Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (33 page)

“We need to hold up while he does that,” the LT pointed out. “Platoon, hold position.”

The retrans box was the size of a Vietnam era radio but had interplanetary range. Fuller pulled it off his armor and then looked at the edge of the tree.

“Gunny, there's no place to affix it,” the RTO pointed out.

“Time to find out how miraculous space tape really is,” the gunny replied. “You do have a roll with you, don't you, Lance Corporal?”

“Uh . . .”

“Here,” Berg said with a sigh, reaching into the cargo hatch on the back of his suit. “Use mine.”

Space tape once again proved its miraculous nature by sticking to the surface of whatever the tree was made of. Fuller extended the transmission wand and the receptor mirror and backed his board away from the edge.

“All done, sir.”

“Let's move,” Berg said. “Platoon, continue approach to the trunk.”

As they got closer, particle emissions climbed sharply. But there still was nothing of a hazardous nature. The closest to it was a sharp spike in neutrinos, but neutrinos were so small, fast and slippery that until the Adar came along the only way to detect them was with massive quantities of a special solvent in undergound tanks. The rest was stuff that had even less effect. But it proved that something very strange was going on in the interior of the massive artifact.

“Anybody see anything like an opening?” Berg asked as they approached the face of the trunk. The trunk itself was just under nine football fields in diameter, bigger around than the largest stadium on Earth. The Marines were dwarfed by the massive construction of the tree.

“Negative here, sir,” Staff Sergeant Carr commented

“Negative, sir,” Sergeant Champion replied.

“Nada, sir,” Sergeant Eduardo Bae finished.

“Okay, let's head down the trunk to the end,” Berg said. “Maintain separation, et cetera.”

The major particle output seemed to come from the joining of the main tree to the trunk and fell off, sharply, as they headed to the very “bottom” of the tree. Reaching the end, Berg didn't even pause the platoon, just sent them in a swoop to the very underside.

In that configuration, the shadows of the boards could be seen sweeping across the luminescent underside of the construction and it was the shadows, as much as anything, that pin-pointed a change in the surface of the thing.

“Sir . . .” Gunny Juda said. “Did you see . . .”

For just a moment as one of the shadows swept over the surface a line was revealed.

“Platoon, halt,” Berg said. “Let's back up and see if we can get that again.”

By maneuvering the boards around it was eventually possible to get the same effect, showing a thin line and a slight change in surface texture on one portion of the underside.

“Gunny, send a point team.”

“Even if there's a door there,” Corporal Sam Dupras complained, “I don't see no controls.”

The Alpha team lance corporal rifleman was from Pladgette Parrish, Louisiana, and it showed in a thick Cajun accent.

“We just have to find the door,” Staff Sergeant Carr replied as the threesome closed on the line. “So can it.”

“I don't know if that's a door or just some sort of—” Lance Corporal Robert Rucker started to say just as an the material of the surface dilated away, revealing an opening that was wide and deep enough to take all three boards. In fact, it looked as if it was tailored to take the threesome. Alas, with the flickering walls, the smooth, curved sides and the shadows of the boards, it looked not unlike a toothless mouth. “Urk.”

“Lieutenant Bergstresser,” Staff Sergeant Carr said. “We appear to have found a door.”

“Openings occur, apparently automatically, whenever someone approaches one of those lines, sir,” Berg said over the laser link to the ship. “We've traced the outline of the full area. It's more than seven hundred meters wide, sir. Most of the bottom appears to open. It's possible this thing is some sort of space dock.”

“Fascinating,” Lady Che-chee said, leading her dragonfly forward, then backing away as a tailored opening appeared. “And you haven't entered?”

“We don't have orders to, ma'am,” Eric replied. “In fact, we have orders not to.”

“Dragonflight, Second Platoon, this is CIC,” the ship's CO said. “Dragonflight, maintain station. Marines, send one, repeat one member of your unit into one of the openings. Have him enter then attempt to exit and report.”

“Just opens right back up, sir . . .” Lance Corporal Kaijahano said. “I don't know what happens if I go forward, though. Want me to find out?”

Kaijahano took a deep breath, then mentally sent his grav-board forward towards the inner wall of the compartment. As he did, his O2 sensor began blinking, indicating rising exterior oxygen levels and he felt himself pulled sideways from artificial gravity. Since he could see no vents in the smooth walls of the alien airlock, he hadn't a clue where the O2 was coming from. But by the time his board just about touched the wall, the O2 pressure was actually higher than safe for humans. By the same token, the gravity was only about 80% earth normal. Lighter even than the artificial gravity of the Blade. He twisted his board to align and continued forward, slower than a walk.

Just before the board touched, the inner wall dilated to reveal a glowing tunnel that curved to the right. That would be to the closer wall of the tree from his current position. He wasn't sure what that meant, but this was as far as he was supposed to go. He backed up and the door closed. Backing up more and the oxygen level dropped precipitously to death pressure, the outer door opened and he was back in space.

“Sir, all I gotta say is that whoever designed this thing knew what they were doing . . .”

“How are your consumables, Lieutenant?” Captain Zanella asked.

“We're all at better then seventy percent, sir,” Berg replied. “If we're not surveying the surface, we've got plenty. And I've been considering Dancer's report from the airlock. That level of O2 pressure is dangerous for humans, but our suit systems can back it down easily enough. If that's what the whole structure is like on the inside, sir, we can stay in there indefinitely from an air perspective. Well, as long as our scrubbers and power hold out, but that's weeks, sir. Heck, we can actually resupply on Class O.”

“The problem, Lieutenant, is that you're out of communication with the ship while anyone is in there,” the Marine CO replied. “We're considering it on this end. Hold your position until you have further orders . . .”

“. . . send them in and have them look around,” Bill said. “Two-Gun's smart and cautious. He's the best guy I could think of to lead this.”

“The problem is that I'm feeling more and more like a monkey in a reactor compartment,” Captain Prael replied. “We're pushing buttons and we have no clue what they do.”

“Sir, we were sent out to find technology,” Weaver argued. “This is technology beyond anything we expected. We need to find out what it is, what it does and if possible how to control it. Better yet, how to move it. As it is, it's right in the region we can expect the Dreen to occupy in the next five years. The one thing I can guarantee is that Space Command does not want this thing, whatever it is, falling into Dreen hands.”

“Do you have any idea what it is or what it does?” the CO asked.

“No, sir, but we've barely scratched the surface!”

“I have to agree to that,” Prael said, frowning. “Captain Zanella, you've been mostly quiet during this debate.”

“I hate the idea of possibly losing a platoon, sir,” the Marine said. “But that's what we're here for, to check things out. There's no reason for us to be on the ship if we're not going to do our jobs. If you want my vote, sir, I vote for going in. Carefully. Send one team in, have them recon forward. If there is no negative effect, then send in the rest of the platoon. Give them a specified time frame to investigate. If they don't report back? Then we have a problem.”

“Shiny, Captain,” Prael said. “That sounds like a plan.”

“This is as far as we got in the time we had, sir,” Staff Sergeant Carr said.

The tube had turned to the right in a long, smooth curve. Based on inertial guidance, they had to be near the edge of the trunk. However, Berg could see a second curve, back to the left, up ahead.

“Good job, Staff Sergeant,” the lieutenant said. “Gunny, rotate the point.”

“Whoa!” Corporal Shingleton gasped from his position fifty meters in the lead. There was another sharp turn there and whatever the corporal had seen had stopped him in what had been a smooth approach.

“Report, Corporal,” Sergeant Bae snapped. “ 'Whoa' is not a useful comment.”

“It's . . . Sergeant, you gotta see this!”

“Now . . . that's something.”

The corridor ended in a massive cavern which must have taken up most of the width of the trunk. There was still a walkway, though, a shimmering ribbon of nearly transluscent material that arched upwards towards the ceiling and followed the right-hand side of the immense enclosure.

Far below Berg could see more walkways and semi-transparent extensions out into the opening, like wings extending from the walls. There were dozens of them, some small, some very large. It took him about ten seconds to realize he was looking at . . . 

“That is one hell of a space dock,” Gunny Juda said, awe in his voice. “You could park a dozen Blades in this thing at once, sir.”

“Yeah, Gunny,” Berg said, trying for a stable and serious tone. “But this is probably less than five percent of the total area of the tree. Most of the trunk, yeah, but not most of the tree. This thing's not purely a space dock.”

Oh, grapp this, he thought. He knew that he was supposed to let other people take the risks but he just had to try this for himself.

Stepping gingerly off his board he tested the firmness of the tunnel floor first. Solid as a rock.

“Sir, what are you doing?” Gunny Juda asked over the command circuit.

“Having fun, Gunny,” Berg replied, walking forward to the opening. He balanced on one foot, not the easiest thing to do in a Wyvern, and carefully tapped the semi-transparent bridge. Seemed solid. “Get ready to catch me.”

“Sir, I can do that,” Staff Sergeant Carr said.

“Got it, Staff Sergeant,” Berg replied, stepping fully onto the bridge.

The view was more than terrifying. It was better than eight hundred meters straight down to the curved “bottom” of the tree. But he wasn't about to let that stop him.

“I'm wondering if these people really used this thing,” Berg said, walking forwards. “I mean, this is one long damned . . .”

“Sir, slow down!” Gunny Juda snapped.

Berg stopped and turned around and was surprised to find that in just a few short strides he had separated from the platoon by nearly a hundred meters. He hadn't noticed any effect of acceleration as you'd get from a moving sidewalk and the walls were so far away there was no perspective for speed.

“Now that's interesting,” Berg said, starting to walk back. Going in that direction, it was apparent that just a few steps accelerated him to much faster than running, but he slowed automatically as he approached the opening. He paused there and looked at the edge of the narrow platform. He squatted down and extended his claw outward towards the edge. It hit a barrier and he nodded. “Thought so.”

“What's that, sir?” Gunny Juda said.

“No handrails, Gunny,” Berg said. “That meant either a race that was suicidal or something we couldn't see. There's a force field there. You can't fall off this thing.”

A few experiments determined that, in fact, the entire tunnel had the same system, which seemed to be a side-shoot of a reactionless drive system. The surface of the tunnel and the bridge moved under the foot just as a slidewalk would, but had some type of stabilization field that mitigated all the normal effects. The slowing as he'd approached the tunnel entry, moreover, was an effect of the crowding at the entrance. With no one blocking the entry, a user continued through at a rate of nearly thirty miles per hour, while walking at a normal pace. Users moving at different speeds, one a slow walk, one a fast walk, moved at relatively different speeds on the speedwalk. And the one time that two Wyverns collided at a relative speed of nearly fifteen miles per hour, there was no indication of contact, no clang of metal hammering on metal, no bruising, no flailed chests; the field eliminated the effects of inertial energy entirely.

“Sir, we're getting on for time,” Gunny Juda said. “Damnit, Donder, get your ass back here!”

“Incoming, Gunny!” the lance corporal said from near the top of the bridge. He got the Wyvern up to a max-speed run and the gathered Marines at the opening flinched as he came in like a rocket. But just before he got to the gaggle he screeched to a slow walk as if he'd hit a brick wall. “YES!” he shouted, holding both claws overhead in victory. “One hundred and twenty miles per hour in a WYVERN suit! That has to be some kind of record!”

“God damnit . . .”

“Try Cupid, Gunny,” Kaijanho said with a sigh. “You haven't used that one in a while . . .”

“God damnit, Comet!”

“That one's actually appropriate. Can I keep it?”

“I'm not taking the ship in there,” Captain Prael said, shaking his head. “Not going to happen.”

The dragonflies had been admitted through a large airlock directly into the cavern. They had landed on the platforms, checked them out with interest and then returned. They had also determined that whereas the whole cavern was not pressurized, the platforms were, invisible force fields holding the air in but somehow letting the dragonflies and their riders through. The size of the field was large enough, on one of the medium-sized platforms, to cover the whole Blade.

“Well, sir, what we've found so far is the parking garage,” Weaver said. “And I'd say that's exactly what this is, sir. It's the parking garage for whatever the Tree really is. It might be a repair dock, but so far we've seen no signs of that. Just stuff for moving people. I'm starting to rethink my suggestion that this is a weapon. There is no sign of control of entry.”