Chapter Twenty-Three

At Enterprise Airlock Four, the outer hatch slid open and Spock pushed off and drifted out into the darkness. He wore a standard-issue spacesuit¹ with the bulky jetpack attachment on the back. One of the alien ship’s great power displays crackled in and out of existence a hundred or so meters ahead. Farther out in the darkness, other bizarre displays continued to appear and disappear in the profound patterns which were somehow part of the gigantic vessel’s mechanisms. A sparkle of reflections also revealed one and then another swarm of the small energy-sheets which Spock knew he must avoid at all costs—they were the same kind as those which had enveloped and crushed the three Enterprise message capsules. Spock wished he could have studied them further—he was fascinated by the possibility that they served the collossal vessel much as white blood corpuscles protect a living body, by enveloping and destroying possible contaminants.

He allowed himself a last look up toward the Enterprise. He knew the starship to be only a speck compared to the vastness of the alien ship, yet she was to those aboard her a proud achievement and a lovely thing. His feelings of fondness for the vessel and crew had grown alarmingly since he had rejoined them.

Enough! Spock touched an attitude control, and pin-sized spurts from tiny maneuvering thrusters turned and stopped him. He was facing now in the direction from which he believed he had felt the thought emanations. He checked that his jetpack control was set at maximum performance. Then he opened his transmitter switch, knowing that his message would be recorded at his own science officer’s bridge console in the way that he had arranged.

Science officer to captain. This has been set to be released to you at a point when I am beyond command recall. There is no choice now but to attempt direct contact with whatever life forms are aboard the Intruder vessel. Since communication with them may require mindmeld, logic dictates that I make the attempt. My transmitter will continue operating throughout so that you will receive all possible information.

Meanwhile, Spock’s fingers had played over his jetpack’s controls, programming its computer to synchronize with the brief but regular appearance of a faint gleam of light he could see coming from the far inner wall of the gigantic Intruder vessel. He felt rather than saw that this distant glimmering came from an opening which was occurring very briefly but regularly in the inner wall ahead of him. The jetpack would have to take him to it fast enough to get past energy-sheet corpuscle swarms—and he might have to make a high-speed entry into whatever opening he found at the far wall. Spock knew that he felt drawn to that place.

Now! The thrusters flared—the jetpack kicked hard against his back, shoving him abruptly forward, thrusters flaring, still accelerating. An erupting power display ahead, lateral adjustment past it—a swarm of the energy-sheet things also darted in this direction, but he was already safely past them. There was the shrill sound of a computer transmission as Spock touched his transceiver button and spoke quickly, briefly:

I have recorded my travel direction and timings. If they are correct, I hope to pass through an opening there and into some area containing or leading to the Intruders themselves.

He hit reverse thrust for just the instant necessary to pass behind a swarm of a different kind of object, tiny bee-like glowing things reminiscent of the glowing device embedded in the Ilia-probe’s throat. These “sensor-bees” ignored him completely, never swerving from their path. Spock believed them to have a data-carrying function by which swarms like these interconnected all parts of the gigantic ship. Indeed, he suspected that the brief opening he had seen occurring in the bulkhead wall was timed to admit sensor-bee swarms which were regularly arriving there.

There was another glowing sensor-bee swarm just ahead of him . . . and yes, an opening appeared in the wall for just long enough to admit them. That inner wall was looming near, bathed in a deadly looking violet light shimmer—another sensor-bee swarm was approaching it. Spock hoped that the jetpack computer had accurately compensated for the course and velocity changes he had been forced to make so far. . . .

The jetpack kicked, flared, accelerating him directly at violet-shimmering blackness. Spock curled himself, arms pulling his knees to his chest, protecting his soft vitals in a fetal position. Fetal position appropriate; ahead is the completely unknown. Will the opening appear in time? There is no way to stop now if . . .

Spock hurtled into the slit of glowing, golden light at the instant it broadened to admit the sensor-bee swarm. In the same instant, he punched emergency retrojet—the front thrusters blared bright, blinding him. As he fought to see, be began transmitting so that every known fact would be recorded, even if only that of how and why he failed and died.

Inside now, orifice closed behind . . . blinded but retrofire now cutting off . . . appear to be in tunnel . . . hexagonal . . . walls are unusual crystal forms . . . sensor-bees disappearing into them . . . memory crystals possibly . . . 

Spock lifted his head farther out of the fetal position. His heading and retrojet blast had left him miraculously drifting slowly down the center of the hexagonal tunnel which appeared to be composed entirely out of large gleaming crystals. He began to unhook the bulky jetpack. He saw the sensor-bees which had entered here with him—they seemed to be dissolving into the face of one of the crystals, a partially-formed one. The crystal seemed to grow in size a bit. Memory crystals? Information stored in their molecular arrangements? If so, a single crystal this size was capable of holding more knowledge than an entire world’s libraries!

Am discarding jetpack for better maneuverability . . . dim light glow everywhere . . . letting myself drift, another passageway now opening wider . . .

Enormous golden spheres rotating slowly ahead. Unreal. Spock fought a sense of vertigo. Was he seeing or was he feeling these things? Spock shut his eyes and, yes, they were still there and other shapes, too, and somehow they were all telling him things.

From somewhere a planet loomed. Spock knew it was a planet, knew it could not be here in the alien ship, however vast it was. Nevertheless the planet was real, and Spock somehow knew also that it was a planet of great significance. The Intruders’ homeworld?

He was seeing a technology that staggered his mind, incredible gigantic machines . . . and also the velvet blackness of space filled with glittering stars which were drawing him toward comprehension of something vast and . . . glittering stars? How could they be here inside the alien vessel?

Illusion? He did not think so. This was reality he was experiencing, but it was reality at some level that his own limited mind could not comprehend. Just as a Stone Age mind could not have comprehended holocom images.

Spock moved through layer after layer of information, all of it imprinting itself in his mind. A Klingon ship leaped out at him—a shape became the security guard who had been killed by the plasma energy probe. A gallery of wall exhibits?

The great planet again—a planet of incredible machines—it was easily understandable—he must report this. . . .

The machines have tended the planet for so long that their own beginnings have been forgotten. Living machines capable of adapting to their changing, cooling world which they continue to protect as they were programmed to do so many eons ago . . .

Had he reported it properly? These great machines had served Vejur to the best of their knowledge and ability.

He was tumbling through a maze of passageways, a geometrical wonderland of shapes and colors—his body slammed against another wall of the unusual crystals and he grabbed at them. . . .

Even through the heavy protecting gauntlet, he could feel it in the crystal . . . life! Crystal face is warm . . . must slip off gauntlet . . . yes, life . . . I feel it better now . . . all of this is alive!

Captain, this is not a vessel . . . it is a life form! Vejur! This is all Vejur! Enterprise is not inside a vessel; we are inside a great entity, a great, living machine!