TIN CAN
by Dancingdoc2
(Part 1 of 2)
�It�s an amazing structure,� Beverly said as they stared at the enormous collection of conduits, intake bays, and cargo containers stretching away from them.
�Twice the size of Utopia Planetia�s orbital docks,� Jean-Luc nodded in agreement. �But it�s dedicated to taking ships apart instead of putting them together. Look, there�s a panel opening there. That must be our ID tag coming toward us.�
From the side of the gargantuan construction, a dull silver disc about half a meter in diameter came spinning towards them. It slowed as it approached Mistral, sailed past the viewscreen, and they could hear a faint thunk as it affixed itself to the starboard side of the ship.
�It does seem like a rather primitive way of telling visiting ships from ones that are here to be processed,� observed Beverly. �But if it keeps us from getting run through the shredders, I can�t really object.�
They had dropped Mistral out of warp to see the Skrez Recycling Facility. Soon after the wormhole had deposited them in this region of space, they began to hear the expression �send it to the Skrez,� which meant the item in question was trash. For the last few months, they had heard that phrase more and more often. It seemed that the Skrez could dismantle anything from an escape pod to a large asteroid. Learning that the Skrez processing plant was located not far off their course back to Federation space, they decided it might be worth a look.
The Skrez plant was in orbit around Epison Theta 27, a large yellow star known locally as Sharmak. The star had no planets, no natural ones at any rate. Drawing ample solar power, the plant was reputed to be almost entirely automated, with only a very few of the Skrez in residence. The Skrez were a giant arachnoid race, not so much hostile as completely indifferent to humanoid life forms. They did not operate a recycling center from any sense of conservation, and they seemed only slightly more interested in the economic gain it created. No, the Skrez derived some intrinsic pleasure from gathering things and dismantling them into their component parts. They were reputed to be quite intelligent, but their culture was of such a different order that no one claimed to have successfully communicated with them on anything other than the concrete points of buying and selling scrap.
�Computer, hail the Meensar.�
�Channel open.�
�Captain Borm, we have just received the ID tag you told us to expect. I take it the Skrez had no objections to our visit?�
�Excellent, ambassador. No, no objections at all. They don�t get many visitors, so you may find them a little less than gracious, but that�s just their way. They will hail you shortly to give you instructions for your visit. I�ve got to be on my way. I hope you find your experience here interesting.�
�Thank you for making the contact on our behalf. You�ve been most helpful. Good journeys to you. Mistral out.�
�No, ambassador, it is I who should thank you. Closing communications.� The one-man scout ship deftly turned its nose away from the processing plant and headed away from them. After a few seconds, they saw the flare as it jumped to warp speed and vanished.
�I wonder what he meant by that?� said Beverly. �Why should he thank us?�
�It could be nothing more than a local idiom. Or perhaps arranging for our visit increases his standing with the Skrez. He did say that he makes a majority of his living from the recycling fees he earns. He�s probably just currying a little favor.�
They continued staring at the huge plant. After a few minutes, Jean-Luc grew tired of waiting for the promised contact. �Computer, open a channel to the Skrez plant.�
�Channel open.�
�This is the Federation diplomatic sloop Mistral. We appreciate your allowing us to see your facility,� he began. There was only silence in response. �We are awaiting your instructions,� he added. More silence.
�Their reputation for not being very sociable seems to be accurate so far,� Beverly said.
�Computer, scan hailing frequencies for any communication from the Skrez plant,� he ordered.
�No transmissions detected coming from the facility. One channel actively transmitting to the facility.�
�To the facility?� Jean-Luc was surprised. The Mistral was the only ship within visual range, besides several obvious derelicts awaiting demolition. �From what source?�
�The transmission is coming from the object now attached to the ship�s hull.�
�The ID tag,� Beverly chimed in. �I hope it�s saying �don�t recycle this one.��
�We might as well listen in if we can,� Jean-Luc said. He had never been very good at simply waiting. �Computer, can you intercept the transmission from the ID tag to the plant?�
�Working.�
A few seconds later, a flat mechanical voice began droning steadily. � � 2.3 merj. Transparent aluminum, 3.7 merj. Phased steel, 23 merj. Polyduranium, 42 merj ��
At that moment, the entire ship shuddered slightly, and they saw the plant slide slowly across the viewscreen as the Mistral began to rotate.
�Computer, confirm ship stabilization,� Picard snapped.
�Unable to comply. Mistral is currently controlled by a tractor beam originating from the Skez plant.�
A moment�s glance between Jean-Luc and Beverly was all it took for them to share the realization that something was very wrong. �That transmission from the ID tag sounds like a listing of the ship�s component materials,� Beverly said. �I think we�ve been tagged for recycling.�
�Computer, open a channel to the Skrez.�
�Channel open.�
�This is the Federation diplomatic sloop Mistral. We must insist that you immediately release our ship from your tractor beam.� Silence again.
�We believe that we have been misidentified as a ship to be processed and recycled. That is not that case. I repeat, this ship is not here for processing. We are visitors. Release us immediately.� There was still no answer.
�Computer, set a heading of four seven two, mark three. Full impulse power. Engage.� They felt a shudder as the engines strained against the grip of the beam.
�Unable to comply.�
Mistral was being drawn slowly along the side of the enormous floating factory.
�Is there a way we can get rid of that ID tag?� Beverly asked. �Perhaps the beam homes in on that.�
�If it uses some sort of maglock, we may be able to throw it off by reversing polarity in the hull,� Jean-Luc replied. �Beverly, can you see the ID tag from the star deck?�
She dashed out of the cockpit and ran to the upper level. �I can see the edge of it. It�s on the forward starboard side.�
�Good, keep watching it. Computer, reverse hull polarity.�
�Polarity reversed.�
�Any movement?�
�No, it�s still there,� Beverly answered from her observation post.
�Return to normal polarity.� He thought a moment. �Computer, send an electrical pulse through the hull.�
�Strength and duration?�
�500 megawatts for 5 seconds.�
Beverly saw sparks arc from beneath the alien disc, but it did not move. �No good,� she reported.
Ahead of them, they saw a row of four battered ships floating near a vast intake conduit. Inexorably, Mistral was being moved toward that row.
�We may have to remove it or disable it physically,� Jean-Luc fumed. �Beverly, we�re going to have to suit up. Computer, establish a repeating alarm beacon on all channels compatible with Skrez communications.�
Beverly was coming down from the star deck as Jean-Luc left the cockpit. As they strode quickly to the storage locker near the transport pad where the thruster suits were stored, he outlined his plan. �I�ll go outside and try to pry it loose. If that doesn�t work, I may be able to disable it with a phaser. You�ll monitor its transmissions from in here. It�s probably best if we both suit up. If I do need some sort of assistance, I�m likely to need it quickly.� At his touch, a panel in the wall slid up. Beverly grasped her suit and pulled it out easily. Jean-Luc�s did not move. �It�s caught on something,� he muttered, reaching into the locker to free the suit.
Beverly was already pulling on the bulky garment. �Can you see what it is?� she asked.
�Not yet � it�s all the way in the back, of course.� The suits lay flat on the floor of the small locker, feet toward the back. The opening was not even tall enough to allow him to crawl on hands and knees. He pulled himself to the back of the locker on his stomach and found a deep tread groove on the sole of one boot wedged over a stem bolt head. �Got it!� he called, just as the locker hatch slammed shut.
It was pitch black inside the locker. �Beverly! Open the locker door.�
�As soon as I find it. All the lights have gone out.� He heard a few soft thumps as she felt her way toward the locker in the bulky suit. �The latch isn�t responding. Jean-Luc, this isn�t just a partial power failure. Listen!�
He did, and heard nothing. Not even the soft hum of life support. The faint vibration of the ship�s engines was also absent.
Outside the locker, Beverly turned on her suit�s built-in lights. Neither the glovelight nor the headlight responded. Mistral was in total darkness. Not an emergency light glowed � not a breath of air moved through the ventilators. �Computer, status report,� she requested. Sill there was only silence. �We must be in a power damping field,� she said.
�I�m afraid you�re right,� he agreed. �It would be a sensible precaution to take before recycling a ship � render anything that might generate any sort of energy reaction harmless before taking it into the machinery.�
�Can you reach the manual hatch release from where you are?�
�Unfortunately, there is no manual release in this locker. I don�t believe the designers anticipated that anyone would ever be inside it. Beverly, you�ve got to make contact with the Skrez quickly.�
�I know � there�s got to be a way.�
The darkness in the storage locker was absolute. It was perhaps a meter wide, about half a meter high and just over two meters in depth � and he was sharing it with a thruster suit. There was not even room enough to reverse his position and place his head near the hatch. With nothing to do but listen, he heard Beverly closing the latches on the remainder of her suit. �I�m going out now. I�ll get into the station and find someone who can release the ship.� There was a moment�s pause. �Jean-Luc, I love you.�
�I love you, too, Beverly. But we don�t need farewells � you�ll get us out of this.�
�You�re right. Well, sit tight.� Even in the blackness, they both made small, tight smiles and brought their mounting tension under control for a moment.
She felt her way to the emergency airlock, opened the manual release on the inside door, stepped inside, and sealed it. Then she seated her helmet and closed the latches. The small amount of air contained inside her suit would last for only a few breaths � she�d have to escape the damping field quickly. She opened the outer door, and left it open. Fortunately the airlock was on the side of Mistral facing the enormous plant. Their faithful little ship was now immobile at the end of its row, with other ships that showed no lights, no signs of power whatsoever. The damping field must extend all along here. But there were lights directly ahead of her, on the Skrez plant itself. Four of them marked the corners of the intake conduit they had noticed earlier.
Beverly hung onto the outside manual release for the airlock as she tucked her legs under her, making sure both feet were flat against the surface of Mistral. Then she released her grip and pushed with every ounce of strength, glad for the frequent dance workouts in the holosuite that kept her legs in excellent shape. She exhaled and fog began to form on the faceplate of her helmet. Forcing herself to breath slowly, she inhaled as she kept her gaze on the opening that was slowly growing larger. A second exhalation added to the fog. Now the lights were fuzzy bright spots. As she inhaled she noticed the beginnings of staleness in the air. Still keeping her eyes fixed on her target, she extended her arms out in front of her and tried the switch on the glovelight. No response.
She exhaled again. The fog was so thick that she couldn�t make out the lights at all. When she inhaled, her lungs filled, but there wasn�t enough oxygen left in the air. She still felt a pressing desire to breathe in. Again she slapped the light control. Nothing. How far did the damping field extend? This time as she exhaled she pursed her lips and forced the air out in a tight stream. It worked � the blast cleared a patch a few centimeters in diameter on her face plate. By twisting her head, she could just see out. The lights of the Skrez plant were still ahead of her, but her momentum was slowing. She gasped a breath in, but felt as though she hadn�t breathed at all. Her exhalation this time was an uncontrolled blast that immediately fogged over her view. She inhaled in a ragged gasp that turned to a strangled victory cry as she saw bright light through the mist � light that shot out from her own glove. She was clear of the damping field, and a second later she felt a current of air against her forehead from the suit ventilator.
After a few breaths, her faceplate began to clear. She saw that she was still moving toward the station, although slowly and a bit off to the right of the opening she had aimed for. With a short burst from the suit�s thruster, she corrected her course and sailed through the opening on the side of the plant. It led to a vast bay. A ship that had suffered heavy battle damage was midway through the bay, where it was being scanned by numerous beams. The walls of the bay displayed changing patterns and colors that might be some sort of readout, but there were no life forms in evidence to see them. An enormous hatch at the far end of the bay was open, and the ship was slowly being drawn towards it.
Beverly spotted a set of transparent aluminum doors easily 4 meters square on one side of the bay. Through it she could see a hallway leading away from the bay at right angles. A touchpad almost half a meter in diameter was on the wall by the door. Beverly shot towards it and pressed hard. The doors slid open and she flew into the hallway, where she found a matching touchpad and closed the doors. There was gravity in the hall, a bit less than standard Earth gravity, and she would be able to move quickly, even in the suit.
�Hello? HEY! HEEEY!!� she shouted. That was no good. Even if she screamed at the top of her lungs, the suit would muffle her actual sound, and the speakers that transmitted her voice outside the suit did not produce enough volume to carry far. She scanned the walls for anything that might be a communications system, but it was hopeless. There were some markings on the wall, but they were so alien that she couldn�t even guess if they were art or signs. She flipped open her tricorder. �Activate automap mode.� If this place turned out to be a maze, she wanted to be able to get out again. Beverly set off down the hallway at a run.
(This story concludes in one more part.)