Doctor Who Forgotten Suns Chapter Six

This morning, everyone had arrived at the circular conference room containing the Visi-Sphere remarkably early, and in good order.

Each enclave or faction was well represented, and intently focused. As the Archivist First, Valmik had no official authority over the other enclaves, but the other First’s tended to listen to his council favourably. So, when he had suggested yesterday evening that they should all meet discreetly, he found himself unsurprised at the rapid consensus. (Indeed, many of the Elders had been ready to propose just this themselves - they had clearly been just as dissatisfied with the proceedings as Valmik himself.)

After dismissing the junior members on the pretext of getting some rest - and it was a pretext, no-one expected to get much sleep that night - the Firsts had huddled together to air their views. Initially this was nothing more than a series of complaints about the Clade Commander’s high-handed and, in their view, unjustifiable actions; but Valmik had smoothly managed to steer the discussion towards more pertinent matters.

“Let us put aside our wounded pride for the moment, my honourable friend’s,’ he had powered over the complaints, ‘and instead consider our response to Silandor’s obviously unacceptable behavior. The Commander has deceived us all - he freely admits it! He apparently has no qualms about rationing the amount of information we are given: personally, I don’t trust the man in the slightest, and I suspect that he will continue to be less than generous with the truth. Well, my friends, we must play him at his own game! We must guard our privacy in this room from now on. I would not put it past the man to install surveillance devices… under the guise of expediting our communications.’

He had subtly indicated the two Tecs working away busily in the Visi-Sphere’s innards. ‘I advise that we all keep our own Enclaves business in our own Enclaves quarters for the present.”

Mathematician First Thariferon had provided him with the opportunity to expound on the proposal with his questions. “But surely, Valmik, you are not suggesting that we are to keep secrets from each other? How could that possibly be beneficial? How would we work?”

“Not at all, old friend, still your concerns! I simply think that we should repay Silandor in kind. The Archives will remain open to all enclaves, as they always have been. My Archivist’s will still be at your service at all times, and the mnemonic specialists will remain with each enclave as usual. I am simply advocating that we show Silandor exactly the same respect that he has shown us. We don’t need to discuss any theories in this room that will be useful to the Commander. No, I say that from now on, if Silandor wants our help or advice - he must ask for it!”

Unsurprisingly, this was met with rousing approval. None of the Firsts liked to think that their own particular enclaves were being dismissed, that their input was not required, or that they themselves were of no significance. That was Silandor’s greatest failing - he rubbed peoples scales the wrong way.

Archivist First Valmik counted on this, of course.

His thoughts returned to the present, as two of Silandor’s drones stalked in and hurriedly advanced towards the stage. There was something to be said for arriving early… He felt a smug pleasure at the mottled colourations these crewmen were unable to repress - on realizing that they were the last to arrive! The smaller of the two, (Valmik recognized him as the fellow who had operated the Visi-Sphere yesterday) immediately seated himself at the machine’s controls. The larger man, now rigidly in control of himself, began to address the gathering.

“I am Coms-Spec Thraxle. Tec-Op Imanol and I have been placed at your disposal for the duration of this first exploratory survey of the der - of the Ship of the Ancients. Clade Commander Silandor regrets that he will be too busy monitoring the mission to give you his personal attention, but I am authorized to act as his spokesman.” Thraxle cocked his head to one side, evidently receiving a communication through the device attached to his tympanic membrane. A moment later his throat vibrated and twitched, betraying the fact that he was sub-vocalizing a response. (The man must have cybernetic implants! Valmik realized, unable to suppress a shudder of revulsion.)

Thraxle looked around at the attentive faces surrounding him, apparently attempting to meet as many eyes as he could, then blinked in satisfaction. “Honoured Elders, enclave representatives, and fellow Oortelians…. We can begin!’

He instructed Imanol to activate the Visi-Sphere, then continued over the low hum as it warmed up. ‘As we are all gathered somewhat… Ah, somewhat sooner than anticipated, the Clade Commander thought that you may appreciate witnessing the preparations of our boarding party.”

As he stepped aside, the scene within the Visi-Sphere coalesced into a close-up of the excited face of Specialist Third Palasar.

Palasar was excited, she couldn’t deny it, but this was mitigated by the fact that she hadn’t expected to be ‘on-air’ quite yet! The original schedule would have allowed her to start her report from within the derelict. Apparently the civilians had been uncharacteristically prompt this morning!

She held up her helmet with its inbuilt visualizer, so that she could talk directly into it. When issuing this particular piece of equipment, Tec-Op Imanol had quietly suggested that Palasar may find it… Less intimidating… If she pretended that she was speaking to a friend, rather than unknown observers. It helped. She pictured him before her, and opened with the salutation that the Commander hoped might provide an impression of unity.

“Fellow Oortelians, welcome to this moment in history! I know that you would rather be here yourselves; but you are all too important to the Hegemony to risk on what is, after all, merely a preliminary survey. The Clade Commander gives you his word that you shall have your chance, and requests your forbearance. We few are just here to taste the air - and there is air on the Ship! Against all expectations, we will be able to breathe once aboard! Let me show you how we are progressing…”

Turning the helmet away, Palasar allowed herself a sigh of relief before placing it on her head.

The view on the Visi-Sphere broke up momentarily, then cleared to show what the Specialist was seeing. She continued to speak, providing a narrative ( somewhat patronisingly ) intended to explain what everyone was now seeing. First the view panned round to show the same deck of the contact craft that they had all seen yesterday. The only difference was that the airlock at its center was opening as they approached.

“We are on the mid-deck of the contact craft: behind and above me is another airlock leading to the upper deck, which is connected by yet another airlock to the Indigo Flame herself. But below us is the Ship of the Ancients!’

Now they could see the man that had opened the airlock, he was giving a thumbs up gesture and beckoning them down. There followed some rather uninteresting views of the airlock interior, and then everyone present took a sharp intake of breath, as the Specialist’s hand came into view… Tapping on a greenish metallic surface.

‘And here is the hull of the Ship! I am touching alien metal!

‘Over here you can see the cables we installed to establish sensor links with the Ship…’ The view panned towards said cables, looking more like insect proboscises puncturing flesh than anything else; then followed them up to show their connections to the Oortelian docking craft. ‘And over here is the airlock that we have sunk through into the Ship itself.”

Everyone in the auditorium leaned forward as the lock came into view. Again, it was uncomfortably reminiscent of an alien growth burrowing into the hulls skin. The impression was only re-enforced by the sealant surrounding it like an infection. The view swung upwards suddenly, as the man who had guided them down spoke to the Specialist. (Valmik grunted as he recognized the Mech-Tec who had worked on the Visi-Sphere the previous evening.) His voice carried clearly through the comms system.

“We are ready for you now, Specialist Palasar. This lock can accommodate two comfortably, so we can go through together. That’s just in case you find the transition… disorientating.”

“Could you explain that please, Mech-Tec Enteberol, and our current disposition?”

As Enteberol’s face filled the Visi-Sphere, Valmik had the odd feeling that the man was speaking directly to him alone. He also had the impression that the Mech-Tec would have preferred to be somewhere ( anywhere! ) else, but was doing his best to hide it.

“Ah, of course, Specialist! Well, you have been thinking in terms of moving ‘down’ to this point, ever since exiting the Flame. However, once in the lock you will need to adjust your terms of reference. Since the Indigo Flame is mated belly to belly with the Ship of the Ancients, via this contact craft, we will be going ‘up’ into the Ship’s interior. Simple really, but some people can find it a little confusing, at first.

The Ghost Patrol escorting our team have already set up what they call a ‘base camp’ at the other end of our lock, and my partner and I completed installing the booster relay just decads before I returned to escort you.”

He stopped talking, much to Valmik’s relief, and moved over to crouch over the controls set into the face of the airlock door. He stepped back as the door began to lift open, and the view seemed to zoom in as the specialist climbed into the surprisingly spacious interior.

And now all Valmik could concentrate on was the second door, the second set of controls: the interminable amount of time the Tec was taking to seal the hatch, and initiate atmospheric exchange.

He came close to passing out before he remembered that he wasn’t actually there, and there was absolutely no reason for him to be holding his breath.

Null rose up rapidly through the levels that lay between the Vault and the connector spine. Not only would he be able to travel faster along the ship here, but he wanted to check the integrity of the connection to the survival pod containing his crewmates. To his alarm, the long shaft he now raced along showed no evidence of its existence. The material of the surface above his head was totally devoid of the airlocks and structural bracing that should have dotted its length. Instead, the metals and composites that composed the spine appeared to be fused or melted, as if frozen in a state of flux.

He could not begin to imagine what could have caused such an effect, and continued on towards the flight deck with ever increasing urgency. By the time he had exited the spine and dropped down several more levels to face the access door, his visor was beginning to fog from his stress induced exhalations. He slowed down just long enough for his arrival to register, then leaped through before the door had even fully opened. His attention was instantly drawn to the light. Not the light in the access-way: this would have been triggered simultaneously with the door - no, he was more concerned by the dim glow at the top of the darkened slope. He had locked off the bridge himself, what felt like only a brief time ago, and now it was open!

With a muffled curse, Null ducked down lower so that he could run up the low-ceilinged corridor, the lighting strobing to his rapid passage. Fumbling at his helmet seals, with hands made clumsy by more than just the fat fingers of his gloves, he ripped it away with a grunt as he stormed onto the bridge, looking around wildly. He pulled up short when he noticed that his command seat was docked snugly with the Master Control Board…

Frowning in confusion, he stepped around it.

He distinctly remembered sliding the chair back before leaving the bridge - of course he had! He would have been unable to get out of the thing otherwise! Equally, he couldn’t imagine how anyone else would have been able to get out of the seat whilst it was still docked - or why they would even want to - when it was simply a matter of flicking a switch to disengage. He did this now, reaching for the controls set into the armrest with the hand not encumbered with his helmet. He watched thoughtfully as the seat slid back smoothly.

Before sitting down, Null carefully placed his flight helmet within easy reach, then removed his suit-gloves and placed them inside it. As he sank back into the formfitting seat-rest, he toggled the switch again, and found the MCB welcoming him once more into its embrace. A cursory examination revealed that it was still in sleep-mode, as it should be. With nimble fingers, he rapidly keyed in the wake up sequence and - in quick succession - activated all display screens and peripheral monitors. Almost as an afterthought, he also sealed and locked the bridge once more.

As the systems booted up, Null scanned the five empty crew positions that circled the bridge around him, noting with satisfaction that the slaved systems were also engaging. He called up the ship schematics and requested a status overview, then froze into the numbness of shock when the results lit the screen. The term ‘survival pod’ was something of a misnomer. His crewmates had evacuated to what was essentially a second ship, bolted on to the freighter Null was commanding. However, it could not be flown separately - it was truly part of his vessel. It contained their sleeping and living quarters, a stock of spare parts for any emergency repairs, and all their food and water.

It wasn’t there anymore.

Null found himself slipping into a fugue state: temporarily unaware of where he was, what the situation was, even who he was now. He was seeing Epsilon Tau, Beta Aristophanes - all of his creshe-mates - the first time they had been introduced after decanting. Before they had been assigned names by random algorithm. Before any of them had realized just how truly different they were from their ‘parents’ - those that had created them - and all the others. He relived it all, from then to now, and drew sustenance from the recollection. And then he saw his crew relinquishing control over their assigned posts, slaving their systems to his Master Control Board, promising to see him again at mission end: before repairing to their assigned chambers on the ‘Pod’.

And the truth slowly crept past his mental defenses, despite his anguished denial. He was the only one left - possibly the only one of his kind… The enormity of this realization stunned him… Crippled him. Null had no idea how long he had sat there grieving before a flashing warning light brought him back from the abyss.