Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (36 page)

“Well, if you have a better idea of where we should be going, Lance Corporal, just be clear about it!”

“I am! Go left!”

“Day,” the CO snapped. “What happened?”

“Sir . . . This place is a maze . . .”

“According to our inertial systems, we were barely three hundred meters from the docking bay, sir . . .”

“Inertial systems aren't going to work on the slidewalks,” Weaver said dryly. “They damp inertia. You could have been ten klicks away for all you knew.”

“I tried to maintain a comprehensible route, sir,” the sergeant continued, miserably. “But there were forks, by my estimate, every twenty meters or so. I stayed on the right-hand fork for a while but then the guidance system said we were going back to the docking bay so I took a couple of lefts and then . . .”

“You got lost,” Captain Zanella said sternly. “So much for spatial awareness, Sergeant.”

“Sir, there's no landmarks in there,” Day protested. “And with the way that the slidewalk works, there's no feel for where you are.”

“This is going to be a problem,” Bill said. “I can see the sergeant's point.”

“Ball of twine,” Miriam said.

“Probably the only solution,” the XO acknowledged. “But do we have that long of a ball of twine?”

“You mean, lay down a string behind you?” Captain Zanella asked. “There are the safety lines for the Wyverns. They're monomolecule lines but they're only about eighty meters long. We're not going to get far with just those.”

“Hook a few together,” Bill said, shrugging. “See if there's a way to mark the turns. Space tape sticks to this stuff. Work it out. I'll be down the platform . . .”

“And tape . . .” Lance Corporal Strait said, slapping a square of space tape on the left-hand wall as they turned left at a fork. “Any idea where we're going, Sergeant?”

“If I knew that, Strait, I'd be a genius,” Lyle replied. “But so far nobody's found anything but corridor. There has to be something at the end of . . .”

“Whoa,” Corporal Hamilton said as the corridor debouched into an open area. The circular chamber was about twenty meters across and filled from deck to overhead with glowing crystals. Like the walls, the crystals fluoresced in a waving pattern of pastel colors. There was another opening to the side, presumably going to a similar corridor to the one they'd just left.

“Okay,” Lyle said. “We found something.”

“But what?” Weaver asked, touching one of the crystals, lightly. “Miriam?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the linguist replied, walking through the crystals. “Power system? Living quarters? A computer? There does not seem to be any defined pattern to their layout; they almost look randomly spaced . . .  No . . .  There's a pattern but I think it's . . . I've seen it before . . . I think I can see the equation . . .”

“I'll leave you to it,” Bill said. “Captain Zanella, keep a team present while Miss Moon investigates this . . . anomaly. I'll be back at the platform . . .”

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” Miriam sang, cross-legged on the floor and surrounded by equation filled papers. She was sure there was a reason for the layout of the crystals, but every energy system she'd considered didn't fit. And when she was severely puzzled, she either had to play music in the background or sing. Since she didn't have her MP3 chip with her, singing was the only choice. “That saved a wretch like me . . .”

“Ma'am!” Staff Sergeant Danny Robbins said over the comm. “Ma'am!”

“What?” Miriam asked, breaking out of her reverie.

“Damn,” the staff sergeant said. “It stopped. That crystal you were leaning against just started to light up. Light up more, that is. It was sort of pulsing. I'd suggest you move away from it.”

“Send me your recording,” Miriam said, standing up and backing away from the pillar.

When she saw the video of the pillar of crystal pulsing she cocked her head to the side.

“How long had it been doing that?” Miriam asked.

“Not sure, ma'am,” the sergeant admitted. “We were watching the entrances. I just turned around to check on you and it was pulsing like that.”

Miriam watched the pulses for a moment and they were oddly familiar. Repetitive and . . . 

“Oh My God,” Miriam said. She turned on her external speakers and sounded a clear, high note. Among so many other skills, the linguist had perfect pitch and was an operatically trained singer. All seven of the pillars lit up, each turning a separate bright shade. As she held the note, going stronger and lighter, the pillars followed sync with their lights and the note seemed to be refracted by some sort of an echo effect, becoming a chord.

“That was pretty,” Robbins said.

“And I'm beginning to wonder if that's not all it is,” Miriam replied, making a moue.

“Do it again,” Weaver said, watching the lights play on the pillars fade.

“We wrestle not against flesh and blood but war against the powers of darkness . . .” Miriam sang. The pillars flashed ripples of color through their depths, catching every tone and subtone of the hymn and turning it into glorious light. “But we are mighty through God by the Blood of His Son that has rendered the Enemy Powerless.”

“Cool,” Weaver whispered. “Let me try: If I leeeeave here tomorrrrrrow, Would you still remember meeeee . . .? Huh . . . ?”

The pillars flashed to the words but the colors were muted, dull and even muddy in places, colors interacting unpleasantly.

“Why'd it do that?” Bill asked, confused.

“Uh, sir?” Staff Sergeant Robbins said, wincing. “No disrespect is intended, sir. But while you're pretty good with a guitar . . .  You really should leave the singing to Miss Moon. Sir.”

“Sir, with all due respect, if you're in here we'll be out of commo,” Captain Zanella said, twitching slightly as Weaver tuned up the guitar. Everyone was starting to twitch when the guitar came out.

“I won't be long, Captain,” Weaver said, hitting the E string, then running up the notes. On the A string, one of the pillars looked a little odd, and listening to the note again Weaver realized it was just slightly flat. “I'm conducting an experiment.”

“Sir,” Staff Sergeant Robbins said from the corridor outside the music room. Fortunately, he didn't have to shout since something was muting the “music” being performed within. “I'm aware that we really should have the CO of the away team immediately available at all times. But if he's in there, he's not out on the platform.”

“Point,” Zanella replied. “Right. Set up a series of retrans boxes so we can get ahold of him at any time. And let's hope he stays in there.”

“We've found nine of these music rooms so far,” Captain Zanella reported. “A couple slightly larger with a larger number of crystal pillars, but essentially the same. Tests indicate that all of them respond to musical notes. Response seems to be highest to well replicated opera and classical. The worst response is to rap.”

“Well, they respond to music,” Bill said. “They really like 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.' ”

“At least something does,” the Marine muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me, Captain?” Bill said.

“Nothing, sir. However, there are no more advanced findings. Just these music rooms. And they appear to have no external effect. Colonel Che-chee has a Combat Space Patrol up and they've seen no external response nor have sensors indicated higher levels of particle emissions.”

“How far have you spread out?” Bill asked, muttering under his breath. “Anna Gadda Davida . . .”

“That's hard to determine, sir,” the Marine said, wincing. “But I estimate a kilometer. I also estimate, based on the best readings we can get from the inertial nav systems, that the music rooms are close to the tips of the Tree. And they seem to be found most easily by taking lefts at the forks. The one team that experimented with taking only right-hand turns at the forks found none and ended back at the dock.”

“I'm starting to think that the gravity in the tubes is always down for the tube but may not be in the same direction as the space dock,” Miriam said. “You'd never know if your spatial orientation was changing in the tubes. That being the case, some of those right-hand tubes may be going 'up' to access more of the music rooms on the far side of the Tree. So far, this place seems to be some sort of a music training facility.”

“I hope that remark wasn't pointed in my direction,” Weaver said, still upset that that crystals didn't like his singing.

“Not at all,” Miriam replied. “You play a very good '70s rock and roll guitar. Admittedly, that's the same as saying Chief Duppstadt makes a fine spinach fandango but as spinach fandango it's not all that bad . . .”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Bill snapped. “I suppose I should be playing some European electronic chither?”

“To each her own,” Miriam said, grinning.

“This isn't getting us anywhere,” Bill replied. “Captain, have your teams spread out further, concentrating on rights. Find more of the alternate exits to the docking bay, since we can see a bunch of them. Possibly use the boards to move to higher levels. Try to get forward. There has to be a control room or an engine room somewhere.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the Marine said.

“I'm off-watch,” Bill continued. “I'm going to go put my head down. Wake me if there are any new reports or emergencies.”

“If I see one more of those crystal caves . . .” Corporal Shingleton muttered.

In a week of constant searching, the Marines had developed a feel for the layout of the corridors. Constant rights eventually brought you back to the docking bay. Throw in a few lefts and you ended up on different levels. More lefts and you eventually found a music room. If you got to the far side of the bay the pattern reversed. The interior of the Tree was like M.C. Escher come to life and if you could think in surrealism it was simple.

With the pattern more-or-less understood, the need for laying out wires and space-tape markers reduced. Permanent space-tape markers were installed at various points so when, not if, the Marines got lost they had directions to return to the base.

This, though, was the most advanced recon to date. With the pattern understood, the team was attempting to penetrate to the far end of the Tree. However, they'd found that it was increasingly hard since there were more and more of the music rooms, or “crystal caves” as the Marines called them. Missing them was getting harder and harder.

“You got your wish,” Lance Corporal Lynn Eakins said. “Got a cave.”

“Take a right,” Sergeant Bae replied, striding along behind the point. Eakins was in the lead by thirty meters with Shingleton bringing up the rear.

“Is it getting brighter?” Eakins asked as they came to another fork. “Left or right, Sergeant?”

“Left,” Bae said, musingly. “Probably another cave but—”

“DREEN!”

“It appears to be a small force of Dreen ground-fighters, sir,” Captain Zanella said. “Eakins took a thorn in his armor but he's only lightly wounded. The other two escaped without injury.”

“But we've got Dreen on the station,” Bill said, wincing. “We need to move the camp to a more secure spot. Move it to the rear-most cave. Leave one platoon to provide security for that move. You're in charge of that. I'll go forward with Lieutenant Ross in command of the Marines.”

“Sir, with all due respect . . .”

“We cannot lose both of us,” Bill replied. “And if the Dreen have found the control center, I want to be there, Captain. So follow your orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was just forward of here, sir,” Sergeant Bae said, pointing to a red-marked square of space tape on the luminescent wall. “There were two turns, we went left at each of them.”

“Lieutenant Morris, leave one team here to maintain control of this intersection,” Lieutenant Ross said. “Lieutenant Bergstresser, your platoon has the lead.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Berg said. “Gunny, point team.”

“Champs, you're up,” Gunny Juda said. “And I'll be right up your ass.”

“Teams will enter the open area described by Sergeant Bae,” Berg said over the platoon freq. “Charlie center, Alpha left, Bravo right. Order of targetting will be cannoneers to thorn throwers, riflemen to dogs. Do not engage any unrecognized type unless they present a notable threat. Teams will advance with maximum speed to the open area, eliminating resistance in the corridor by constant fire and movement. Use the boot, don't piss on them.”

“Gung-ho, sir,” First Sergeant Powell said. “You heard the man, Champs. Let's go kill us some Dreen.”

Sergeant Champion wasn't watching his speed indicator; he was too focused on the targets in the corridor. The Dreen had apparently laid out dog-demons as security and there was one every thirty meters or so. More as they approached the open area. He'd gotten three so far but there were two together, using the corridor to charge him at lightning speed . . . 

“Get the left,” Powell shouted as a wall of fire came by Champion's suit.

Champion bit down on his trigger, sending a stream of .50 caliber rounds down the corridor, but he could not track in on the charging demon . . . 

“Chither!” he shouted as the demon latched onto the leg of his suit and flipped him onto his face. Their contact may have had no inertia to it, but the low-slung, powerful alien was more than capable of lifting a Wyvern suit off its feet.

“Got it,” Kaijahano said, firing a single cannon round into the dog-demon's exposed back.

“We got company,” First Sergeant Powell said, dropping to a knee and firing down the corridor. “Sir, the entry is blocked. Too many to bull through.”

“Platoon,” Berg said calmly, “take positions and open fire.”

“How many of these things are there?” Ducksworth asked rhetorically. The corridor was getting piled up with bodies of Dreen, mostly dog-demons.

“A lot,” Champion replied. With his mangled suit-leg, he could only fire from the prone but it didn't really matter. His team was belly down, side by side with him, while Bravo took a knee and Alpha was standing. The wall of fire had the Dreen stopped in the corridor and there were no more forks, but that didn't mean there wasn't a way around. If there were enough of them, and under an intelligent controller, they could use the corridors to bypass the blocking position and hit them in the rear.