6
My only other encounter with Gideon’s yacht had been during the chaos of the Tanaan disaster, the result of one of his many off-the-books projects going sideways. He and I had not gotten off to a good start, which tends to happen when the other party is responsible for a minor planet tearing itself to pieces. Strangely enough, the Union had never quite settled on a final cause for that catastrophe, which suggested they’d been aware of his zero point experiments. Maybe it hadn’t been as off-the-books as I’d thought.
Did I mention bureaucratic ass-covering was another universal constant?
Calling his ship a “yacht” didn’t really do the thing justice. It was more like a flying private estate, able to take him wherever he pleased without leaving home. The main structure was an ellipsoid biodome similar to those which festooned the Capital City ring. Drawing from my previous life in the country, I estimated the area inside the dome to be a solid five acres. Beneath the dome hung all the machinery needed to make Gideon’s free-floating greenhouse into a proper spaceship.
We pulled into a spotless landing bay. Next to us sat the sleek metallic teardrop of a Class II shuttle, the kind of thing big shots used to zip around between solar systems when they were in a hurry. It was in fact the same basic hull our Med Corps transports were built from, just a lot swankier inside.
Deela led me to a lift which quickly deposited us in the center of the biodome. We emerged beside a tranquil pond nestled among deciduous trees that resembled oaks and maples. I wondered if he had brought seedlings from Earth, or had somehow gene-edited them from other Union varieties?
A lone bench was set between a pair of crimson Japanese maples. This was where my host waited.
Gideon was as I remembered him: gray hair slicked back above a face that showed the years, his eyes darkened by age. He wore a robin’s egg blue linen suit, sans tie. In its place was a paisley silk ascot. I guessed this meant “business casual” where he was from. Or rather, when.
He stood as I approached, his hands gripping the head of a cane. I noticed a slight wobble as he rose: balance issues, a common problem in old age. We had biomechanical solutions to that problem, and I wondered why he hadn’t taken advantage of them. Maybe he just preferred the low-tech approach, or his genes had been tweaked to the point where they wouldn’t work. My money was on the latter.
Gideon smoothed the front of his suit, which made me unexpectedly self-conscious about my own appearance. Remembering that I hadn’t used makeup during my entire tenure in the Union will do that. I ran my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to get my curls under control.
He welcomed me with a disarming smile. Considering our only other encounter had been a bit contentious, I’d halfway expected him to crack me across the shins with his cane. “Miss Mooney.”
“Mister Stone.”
That smile ended at his eyes. “I see you’ve done your homework since we last met.”
I have to admit to a little skullduggery here. I’d been curious about his history with the Union, and being in the Med Corps gave me access to a lot of records. They’re not as picky about privacy here as we were back home, where looking into patient history just out of interest is frowned upon. As in the “gets you fired” kind of frowned upon.
Gideon Xavier Stone had come here after an encounter with a survey mission in the Nevada desert. It still wasn’t clear how he’d ingratiated himself enough to earn residency, but the official story was he’d been a logistical genius and had become something of a pivotal figure in the Union economy. How he’d become a pariah was a little clearer, but there were still a lot of blanks to fill in.
“Due diligence, I believe you call it.”
He gave a slight twitch of an eyebrow. “You believe correctly.” He swept a hand toward the bench. “If you please? I’m not much for standing these days.”
At his age, he shouldn’t be up for much of anything. Even without the dilation effects of seventy-plus years spent zipping around at relativistic speeds, his “proper” age was well north of a hundred. Union medicine had slowed the aging process considerably, but entropy has a way of catching up with all of us no matter how many genes are edited.
Old or not, I could feel his eyes on me as we sat. Should I have changed into something more businesslike? For that matter, why did I care? “Something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Forgive me, but ladies’ fashions have changed since my time on Earth.”
“A lot of things have changed. When we first met, you acted surprised to see a woman in the position I’m in.”
“You were running a rather large rescue operation,” he pointed out. “No, that’s not something I’d have typically seen women doing in my day.”
“I was playing the hand I’d been dealt. I was the first medic on scene with any kind of mass casualty training. Honestly I was shocked the Med Corps didn’t already have contingency plans for something at that scale.” Of course, the whole operation had only been necessary thanks to his monkeying around with dangerous new energy sources.
“It’s a weakness inherent in high-functioning, egalitarian societies,” he said with a hint of distaste. “When everything works as it’s supposed to, when all the gears mesh for long enough, we tend to forget how badly things can go wrong. From what I’ve been able to gather, we keep having to relearn that lesson on Earth.” He tutted. “A shame, really. One would think history would have driven that lesson home.”
“One would think.” He was apparently immune to irony. “You didn’t bring me here to reminisce.”
There was a glint in his eye, however weak. “Well, perhaps a little. I do wish to discuss Earth with you. I suspect it has been on your mind of late.”
I leaned away and squinted at him. “What makes you think that?”
He pointed his cane at me. “Your outfit, for one. You’ve been spending more time in clothing styled from Earth fashions, and consuming a good deal of synthesizer fabric to make them.”
Now how in the hell would he know that?
He no doubt read the look on my face. “The clothing synth franchises are one of my investments. Simple mining of logistical records, my dear.”
It was an unwelcome reminder that highly connected societies tended to have a distressing lack of privacy. “Anything else?”
“Your food consumption is less inclined toward exploring Union cuisine, and more toward simple human dishes. What’s the current term, ‘comfort food’?”
“You have a stake in the nutrisynths, too?”
He laughed. “No, that’s from basic observation.”
I lifted my chin and glared down at him. “You’ve been spying on me.”
“Tsk. You make it sound so mercenary when I’m simply scouting prospects. It’s purely business. Due diligence, as you said yourself.”
He had me there. I’d spied on his medical records, after all. I shot a glance at the Reticulan who’d brought me here. She’d remained at a respectful distance by the lift entry. I tried to recall if I’d seen her before, which was a near-hopeless task with the Grays. Their individual differences were so subtle as to be unnoticeable except for among the handful I worked with on a regular basis. Grays were naturally curious and painstakingly observant; this was why they dominated the Survey ministry and were the main characters in so many UFO stories back home. In a society where they were just part of the background, they must have been frighteningly effective spies. Or scouts, to use Gideon’s preferred term.
I jerked my head in Deela’s direction. “How long has she been tailing me?”
Gideon checked his watch. It was of a traditional style like mine, but calibrated for Union standard time. And a lot more expensive-looking. “A few weeks, enough to learn your patterns.” He must have picked up on my skepticism. “This was purely for your convenience, I assure you. I decided it was best to keep our meeting on short notice, ‘under the table.’ I also thought it best to arrange it for one of your days off. There’s no sense putting undue pressure on you during working hours.”
I sighed. “Thanks, I think.”
He leaned back against the bench with satisfaction. “You may have more time to thank me than you realize.” He paused. “You’re feisty. Much as that may be uncomfortable for me, I need someone who can call things as they see them. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell me things I might not want to hear.” He leaned in closer. “Someone who isn’t afraid to piss me off.”
I suspected he hadn’t had enough of that in his life. But why me? “You’re not looking for a new business associate. I’m sure you’ve learned enough about me to understand that would be a bad idea.”
Gideon tapped his fingers atop his cane. “That would depend on the business venture, but in this case you’re correct.” He fixed his eyes on me. “Undergraduate degree in biology from Purdue. Post-graduate studies in veterinary medicine, interrupted to pursue emergency medicine for reasons which appear to be deeply personal.”
He said it in a way that telegraphed he knew exactly why I’d left the DVM program. “Your point?”
“My point is the very background which has made you so valuable to the Medical Corps has value to me as well.” He pointed a bony finger at his chest. “I have benefited from decades of the Union’s best medical care. I have lived long beyond my years, perhaps longer than I deserve.”
Couldn’t argue with that. At least he had a faint glimmer of self-awareness. “Are you looking for a personal nurse? Because I’m not qualified for that.” I was especially not interested in the “personal” part.
A gravelly chuckle. “You may reconsider once you understand what I want to do.” He looked away through the dome to the stars beyond. “What I need to do.”
“What would that be?”
A corner of his mouth upturned conspiratorially. “Return to Earth, of course.”
I jumped up from the bench. “And how would you know—”
“How would I know that’s what you’re thinking as well?” He nodded toward Deela and tapped at his temple. “You don’t get where I am without knowing the right people. Or rather, beings.”
I shot up and set my hands on my hips. “Of course. You’ve been using her to read my mind.”
He patted the bench for me sit back down. “Please don’t take offense. My little endeavor holds great promise, and there are many interested parties who wish to see a successful outcome. It is also quite sensitive. Anyone brought into this project must be completely trustworthy.”
I sank back onto the bench beside him. “And you’ve decided I’m ‘completely trustworthy.’”
“Enough to broach the subject. What you do with the information is up to you, though I believe you’ll ultimately see the value in it. You’ll certainly appreciate how mutually beneficial it is.”
I took in a deep breath. “Then let’s quit dancing around the subject.” I looked up and down the length of his massive flying garden estate. “You have the means to go back right now, I imagine. What’s stopping you?”
He turned to me with a wistful grin. “Time, Mooney. Time. The same inescapable hurdle that vexes you.”
I let my guard down. “Earth is almost two decades ahead of me right now. If I don’t go back soon, there won’t be much point.”
“Precisely. Travel fast enough to feel like it’s making a difference, and the problem only becomes worse.”
“I still don’t understand. You left behind everything you knew long ago. Why the sudden urgency?”
He patted his chest. “This old body is reaching the limits of Union longevity treatments. You can only tweak a man’s telomeres so far before his DNA becomes something other than human.” He coughed. “I need to get back.”
“Not content to die of old age here?” It was something of a jab, but I understood.
His face grew hard. “There are certain personal affairs I must tend to before my time comes, one in particular which the Union cannot provide.” Another cough. “Last rites, from an ordained priest.”
That was unexpected. “Yeah, I suppose there isn’t one of those within a few thousand light years.” It didn’t resolve the question of time, though. “I still don’t get it. This ship should be able to get you home in a matter of weeks.” It would still be much longer in Earth-centered time, but at this late stage it was hard to see how that mattered.
Gideon’s reply was terse. “It would be a long trip, and I’m in something of a hurry.”
I was growing tired of his evasiveness. “Well then, you’ve stumped me. If gravity drives aren’t fast enough, then how are you planning to do this?”
His eyes brightened, as if the faint glimmer of hope was tangible. “We’re calling it the ‘jump drive.’ It enables near-instantaneous movement across vast distances. Engage the drive and you disappear from one place and reappear in another. No warping of space, no acceleration to near light speed to cover the distance.” He leaned in and tapped his watch. “And no time dilation.”
My eyes widened. “So just like that,” I said with a snap of my fingers, “and we can be back at Earth?”
He shook his head. “Not quite. The quantum uncertainty principle is a difficult hurdle. My scientists have sufficient confidence it can be managed over short distances . . . on a cosmic scale, of course. We have to recalibrate the navigation logic after each jump.”
“How many jumps to get back?”
“Current calculations are twelve.”
Twelve skips and we’re home, without decades of time lag. What’s not to like about that? “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is we will be punching holes through one point in space and coming out the other side. Going through somewhere we don’t necessarily belong.” He fixed his gaze on me. “That can take a toll on the body.”
“You want me along to make sure you survive the trip.”
“In so many words, yes.” He pulled a data crystal from inside his jacket and made a flicking motion over its face. “Here’s my direct contact. You have forty-eight hours to decide.”