by David Mack
Vale nodded. “I’ll ask Dr. Ree for more options.”
They rode together in silence until the turbolift stopped, and the doors parted to reveal the Deck Five main corridor. Riker stepped out. Before the doors closed, Vale stepped between them to hold the lift. “Am I the only one who finds it hard to believe we just got our ass kicked by a sensor beam?”
Riker cocked his head. “What are you saying?”
“That I don’t think what that beam did to us was an accident. Think about it: Someone or something goes to a lot of trouble to black out a whole star system. We start flying toward it, pelting it with sensor sweeps, and what happens? It knocks us out of warp, frags our weapons, and fries our comms. If you ask me, I’d say whatever’s out there doesn’t want to meet us, and it doesn’t want us talking about it to anyone else.”
“Then it shouldn’t have messed with my ship—because now I’m really curious.”
“You and the cat, sir.”
He chuckled softly. “Go get some sleep. I get the feeling tomorrow’s gonna be a very busy day.”
2168
13
Veronica Fletcher popped her head around the corner from the foyer and said to Erika Hernandez, “We’re ready, Captain.”
Hernandez lifted her feet from a reasonable facsimile of an ottoman and got up from the wraparound sofa that bordered three sides of the penthouse suite’s sunken main room. She climbed the few stairs in quick steps and passed the open dining area. It was well stocked with fruits and a wide variety of faithfully recreated Earth foodstuffs. Before she left, she stole another look at the warm, natural light slanting through the suite’s panoramic windows, which rose to great arches near the vaulted ceilings. As gilded prisons went, this one, intended for her and the rest of the landing party, was truly first-rate.
She joined Fletcher in the foyer and followed her out to the floor’s central corridor, where a transparent pod waited for them in an alcove. They stepped inside. It began a swift descent, devoid of any sensation of movement, into a glowing shaft of pale, pulsing rings. In seconds they emerged into what seemed like thin air, dropping in a controlled manner toward a pool of water shimmering with rippled sunlight.
The towers of the city surrounded them, and through slivers between the platinum spires, Hernandez caught flashes of the jagged mountaintops in the west. Peach-colored clouds were pulled taut across the sky.
“It really is a beautiful city,” Fletcher said.
Hernandez allowed herself a moment to admire the scenery. “Nice place to visit. Wouldn’t want to live here.”
Their pod touched down on the surface of the water without so much as a ripple. The dancing sparkle of sunlight on wind-teased water transformed into a dull glow of reflected illumination on a solid, matte surface, and the pod itself sublimated and dissipated into the hot summer air.
Fletcher led the way across a sprawling plaza paved with white marble. Hulking granite sculptures and massive, flowering topiaries depicted alien creatures unlike any the captain had ever seen before.
At its far end, flanked by densely grown trees, was a rectangular reflecting pool. Its surface was serene and black, and it cast razor-sharp reflections of everything in sight. At its farthest end, a tall, thick-trunked, droop-boughed tree stood on a low, wide island of earth, whose mossy shores reached to within a meter of the low wall that bordered the pool.
The rest of the landing party was gathered in a cluster on the miniature island in the shade of the tree, crouched like ancient primates wary of abandoning their arboreal redoubts.
Fletcher and Hernandez hopped across the narrow channel of water to the tree’s island and slipped into the middle of the huddle. Hernandez folded her arms across her bent knees. “What did we learn?”
Before anyone else could speak, Major Foyle asked, “Captain, are we sure it’s safe to talk here?”
“Why wouldn’t it be, Major?”
He looked at the other MACOs and then replied, “What if we’re being monitored?”
Fletcher fielded the question. “If the Caeliar want to listen in, I don’t think it matters where we go in this city. Or on this planet, to be honest. With technology like theirs, I don’t think we could stop them.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t make plans verbally,” Foyle said. “Maybe we should do it all in writing and destroy the notes.”
Hernandez exhaled sharply. “They know about Earth, they’ve accessed the Columbia’s computers, and they speak English without translation devices. I think they can probably read our writing. So let’s just get on with it, shall we?”
“As you wish, Captain,” said Foyle. “But I object to this unnecessary risk to our operational security.”
“Noted,” Hernandez said, hopeful that she’d heard the last of Foyle’s paranoia. “You spoke up first, so why don’t you make your report first? How’s our access to the Caeliar’s city?”
“Almost unlimited,” Foyle said, and he nodded to Yacavino, his second-in-command, to continue.
“Our men had no trouble coming or going from our residence tower,” Yacavino said. “The Caeliar admitted us without search or challenge to a variety of spaces, both indoors and outdoors.”
Hernandez nodded. “Good. At least we have mobility.”
“Until they decide to take it away,” injected Sergeant Pembleton. “All they have to do is turn off our see-through elevators and we’ll be stuck in that four-star penitentiary.”
“One problem at a time,” the captain said. She looked to her first officer. “Veronica, what did you and Dr. Metzger find out about our hosts?”
Fletcher arched her eyebrows and frowned, as if she found her own report hard to believe. “They can change shapes.”
Metzger added, “And they can turn into vapor or liquid.”
“Change shapes?” Hernandez threw a quizzical look at Metzger and Fletcher. “Can you be more specific about that?”
The Columbia’s middle-aged surgeon pushed her short, gray bangs from her forehead and replied, “I saw them get larger and smaller, change from bipeds to quadrupeds—one of them even seemed to think it was funny to mimic the two of us down to the last detail.”
The first officer nodded. “It was impressive,” she said. “And a bit troubling, to be honest.”
“That’s an understatement,” Hernandez said. “They can impersonate us?”
Fletcher waved her hand. “Not our behavior, just our appearance and voices. They don’t seem to have any sense of personalities.”
“Thank heaven for small mercies,” Foyle quipped. He added, “Though what worries me is their ability to levitate.”
Around the huddle, several heads nodded, and Hernandez’s was among them. “Do we know how they do it?”
“Yes, sir,” Fletcher said. “Catoms.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
Graylock cut in, “Claytronic atoms—also called programmable matter. They’re like nanomachines, but more complex, and a lot more powerful. Bonded together, they operate on a human scale instead of a microscopic one. They can change their density, energy levels, a whole range of properties. Teams in Japan and the United States made a few prototypes about ninety years ago. Proof-of-concept models. It was all very primitive, never made it out of the lab. It was supposed to change telepresence, but it was scrapped after the last world war.”
Hernandez asked, “And this is the same thing?”
“Nein,” Graylock said, stifling a laugh. “What we had was a spark. This is a supernova. They can change their mass, their state, anything—all on a whim.”
That made the captain think. “What’s their power source?”
Graylock shook his head. “They wouldn’t say. I’d guess it’s an energy field generated at a remote facility.”
“Let’s make identifying that energy source a priority,” Hernandez said. She looked to Foyle. “Did you or your men find any access to the underground regions of the city?”
“No,” Foyle said. �
��On the surface we moved freely. But there’s no sign of any way into the guts of this thing. Of course, we’ve had only a few days to search. It’s a big place.”
“True.” The captain turned to her communications specialist. “Sidra, what’s your take on Caeliar culture?”
Valerian pondered the question a moment. “Complicated,” she said. “They don’t seem to mind answering questions, which helps. A lot of the public spaces I’ve seen have been dedicated to the arts—mostly music and singing, but also some dance and visual performance art. They used to have narrative arts like theater and literature, but they fell out of favor a long time ago.”
Fletcher asked, “How long?”
“Maybe a few thousand years,” Valerian said. “They also don’t seem to have anything resembling economics, and there’s no agricultural production or animal husbandry that I could find.”
“What about politics?” asked Hernandez.
The Scottish woman shrugged. “They have a ruling body here in Axion called a Quorum, with members from each of their cities, but they’re all picked by lottery. I’m not sure how often they hold lotteries, but no one campaigns for it.”
A balmy breeze carried the scent of green things and flowers in bloom, but made no ripples on the reflecting pool. Hernandez wondered if she was the only one who noticed. She turned her attention back to Valerian. “What else? What are their habits? We know they’re pacifists; what else do they believe?”
“They hold art and science in the same esteem,” Valerian said. “All the ones I talked to are both artists and scientists. One who makes mosaics in the plaza is also an astronomer; one who composed a symphony I heard is also a physicist.”
Crichlow, a MACO from Liverpool, said, “They’re also really polite. And they all seem to know who we are—I mean, these blokes knew me by name. Caught me by surprise, it did.”
“Me, too,” Pembleton said.
“One of them asked me to try sculpting,” Graylock added. “Said I should nurture my creativity. But when I asked to learn more about their sciences, he lost interest in my artsy side.”
“Our loss, I’m sure,” Hernandez said. “Kiona, did you see anything we could use to send a subspace message back to Earth, or even just a signal up to the ship?”
Thayer shook her head. “Nothing. I tried using my hand scanner in case the scattering field didn’t extend inside the city itself, but I think the Caeliar drained its power cell. It’s been dead since yesterday.”
“Everybody check your gear,” Hernandez said. “Weapons, hand scanners, all of it. Quickly.”
Hernandez inspected her own equipment while the rest of the landing party did likewise. A minute later, everyone looked up and around with the same flustered, dumbfounded expression. Her inquiry was almost rhetorical: “All drained?” Everyone nodded.
Fletcher tucked her hand scanner back into its belt pouch. “Captain,” she said, “it’s been almost three days since we contacted the ship. If we don’t signal them by 1600 today—”
“I know,” Hernandez said. “They have orders to break orbit.” She gazed in dismay at the gleaming city. “Except they can’t, because the Caeliar are holding them here.” She sighed. “I guess all we can do is hope el-Rashad follows orders and doesn’t try to send down a rescue team.” With one hand she started smoothing out a patch of dirt in the middle of the huddle. “So much for fact-finding. Let’s start working on—”
“One more thing, Captain,” Major Foyle said. “It might interest you to know that the Caeliar never sleep.”
That news silenced the group.
The captain blinked once, slowly. “Never?”
“Assuming they told me the truth,” Foyle replied. “I figured they were being so helpful that I might as well ask how much sleep they needed and how often. That’s when they told me.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news,” Hernandez said with soft sarcasm. “For a moment there, I was afraid our escape would be too easy. Thanks for setting me at ease on that point.”
Foyle dipped his chin, a half nod. “You’re quite welcome.”
“Now, let’s start talking about—”
Private Steinhauer interrupted in a whisper, “Captain.” Everyone looked at the MACO, who flicked his eyes to his right, toward the reflecting pool. “Company.”
The group turned to face the pool. In its center, Inyx rose from the black water without a ripple of disturbance on its surface or a drop of moisture on his person. He ascended with an eerie floating quality and a perfect economy of motion. Then, once his body was fully in view, he strode across the pool without seeming to make actual contact with it. Hernandez found the spectacle quite surreal.
As he neared the tree’s island, he spread his long, gangly arms and gesticulating tendril-fingers in a pantomime of greeting. “Hello again,” he said to the landing party. “Are all of you well? Do you require anything?”
Hernandez stepped out of the tree’s dappled shadows to meet the Caeliar at the edge of the tiny island. “Aside from our freedom and a way to contact our ship and our home? No.”
His inquiry and her rejoinder had already become a ritual. Since the landing party’s arrival, Inyx had visited them twice per day, always asking the same bland question and receiving the same pointed answer in return. It didn’t seem to bother him.
“I have important news,” Inyx said. “The Quorum has agreed to grant you an audience, Captain. It’s a most unprecedented turn of events.”
Fletcher grumbled behind Hernandez’s ear, “Took them long enough. You’ve been asking to see them for three days.”
The captain ignored her XO’s grousing and asked Inyx, “When do they want to talk?”
Inyx reached out toward her with one undulating hand.
“Now, Captain.”
* * *
At the heart of Axion, concealed by a ring of delicately complex interlocked towers and slashed with stray beams of late-afternoon sunlight, stood an intimidating, colossal pyramid of dark crystal and pristine metal: the Quorum hall.
Inyx stood at the leading edge of the transportation disk that was ferrying him and Hernandez toward the pyramid. She didn’t know whether he was guiding the disk or merely riding on it as she was. He did seem more confident in its safety than she was; he was perched on its rim, while she preferred to remain near its center. Like every other conveyance she had used since coming to the alien city, it imparted no sensation of movement—no lurch of acceleration or deceleration—and there was far less air resistance than she would have expected, given the speed at which it traveled.
The disk slowed and drifted at a shallow angle toward a broad opening in the middle of one side of the pyramid. From a distance it had looked to her like a narrow slash in the building’s façade, but as she and Inyx were swallowed into the structure’s interior, she appreciated how huge it and the pyramid really were.
Somewhere close to what Hernandez guessed was the core of the building, the disk eased into a curved port. As it made contact, Inyx stepped forward. Under his feet, the disk and platform fused into a solid structure with no visible seam.
Hernandez followed her Caeliar guide down a cavernous thoroughfare that cut all the way through the pyramid. In the distance, another narrow, rectangular opening framed a strip of cityscape aglow with daylight. Halfway between her and it, the massive passageway was intersected by another; the two paths formed a cross. Then she became aware of moving faster, as if in a dream, and she realized that she and Inyx were on an inertia-free moving walkway. Within seconds they slowed again and came to a stop at the very center of the intersection.
She looked at Inyx. “Let me guess: Now another disk takes us up to the top of the pyramid.”
No sooner had she spoken than the disk started to ascend, through a vertical shaft that hadn’t been there a moment before.
Inyx crossed his arms in front of his waist and bowed his head slightly. “I apologize if our civil engineering aesthetic has already grown monotonous for y
ou. If you like, I can task an architect to prepare some surprises for your next visit.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hernandez said.
They reached the top of the shaft in a blur, slowed just as quickly, and rose the last few meters with languid grace. The sunlight was blinding in the pyramidal Quorum chamber, whose four walls were composed of towering sheets of smoky crystal suspended in delicate frames of white metal.
Four tiers of seating surrounded her, one sloping down from each wall, each suspended more than a dozen meters above the main level, which was open and empty except for her and Inyx. The floor was decorated with a fractal starburst pattern, each grand element echoed in millions of miniature designs. Hernandez strained to see how intricately the pattern had been reduced and surmised that it might well continue to the microscopic level.
A masculine voice resonated in the cathedral-like space. “Welcome, Captain Erika Hernandez.” She turned until she saw the speaker, a Caeliar in scarlet raiment, standing in the middle of the lowest row of seats on the eastern tier. He continued, “I am Ordemo Nordal, the tanwa-seynorral of the Caeliar.”
Hernandez tried to conceal her confusion. “Tanwa …?”
Inyx whispered to her, “An idiomatic expression. You might translate it as ‘first among equals.’ Call him Ordemo.”
She nodded her understanding and then addressed Ordemo. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Ordemo’s reply was cool and businesslike. “Are your accommodations and provisions acceptable?”
“They are,” Hernandez said. “But our captivity is not.”
“We regret that such measures are necessary,” said Ordemo.
Keeping her anger in check was difficult for Hernandez. “Why are they necessary? We pose no threat to you.”
“Your arrival on the surface of Erigol left us little alternative, Captain. As Inyx already told you, we greatly value our privacy. Once it became clear that you were aware of our world, we were forced to choose between banishing you to a distant galaxy and making you our guests. The latter option seemed the more merciful of the two.”