Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [59]
“If it’s any consolation,” Troi commented, “it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen either.”
Sousa looked around-first at the perfectly round plate on which they stood, which had been selected as the optimum landing sight. Then at the immense towers that jutted up into the green-blue sky all around them, stretching in an unbroken field to the strangely curving horizon. Ramps of various widths ran from tower to tower, all at the same level as their plate, and tremendous chasms yawned in the intervals between the towers.
Everything was a dark shade of purple. Everything was artificial. There were no breezes, no clouds, no plants, no vegetation… not even any dirt. And, in this spot at least, no evidence of sentient life.
But then, they hadn’t exactly expected a welcome wagon. Their beam-down site was part of the area they’d already bio-scanned without success. It was the area their sensors couldn’t probe-perhaps two hundred meters away-which still held the possibility of living sphere builders.
“Come on,” said Riker, taking one last look at the shuttlecraft. Gesturing with his tricorder, he indicated the direction in which they had to travel. “Let’s go. And be careful. Watch your footing.”
Fortunately, a number of the ramps gave them the access they wanted. That was the good news. The bad news was that the ramps were narrow and zigzagging in that quarter-as if someone had wanted to make it difficult for anyone to go that way.
But that was ridiculous, Sousa told himself-wasn’t it? Not everybody would be starting out from this plate, right? And if the builders had wanted to prevent anyone from going there, why have ramps at all?
Slowly, carefully, they set out across one of the chasms-one of the narrower ones. Sousa had no particular fear of heights, but still he tried not to look down. He didn’t have to do any peering over the side to know it was a long way to the bottom.
As he walked, the ensign marveled at the ghostly quiet. Even their footfalls seemed to be absorbed into it-and swallowed, like pebbles in a great, dark pool.
Finally, they reached one of the towers. It had a number of arched entrances, one for each ramp that led to it-but no doors. Sousa tried to peer inside, but it was murky in there, shaded as it was from the sun-and the contrast was just too great for him to see anything.
Riker was the first one to enter the place, with Troi close behind and the rest of them bringing up the rear. Even after they’d gotten out of the sunlight, it took a while for the ensign’s eyes to adjust.
The first thing he noticed was a bank of what looked like monstrous machines lining one of the building’s interior walls. Then, as he scanned the other walls, he saw the same thing. Machines that climbed high into the tower, so high they were lost in darkness and distance.
There were no floors above this level, Sousa observed. No stairwells and no elevators. Just empty space-and of course, the machines that shaped it with their presence.
“How do you suppose they got up there?” asked Krause, his voice echoing.
“The machines?” asked Sousa, his echoes answering the first set.
Krause shot him a look. “I mean the builders. There isn’t even anything to stand on.”
“Beats hell out of me,” said Bartel. “Unless … they flew.”
Sousa looked at her. “Flew?” he repeated. “You mean, like with wings?”
Bartel shrugged. “With or without. Maybe they just willed themselves up there-what’s the difference? The point is, they got there on their own.”
And a good point it was, he conceded. But there was no one here now, winged or otherwise. Since the machines were dead as well, there wasn’t much to linger over. Once they’d recorded what they could with their tricorders, they moved on.
Once again, they had to make their way over the zigzagging ramps-longer ones this time. Because there wasn’t enough room for more than two to walk abreast, the away team automatically strung itself out into three pairs. And they walked at intervals, to minimize the possibility of an unforeseen problem afflicting all of them at once.