After a couple more twists, they came to the first junction. It was a straight tube seven meters long. Dudley shone his suit lights down it.
“It just leads to the other side of the spiral, like a shortcut.”
“I don’t think so,” Emmanuelle said. “The angle is wrong. Hey, you know what? I bet this whole shaft is laid out like DNA. Two spirals running parallel, with cross links between the two.”
“You could be right. Oscar, I’d like to try something. If we put a comrelay at the other end of this link, then we might be able to pick it up if there’s another cross link below us.”
“Go ahead, Dudley, it’s worth a try.”
Dudley zipped through the short length of tunnel, happy at how easy he was at moving himself about in these conditions. The skill training memory was finally settling in—along with his natural aptitude, of course. He stuck the comrelay inside the second spiral, and hurried back.
Wilson stared at the small triangles inching their way across the big portal’s tactical display. Digits flickered around each one, delivering yet more bad news. The lead ship was eighty-two million kilometers distant, and accelerating hard at eight gees. It was going to reach them in just over three hours. That was bad enough, but what he really didn’t like was that it hadn’t flipped over to decelerate.
All eight ships had launched from the moons or inhabited asteroids of the outermost gas giant, three AUs distant, the closest center of any alien activity. If that lead ship didn’t decelerate at all, it was going to have a relative velocity of over seven and a half thousand kilometers per second when it reached them. No human machine had ever reached a fraction of that speed in real space. Even now, he could see it on the visual display as the Second Chance’s main telescope tracked it. The fusion drive was a streamer of near-invisible violet fury stretching for hundreds of kilometers behind a scintillating golden sphere. Every stray gas molecule and charged particle impacting on the force field was dying in a burst of radioactive splendor, contributing to the coronal hue around the ship. If it hit the Second Chance or the Watchtower at that velocity, the explosion would briefly rival a solar flare.
“Only ships five and seven have flipped,” Anna said. “They’re decelerating to rendezvous. Falling a long way behind the others. And three more have left the gas giant on an interception course for us. I think we’ve also got about fifteen on their way from Dyson Major; it’s a little early to be sure but their vectors are matching up.”
Wilson nodded silently as he absorbed the tactical situation. Given their vectors and positions, all eight ships in the first flotilla must have launched from various bases over a period of several hours. They were well spread out. There was no doubt about their destination, even if it was only a flyby. As for their intent…
“Thank you,” he said. “Oscar, pull the contact teams out of the Watchtower right now. I want them back on board Second Chance in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tunde, I’m trying to think of any possible peaceful or scientific value from a flyby at the kind of speed the lead ship will have.”
“There isn’t any, sir, there can’t be.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. This is territorial. They might even think we’re from the species which put up the barrier, in which case we have to assume the worst. If they do not slow down, we will withdraw from this system. I’m not going to risk our lives and this mission in an attempt to make contact under a combat situation. Hyperspace, I want an immediate flight path for our return to the Commonwealth, ready to initiate on my command.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Anna, we’re going to attempt data contact with the first flotilla. If we can’t understand them, maybe we can get them to understand us. Start transmitting our standard preliminary contact package. Use every frequency they’re squirting at us. If nothing else we have to tell them we’re not the ones who put up the barrier.”
“Captain,” Oscar called.
Wilson missed having Oscar on the bridge, although he grudgingly acknowledged the executive officer was by far the best person to be running the exploration of the Watchtower. But he knew immediately from Oscar’s tone something had gone wrong. “Yes?”
“We’ve got problems. Two members of contact team A have dropped out of communication.”
“This one is at a different angle again,” Emmanuelle said.
They had both stopped beside the fifth cross link, shining their suit lights into it. Once again, it was a straight tunnel opening to a spiral shaft. They suspected there were more than two spirals, possibly four or five.
“I think we should stick to this shaft,” Dudley said. “Let’s find out where it goes before we start plotting the rest.” According to his inertial guidance display, they were already a hundred fifteen meters below level seven of the alien station. They hadn’t managed to get a signal from any of the additional comrelays he’d placed at the cross links above, so they didn’t really know for sure what the topography was. “Oscar, can we carry on?”
“Yeah, keep going. It’s the most interesting aspect of the station we’ve come across.”
Dudley pushed off again. There were enough bumps and irregularities in the aluminum sheath for him to grip and use like a ladder, pulling himself along. He was keen to see where it led now. He had a gut feeling that this was important. It was different from the rest of the station. The aliens must have used it to feed something in, or out. This had a purpose. Once they knew what it was connected to, they would have the first key, a way in to decrypting the alien culture. And I found it.
He moved forward eagerly, his suit lights sliding over the ancient corrupted metal. Seeking understanding.
“I can’t get them back,” Oscar said. “The comrelays must have glitched. We’re not even getting a carrier wave from either of them.”
“Goddamnit!” Wilson started calling up the contact team status displays onto his console screens. “When did you lose contact?”
“Just as you told us to get them back. I don’t believe this. Those comrelay units can’t fail; they’re nothing but safety circuits.”
A 3D chart of the Watchtower station sprang up, with other team members’ positions illustrated by small green lights. All of them were converging on the beacon.
“Who’s missing?” Wilson asked.
“Verbeke and Bose.”
For one instant, Wilson felt a flash of anger. It just had to be him, didn’t it. Anger was equally quickly replaced by guilt. He’s one of my crew, and he’s suffered equipment failure. “Don’t they have to make their way back if they lose contact?”
“That’s what the manual says. Emmanuelle knows it well enough, even if Dudley is a little shaky on theory. They should be on their way back.”
“How far away are they from a working relay?”
“I don’t know. They set up eighteen units behind them, I’m still getting telemetry from sixteen of them. That puts them about twenty meters away from a working one.”
“Right,” Wilson said tersely. He could imagine it, the two of them annoyed their progress had been halted, maybe a quick squabble about going back right away or taking a fast look a few meters ahead.
“Should be back on-line any minute now,” Oscar said.
“Anna, Sandy, is there any response from those ships yet?”
“Sorry, sir, not yet,” Sandy Lanier reported. “They’re still on course. No signal, not directed at us.”
“Son of a bitch. Right, we need to start shouting. Bump up the power level in the transmission antenna. Make damn sure we get their attention.”
“Aye, sir.”
McClain Gilbert shot out of the carbon composite tunnel into the beacon compartment. In front of him, contact team members were freeflying out of the gap in the wall. Pale gas from their maneuvering packs swirled in rapid eddies through the beams of the remaining suit lights.
“Have we got them yet?” he asked Oscar.
“No. Nothing.”
“They should be back in range. For fuck’s sake, Emmanuelle knows what she’s doing. How long now?”
“Fourteen minutes.”
“No way. No way is that a comrelay failure. They’re in trouble.”
“We don’t know that.”