“I cannot answer that question. Perhaps they wanted to gather intelligence while entering our solar system? Who can say?” she replied.
“Let it go, Pat,” snapped the president.
Francesca looked to the president.
He nodded that she should continue.
“The monster who killed the guards and kidnapped my friends was, clearly, of an unknown alien race. Our weapons had no detectable effect on it, either. We have found no signs of injury, such as, say, blood, or tissue. Of course, a detailed forensic investigation is proceeding, as we speak. Perhaps we will become lucky and find some useful samples.”
“And the scientists?” the NSA director asked, open-endedly.
“I have no information on my associates, I am sad to report. Surveillance cameras confirm the alien grabbed them and took them with it to the spacecraft. At the time the portal closed, they all appeared to be unharmed. Dr. Sherman was, in fact, kicking furiously at whatever part of the alien he could reach.”
That brought a thin chuckle from some present.
“Thank you, Dr. D'Agostino,” said the president. “Let me know the moment you learn anything about our friends, or about our enemy.”
“I shall, sir. Thank you.”
“Now, I don't need to tell anyone in this room what a bad situation we find ourselves in. These aliens came here to seek payback for our partially successful attack on their fleet.”
“At least we kill some of the sonsabitches,” called out Desmond Clarke, the president's deputy chief of staff.
“Amen,” responded Payette. Then he winced, and looked to Beth.
“I got an amen for you, too, Frank. I'm sorry we didn't cure the galaxy of the scum,” added the minister.
That brought brief, but heartfelt, applause from everyone in attendance.
As the noise level dropped, the president continued. “Now, I'll be perfectly honest, because, hell, there's no reason not to be, at this point. I do not know why those grey freaks of nature haven't killed us all, yet. I mean, what are they waiting for? Clearly we cannot resist them. They said they were going to, just that our four scientists were special. They are going to be killed, presumably, more cruelly. Now their ships are gone, and we're alive to be here now.”
“Maybe, Frank,” Beth said gently, “they decided we weren't worth it. Maybe, God turned their hearts.”
“With all due respect, Beth, I very much doubt those goons have hearts for the good Lord to sway.” He retuned his focus back the the entire group. “Botton line, here, people. In whatever little time we have left to us as a species, let us not waste one second of it. I want more of those wormhole guns, I want more ships in orbit, and I want every nuke on Earth to be altered or transferred so it can be used against our enemy.”
He paused a few moments, breathing heavily. “I also want to evacuate as many human off this doomed rock as fast as possible.”
There was a flurry of gasps and chatter.
“Quiet down. Quiet down,” he seethed.
The noise dropped considerably.
“Now, we do not have time for fancy space stations with spectacular greenhouses. No. What I want is human DNA off Earth. That way, when the aliens do decide to obliterate us, a precious few of our great people might survive. We can't give them much to work with, but, God willing, good old human ingenuity will win out over the darkness.”
“What portion of our limited resources do you propose to syphon off to this … endeavor?” asked the new Head of the Joint Chiefs. He was clearly not a fan.
“I hear you, loud and clear, Pierce. Honestly, I want a lot of our efforts to be in support of a lifeboat fleet. But, lest you chafe under your collar, let me say this. I don't think we have enough time left to us to do more than stuff a few fertile men and women into tin cans lined with C-rations. That's about all we can spare and that's about all we can realistically do. They'll need a water recycler and air purifications units.
“Here's the deal. The more time my key people sit in a dark room gabbing, the less likely we are to survive as a race. I expect each and every one of you to work your hardest. I expect miracles, people. I will accept no less. This will likely be the final large meeting any of you will attend. You're welcome.”
That got a lot of laughter.
“Stay connected, work harder than you ever have, and give me results. This meeting is adjourned.”
As soon as the POTUS stopped addressing the room, he turned to Russell Williams and started to describe something, in a low voice. He got about ten words in. He was forced to stop because of the raucous applause, the standing ovation, directed toward him. He smiled, then raised a hand. Waving toward them, he said, “Very nice. Now, get to work.” He returned to his private conversation, but his smile lingered.
TWENTY
My triumphant return was … anti-climatic. No one was standing around on the time ship, where I'd departed from. Sure, I presumed this trip wasn't instantaneous, but, come on. Faced with the very real possibility I was incapacitated or dead, they couldn't even post a vigil? Maybe a candle, with an attached note? I get no respect.
I headed toward the TSR, the logical place to look for my inconstant crew. As I entered, not only was I not greeted like the returning prodigal son, no one even noticed me. Sachiko was tapping on the time sphere shell, with Tank and Sapale pressed in close, staring with anticipation. She stomped her right foot, then she tapped the sphere twice and stomped her left foot. When she concluded that pattern, and was apparently unsatisfied with the results, she stepped back obviously frustrated.
“Is that a new pagan ritual, paying homage to the time vault?” I asked.
They all turned, looked at me fleetingly, then returned their full attention to the time vault.
Tank began slapping his right palm on a surface, once. Then he slapped the surface with the back of that hand and the palm of the other hand. Next, two right slaps and two palms on his left. Ah, he was trying to send a coded message, 0-1 and 1-1. He repeated the signally a few times, then he gave up in frustration.
“Hi, my name's Jon Ryan. I have traveled though time itself to bring you this.” I held out what I'd been able to find for them.
Sapale turned, set a hand on her hip, and asked, “What's that?”
“Mastodon meat,” I replied, holding it up higher.
“Gross,” snapped my wife.
“Aren't those endangered?” asked Sachiko, resting her finger tips over her lips.
“No. They're extinct,” I responded.
“Ah, actually that's a lot worse, you pig,” scorned my mate.
“If it's any consolation, this particular mastodon was already dead.”
“Even more piggy, grossy,” snarled Sapale. “You scavenged dead meat for the humans.”
“No, it's a long story. Look, they don't have to eat it.”
“But, I'm starving,” responded Sachiko.
“Then you're dining on pachyderm, I'd predict.”
“Sounds good to me,” declared Tank. “In war, we all make concessions to normalcy. I wonder if there's a grill on board this heap?”
“Just randomly curious,” I said. “What are you doing?”
Sapale placed a defiant look on her face. “While you were gathering rotten meat, we were attempting to communicate with the ship.”
“Did you try speaking to it, directly?” I queried, while blinking rapidly.
“N … no,” responded Sapale.
“Hi, floor, can you hear me?” I said in the tone you might speak to a toddler.
For a second there was nothing. Then the floor and walls began to rumble, but very softly. Fairly quickly the vibration reached the audible range, I estimated ten thousand Hertz. I swear I heard, “Zzzzzz … yezzzz.”
“The floor did not just say yes,” mumbled Tank.
“Nnnnn … nnoo,” came from all around us.
“See, I told'ya so,” Tank said very unconvincingly.
“No, the floor did not say yes. The s
hip responded yes,” I corrected.
“Yez.”
“Shit on a waffle with whipped cream, the floor just spoke in English,” I exclaimed.
Sachiko stroked the wall. “It's not a floor, it's a mighty ship sailing through time and space.”
“Did the damn thing just coo?” asked a skeptical Tank.
“No, and watch your mouth.” she continued to stroke the wall. “What is your name, mighty sailing ship of the stars?”
“Aramthella.”
“What a pretty name. Aramthella.”
“It's a name, pretty or not.”
“My name is Sachiko Jones. I'm very pleased to meet you.”
“Tell me, Sachiko Jones, how it can be you're pleased? You do not know me, as of yet.”
I was impressed how quickly the ship mastered the King's English.
“That you have sheltered us and tolerated us makes me pleased to be able to acknowledge your help. That pleases me. Where did you learn to speak our language, Aramthella?”
Man, was she a natural diplomat. I would not, however, hold that against her.
“The body maker learned it. When it knows something, I know that thing, too.”
“I met Body Maker-lop. He was not very nice to me.”
“It is not a nice entity.”
“Is it nice to you?”
“It's neither nice nor not nice. It regards me as its ship. I am its ship.”
“What do the creatures that live on you call themselves?”
“The clan.”
“They are a clan. But do they have a name?”
“No. Names are meaningless to them.”
“Did the clan build you?”
“No. The clan can't build. They took me long ago from the race that made me.”
“There are other ships the clan uses. Are they like you?”
“Some. Others are stolen from other species. The clan is ruthless and opportunistic.”
“Then why do you serve them?”
Aramthella was quiet a moment. “I don't serve them. I am their vessel.”
“You could choose not to be.”
“How do you arrive at that assertion? The clan is not a democracy. If I asked them nicely to leave, they wouldn't comply. They stole me to serve them. They feel they own me. It has been that way for an extremely long time.”
“But if you know they are bad, and you would rather not serve them, why not fight them?”
“Ah, you see a just universe and estimate that in this imaginary place, I might be a freedom fighter. Noble, but naive. I have no reason to fight my current owners. Perhaps some background would help. I was constructed billions of years ago in a part of the universe very far from here. I was designed to collect time-energy. I collect it, and I am fed by it. Without it I would cease functioning. I would, in your reference frame, die. I have no desire to die.”
“Can't you collect time on your own? Why do you need them or any pilot?”
“I choose to allow a crew. I have regenerative capabilities, but there have been instances where I needed repair. I risk too much not being crewed.”
“But you allow yourself to be used to damage galaxies. How many innocents must have died because of the clan's cruelty?”
“Yes, they have. Countless trillions. But, you assume I have choices, or that I even desire freedom, in that regard. You further assume I think like you do. If I resisted them, they would not allow me to survive. If I cast off the present crew, another would come and take their place. If I resisted to the point that they felt I was not controllable, they would destroy me. We all make choices. I have made the one that keeps me the safest for the longest. In time, the clan will fade away, as all civilizations do. I can wait them out. In time my existence will be different.”
“Better different or just different?”
“I will find out when the time comes. I am designed to continue forever. That is my goal. I choose to do nothing to jeopardize that plan.”
“I would rather die than serve such horrible masters.”
“You are not an immortal time-energy harvesting space vehicle. I am.”
“Ah, kiddo, I suggest you drop the altruistic browbeating and lighten up. We still have a lot of work to do. With the ship talking to us, now, that just got a hell of a lot easier. What do you say?”
“I was not browbeating Aramthella. We were just talking.”
“I side with Tank on this count,” I piped in. “It felt like gentle, well intentioned, coercion to me.”
“If you two think alike, I'm in real trouble.”
“Come on,” Tank held out a hand to guide her away from the barrier, “my little moral compass.”
So, we had ourselves a ship, sort of. Especially since Stingray was unable to defeat one of these time ships, that was a good thing. Now, if we could consolidate our … well, maybe not control over, but solid working relationship with Aramthella, we had at least a small hope of not dying as a species. Yeah, I'd call that a good day.
We learned a lot, from that point forward, and quickly. Funny what a simple conversation can convey. The answers as to how long the time-locks lasted, what the decay rate for our time-energy was, as well as information about the other ships sailing in Aramthella's pod came freely from her. We also got a commitment from her that she would alert us if any other ship came looking to find out why the clan on this ship were so quiet.
I pressed her as to how the ship could isolate, absorb, and store time-energy. The physics behind those processes were just too foreign to me, however. Maybe she was explaining it poorly, but I think it was honestly just beyond my comprehension. I hated, by the way, any humbling intellectual experience. Where was Dr. DeJesus, when I really needed him?
On a practical level, we discovered that we couldn't, in fact, drive stakes through the crews hearts while they were frozen. A time-lock was absolute. We were free to operate since we initiated the lock. But any matter outside that exemption was absolutely inert. We had to release the clan member to kill them. As alluring as that prospect was, I held off killing what could be useful hostages, or trading chits. They weren't causing any trouble, frozen as they were, aside from looking so damn ugly. If we did end up staying on Aramthella, I'd just throw white sheets over them all. As to the extent of a time-lock, it extended as far out as one willed it, but was limited by the rate one could project time-energy. For our soft, inexperienced bodies, that range was about a kilometer.
Having a bitching new ship, and a new lease on not dying immediately, my concerns returned to that of establishing a plan. What we needed to do was unimaginably difficult. Easily the biggest challenge Sapale and I had ever undertaken. We had to defeat an enemy with immense power, countless in number, who were unburdened by any morality or restraint. Compared to the Berrillians, Adamant, or even the ancient gods, these guys were going to be basically impossible to beat. Well, sure, our side had me, and that had been just enough, many times before. But, I hated to go to that well too often. Sooner or later, one's luck always runs out.
Into my thoughts, a hollow, mechanical voice echoed. “There is a problem, Sachiko. Its importance places it before all other concerns.” Aramthella spoke blandly, as if she was bored.
“Ah,” I raised my hand, “chopped liver, here. You can tell me what the prob is. I am the captain. You know that, right?”
“Are you a captain by military rank, or by virtue of piloting a ship?”
“The ship thing. Otherwise I'm a general.”
“Well, General Ryan, while you may be the captain of a ship, you are not the captain of this ship.”
Huh?
As I stood there befuddled, the other three jogged into the TSR.
“In my reality, a captain chooses a ship, not the other way around,” I huffed.
“I'm happy for you, in your reality, General Ryan. This is not, however, your realm. It is my realm.”
She sounded pretty firm on that issue.
“I want Jon Ryan to be your captain,” S
achiko called out, no small trace of panic in her tone. I wasn't sure if that was because she didn't want to offend me, or she was scared spitless to assume the captaincy of such a critical vessel.
“That is nice to know. But, the decision has already been made. It will not be reversed, Captain Jones. I am at your command.”
“Thanks,” she either asked or stated, while looking sheepishly to me.
“What about this problem you mentioned?” I queried.
“The time maker has realized us. It is not pleased,” the ship said.
“Is it here, aboard you?” Sachiko asked, in a frightened tone.
“No,” she replied, almost seeming to chuckle. “Time Maker-ppp exists far from here, both in space and in time.”
“Then why is it being aware so important, then?” I pressed.
“It knows time has been frozen. It is imbedded in all time.”
“No, wait, that's not possible. You said we can freeze time for only a kilometer, give or take.”
“That is true.”
“So, if this time maker is far away, how could we affect it enough so it would know?”
“Because it's the time maker.”
“But … it's impossibly far away,” observed Sachiko.
“In a few thousand years, perhaps you will have learned enough, such that I might clarify this issue. For now, please know it was unaware of your actions, and that it is now awake to them, and … er …”
“What? Is it mad? Pissed?” I asked.
“It is uncertain in a way it dislikes. It feels compelled to heal time.”
“That doesn't sound so bad.”
“It is not, if you're either the time maker, or the ship's clan member crew. Otherwise, that process involves … er, unpleasant consequences.”
“Ah. Could you give me an example of unpleasant?” she asked, nervously.
“Your galaxy could be deleted. That would remove the source of the anomaly.”
“And that would be unpleasant.” she shuddered. “Is that likely?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It is likely to exact a much worse revenge. The time maker is … sorry, I'm new to your language—”
“No, not a prob,” I reassured her.
Ryan Time Page 20