Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (32 page)

"He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!"

“I never thought of you as a quoter of poetry, XO,” the CO said, frowning.

“ 'Jabberwocky,' by Lewis Carroll, sir,” Bill said. “When the Adar named this thing the Vorpal Blade I looked it up and memorized it. If there was ever a Tum-Tum Tree, that's it. The way things are going, I'm looking for the gimble in the wabe.”

“Well, let's hope the Jabberwock doesn't come burbling for us, here,” the CO said. “Next step?”

“Send in the Marines?”

“So what kind of particles are we looking at?” Lieutenant Bergstresser asked.

Captain Prael looked nonplussed at the question and turned to Weaver.

“Lots of neutrinos, quarks, pentaquarks and fermions,” Bill said. “No neenions.”

“Didn't think so, sir,” Berg said, grinnning, then turning serious. “But that sounds a lot like the output of the engine, sir.”

“Similar,” the TACO admitted. “Not exactly the same, though. It's possible, however, that a part of the power source is a black box system.”

“Colonel Che-chee didn't detect any entries on her flyby,” Bill continued. “But that's what you're looking for. Hopefully, this thing has an intact control center, maybe even some clue as to what it does. Take your platoon down to the surface and look for an entrance. Just for giggles, I'd suggest that you start on the trunk extension. More particles seem to be coming from that area. But we don't have a lot of resolution at this distance. Stay in contact and continually feed us data.”

“Roger, sir,” Berg said.

“This is a recon, Lieutenant,” the CO said, looking over at Captain Zanella, Berg's commanding officer. “Don't do anything rash.”

“Wasn't planning on it, sir,” Berg said.

“You know why you're doing this, right?” Captain Zanella asked. “You're our most experienced space hand and the best Marine we've got with particle readings. But you're not a physicist and you're not Superman. Just get in there, get the readings, try to find a hatch and get out.”

“Yes, sir,” Berg said.

“Good luck, son,” Captain Prael said, standing up and holding out his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” Berg said.

"Second Platoon, Bravo Company will approach the anomaly from the out-system direction in line, Team Bravo, Heaquarters, Charlie and Alpha in sequence. Upon reaching the tip of the anomaly, teams will spread in echelon to cover one hemisphere of the anomaly, Bravo left, Charlie left, Heaquarters forward, Alpha right, and will proceed upwards towards the spread end. Teams will maintain head-down position and use laser rangefinders to maintain one hundred meters separation from the anomaly. Open personnel separation as proceeding to maintain maximum spread across the hemisphere. Upon reaching maximum spread, platoon will reconfigure and move to trunk portion, performing a close sweep of the underside and trunk region. In the event that no opening is found, platoon will then move to the opposite hemisphere and do the same actions in reverse, regrouping at the tip and then proceeding back to the ship.

"Conditions: This is space, people. Conditions inside of the shield are reported to be nominal spatial conditions. Outside the field and in direct line to the star, suit temperatures will briefly rise to over four thousand degrees and turn the wearer and suit into an expanding ball of atoms. Do not get outside the shield.

"Communication: All sensor systems including but not limited to particle sensors and visual sensors will crossfeed to platoon radio transmission operator. RTO will ensure constant communication with the ship and will retrans all sensory data to the ship on specified frequencies. Teams will monitor platoon net at all times. Teams will not enter other teams' nets unless specifically ordered to do so. Teams will not communicate on platoon or command nets unless specifically ordered to do so.

"Safety: Pairs will check all seals prior to entering EVA chamber. Pairs will check for seal closure and leak upon draw-down of atmosphere. If all checks are good, personnel will then and only then exit chamber on boards, maintaining separation. Individuals will maintain minimum ten meters separation while in movement on boards. Weapons will be safed with no round in the chamber. In the event of failure of seal during EVA, individual will be placed in secure-bag and team will return with individual to the ship, opening bag only upon full resumption of normal pressure.

“Commander's Intent: It is the intent of the commander to gather information from the anomaly and find an opening to same while staying alive doing so. This is a reconnaissance mission, only. Platoon will take no pro-active actions in the event of finding out-of-standard readings or an opening. In the unlikely event of threat we will back off and call for support. Are there any questions?”

“Sir?” Corporal Shingleton said, raising his hand.

“Go.”

“Are the particles dangerous?” Shingleton asked.

“No,” Berg said, looking over at Gunnery Sergeant Juda with a raised eyebrow. “To repeat, all that has been observed is penta-quarks, fermions, quarks and neutrinos. Anybody know what that output resembles?”

“The ship's engine, sir?” Lance Corporal Kaijanaho asked.

“Correct,” Berg answered. “You've got the same things going through you right now, Corporal. I want a report from you on the output level of the ship's engine in the Marine quarters under normal use by Monday.”

“Yes, sir,” Shingleton said, wincing.

“A coherent one,” Berg continued. “Any other questions? No, then let's get it on. Gunnery Sergeant Juda, a moment of your time?”

“. . . Don't know diddly about particles, sir,” the gunnery sergeant admitted. “So I'm having a hard time getting them more advanced than they already are.”

“My fault,” Berg said. “I should have been checking into it. When we get back, shoot me their most recent scores in standard particle identification. I may have to give some classes.”

“Yes, sir,” Juda said. “They're good Marines, sir, but . . .”

“There are good Marines, Gunnery Sergeant,” Berg said quietly, “and then there are good Space Marines. The two are not necessarily synonymous. We need to get it on. We'll discuss this later.”

“Platoon, hold position.”

Up close the Tum-Tum Tree looked less like a tree and more like a bunch of pagoda roofs stacked on top of each other. Each layer had multiple points of equal size with more points on each layer as the layers got larger. There were five at the very end, by the sharply tapered point, then eight, fifteen . . .  If there was some sort of mathematical sequence there, Berg wasn't getting it.

It was also spectacular. Each of the “branches” that led to the points fluoresced in a cascade of colors, shifting through most of the visual spectrum. There was no definite light source; it played from somewhere in the transluscent depths of the thing. There seemed, however, to be a more intense line of the color in the depths, as if something was pulsing the colors into the branches like blood through veins.

Berg swung around, getting particle readings, and then frowned. The particles waxed and waned with the colors, pentaquarks being the most prominent line at this range. He had no grapping clue what that meant.

He also knew what he wanted to do but knew, as well, that he couldn't do it.

“Gunnery Sergeant,” Berg said. “I need someone to go down and make physical contact with the surface. They're to touch it, lightly, and get particle readings from up-close. They are not to touch it if they determine there may be a threat.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Juda said.

Lance Corporal Antti-Juhani Kaijanaho was a second generation Finnish immigrant born and raised in Orange County, California. With dark hair and eyes, a wide-flat face and very slight epicanthic folds from some Lapp ancestor, he had eventually just started spouting gibberish that sounded vaguely Asian when people asked him if he was, Chinese, Japanese, Korean or Cambodian. His favorite had been one guy who had been absolutely sure he was Mongol and wouldn't take Finn for an answer.

When he had joined his first Force Reconnaissance unit his team NCOIC had looked at his face and name and said: “Kaijanaho. Japanese, right?”

“Finn, Staff Sergeant,” he had responded, proud of his heritage. At the confused expression he had followed up with his standard expansion: “You know, where reindeer come from?”

Most members of a Force Recon team had their “team name,” the nickname assigned by the team through some mystical process that involved a concensus of a short name or phrase that defined that person's personality and position. He had come to regret his standard explanation a few months later when the magic moment came for him to be assigned his team name.

Kaijanaho lifted “up” to the surface of the thing carefully, using his laser range finder to determine how close he was and his approach speed. Up close, it was nearly impossible to tell how far away the thing was; there was no real depth perception possible. As he closed he grew more entranced by the wall of color above him, shifting in multiple hues. As he got to nearly arm-length it was apparent that what looked like one shade was, in fact, millions of hues mixed together, flowing just under a translucent surface like billions of multicolored blood corpuscles.

He reached up one Wyvern claw and, lightly, almost reverently touched the surface. It was hard but where he touched the light seemed to draw around, following his finger . . . 

“Blitzen?” Sergeant Champion barked. “Readings?”

“Uh . . .” Kaijanaho replied, entranced by the swirling colors.

“Lance Corporal Kaijanaho!” the sergeant barked again. "Atten-hut!

“Sorry, Sergeant,” the lance corporal said, closing his eyes and lowering the claw of the suit. “Up close this stuff is hypnotic. My apologies.”

“Accepted,” Champion said. “Gimme some readings, Prancer.”

“Just lots of pentaquarks, Sergeant,” Kaijanaho said. “Actually, at this range I'm getting some slight alpha particle readings. Those are hazardous but the rad level is very low. About like a tritium watch face. No gamma or beta.”

“Shiny . . .” Champion said after a moment. “Pull back to your position, Rudolph.”

“It's pretty hypnotic from up here, too,” Berg admitted.

“Agreed, sir,” Gunny Juda replied. “Orders?”

“Continue the sweep,” Berg said. “Onwards and upwards. But since I've spent, like, no time with the teams, can you explain why Lance Corporal Kaijanaho has three team names? And why they all seem to refer to Santa's reindeer?”

Eventually the Marines reached the point of full spread. At that point, the diameter of the “tree” was nearly six kilometers and the small unit of Marines could cover hardly any of the surface. However, it didn't seem to matter. One spot was as good as any. Everywhere it was just color and points.

“All units, hold position,” Berg ordered as they approached the edge of the tree. “Gunny, the Flies tried this out so call me an old maid, but I'm not taking the whole platoon into the direct light of this sun until I'm sure it's clear. Send a point.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“All clear, sir,” Sergeant Champion said. “The sun's sort of . . .  Well, it's not too bright. And no hazardous rads. Levels are nominal as hell.”

Stars put out more than heat. The solar wind was composed of mostly protons, some alpha particles, and even a few electrons as masses of particles swept out from the fusion of hydrogen into helium and helium into still more massive particles. Radiation in space was always a hazard and this close to a blue star they should have been sleeted with the equivalent of several hundred thousand chest X-rays.

Instead, the retrans from the sergeant's particle detectors said that the only generator in the area was the massive Tum-Tum Tree. The shield was absorbing or reflecting all the hazardous radiation from the nearby star. That had been one of Berg's main concerns. The Cheerick suits had particle detectors, but to say the least even Colonel Che-chee was no expert at reading them. The lieutenant had been more worried about radiation than the possible heat.

Berg advanced the platoon up the slope and into the light of the sun then tuned his sensors on the surface of Gunny Juda's suit to get a reading. The surface temperature of the suit in the shade had been minus one hundred and fifty-seven degrees Celsius. As it entered the light from the super-hot star, which should have kicked it up to over a thousand degrees celsius in an instant, it climbed to eighty-three degrees and stuck there. Hot, but the suit's chillers could handle it easily.

When he came in sight of the sun he could see why the responses had been so varied. The sun looked extremely hot and bright. But there was an edge to it, like the watery sunshine of an ever-so-slightly overcast winter day that mentally translated as nonthreatening. And the actual power-input levels, inside the shield, were about the same as the suits experienced from Sol in Earth orbit.

The view from the top of the spread was spectacular, the sweeping rear side dropping to the “trunk.” Berg got a sudden moment of vertigo and realized this must be what a spider felt like on a real Christmas tree. A very, very, very small spider. More like a mite.

“Slow and easy down the back side,” Berg ordered. “Maintain one hundred meters from the tree and proceed to the joining of the trunk.”

“Sir,” Lance Corporal Fuller said, “we're losing contact with the Blade.”

Fuller was the designated platoon RTO. With the compliment of Marines on the Blade being so small and the commo being so integrated, the position was a secondary one for the Charlie Team cannoneer. All it really meant was that he was carrying a long-range laser transmitter tuned to communicate with the Blade. But while the system was line-of-sight . . . 

“Put in a retrans box,” Gunny Juda growled before Berg could open his mouth.