Miriam watched the pulses for a moment and they were oddly familiar. Repetitive and…
“Oh My God,” Miriam said. She turned on her external speakers and sounded a clear, high note. Among so many other skills, the linguist had perfect pitch and was an operatically trained singer. All seven of the pillars lit up, each turning a separate bright shade. As she held the note, going stronger and lighter, the pillars followed sync with their lights and the note seemed to be refracted by some sort of an echo effect, becoming a chord.
“That was pretty,” Robbins said.
“And I’m beginning to wonder if that’s not all it is,” Miriam replied, making a moue.
“Do it again,” Weaver said, watching the lights play on the pillars fade.
“We wrestle not against flesh and blood but war against the powers of darkness…” Miriam sang. The pillars flashed ripples of color through their depths, catching every tone and subtone of the hymn and turning it into glorious light. “But we are mighty through God by the Blood of His Son that has rendered the Enemy Powerless.”
“Cool,” Weaver whispered. “Let me try: If I leeeeave here tomorrrrrrow, Would you still remember meeeee…? Huh… ?”
The pillars flashed to the words but the colors were muted, dull and even muddy in places, colors interacting unpleasantly.
“Why’d it do that?” Bill asked, confused.
“Uh, sir?” Staff Sergeant Robbins said, wincing. “No disrespect is intended, sir. But while you’re pretty good with a guitar… You really should leave the singing to Miss Moon. Sir.”
“Sir, with all due respect, if you’re in here we’ll be out of commo,” Captain Zanella said, twitching slightly as Weaver tuned up the guitar. Everyone was starting to twitch when the guitar came out.
“I won’t be long, Captain,” Weaver said, hitting the E string, then running up the notes. On the A string, one of the pillars looked a little odd, and listening to the note again Weaver realized it was just slightly flat. “I’m conducting an experiment.”
“Sir,” Staff Sergeant Robbins said from the corridor outside the music room. Fortunately, he didn’t have to shout since something was muting the “music” being performed within. “I’m aware that we really should have the CO of the away team immediately available at all times. But if he’s in there, he’s not out on the platform.”
“Point,” Zanella replied. “Right. Set up a series of retrans boxes so we can get ahold of him at any time. And let’s hope he stays in there.”
“We’ve found nine of these music rooms so far,” Captain Zanella reported. “A couple slightly larger with a larger number of crystal pillars, but essentially the same. Tests indicate that all of them respond to musical notes. Response seems to be highest to well replicated opera and classical. The worst response is to rap.”
“Well, they respond to music,” Bill said. “They really like ‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.’ ”
“At least something does,” the Marine muttered under his breath.
“Excuse me, Captain?” Bill said.
“Nothing, sir. However, there are no more advanced findings. Just these music rooms. And they appear to have no external effect. Colonel Che-chee has a Combat Space Patrol up and they’ve seen no external response nor have sensors indicated higher levels of particle emissions.”
“How far have you spread out?” Bill asked, muttering under his breath. “Anna Gadda Davida…”
“That’s hard to determine, sir,” the Marine said, wincing. “But I estimate a kilometer. I also estimate, based on the best readings we can get from the inertial nav systems, that the music rooms are close to the tips of the Tree. And they seem to be found most easily by taking lefts at the forks. The one team that experimented with taking only right-hand turns at the forks found none and ended back at the dock.”
“I’m starting to think that the gravity in the tubes is always down for the tube but may not be in the same direction as the space dock,” Miriam said. “You’d never know if your spatial orientation was changing in the tubes. That being the case, some of those right-hand tubes may be going ‘up’ to access more of the music rooms on the far side of the Tree. So far, this place seems to be some sort of a music training facility.”
“I hope that remark wasn’t pointed in my direction,” Weaver said, still upset that that crystals didn’t like his singing.
“Not at all,” Miriam replied. “You play a very good ’70s rock and roll guitar. Admittedly, that’s the same as saying Chief Duppstadt makes a fine spinach fandango but as spinach fandango it’s not all that bad…”
“Oh, thank you very much,” Bill snapped. “I suppose I should be playing some European electronic chither?”
“To each her own,” Miriam said, grinning.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Bill replied. “Captain, have your teams spread out further, concentrating on rights. Find more of the alternate exits to the docking bay, since we can see a bunch of them. Possibly use the boards to move to higher levels. Try to get forward. There has to be a control room or an engine room somewhere.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the Marine said.
“I’m off-watch,” Bill continued. “I’m going to go put my head down. Wake me if there are any new reports or emergencies.”
“If I see one more of those crystal caves…” Corporal Shingleton muttered.
In a week of constant searching, the Marines had developed a feel for the layout of the corridors. Constant rights eventually brought you back to the docking bay. Throw in a few lefts and you ended up on different levels. More lefts and you eventually found a music room. If you got to the far side of the bay the pattern reversed. The interior of the Tree was like M.C. Escher come to life and if you could think in surrealism it was simple.
With the pattern more-or-less understood, the need for laying out wires and space-tape markers reduced. Permanent space-tape markers were installed at various points so when, not if, the Marines got lost they had directions to return to the base.
This, though, was the most advanced recon to date. With the pattern understood, the team was attempting to penetrate to the far end of the Tree. However, they’d found that it was increasingly hard since there were more and more of the music rooms, or “crystal caves” as the Marines called them. Missing them was getting harder and harder.
“You got your wish,” Lance Corporal Lynn Eakins said. “Got a cave.”
“Take a right,” Sergeant Bae replied, striding along behind the point. Eakins was in the lead by thirty meters with Shingleton bringing up the rear.
“Is it getting brighter?” Eakins asked as they came to another fork. “Left or right, Sergeant?”
“Left,” Bae said, musingly. “Probably another cave but — ”
“DREEN!”
“It appears to be a small force of Dreen ground-fighters, sir,” Captain Zanella said. “Eakins took a thorn in his armor but he’s only lightly wounded. The other two escaped without injury.”
“But we’ve got Dreen on the station,” Bill said, wincing. “We need to move the camp to a more secure spot. Move it to the rear-most cave. Leave one platoon to provide security for that move. You’re in charge of that. I’ll go forward with Lieutenant Ross in command of the Marines.”
“Sir, with all due respect…”
“We cannot lose both of us,” Bill replied. “And if the Dreen have found the control center, I want to be there, Captain. So follow your orders.”
“Yes, sir.”