M'eioi
The spire is... unusual. In many ways.
Our three ships are cruising slowly towards it, now, the
Tapiola in the lead, myself and Fallon flanking. The spire looms up ahead of us. Or down, which is one way to think of it... the spire, the buildings, all hanging down like stalactites from the inner surface of the sphere, with the sun deep, deep below us at the the bottom of everything.
It's one way to look at things. It gives me a brief flash of vertigo, though, so I decide not to pursue it.
The spire is taller than the average, and it has three massive curving legs supporting a bulky, domed central body with an overhanging ledge. Most of the spires we've surveyed have either two or four legs. And, all around this one, lesser buildings rise up, long narrow tower blocks wreathed in a haze of exhaled gases, like the construction units in the industrial zones.... The spire lifts out of these towers like... like a three-legged giant striding through long grass....
"Signal from
Tapiola," Sumal Jetuz reports. The impeccably-groomed blond Betazoid is at the comms station today. "All stop, commence detail scans."
I nod. "All stop. Link in telemetry to
Tapiola and
Tempest, let's see what we've got."
The science consoles, and my own repeater screen, come alive with data feeds. Our sensors, passive and active, are sweeping the spire and the volume around it on every available level - from visible light down to subspace contour mapping. My ship's sensors are first rate, and I know T'Pia's meticulous attention to detail of old... I'm less sure about Fallon, of course. At least, with our own telemetry tied in to his, we will know if he gets another
sensor glitch.
"
Lots of activity in the surrounding industrial complex," Onguma mutters.
The sphere is an artificial construct - the industrial zones, essentially, are recycling centres, breaking down material at one point and repurposing it for other tasks. As yet, we don't fully understand how the sphere's internal systems work... there seems to be a lot of spare capacity in it, reserves against some hypothetical future - crisis, perhaps? At any rate, the industrial zones can produce rare materials at an enormous rate, and
stockpile them for whatever purpose the sphere has. The Ferengi commercial concerns, among others, are anxious to get hold of these stockpiles....
But others - myself among them - are anxious over other things. The sphere is not just a big static object, it is a
system, with an ecology, or an economy, of its own. We have to be very sure of the consequences, if we start to divert its resources.
Someone, or
something, here, though, is sure enough of - its - ground. I can see patterns emerging from the raw data, even this soon. The industrial zones are feeding material into the spire. Power metals, exotic compounds, crystalline lattices grown in zero-g - these seem to be the main products. I frown. "Get me a channel to the
Tapiola," I say to Sumal.
In a short time, T'Pia's face appears on the main viewer. "Your thoughts?" she asks.
"The industrial zones are making some pretty specific stuff," I say. "I've seen some of these compounds before - used in high-energy subspace research. Mostly, shielding material against tetryon emissions."
"I concur. One moment," T'Pia adds. "I will link Rear Admiral Fallon in to this conversation. He should be kept apprised of our analyses."
The screen splits, and Fallon's recruiting-poster face appears on one side. I repeat what I've told T'Pia. He looks - bored, if anything.
"It makes sense," he says. "We noticed this thing because the spire was putting out unusual tetryon emissions. Obviously, whoever or whatever is making those wants to be shielded from any dangerous energy spikes. And it needs the radioactives and the focus crystals to generate the tetryon waves in the first place."
"The crystalline material is a synthetic polarized composite with roughly 114% of the efficiency of a comparable mass of dilithium," says T'Pia. "Intriguing, though in normal circumstances the difficulty of manufacture would offset any overall benefits from using this substance. We may safely assume that dilithium itself remains a limited resource within the sphere, whereas the energy and technology required to create this synthetic is... abundantly available."
The sphere can harness the entire power of a sun - a weak sun, admittedly, but still a sun. "The question remains," I say, "who is doing all this, and why?"
"The logical assumption," says T'Pia, "is a directing intelligence based in the spire itself."
"Yes," says Fallon. "Well, I've had a look, and that's not going to be easy to prove. The interior of the spire is
massively shielded. I can't get any sort of readings from the main body - sensor pulses don't penetrate. In fact, I doubt if my
phasers would penetrate. Whatever it is, it's a secure installation."
"I have directed my communications staff to hail the spire in all frequencies, using all available first contact protocols," T'Pia says. "We have yet to elicit a response. It may be possible to access the Solanae automated communications channels and transmit a message by that means. I am concerned, however, that any interference in the spire's normal communications may be misinterpreted."
Fallon looks at something off the side of the screen. "Yes," he says absently, "better not interrupt them in the middle of something.... I'm reading something that
might be life signs in there, or it might not. Whatever it is, it's elusive."
There is something about his eyes that bothers me. As if he's looking at something I can't see.
"My own readings indicate only the normal flora and fauna at the nominal ground level of the sphere," says T'Pia. "Rather less of both than is usual, in fact, no doubt because of the heavy industrialization of this particular area."
I tap out commands on my console, calling up more data - specifically, passive-reflection neutrino scans of the spire. As Fallon says, the main body shows up as little more than a solid black blank - its contents are carefully hidden behind layers of particle screening. But the three legs are more interesting. I can see flows of material, and energy. And - I lean forward, and concentrate on the images on the console.
"If this is some sort of fortification," Fallon is saying, "we need to be very careful not to trip any automated defences. Getting jumped by packs of swarmers, well, it's not pleasant."
"There is no conclusive indication that this structure is primarily military," says T'Pia. "Particle shielding may be required for any number of purposes."
"It's very thoroughly shielded, sir, so that means it has military applications, whatever its
official purpose," says Fallon. But his attention still seems to be elsewhere.
As is mine, now. My eyes narrow, my whiskers twitch. The maps of the spire's legs are taking shape - they are fantastically complex, but there is something I can
see, now -
"I don't think it
is military," I say. "If it was military, it wouldn't have an easily spotted back door."
Fallon's gaze snaps over to me and sharpens. "Explain," says T'Pia.
I put the three-d maps onto the main channel. "Look at that dark line in the leg," I say. "It's an empty space, and one with no significant energy flows. It's a
tube, almost, reaching up from the base of the leg to the underside of the main body. And it's got a branching accessway
here-" I indicate with a light pencil. "That's like one of those access ports in the Joint Command spire's legs. And we've deciphered the command structures for those. If that's got compatible comms protocols -"
"You could sneak a commando team up through the leg and into the main body?" says Fallon. "It'd be one hell of a climb...."
"That's not what I'm thinking," I say. "It's a matter of
scale - always is, when you're thinking about the sphere. That looks like a thin little tube on the
map, but it's easily wide enough to admit a heavy shuttle, or even a small starship." I sit back in the command chair. "The
Timor, for instance."
T'Pia's green eyes take on a calculating look. "Risky," Fallon comments.
"But feasible," says T'Pia, "though there are some bends in this - access tube - which look as though they will be a tight fit, even for the
Timor. Certainly neither the
Tapiola nor the
Tempest would be able to negotiate the passage."
"If it's a particle waveguide," says Fallon, "and it goes live, you're going to be in a world of hurt."
"No reason to assume it
will go live," I say. "There's already a hundred or so conduits that
are live, in that one leg alone. No, I think that one is spare capacity, or maybe even an oversight in the design. As you say, sir, it's got some tight kinks in it, and you wouldn't
want that in an energy-channel waveguide."
"I concur with that assessment," says T'Pia. "Still, the risks must be considerable."
"But the benefits are pretty considerable, too, sir," I point out. "We'd have the full resources of the
Timor right up close against that particle shield - we'd be ideally placed to find a way through, or to get better readings on the inside, or maybe even make contact with whoever's running this thing. I think it's worth the risk, sir."
T'Pia nods. "Very well. We will make a preliminary assessment, in any case.
Timor should approach the access port and determine whether the control protocols permit entry. If we can enter without causing damage or raising an alarm, then it may be useful to pursue this option."
---
Timor slips out of sunlight, into shadow. The cavernous bay is like the ones at Joint Command; a deep hole carved into the inner surface of the spire's leg, flanked by mechanisms... more mechanisms that we don't yet fully understand.
"Thrusters only. Station keeping," I order.
Timor floats freely, a little above the flat floor of the bay, riding on thrusters and antigravs to cancel the local grav generators. Sumal Jetuz bends over the comms console, his expression intent. "Beginning comms handshake sequence now," he says.
I wait. Before me is a black curving wall. We have learned to transmit code pulses that open doorways in such walls - at Joint Command, anyway. Do the same codes work here? We're about to find out.
The wall fills the main viewscreen. On my command console, I have an image of T'Pia's face, over the link to
Tapiola. "We're knocking on the door," I tell her.
"I see," she says. "A metaphor."
"What's the
Tempest up to?"
"Rear Admiral Fallon has requested to take his ship out some twenty kilometres, to provide a wider baseline for further sensor scans. I see no reason to refuse this request."
He won't be around to back me up... but, then, if I get inside the spire, he wouldn't be able to anyway. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something he's not telling us... but it's an obscure, emotional, fuzzy sort of feeling, there's no point talking to T'Pia about it.
"Handshake complete," says Sumal. "I'm reading - hmm." He peers at the console. "That was odd. A little... stutter, almost, in the data response." He shakes his carefully groomed head. "Some sort of internal blip, at a guess, sir. These systems are
old. Response coming through.... Codes accepted. We have access."
"All right. Open the door, let's see what we've got."
On the main viewscreen, vertical cracks appear in the black wall... and then the section between them slides upwards, revealing another wall beyond, and a circular doorway, like the doorways we see so often inside the spires - only bigger, much bigger, nearly seventy metres across. As I watch, its segments split open and retract, and the way is clear - a tubular passageway, reaching into the interior of the spire.
I take a deep breath. "It worked. We're in," I say to T'Pia.
"Very well. I suggest you proceed with all appropriate caution. Signal your peaceful intentions in linguacode on all channels. And please maintain this communications link for as long as you are able."
"Will do." I turn to Marya Kothe at the helm. "We're going in. Take us in slowly, and kill the proximity alarms now, or they're going to get noisy." Marya nods, and reaches for the controls.
The portal expands on the screen as
Timor moves towards it. Beyond it... smooth metal walls with occasional ribs, and dotted with... lights, I suppose... at regular intervals.
"Transmit linguacode contact messages on continuous loop. All passive sensors to maximum. Let's get as much detail as we can, here."
There is a vague sound in the air as we enter the passageway, a dim booming noise, like ocean surf far off.... After a moment, I realise what it is: our own engines, the sound of reaction mass jetting from our RCS arrays, echoing back from the walls of the tube. I'm still not entirely used to operating a spaceship in atmosphere -
I grin, quietly, to myself. Never mind atmosphere. Now, we're flying a starship
indoors.
The passageway is comparatively short, only three hundred metres or so, and then it joins up with the vertical tube that threads its way up the spire's leg. I see Marya's back muscles tense as she negotiates the junction. It's a tight fit - but
Timor is through. We turn upwards, confronting another echoing metal tube. There are markings on the wall, opposite the junction: circles and oblongs and triangles in some sort of arrangement - I don't know what they mean, if they mean anything.
Timor moves upwards, along the tube, surrounded by the dim roar of her own engines.
"No problems so far," I tell T'Pia. "We got through into the main passage all right - the next tight spot is about thirty kilometres further along."
"Noted," says T'Pia. "Your comms signal is slightly attenuated. This can be ascribed to the shielding effect of the spire's own mass, and to random interference from the other energetic processes in adjacent conduits."
The tube curves as we ascend, following the line of the leg. It's still an absolutely smooth ride; we're protected, even, from the random atmospheric buffeting we'd get on the outside. The lights in the walls shed a dim glow all around us - and, as we approach that sudden sharp bend on the map, I see more markings on the wall ahead, more circles, oblongs and triangles -
"I'm getting an
idea," I say.
Sumal turns towards me; Marya sneaks a quick glance back over her shoulder. "Specify," says T'Pia.
"Lights inside this thing. And markings on the wall.
Signage. Why would you put signage on a wall, if not for somebody to read it? This isn't some waveguide or disused energy conduit. This tube is exactly what
we're using it for. A service access, for ships."
T'Pia nods, once. "There are some implicit assumptions in that hypothesis, but in the absence of contradictory evidence, it is internally consistent and logical."
It's a weight off my mind, in any event.
Timor is moving towards that tight spot, now, and I can see... things. Devices, mechanisms, structures, whatever you might call them, extending from the walls of the tube - which swells out, in fact, at this point, into a spheroid cavern. It would be
easy to get through, if we didn't have to pick our way through the clutter....
"A pit stop. A service station - somewhere to repair and refuel on the way into, or out of, the main body," I muse.
"Conceivably," says T'Pia. Her image on the screen is getting a little fuzzy. Interference from the shields and the energy flows is becoming stronger.
Marya threads the ship between the probing fingers of three complex gantries, and we are back in the tube, heading out along a gradually tightening curve.
"If I'm right," I say, "we could figure out a lot about the vessels the Solanae used, just from looking over the equipment back there. This place could be a gold mine of information."
"Certainly no other structures of this nature have been investigated in other spires," says T'Pia. "Of course, this spire is unusual in several ways. Of the 154,702 spires thus far registered on our cartographic surveys, only 627 have a tripedal structure, and none of those has previously been studied. As for the intensive surrounding industrial zones -"
I'm listening to her with only half an ear. T'Pia's always been a good CO, but she's a Vulcan, and Vulcans love their statistics.
"Next kink's coming up, sir," says Marya. More signage on the wall of the tube - a different arrangement of circles, oblongs and triangles - and then -
My ears fold flat to my skull, and my fur bristles. There is no mistaking
that shape.
"High-energy antiproton discharge arrays," says Onguma. "No energy buildup, but -"
I think. Raise shields? But that might be interpreted as a hostile act - and I barely have
room for shields in here, anyway. "Maintain course," I order. The emitters of the arrays look terrifying, spiky and menacing.
"A security checkpoint?" Sumal wonders aloud.
"That would be consistent with M'eioi's overall hypothesis," T'Pia says. She sounds absolutely calm, as ever. Of course,
she's not the one staring down the barrel of an antiproton gun.
Timor threads her way between the menacing shapes, and every random reflection looks like the first flash of the light that will kill me.
"We're through," says Marya, and I see the tube open up before me. I breathe in deeply, and force my ears to unclench.
"Any sort of response?" I ask.
"Nothing," Onguma replies.
"Any answer to our signals?" Maybe the security checkpoint heard our linguacode transmissions, and its automatic systems flagged us as harmless because of them. Or maybe the whole thing is dead, deactivated. I don't know.
"Nothing on any comms channel, sir," says Sumal. "We're starting to get some really heavy interference now."
T'Pia's face is monochrome now, and severely blurred. "Your data transmissions are no longer intelligible," she says, and her voice hisses and pops with static.
"We'll keep going as long as we can," I tell her. "Maybe we'll be able to filter out the interference once we're close enough to get good reads on the particle shields."
And suddenly, there is something on the screen, rising over the curve of the passageway: another circular portal. I turn to Sumal. "Send some codes to that, please. And, Marya, in case they don't work, reduce speed. Joaj, boost the inertial dampers." I don't want to ram the doorway, and I certainly don't want to damage the ship if we do.
But Sumal's codes work - the portal separates into segments that twirl away into the walls. Beyond... is a huge empty space. We've reached the main body of the spire, and we're at... the hangar, or the terminus, or whatever you would like to call it.
Timor passes through the portal - and T'Pia's image blinks out, to be replaced by a blank screen. We're in the outer fringes, at least, of the heavy-duty particle shields. We won't have external communications until we figure some way past that jamming. Never mind.
The - hangar - is huge, and irregularly shaped, and full of echoes. Points of light twinkle on shadowy walls. There is a big, round, flat deck visible, marked out with lines - parking spots, I'd guess, for Solanae ships. Each section is illuminated by a brilliant spotlight, shining down from somewhere high above.
"Marya. Take us in for a landing."
Timor slows and swoops downwards. The echo of our thrusters is quieter and hollower, now. There are dull clunks as landing gear unfolds from our nacelles and engineering hull. We slow to a halt, hover for an instant, then descend. A loud boom resonates through the hangar as our pads hit the deck.
"All stop."
Silence falls as the last echoes die away. The
Timor is standing on the pad... and when was the last time, I wonder, that a ship occupied this spot? A thousand years ago? A hundred thousand?
All around us is the spire, filled with arcane devices, filled with power and secrets. Somewhere, there is an intelligence, someone or something
driving all this.
I stroke my whiskers with one claw. "All right," I say softly, "let's see what's in there."
