Meltdown Ophilion - Book One

36_REN-CELOR

The Elen-Tron slowed as it glided into the outskirts of Kypro. Orion piloted the craft into an underground channel heading toward the Transport Maintenance and Mechanic Core: Ren-Celor, under Central Kypro. Celli sent a request to the tran-com and, four seconds later, received a reply which she passed on to Orion. The pilot brought them through the access tunnel, into Ren-Celor, then into an empty dock on the east side of the Core. He settled the Elen-Tron in its berth, secured the clamps and powered down the engines. They sat in their plush seats on the bridge savoring the last sliver of serenity they might know for some time.

None of them had been to this place - the Mechanic Core. The Kyprans had heard about it and Fel had always wanted to visit, however, that desire was no longer present. A large part of them wished they could have stayed on the Antarious, or taken their families to live with the Regala – out of harm's way – and not return to any com-zone until the threat of the weapons test was neutralized; or untill the catastrophe had passed.

Fel took the holographic projector out of his pouch, holding it firmly in his right hand. He drew a deep breath and placed the palm of his left hand on the central jewel and three fingers on three of the smaller jewels. The hologram came to life. They could see the position of their ship clearly marked in green; they could see the entrance they had come through and they could see a series of red dots marking the path they should take.

The dots pointed west and continued off the edge of the projection. Fel touched one of the jewels and the images in the projection contracted as it zoomed out. They saw where the red dots ended – on the far side of the mechanic core, which was vast. They would have to take some form of transport to reach their first mark.

They gazed out through the front window in the direction the diagram indicated but poor visibility would not allow them to see the west side. What they were looking at was an expanse, like a plain; like a endless field – a scene that was nightmarish for the uninitiated; a dimly-lit world of metal and machines with a high ceiling at least thirty meters above them, barely visible except when bright flashes from welders illuminated small sections of it at random.

It was difficult to distinguish between man and machine as both species of workers moved and labored within the maze of metal; a hellscape which they would have to traverse.

The young Ophilion turned to look at eachother, seeing in their companions' faces what they felt: uncertainty and apprehension, even fear; but also, raw determination – and that would have to suffice. They retrieved their back-packs and chest pouches from the hold, strapped them on, and unhurriedly walked out of the command deck, through the service passage, past the med-lab where Menaro had lain, then stopped when they reached the main hatch in the entrance lounge.

It was a somber quartet that prepared to descend the plank, hoping they would accomplish the mission and not fail at some crucial juncture. They seemed to feel the weight of the planet pressing down on their shoulders. They thought of the Antarion; would they notice them here, so deep under their com-zone? Would they help them in some way if they encountered serious trouble? The four teenagers stood watching the main hatch, gathering the courage to walk down the plank and into the field.

It was Fel who reached over and pressed the sequence. The door opened, inward, to the right, as the barding plank lowered and came to rest with a clang on the grimy metal floor of the dock. With wide eyes they took in the confusion and cacophony before them. This subterranean world of metal, grease, noise and constant movement seemed to go on interminably.

Thousands of human mechanics as well as thousands of droids of every kind labored over an uncountable number of transports and parts. There were roadways and elevated-rail transports, caldrons of boiling liquid and piles of metallic debris. The odor of grease and chemicals assaulted their senses; the noise was deafening – or so it seemed after being on the Antarious for the last four porthen.