chapter eleven
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Argus Station
SysGov, 2980 CE
“Ambassador Muntero, you have the floor,” Lamont said.
“Thank you, Chief Lamont.”
Here it comes again, Klaus-Wilhelm groused inwardly as Muntero rose from her chair.
“Thank you for graciously permitting a delay in these proceedings,” she said. “Now that Under-Director Shigeki and I have consulted with our government, I am instructed to tell you that the Admin has decided to endorse ART’s proposed venture to the seventeenth century with the intent of returning Samuel Pepys to his rightful place in history.”
What? Klaus-Wilhelm blinked in bewilderment, and both of Lamont’s eyebrows shot up. Lucius and Teodorà stood like statues, obviously astonished by the Admin’s sudden change of position, while Pepys, standing between them, smiled in delight.
“I’m sorry,” Lamont said. “But did I hear you correctly?”
“You did. Furthermore, the Admin would like to make the following requests, though I will stress these are merely requests.”
What’s their game here? Klaus-Wilhelm wondered.
“And those requests are—?” Lamont asked.
“First, that the Admin be permitted to appoint a passive observer to this return mission or to any others that may follow for the other ‘guests’ retained by ART. Second, that SysGov provide us with any data collected during this venture, so that both our governments may further our understanding of time travel together. Again, I will stress that these are only requests, and SysGov’s denial of one or both will not affect our endorsement of this venture. We hope, however, that these requests will be received by your government in the spirit of mutual cooperation in which they are intended.”
“I . . . Well, yes.” Lamont shook his head and regrouped mentally. “Thank you,” he said then. “Those requests sound reasonable to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Klaus?”
“Quite reasonable,” Klaus-Wilhelm responded neutrally, not taking his eyes off the Admin representatives.
“Does the Ambassador have anything else to add?” Lamont asked.
“Not at this time.” Muntero sat down stiffly and shot a quick glance to a lounging Jonas Shigeki, whose eyes were once again half-shut.
“Well, that was . . . unexpected.” Lamont cleared his throat. “I suppose we can move straight to the next point, then. Mister Pepys?”
“Yes, sir?” Pepys replied in perfect, if slightly accented, Modern English. He stepped forward as he spoke, removed his hat, and swept a deep, formal bow to the members of the committee. From where Klaus-Wilhelm sat, Teodorà seemed to tense slightly, although Lucius looked perfectly calm.
“Have you been informed in full of Chairman Gwon’s and Doctor Beckett’s proposal?” Lamont asked him, after he had straightened once more.
“I have, sir.” Pepys nodded gravely.
“And do you approve of their intentions?”
“I do.” Pepys nodded again. “I hasten to add that I can make no complaint about the courtesy which ART has extended to me during my stay in your time.” The words were Modern English, but there was an exotic, almost baroque texture to the word choices, and he smiled faintly. “No doubt you will comprehend me when I say that the most fantastical laudanum dream could scarcely have prepared a man of my native time for the wonders of your own. Indeed, in many ways, I shall miss those wonders. Your physicians, especially, have performed miracles in my case, and I shall be eternally grateful for their ministrations. Yet for all its wonders, your time is not my own. If the opportunity to return whence I came, to resume the life that was interrupted, exists, I would most gladly avail myself of it.”
“I see. Then do we have your official permission to return you to the seventeenth century?”
“Sir,” Pepys placed a hand over his heart and bowed again, more slightly, “you have both my permission and my gratitude, freely given without hesitation.”
“Thank you. I believe that will do.” Lamont glanced at Klaus-Wilhelm, then at Muntero. “Well, that’s that, I suppose. It seems we’re finishing early today. If there are no objections, we’ll vote on the proposal at hand.”
“No objections from the Admin,” Muntero said.
Lamont nodded to her, then turned back to his right and arched one eyebrow.
Klaus-Wilhelm hesitated. He felt powerful undercurrents swirling around his ankles, as if he was about to be swept away by events beyond his control, but he couldn’t put a finger on why he felt that way. Something was going on here. Something was out of place.
But what? he wondered, and however hard he looked at it, he couldn’t answer his own question.
“None here, either,” he said at last.
“In that case, please cast your votes.”
A virtual vote tally with columns for YES, NO, and ABSTAIN appeared between Lamont and the representatives from ART. His and Muntero’s votes registered almost immediately in the YES column, and after a final moment of internal deliberation and delay, Klaus-Wilhelm sent his own.
“The vote is unanimous,” Lamont announced. “The proposal will move forward to the Senate’s Temporal Oversight Committee with our recommendation. We should have the results back from the Senate within the week, at which point I will schedule a follow-up meeting with all involved parties. I would like to extend my thanks to the representatives from ART and to the representatives of the Admin for their participation in this—”
Virtual alarms blared into existence next to Lamont and Klaus-Wilhelm with shattering suddenness. They made no actual sound at all, at least not that anyone else could hear, but both SysPol officers winced as if they’d just been bludgeoned as the virtual sound, guaranteed to rouse them from the soundest slumber, hammered them through their wetware.
Lamont shook his head, like a man shaking off a left jab, and his eyes narrowed as he muted the audio and skimmed the virtual header text hanging in midair before him.
“Klaus? What the hell is a ‘Gordian Division Priority One’ alert?” he demanded.
“We’re still in the process of implementing our new alarm categories but”—Klaus-Wilhelm’s throat tightened—“Priority One is reserved for events similar to the Gordian Knot.”
“Surely we don’t have another of those to deal with?!”
“It’s a telegraph from Kleio. Let’s see what they have to say.”
Klaus-Wilhelm expanded the alarm header, and additional text appeared.
Universe-T3 destroyed. Universe-T4 destroyed. Cause unknown. Not a Gordian-type event. TTV Aion destroyed with all hands. TTV Kleio damaged but able to return. ETA seventy-three minutes to SysGov outer wall. Will provide a full report upon our return.
Klaus-Wilhelm shook his head in disbelief. Two out of the four time-traveling societies gone! And so suddenly! The Gordian Knot would have taken over a thousand years to unleash its fury, but these two had been snuffed out in the span of a few months!
Jonas put his hand on Muntero’s shoulder, and the two of them huddled together, lips not moving.
My God, Klaus-Wilhelm thought, could this have been us? We think we’re doing the right thing. We tell ourselves we’re taking the necessary precautions, but are we actually just naive children kicking around a football in a minefield?
Muntero stood sharply.
“Given this new revelation, the Admin withdraws its support from ART’s mission and any future missions of this nature until a full review of Kleio’s findings can be conducted.”
“Sir, I must agree,” Klaus-Wilhelm said firmly. “And we need to go beyond that. This changes everything. We need to cancel all unnecessary time travel immediately.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. This is&mdashz” Lamont shook his head, visibly shaken. “I don’t even know what to think about this!”
“Wait a second,” Teodorà protested. “Let’s not be hasty about this. ART has conducted hundreds of expeditions with no ill effects on our True Present. There’s no reason to believe this one will be any different.”
“Perhaps the content of the message didn’t quite register with you,” Klaus-Wilhelm snapped. “Two time-traveling societies—and their entire universes—have been obliterated and we do not know why!”
“But you just voted to approve our mission!”
“Yes, and we’re going to have another vote,” Lamont told her. “Right now.”
The tally appeared once more, and all three votes switched almost instantly.
“The ART proposal is rejected unanimously,” Lamont announced.
“But—”
“Thank you, everyone, for your time, but as you can see, the vice-commissioner and I have some pressing business to attend to.”
“May we come along as well?” Jonas asked. “Sounds like this will affect both of us.”
Lamont paused for a moment.
“He’s right,” Klaus-Wilhelm said. “We should share this, no matter what it ends up being.”
“All right.” Lamont pointed a thumb at the door. “The three of you can join us.”
Jonas and the ambassador stood, and their security synthoid stepped away from the wall.
“Please, wait . . . ” Teodorà’s voice was barely a whisper as the room cleared. Lucius put a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the exit in the others’ wake.
In the rush to leave, no one realized the star field in his shadow had vanished.
* * *
Kleio settled into the docking cradle, and the front ramp extended. Impacts had hammered the TTV’s hull in dozens of places, and fresh prog-steel stood out on one side of the bow, plugging what might have been an actual puncture in the armor.
“What happened out there?” Teodorà wondered out loud from her high vantage point in the reception balcony.
“I presume your time craft do not customarily return to harbor in this state?”
“No, Samuel, they don’t,” Lucius said. “Looks like they’ve been through hell.”
“There’s Raibert and his team.” Teodorà pointed. “They’re coming out now.”
“We’ll wait here.” Lucius sidestepped closer to Pepys. “There’s no point in dragging Samuel into this, and my presence might be . . . problematic.”
“No kidding!” Teodorà agreed. “I’ll see if I can get through to him.”
She took a counter-grav tube down two floors and intercepted the Gordian team at the hangar’s exit.
“Raibert!”
The big synthoid stopped mid-stride, and his two team members bunched up behind him. It was still disconcerting to see him in such a different body. The small, timid professor now wore the shell of a massive, muscle-bound brute. She wondered why he’d kept the stolen Admin body; he could have replaced it once he’d returned to SysGov. Had he retained it as a memento of his daring escape? A sort of middle finger directed at not just the Admin but anyone else who tried to stop him?
“Teodorà?” he asked. His expression was as grim as she’d ever seen it, but it lightened—slightly, at least—as he recognized her. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too.” She hurried over to him. “We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry, but the chief needs to see us. It’s urgent.”
“I know. That’s what I need to talk to you about.”
“You know?” he asked incredulously. “How?”
“I was in a meeting with Chief Lamont when your telegraph came in.”
“Then you know I have to report now.” He started to turn away, but she caught him by the sleeve.
“Raibert, please—”
“Teodorà, I just saw what was left of Aion,” he said harshly. “They’re gone—Fritz, Zheng, Hatem, all of them. And there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. I don’t have time for this right now.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her hand tightening on his sleeve. Fritz Laynton had been her friend and colleague, as well, and the news hit hard. But then she shook her head.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said with simple, unmistakable sincerity. “Truly I am. But what I need to talk to you about . . . You remember how much Fritz hated the abductee program?”
“Of course I do. It’s why he joined Gordian the day we set up shop!”
“Well, that’s what I need to talk to you about—doing something right for the abductees! One minute. That’s all I ask. You can give me that, right?”
“I . . . ” He sighed, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess I can spare you a minute.”
“Raibert?” The female member of his team, a young, attractive woman still in her organic body, stepped forward. “Who is this?”
“An old colleague.” He waved both of his teammates on. “You two head in. I’ll catch up.”
“You sure? We shouldn’t keep the chief waiting.”
“I won’t. Now get going.” He shooed them off. “I can take care of myself.”
The other two left, albeit reluctantly, and Raibert smiled and waved at them as they boarded the grav tube. Then he turned back to Teodorà.
“So.” He rubbed his hands together. “What’s this about?”
“I was trying to get approval for a trip to the seventeenth century, and I almost had it when your alert came in and scared the crap out of everyone. I need your help to get my expedition back on the approved list.”
“This for ART?”
“Of course it is.”
“I don’t know.” His expression soured. “You know how I feel about ART these days.”
“This is different. We’re different. We’re trying to make amends, to do some real good out there, and this is going to be the first step of many. But we can’t go if SysPol is too terrified to even warm up an impeller spike!”
“You’d be scared, too, if you’d seen what we just went through. Or what was left of Aion.”
“But we both know ART’s trips into the past never caused temporal damage to our universe,” she insisted.
“Well, yeah. Except for the Gordian Knot.”
“Oh, come on, Raibert! I’ve seen the reports. The Knot was caused by a dogfight involving several time machines, and you know it!”
“Eh. Sort of.” He grimaced, then shrugged his shoulders. “Cause and effect get a little sticky where the Knot is concerned.”
“My point is, it wasn’t caused by ART.”
“But we don’t know that. Not for certain. For all we know, all our expeditions contributed to the problem and helped the Knot form.”
“Oh, I don’t believe this!”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but we’re talking about technology that can destroy entire universes. In fact, we know three of them—including the Admin child universe at the center of the Knot—have already been destroyed. Under the circumstances, we need to take things slow. When it’s possible to make mistakes on that scale, caution should rule the day.”
“No, Raibert. You don’t understand!” She reached up to put her hands on his shoulders, and her eyes were suddenly a window to all the guilt in her soul. “I need this. My hands are soaked with blood, and I have to make things right. I have to! I’ve yearned for a way to atone for my sins, and I’ve finally found it! It’s within my reach—so close I can almost touch it—but now it’s slipping away, and I need your help to bring it back.”
“You could always donate your time to a charity.”
“Raibert!” she snapped. “Don’t fucking joke about this! I’m being serious here!”
“So am I. Look, I’m glad to hear you want to make amends. I really am. But it’s just too dangerous.”
“Damn it, Raibert,” she cried, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You’re one of the reasons my life is a shambles right now. Can’t you do this one thing for me?”
“Hey, now.” He reached up and wiped one thumb tenderly across her cheek. “You know I never meant to hurt you. It was Lucius and his cronies I was after. You were just . . . ” He paused, unable to find the words.
“Collateral damage?” she offered bitterly.
“Something like that, yeah,” he acknowledged.
“Please, Raibert. I need this.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. But my answer is no.”
Her head drooped, and then, slowly, she nodded.
“I understand,” she whispered.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me”—he removed her hands from his shoulders, gently but firmly—“I need to see my boss.”
He left her alone at the hangar entrance, and she stayed there for long minutes, like a statue, with her head hanging. Finally, she put her hand to her eyes and let out a long shuddering breath.
“Damn it,” she breathed, then composed herself as well as she could and took the tube back up to the reception balcony.
“How’d it go?” Lucius asked as she floated in.
“It didn’t,” she fumed, fists planted on her hips.
“As expected.”
He pressed a hand against the wall, and the local infrastructure shut down.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just deploying a little program Shadow wrote for me. We can talk privately now.” Lucius gestured the other two closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “Let’s be realistic here. SysPol’s going to clamp down on time travel even harder after what just happened. The Gordian Division’s star team threw up a red flag, and their leadership is going to listen. We may never get approval, and even if we did at some point in the future, there’d be so much scrutiny and oversight that realizing our true objectives would be impossible.”
“I think you’re right,” Teodorà agreed sadly. “We all saw their faces when that alert came in. They’re terrified.”
“Ah, well,” Pepys sighed. “’Twould have been a brave, exciting venture, but Fate respects neither kings nor commons.” He smiled crookedly. “And, truth be told, there are places far worse than here where a castaway might come to rest.”
“Oh, don’t give up hope just yet.” Lucius flashed a disarming smile. “After all, look where we are.”
“What?” Teodorà’s forehead creased in puzzlement. “You mean on Argus Station?”
“Precisely.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”
“Everything we need is right here, ready for the taking. All we need is the courage to seize it.”
“Wait a second.” Teodorà goggled at him. “You mean steal a TTV?”
“Theirs?” Pepys pointed out the window at the Kleio.
“Oh, no. Not that one,” Lucius said dismissively. “Let’s pick a fresh one.”
“Lucius, how can you even suggest something like this?!” Teodorà shouted.
“Shhhh,” Lucius urged. “Calm down. It’s not as radical as you think.”
“I beg to differ!”
“This is the only window we have. If we don’t do this now—right now—there won’t be another opportunity. We’ll be back on Earth with no way to get a TTV outside the committee. It’s now or never.”
“’Tis true that Fortune favors the brave—or the bold,” Pepys said, dark eyes gleaming, and Teodorà glared at him.
“Oh, great! Not you, too!”
“Teodorà.” Pepys took her hand gently, his fingers and palm warm around hers. “Recall what brought us here.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“We hold the power to cure the plague,” he told her earnestly. “Conceive what that means. Millions of lives that need not be snuffed like so many candles. Lives given back, given time and sun to blossom. Is it right—is it just—for craven heart, and that in others, not in us, to stay so glorious a cause?”
“I . . . ”
“He’s right,” Lucius pressed. “Everyone else is too scared to take the leap. I say we force their hand. We show them how safe it is, prove to them the good that can be achieved. This could be the first of many opportunities to make amends for ART’s sins—for our sins—but only if the three of us have the courage to see it through.”
Teodorà looked back and forth between them, her eyes wet with tears of hope, fear, confusion . . . longing.
“In the end, it’s your call,” Lucius said gently. “We’re not doing this without you.”
She closed her eyes as the countless ways this could go wrong flashed through her mind. But in the end, she knew what she wanted, how desperately she yearned to wash her stained hands clean. And surely giving millions of people the chance to live their lives free of the plague would accomplish that goal.
She opened her eyes at last, and they met the others’ gaze with fresh strength.
“I’m in.”
“I knew you’d come around.” Lucius gave her a half smile and squeezed her shoulder briefly. Then he squared his shoulders. “Both of you, follow me.”
He led the way down the grav tube. Teodorà copied his destination, took Pepys by the hand, and stepped in. Pepys twitched violently—he was still unaccustomed to the sensation of freefall—but the counter-grav system cushioned them down, and then across a long, gentle arc until it deposited them before another hangar, nearly identical to the one that held the Kleio.
“We can’t just walk right in and take it,” Teodorà protested.
“Why not?” Lucius winked at her and strode up the TTV’s ramp. Heavy crates lined both sides of the narrow path down the middle, packed all the way to the overhead. Pepys followed Lucius, and Teodorà huffed out a breath and joined them. The ramp retracted, and prog-steel sealed the opening.
“How’re we doing, Shadow?” Lucius asked.
“Very well, Master Gwon,” his integrated companion replied in a calm, masculine tenor. “Though I must confess it is a little disorienting being separated from you.”
“Same here, Shadow. What’s our situation?”
“I have deleted the TTV’s attendant program and removed all Gordian Protocol restrictors from its systems. I am now in complete control of the vessel.”
“Magnificent!”
“Furthermore, as you can see around you, I have manipulated Argus’ logistics attendants into providing us with the necessary raw materials for fabricating the cure, as well as the conveyors and remotes for its dispersal.”
“How is all this here?” Teodorà asked. “They should have taken hours to prep.”
“Fifty-five minutes, actually,” Shadow corrected.
“Fifty-five minutes?” she repeated incredulously, and Lucius smiled at her.
“I did mention that I still had contacts in the other ministries, didn’t I?” He shrugged. “Everything we needed was in the logistics database days ago, and the long-lead items were already printed. All Shadow had to do was print the crates, get them packed, and then loaded aboard.”
“But we only just decided to do this!”
“Oh, I knew you’d say yes. Shadow started prepping before we left the meeting.”
Lucius winked at her again and hurried onto the bridge without waiting for her response.
Teodorà shook her head, not sure what to think. She and Pepys followed him up the grav tube at the far end of the TTV cargo bay, then down the corridor to the bridge. The walls sparkled with shifting star fields.
“I hope you don’t mind, Master Gwon,” Shadow said, “but I have rechristened the craft the Shadow.”
“I like it! Any reason we can’t leave right now?”
“All preparations are complete. We may depart at any time.”
Lucius rounded the command table and faced the other two expectantly across it.
“Well?”
“Time and tide wait for no man,” Pepys replied. “The sooner we depart, the sooner we may begin our task.”
Lucius nodded approvingly to him, then looked at Teodorà. She hesitated for two or three more heartbeats, then nodded, and he smiled in satisfaction.
“Shadow, take us out!”
“Yes, Master Gwon.”
The hangar opened, and the Shadow lifted out of its docking cradle.
Teodorà put her hands on the command table and stared sightlessly down at its surface.
We’re doing this, she thought. We’re really doing this! No turning back now.
Apprehension built within her like a snowball, gaining bulk as it rolled downhill. But then Pepys put a hand atop hers, and she looked over at his round, open face and warm smile. Somehow, just that small expression of confidence and solidarity was enough to soothe her nerves.
“Here we go,” she said, giving him a halfhearted smile.
“Indeed,” he answered. “I have long anticipated this moment, Teodorà!”
Lucius pulled up a view of Argus Station above the table. The station was a gargantuan cylinder, its police-blue hull shining with reflected sunlight. The Shadow was a tiny speck moving steadily away from its southern pole.
“SysPol has realized something is wrong,” Shadow reported. “Our departure authorization is being requested, and two TTVs are powering up.”
“Then let’s not overstay our welcome. Get us out of here—phase out!”
“490 CE designation confirmed. Phase-out in three . . . two . . . one . . . jump.”
The Shadow shifted out of phase with the True Present and sped into the past at a rate of seventy thousand relative seconds for each absolute second that passed in the True Present.
“Telegraph traffic detected,” Shadow said. “Message encoded. I suspect a TTV in the near present is being contacted.”
“Can you see where it is?”
“Searching.”
Lucius pushed the external view aside and expanded their scope chart.
“Searching . . . found it. TTV at negative two months and closing rapidly. It is on an intercept course.”
A cloud of possible locations formed, representing the SysPol TTV’s estimated physical location.
“Can you evade?”
“Negative. They will be able to phase-lock with us.”
“Arm the weapons. Prepare to fire.”
“Lucius!”
“I know, Teodorà.” He gave her a brief, reassuring smile and held up a hand. “Shadow, we’ll forego the main gun. Target their impeller only. We’re trying to slip away, not kill anyone.”
“Understood, Master Gwon. Defensive weaponry online.”
Status displays for two 45-millimeter and two 12-millimeter Gatling gun pods appeared over the table.
“Phase-lock imminent.”
The SysPol TTV materialized half a kilometer off their starboard quarter, its long, gunmetal ellipse tailed by the impeller spike.
“We are being ordered to shut down our impeller.”
“Ignore them. Get us in closer.”
The Shadow turned toward the other TTV. Pods moved across the prog-steel hull so that all four weapons could be brought to bear as the range sped downward, and the other craft turned to face them.
“Their weapon pods are opening, Master Gwon.”
“Fire!” Lucius barked.
The TTVs passed one another on reciprocal courses, and as their paths crossed, four streams of projectiles vomited from the Shadow’s weapon pods at a combined rate of over two hundred thirty per second. A tsunami of high-explosive armor-piercing rounds savaged the SysPol TTV’s impeller, and its edges wavered like an image viewed through turbulent water.
The craft vanished, and hundreds of rounds flew through empty space.
“The TTV is no longer phase-locked with us. Its speed is dropping. Now at sixty kilofactors. Fifty. Forty. I believe their impeller is damaged and they are unable to pursue us. I do not detect any other TTVs upstream of our position.”
“Good work, Shadow.” Lucius grinned and crossed his arms. “Very good work.”
* * *
“I don’t believe this.” Raibert stared flabbergasted at the telegraph from the damaged TTV Tenjin. He and his team had been in the middle of presenting their report to the Temporal Review Subcommittee when the alert came in. “I was just there with her. I was just talking to her. How could she do something like this?”
The display showed the stolen TTV’s position at negative three years from the True Present, along with two blips holding steady two years behind it.
“Sir.” Klaus-Wilhelm turned to Lamont. “I have two TTVs in pursuit, but the fugitives are as fast as we are. There’s no way we can catch them. Even worse, at maximum speed our TTVs’ onboard arrays are half blind. We’ll lose track of the fugitives once they get beyond range of the static array here on Argus, and the pursuing TTVs won’t be able to see them either. They could press on directly to their objective, or go to ground somewhere else, phasing into the past and letting our pursuers shoot right on by, none the wiser.”
“Which means it’s all but impossible for us to stop them.” Lamont glared at the plot. “How did they ever manage to commandeer a TTV in the first place?”
“It’s too early to say for certain.” The vice-commissioner’s jaw tightened in obvious frustration at what had just happened on his turf. “Whatever it was cut through all our security protocols, as well as taking out the attendant onboard the TTV itself. I’ve already requested support from Themis Division to scrutinize the hangar and its surrounding infrastructure. We’ll find whatever cracks they used and plug them, I guarantee it, sir.”
“I trust you will.” Lamont rubbed his chin. “Is there anything we can do to prevent them from dropping off Pepys?”
“Actually, sir, I think we’re dealing with a far worse problem.”
“That’s not what I want to hear, Klaus.”
“I realize that. But look at their actions so far. They’re too extreme. Why steal a TTV and shoot up another one just to return one abductee to the past? The alternative would be that he would be forced to ‘suffer’ the luxurious comfort of the thirtieth century for the rest of his days. Where’s the motive for them to steal the TTV and risk the death sentence for violating the Gordian Protocol?”
“Hmm.” Lamont rubbed his chin again. “I see your point. But if they’re not returning Pepys to the past, what are they after?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Klaus-Wilhelm said. “However, I strongly suspect this notion of returning abductees was nothing more than a front. The TTV was their real objective all along.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Raibert interjected. “Sirs, I spoke with Teodorà just before I came up here. She asked me—almost begged me—to convince you to support her. She’s genuinely remorseful for what ART’s done. She wants to atone, and I’m certain she believes her proposal will allow her to do that.”
“Atone?” Klaus-Wilhelm tilted his head, eyes narrow. “That sounds more in line with their Black Death idea than anything else.”
“Yes, it does,” Lamont murmured.
“I’m sorry—what?” Raibert blinked. “Where’s the Black Death come into all of this? Did I miss something?”
“You did,” Lamont said. “Chairman Gwon and Doctor Beckett originally proposed deliberately creating a child universe by curing the Black Death.”
“They what?” Raibert blurted.
“We had a similar reaction,” Klaus-Wilhelm said dryly.
“Could that be it, though?” Lamont speculated.
“It’s impossible to say.” Klaus-Wilhelm shrugged. “But given the situation, we have to assume the worst, which would make their target Constantinople in 490 CE.”
“If they really are trying to create another universe, we need to stop them!” Raibert said. “Sirs, I know I was interrupted in the middle of my report, but I think I got the gist across. Two universes just imploded, and we’re pretty sure that one of them spawned off the other. We need to prevent anything that could cause the timeline to branch until we understand what happened over at T3 and T4!”
“I agree completely,” Lamont said. “But what can we do?”
He looked at Klaus-Wilhelm, who shook his head.
“I’m at a loss, as well, sir,” he admitted.
“Ah-hem.”
The three SysPol officers twitched, then turned back to the conference room table to find Jonas Shigeki leaning back in his chair with his fingers knitted in his lap.
“Gentlemen,” he said with something suspiciously like a smile, “may I point something out to you?”
“Of course, Under-Director,” Lamont said cautiously. “Go right ahead.”
“Thank you.” Jonas nodded to Klaus-Wilhelm. “A question for the vice-commissioner, first. Your Gordian Division TTVs max out at seventy kilofactors, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Are there any TTVs faster than that?”
“I don’t believe so. There aren’t any in Gordian Division, at least. I know that. Are there any outside Gordian that would be faster, Raibert?”
“Well, there’s the Deep History Probe,” Raibert said with a shrug. “And the Deeper History Probe. They’re both faster, but using them wouldn’t work here.”
“Why not?” Klaus-Wilhelm asked.
“They’re too un-maneuverable. They each use those awful-as-hell nine-impeller arrays that take forever to get up to speed and to slow down. Sure, they could catch up to the fugitives, but they’d probably shoot right past them. A regular TTV could fly circles around them, both physically and temporally. They’d never get into phase-lock, and even if they did, they’re pure research vessels. They’re completely unarmed.”
Jonas leaned forward in his chair and laid one hand on the conference table.
“Then permit me to run a theoretical scenario by you.”
The chart above the table updated as he loaded data from his Personal Implant Network. A waypoint appeared in 490 CE, with four lines heading from the True Present toward it. One shone red for the fugitive TTV, two were gray green for the Gordian Division, and the final line—
—glowed in vibrant Admin Peacekeeper blue.
“Assuming you’ve guessed their intentions correctly,” he said, “it will take the fugitives thirteen days to reach their target. Your TTVs are unable to overtake them before they arrive. However, our chronoports can travel at ninety-five kilofactors. That means a chronoport could leave the True Present three days from now and still intercept the fugitives in time.”
“Now wait just a minute!” Raibert protested.
“Please.” Jonas held up his hands. “I speak only of hypotheticals. Obviously, there are no chronoports here in SysGov, and we lack the transdimensional tech necessary to come here. I only wish to point out that if we did have that tech, we would be able to come to your aid in this crisis.” He sighed and shook his head sadly. “It’s a shame, really. Especially since one of our new Hammerhead-class chronoports would be perfect for this mission. One, alone, should present more than enough intimidation factor to make the fugitives listen to reason.”
“Under-Director.” Lamont licked his lips. “Am I correct in assuming—”
“Well, now!” Jonas stood. “Ambassador Muntero, why don’t we give our friends from SysGov some space? I’m sure they have plenty to talk about in private. We’d only be in the way.”
“A good idea, Under-Director. What did you have in mind?”
“I thought we’d make our way to the executive canteen. My stomach’s grumbling, and the head chef is doing Chinese today. I don’t know what it is, but Chinese food always tastes better over here. I wonder why?”
“I am a bit peckish, now that I think about it.”
“Nox, you coming with us?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, come on. You’re a synthoid. You’re never hungry. Suck it up and join us. Otherwise, we’ll miss your cheerful personality.”
Muntero snorted a laugh, and Jonas waved her out the door, then followed her with a final smile for their hosts. The synthoid gave the SysPol officers a last, yellow-eyed look, then followed both of his superiors.
Raibert and the others watched in stunned silence as the Admin reps left. When the door sealed shut, he looked to Lamont, then to Klaus-Wilhelm.
“We’re not actually going to do something this stupid,” he said. “Are we?”
Klaus-Wilhelm and Lamont turned to face each other. It was impossible to say which man’s expression was more unhappy. Then, after a moment, they turned back to Raibert.
“Are we?”