Synthesis - James Swallow [78]
Dakal looked out at the anomaly with his naked eyes and saw a raw wound torn across the sky. Rainbows of hellish light flooded out as particle interactions that never should have occurred took place, spherical shocks of energy dispersal radiating outward in surge fronts. The first of these kissed the far side of the refinery platform, and the entire complex shook with a hammer-blow impact. The ensign lost his balance and fell against the pilot’s chair with a yelp.
He felt strong fingers clamp around his arm and haul him back to his feet. “Commander Tuvok!”
The Vulcan didn’t answer, instead moving him out of the way to take the flight controls. Back in the crew compartment, he heard Lieutenant sh’Aqabaa call out that the hatch was secure and the docking tube detached.
“The remote,” Dakal said. “Cyan-Gray’s drone…”
“Passed us in the corridor,” Sethe told him. “Racing as if it was trying to break warp velocity. If machines can panic, then that’s what they’re doing.” The Cygnian broke off as he saw the roiling, churning shape of the spatial anomaly. “And that must be the reason…”
“Flight positions,” said Tuvok. “Ensign Dakal, Lieutenant Sethe, please stand clear.”
Dakal got out of the way in time to let Pava dash past him and slide into the copilot’s chair. Then the view outside lurched, and the Holiday lifted off.
“We have to get away from here!” muttered Sethe.
“I am endeavoring to do exactly that,” said Tuvok, his tone as calm and metered as if he were discussing a matter of inclement weather.
The Holiday powered away from the landing pad, and the commander put it into a hard turn that strained the inertial dampening field. The ensign grasped a stanchion for support, unable to take his eyes off the anomaly. The colors and form of it were unnatural, and the way it writhed and flexed, it was as if the universe were trying to force it closed, expunge it before it could fully manifest.
Then it burst open, exploding with monstrous violence.
The subspace rip widened, and forms were disgorged from within it. Long ropes of strange, glittering, shimmering matter lashed out like whips, spinning away, end over end. Some of them twirled around and curved into rough globes; others sputtered and discorporated, unable to maintain enough critical potential to exist in this alien realm. Already, the anomaly was shrinking, but the things it had granted passage to swarmed, moving like oil across water.
The largest, a thick lash of molten matter, flexed along its length and creased the upper surface of the refinery platform. From their viewpoint, it seemed like only the merest of touches, but it lit a trail of fire and destruction behind, slicing through sparking force barriers and tearing open whole sections of the Sentry station.
Shipframes and drones burst from the docks, desperate to escape, and the backswing of the stroke tore them apart. With a sudden sense of horror, the Cardassian realized that the freakish streak of flame was homing in on the AIs, striking with deliberate, calculated malice.
“Is it alive?” breathed the Andorian.
A chime sounded from one of the other consoles, and Dakal went to it. “We’re being hailed. It’s Lieutenant McCreedy on the tanker.”
He touched a keypad on the panel, and the engineer’s voice cut through the air. “Holiday, do you read me? Are you seeing that?”
Dakal replied, and his voice sounded dead and distant in his ears. “We see it, Lieutenant.