09. Going to See the Received Spaceship 2: Landing

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"Agirakana Spaceport arrival in ten minutes."

"The small shape visible dead ahead is Agirakana."

Ain standing beside me. Has been standing for nearly two hours—hope he’s not collapsing any time soon.

A small black dot appeared in the center of the forward screen? It grew visibly larger, at a pace that felt almost personal.

After a while, it became clear that something was glowing across the surface—various spots flickering intermittently. Scattered around it were a few black specks, roughly the size of mustard seeds. Watching them move, one might suspect they’re part of a vessel, or at least something that resembles one.

As they drew closer, the mustard-seed specks resolved into a round spacecraft flanked by smaller vessels with pointed hulls, moving slowly in clusters. The black disc at the front gradually thickened into a sphere, and light seeped from several openings in its surface.

This, frankly, looks exactly like a star.

"Formation, entering approach vector for Agirakana Spaceport One."

"Formation, reduce to microspeed."

"Formation, microspeed!"

"Welcome to Agirakana. This is Spaceport One Control. We’ll now assume command of LC-0001."

"Taking over command of Agirakana Spaceport One Control."

As the sphere grew larger, it quickly expanded beyond the edges of the side screens—too fast to ignore.

We’re going to collide—! Again, the sphere shrank, but upon closer inspection ahead, a ship had just entered one of the previously large holes. Distance is hard to judge, but the diameter must be at least a hundred kilometers? Tiny lights stretch deep inside, six rows in total. The far end glows blue. This shaft goes deep.

“Aginakana’s outermost layer passed. The bottom of this shaft will be the first Spaceport,” said Ain.

If there’s an outer layer, there must be at least a few more.

My ship continued descending deeper into the hole.

How far does this go? The blue glow ahead, previously visible on the front screen, drew near—then the shaft turned sharply in a circle. The ship must have changed direction. Dizzy.

"The vessel is entering the atmospheric layer within the shaft. The composition of the shaft's atmosphere currently matches that of Earth, and atmospheric pressure around the first dock has been adjusted to one standard atmosphere."

So, that’s my cue to be told I’m allowed to breathe, is it? Really going all out for me?

The direction shifts again, and a wall with a protruding rod draws near.

"The vessel will dock with the first dock."

No sensation of acceleration or deceleration—hard to tell, but the ship seems to have stopped.

A brief pause. Then, the captain and everyone else in the command room stand up, all turning to face us.

"Thank you."

I offered a perfunctory response. In return, they all raised their right hands—some kind of salute?—so I mimicked it, since standing there like a statue wasn’t going to work. A half-hearted return salute, at best.

After that, just as before, I was led out of the command room by Ain, and we entered the elevator.

The destination didn’t seem to be the elevator hall we’d entered through. There were only four elevators here—definitely fewer than the ten that had been present when we arrived.

“The first dock has a direct access corridor leading into the Core Interior. A dedicated shuttle runs through the corridor, and you’ll transfer to it to reach the Captain’s Office within the Core Interior. The shuttle hasn’t been used since the Captain’s absence, but today marks the first time it will carry a passenger.”

Captain’s Office. Dedicated shuttle. What kind of grandeur is this?

As we descended from the ship and headed toward the shuttle, I looked up. Blue sky. That’s what it must feel like to gaze upward from the bottom of a well. The meaning is different, of course—but still, I couldn’t help but think of a frog in a well.

The shuttle before them, bound for the Core Interior, resembled a pair of linear motor cars joined together—unpainted, silver in hue, with no wheels, no windows. Inside, plush, generously spaced seats had been installed, and they were seated upon them.

The shuttle departed from the platform, gliding silently into a tunnel whose cross-section matched the shape of the vehicle’s own cross-section.

Soon, the bulkhead at the tunnel’s entrance sealed behind them. The air within the tunnel gradually evacuated, and after passing through several more bulkheads, the interior approached near-vacuum conditions. At that point, the shuttle reportedly exceeded three kilometers per second—approximately Mach 9.

Immediately afterward, deceleration began. Passing through several more bulkheads, the tunnel’s pressure returned to normal atmospheric levels. Finally, the last bulkhead opened, and the shuttle arrived at its destination, coming to a halt.

They say it covered 150 kilometers in three minutes. All that information, too—during the shuttle ride, not only was the outside view blocked, but there was no vibration, no travel noise, no sense of acceleration at all, so in truth, it was just parroting Ain’s explanation.

If transfer devices exist, wouldn’t moving by vehicle be inefficient? Apparently, within the Core Interior, transfers are prohibited for safety reasons, with only a few exceptions.