Dudley studied the topography of the 3D chart in his virtual vision, matching it to the big tunnel entrance on the compartment’s wall. An orange line snaked through it, detailing his route. He brought the inertial guidance on-line, aligning it with the beacon.
“You ready?” Emmanuelle asked.
“I think so.” He was staring at the black gulf that was the entrance to the tunnel they were going to have to use to get down to level five. It was nearly three meters in diameter. Thus indicating the Dyson aliens may be bigger than us—idiot. Not so small as to trigger claustrophobia. At least, not straightaway.
On the other side of the compartment, Francis was already hauling herself into a tunnel that snaked its way over to section A8. Dudley drifted over to the tunnel his chart indicated, and gripped the side of the entrance to steady himself. His suit lights cut straight through the gloom, revealing a tube whose carbon composite walls were mottled with hairline fractures and coarse blisters. It started to curve downward about five meters ahead, with a gentle twist to the left. He pushed his feet lightly off the compartment floor, allowing his legs and torso to slide up until he was level to the entrance, then pulled himself forward into the tunnel. “And into the unknown.”
“Sir, we’re being signaled,” Anna called out. “Sensors are showing both laser and microwave transmissions directed straight at us. Originating from Alpha Major orbit—the moonlets.”
“Son of a bitch,” Wilson grunted. “Are you sure? Could they just be aligned on something beyond us?”
“I don’t think so. There is nothing behind us. All three beams intersect here, and they’re holding constant. We’re definitely the target point.”
Wilson quickly called the signals up on his console screens. Even after the RI’s best filtering they came up as a jumble of sine waves and fractal patterns. “Is this the same stuff they transmit to each other?”
“Yes, sir. It looks like it.”
“So they might not realize we are aliens?”
“They must have a good idea we are not native to this star system,” Tunde said. “After all, now the barrier has come down, they’ll be expecting some kind of communication or contact from the species which put it up. They would be watching.”
One of the visual sensors was trained on a laser beam coming from a worldlet around Alpha Major. That single ruby dazzle-point obscured much of the planet’s delicate wrapping of fusion flame. Wilson stared at it with a growing concern that he might just have been underestimating the Dysons. “They’ve been looking for us, or at least an alien ship, since the barrier went down?”
“That would be the logical thing for them to do, yes.”
“So if they haven’t got hysradar, how the hell did they find us?”
“Our hyperdrive wormhole creates a great deal of gravitonic shock, and it also has a strong quantum signature. On top of that there will be neutrino emissions from our fusion reactors.”
“Small ones,” Antonia said immediately. “I’m keeping the fusion systems a couple of percent above breakeven. The niling d-sinks are our primary power source, but they’re very well shielded.”
“Captain, this entire planetary system is overflowing with advanced technology,” Tunde said. “And if they really are as conflict-driven as we suspect, they will have a great many sensor systems. I’m really not surprised they have detected us.”
Wilson was drawn back to the main portals, both of them showing an unaugmented visual image of the Watchtower. His initial concern was now turning to real worry. “Anna, give me a hysradar sweep. Is there anything out there?”
After a few initial scans of the Watchtower they’d switched off all of their active sensors, keeping all emissions to a minimum in a bid to achieve silent running. It was his choice again to remain inconspicuous; quietly gathering data until they were ready to make contact. A strategy that would allow them the upper hand.
“Oh, shit,” Anna exclaimed. “I make that eight ships heading straight at us.”
Dudley had followed the tunnel all the way down to level seven. He’d passed a lot of junctions where subsidiary tunnels branched off. The whole network was like some kind of root system twisted into a knotted corkscrew configuration. Winding his way down, he began to appreciate just how extensive the tunnels were in a way the virtual vision 3D chart never quite conveyed. As he progressed he became convinced they were pipes rather than corridors. There were simply too many of them to be used as passageways by the Dyson aliens. Not that he could visualize what kind of pipes they were. They had no valves or pumps, nor mounting pins where such units could have been. His best guess was that they used to be lined by a cellular sleeve, or a variant on electromuscle, which had subsequently been stripped out along with everything else. The contact teams had so far been singularly unsuccessful in recovering an artifact of any value.
He glided out from the tunnel into a level-seven compartment shaped like a slice of cake. It didn’t have any hatchways, only more tunnel entrances. He touched his boots down on the rumpled floor, allowing the sole cilia to grip the flaking surface. The open space was a welcome relief from the confines of the tunnel. Emmanuelle came out behind him, flipping her fingers against the edge as she passed, to turn a lazy circle before placing her boots firmly on the floor. Dudley was already sticking a comrelay to an empty mounting block.
“This has been cleaned out,” Emmanuelle reported. “No direct connection to other compartments.”
“Okay,” Oscar said. “Tunnel entrance three leads down into the rock itself. We don’t have an accurate plan of it after twenty meters or so; the deep scan can’t penetrate any farther. You guys want to check it out for me?”
“We can manage that,” Dudley said confidently. At last, some real uncharted territory.
“All right, proceed with care. Don’t forget the comrelays.”
Dudley wanted to say something like: Of course we won’t, but it lacked professionalism. In fact, Oscar’s calm voice in his ears was reassuring. You can always depend on Oscar. It was a pleasant psychological safety net.
He ordered his boots to release the floor, and pushed himself toward entrance three. With his suit lights shining down into the slate-gray interior it didn’t look any different from the dozen others he’d already passed, it was curving away counterclockwise. “Start recording the route,” he told his e-butler, and pulled himself in.
After fifteen meters the surface changed from the usual tough carbon composite to a thin aluminum skin, dull with age, and cracked to reveal rock directly underneath. The curvature tightened, becoming regular. Dudley stuck a comrelay to the wall. Twenty-five meters later, he had to use another.
“According to my inertial guidance, this is a spiral,” Emmanuelle said. “We’re descending almost along the rock’s axis.”
“Oscar, is there a hole anywhere on the rock surface?” Dudley asked. “Anything that could be the other end?”
“Difficult to say. There are a few fissures that could be openings. This is why we need you guys.”