Synthesis - James Swallow [131]
“It’s one of the planetoid constructs,” said Rager. “A FirstGen.”
“Incredible,” breathed Panyarachun. “I never thought it would be possible to move something of such mass through a spatial shear. The calculations required to maintain an equilibrium must be incredible.”
Keru frowned. To his nonengineering mind, the concept of the Sentry supralight drive sounded like a disaster waiting to happen, more akin to riding a surfboard along the edge of a waterfall than the relatively straightforward point-and-fly theory of warp travel he remembered from his Academy classes.
“Where did it come from?” Aili’s dark eyes were wide.
Melora tapped a screen in front of her. “Lieutenant McCreedy reported the presence of another FirstGen construct in the same orbit as the deuterium refinery. This must be the same one.”
“And it chooses right now, in the middle of all this, to make a big entrance?” Rager threw Keru a questioning glance.
Kuu’iut read off the reading from the tactical display. “Difficult to get a firm evaluation, sir. But I can’t detect anything that seems like a weapons system.”
As he was reaching for it, the intercom tab blinked on. “Riker to bridge. Ranul, what’s going on up there?”
“I was just about to call you, sir. A new Sentry unit has just dropped into orbit.”
“Another ship?”
“No, sir. One of the big ones.”
“Should we be concerned?”
Keru looked toward Melora, and the Elaysian gave him a “Your guess is as good as mine” shrug, but the woman’s expression changed sharply as a warning tone sounded from her panel.
“Captain, stand by.” Ranul crossed swiftly to the science station. “Problem?”
“That’s odd. The distortion effect from the FirstGen’s arrival…” She pointed at a screen showing a false-color image of spatial-density zones in the area surrounding Titan. A wispy slick of hot color writhed, fragmenting and distending. “It should have faded by now. Instead, it’s propagating—” Melora suddenly broke off, and Keru saw her go pale. “The echo trace, the same as before. Ranul, it’s the Null! I think it’s following the FirstGen through!”
Keru whipped around and shouted. “Red Alert! Battle stations!”
“Steady yourselves,” rumbled Zero-Three. “Reversion will occur in a few moments. I am raising the platform. Raising. Toward the sky.”
“What does that mean?” Sethe’s question was abruptly answered as the entire structure of the hoop-shaped balcony and the FirstGen’s cog-wheel proxy shuddered and then began a swift ascent up the circular shaft toward the surface of the artificial planetoid.
Tuvok put out a hand to steady himself on the input console as they rose. Above, the black sky had shifted to a peculiar streaming mist of colors. The effect resembled the distortion of a slipstream transit he had once experienced aboard the U.S.S. Voyager but more chaotic.
“It’s moving itself,” Sethe marveled. Then his face fell. “Where is it taking us?”
“We will soon see,” replied the commander, looking past the Cygnian to where Lieutenant sh’Aqabaa crouched by Ensign Dakal. The Cardassian’s biosigns were steadily falling, and the Vulcan hoped that wherever they arrived, it would be in time to get the junior officer the medical help he needed.
Pava’s head jerked up, and she nodded past them. “Sir? Company.”
Tuvok turned to see one of the rattletrap remotes drop onto the moving gantry from a passing entry conduit. As it shambled closer, wires snapping behind it, he recognized the machine as the one that had taken Sethe’s tricorder as an “offering” out on the surface. One of its distended mechanoid limbs reached into the remote’s chest cavity and produced an object.
Zero-Three clicked. “I have examined, understood, seen your information-storage media. Clever. Innovative. A new datum has been imposed for your review. Take. Take it.”
The remote extended its limb and dropped its tiny burden into Sethe’s hands. It was part