demanded, as the door hissed shut behind them. Karzis turned, checking the door seals, then stood at attention.

"We have intercepted communications traffic between the Federation ships involved in the action, and Alliance Joint Command. We have something of a picture of the individuals involved." He held out a datapad. "The senior officer, supposedly, is one Admiral M'eioi...."

"What sort of a name is that?" Stannark demanded. He took the datapad, studied the images. "What? This must be a deception... some servitor species, perhaps."

"Conceivably," said Karzis. "There have been incidents before where the primates have claimed to use feline species as officers of rank. I have heard reports concerning an 'Admiral Bobo', but I am unable to confirm any details of that one. This may be another of the same."

"It must be a front," said Stannark. "No furred primitive carnivore could command a starship. This is some mockery, some farce - the animal M'eioi is displayed for show, and there is a primate somewhere taking the real decisions. Do they think we are so easily deceived?"

"In this connection," said Karzis, "we should look at the other officer, the one primarily involved in the destruction of the Sartulphus. A primate, a human. One Commodore Daniel Fallon." He leaned closer to Stannark. "Intel analysis division has a file on this particular primate. He has drawn our attention... and this is another incident in his career. Comms traffic analysis suggests that this Fallon has acted deliberately to maximize loss of life among our people."

"What?"

"He has deliberately set out, not just to thwart our benevolent objectives, but to kill us," said Karzis. "He is consciously determined to destroy Voth lives. He has done so on this occasion, and it is not the first time."

"This is insupportable!" Stannark roared.

"Quite."

Stannark slammed his fist down on the desk. "Something must be done."

"Intelligence agrees," said Karzis. "In this context, I note something which touches on our current mission. The Circle of Particle Physics has an interest in the anomalous tetryon pulses we are to investigate -"

"How does this bear on the matter of the primate Fallon?"

"Our physicists have entertained certain conjectures, relating to the tetryon pulses and the historical catastrophe which overwhelmed the Solanae interlopers within the sphere," said Karzis. "They have, indeed, devised a mechanism which might take those anomalous pulses and use them to re-create that catastrophe - on a smaller and more manageable scale." Karzis's eyes were unreadable behind the ocular implants, but there was quiet satisfaction in his voice as he continued. "Some insolent primate - this Fallon, for example - might make an ideal test subject for this mechanism."