by Baen Books
“-- my foot, asshole,” someone was yelling at him, and someone else punched his shoulder and said, “You got a problem, dickhead?”
“I’m sorry,” said Vickery as he backed out of the group, “I’ve got bad vision, didn’t see you, sorry.”
Several of the people turned to frown back at him as he retreated toward the fence, but the spectacle on the other side of the street soon reclaimed their attention, and Vickery hurried away north on the sidewalk.
He pulled his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his windbreaker. It was a burner phone, and if he called the police with it, he would have to throw it away, and a new one would cost fifty dollars; but he sighed and flipped it open and tapped in 911. It was little enough, but it was all he could do for her.
Soon a woman’s voice answered: “911, what is the location of your emergency?”
“An apartment building on Hoover, just south of the 10 overpass,” said Vickery, “a woman was shot there about twenty minutes ago, there’s cops there now. But I was across the street, and a guy ran out of that apartment right after the shots were fired, blond or white-haired, in a dark sport coat, and he got into a light-colored late-‘90s Saturn and drove away south, license plate 2HRC518. I—I think his name’s Eddie.”
“You know him? Do you know the woman?”
Vickery shut the phone. I never knew her, he thought, but we both liked the book she called It’s A Sin to Kill A Mockingbird.
He thought of hurrying back to the clearing beside the freeway, but he knew that her ghost was gone now, carried away in the current generated by the ever-moving free will charges in the rushing freeway lanes.
Rest, Scout, he thought, in that peace that sustains you when everything’s gone wrong.
He looked ahead at the many-colored signs already visible at the Washington and Hoover intersection, and he hoped he’d be able somewhere to get a big mug of coffee, bitter as wormwood and black as a ghost lost forever in the past.
Out of the Vortex
Steve White
At a distance of thirteen and a half astronomical units, Tau Ceti—a smaller star than Sol, with only a little more than half its luminosity—provided very little light. But that light was sufficient to enable Commander Ian Takeda, RSN, gazing at the viewcreen in HMSS Hawke’s bridge, to glimpse the shuttle that had departed the hollowed-out asteroid that was Washington Station.
“Here he comes, Captain,” said Lieutenant Commander Caitlin Malone, the first officer, unnecessarily.
“So I see, Number One,” said Takeda with a nod. He was a tall, slender, aquiline-featured man, the Japanese half of his ancestry manifested mostly in high cheekbones and dark eyes. He was also quite young for his rank, and Hawke was his first command. She wasn’t one of the mighty dreadnoughts of space—the first through third rate ships, in terms of the old rating system that the Royal Space Navy had resurrected from the age of sail to avoid confusion with modern wet-navy ship types—but rather a Benbow class fifth rater, suitable for cruiser-type duties. But Takeda hadn’t yet outgrown a thrill of pride whenever he saw her, with her sleek aerodynamic lines suitable for atmospheric transit, and the flag that adorned her flank—the Union flag of the Britannic Federal Empire.
At the moment, however, that pride was in abeyance, as was everything except disgruntlement with the mission he had been assigned.
Divining the skipper’s mood, Malone essayed a pleasantry. “Being a New American, I’ll wager he’s relieved to get off Washington Station. I mean, a name like that . . . ”
Takeda smiled briefly. “I’ve been assured that he isn’t one of the diehards.”
Malone turned thoughtful. “I suppose it wasn’t really the most tactful possible choice of a name for the Navy’s base in this system.”
Takeda said nothing. He himself was from the Viceroyalty of North America—specifically, from the Dominion of Oregon that occupied the Pacific coast between Spanish California and Russian Alaska. (His paternal grandparents had been among the refugees who had flooded Oregon when Japan had been bloodily incorporated in Greater China.) So he understood what the first officer meant. Where he came from, George Washington was revered for having accepted the rapprochement that had resolved the First American Rebellion five centuries earlier, and then having suppressed the rebel holdouts led by Benedict Arnold. But New America, the habitable lesser component of the binary planet system occupying Tau Ceti’s fifth orbital position, had been colonized by irreconcilable North American separatists. Arnold was their great historical hero, and they ranked Washington with Judas Iscariot.
And now, Takeda thought, instead of doing the kind of work my ship is intended to do, I’ve been ordered to chauffeur some New American scientist out to the middle of nowhere.
“Well,” he sighed, “he’s almost here. I’d better go down and meet him. You have the conn, Number One.”
* * *
Elijah Willett, Ph.D., was a slight, middle-aged man of no great stature, with a narrow face and mild, pale-blue eyes. A couple of assistants followed him out of the airlock, bearing luggage and crates of apparatus.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” asked Willett with a smile. “Is that the correct formula?”
“Close enough.” Someone, thought Takeda, must have told him that a ship’s commanding officer was addressed as “Captain” even if he was a mere commander in rank. They shook hands.
There was, Takeda reflected, always a certain awkwardness in dealing with New Americans, given their anomalous relationship with the Empire. Their ancestors had traveled to Tau Ceti in suspended animation, their fifty-year voyage humankind’s first and only slower-than-light interstellar colonizing expedition. They had arrived at their destination a little over a century ago, only to find that while they had slept their way to the stars the Bernheim Drive had been invented on Earth. The discovery that the Empire they had sought to escape was already established in their promised land was something from which they still had yet to recover. However, the Empire had been quite reasonable about it, allowing them to set up their colony and permitting it a unique semi-autonomy, with a standing offer (never accepted) of Dominion status. It was an arrangement the New Americans were able to live with, save for the Sons of Arnold, an organization which advocated full independence . . . and which, as had recently come to light, included an extremist faction prepared to go beyond mere advocacy.
“I’m under orders to afford you every possible assistance compatible with the safety of my ship and crew,” said Takeda. “But I must say I’m somewhat in the dark as to the purpose of this expedition of yours.”
Willett’s blue eyes sharpened. Takeda had never pretended to be a master at concealing his emotions, and he suspected the scientist had detected his lack of enthusiasm for this mission. But when he spoke, his voice was mild.
“Well, Captain, I’ll do my best to enlighten you. If we could go somewhere . . .”
“Certainly.” Takeda turned to a yeoman. “Take Dr. Willett’s assistants to their quarters. Doctor, let’s adjourn to my cabin.”
* * *
As soon as the door of Takeda’s cabin slid shut behind them and they sat down, Willett spoke in the same mild tone. “Captain, correct me if I’m wrong, but I can’t avoid the impression that you’re not altogether happy with your orders.”
Takeda didn’t bother with patently insincere denials. “It’s nothing personal, Doctor. But this ship is here as part of the Navy’s general buildup in the Tau Ceti system since the recent events that have brought to light the existence—and hostile intentions—of the Gharnakh’sha. Our job is to patrol this system against any further funny business on their part.”
“We’re not technically at war with the Gharnakh Unity,” Willett pointed out.
“We might as well be! We’ve learned that their aim is to undermine the Empire and build up the Islamic Caliphate, which they consider less of a threat to their precious fossilized social system. Before we destroyed it, they had a secret base here
for the express purpose of working to our detriment in league with the Caliphate and,” Takeda added pointedly, “with the Sons of Arnold’s terrorist elements.”
Willett reddened slightly, for Takeda had touched a sore spot. “Captain,” he said evenly, “there are always extremists, who are an embarrassment to the majority. As I’m sure you are embarrassed by those in the Empire who, rumor has it, are willing to throw New America to the wolves—or, rather, to the Gharnakh'sha—in order to buy peace
“You said it yourself: that’s just rumor,” said Takeda stiffly. “My very presence here is an earnest of the Empire’s commitment to defend the Tau Ceti system.”
“And you’d like to get back to doing that job,” said Willett with a smile. “Well, to a certain extent you are going to be doing that job. It is precisely because of the possibility of inimical alien activity in this system that a warship, rather than some unarmed research vessel, has been assigned to my project.”
“But Doctor, I’m still not clear on just exactly what your project is.”
Willett leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Captain, have you ever heard of Jonas Yoder?”
“I can’t say I have.”
“Hardly surprising. He was a New American physicist of a generation ago, widely regarded as a genius but also as something of a crank.”
“What sort of crank?”
“Partly it was a matter of his politics. Though not an advocate of violence, he was an opponent of the Imperial connection, declaring often and loudly that the failure of the First American Rebellion was a tragedy.”
“I thought that was the general opinion on New America,” Takeda couldn’t help interjecting.
“Let’s just say he was more vociferous than most. In addition, his theories were unorthodox to say the least.” Willett hesitated. “He was interested in—no, obsessed with—the concept of alternate realities.”
Takeda blinked. “The concept of what?”
“It’s very difficult to explain.” Willett visibly organized his thoughts. “Without going into a lot of theoretical physics—”
“Please don’t,” said Takeda hastily. “My physics is strictly of the practical variety.”
“Very well. To put it as simply as possible: for every decision that can be made between two alternatives, both are made, and . . . well, the universe splits in two.” Willett looked pained. “Both states of reality are equally real.”
“As far as I can see, only one of them is,” said Takeda dubiously.
“Well, you see, upon the collapse of the wave function—”
“Uh . . . Doctor . . .”
“Sorry. What it means is, the observer only sees one such state of reality. But branching realities are basic to quantum mechanics.”
“So as I understand it, you’re saying that there’s a universe where the Persians won at Marathon and the present-day world is living with the consequences of that. And another where the Spanish Armada carried it off. And another . . .” Takeda’s skepticism-dripping voice trailed off as understanding dawned.
“I see you’ve grasped it,” said Willett with a smile. “Yoder was imagining a reality in which the First American Rebellion was not patched up, and the colonies won their independence. He was convinced that such an alternate universe must exist.”
“Sounds like the wish was father to the thought,” said Takeda drily. “And at any rate, it could never be anything but a theoretical possibility—a subject for daydreaming.”
“Ah, but that brings us to the most controversial of Yoder’s ideas. He believed it was possible to access alternate realities. And he was fanatically determined to do so, and make contact with a universe where, by his lights, things came out right in North America five hundred years ago.”
Takeda could only stare.
“The idea was dismissed by his colleagues as twaddle, and it destroyed his academic career,” Willett continued. “But he didn’t let that stop him. He had enormous inherited wealth, and he squandered all of it on a specially equipped spacecraft and a great deal of strange and seemingly useless equipment. Accompanied by a few disciples, he set out for the outer reaches of the Tau Ceti system. Captain, could you call up a system display?”
“Certainly.” Takeda activated his desk computer, spoke instructions, and a holographically projected image of the Tau Ceti system appeared in midair above the desk.
Takeda’s mind automatically superimposed over it the imaginary clock-face that was still used for bearings even though digital clocks had been universal for a couple of centuries. Tau Ceti was at the center, surrounded by the orbits of its close-in family of planets. Much farther out, Washington Station was at a bearing of about seven o’clock, lying within the extensive “debris disc” that circled Tau Ceti between the radii of ten and fifty-five astronomical units. The latter was about how far out the display extended.
Willett pointed outward from the center on a bearing of three o’clock—which, Takeda recalled, was where the Gharnakh base had orbited, at sixteen astronomical units from Tau Ceti. “According to Yoder’s theory, the alternate reality linkage device he intended to construct would work best outside any significant gravity field. So he proceeded outward along this bearing, intending to go well beyond the outermost limit of the debris disc. He remained incommunicado after declaring that his next report would silence his detractors. But nothing was ever heard from him again.”
“Was a search conducted?”
“Yes, after a time. But the volume of space involved was so vast that it was hopeless. Nothing was ever found. It was surmised that Yoder’s experiments had gone awry and destroyed his ship.”
Takeda shook his head, puzzled. “This is all very interesting, Doctor. But I still don’t understand its relevance to your expedition—and my orders.”
“New facts have emerged recently—facts sufficient to arouse the interest of even the Admiralty. Hence your orders. You see, one of our observatories recently detected what were believed to be indications of a hitherto unknown planet orbiting Tau Ceti out beyond the debris disc. A ship was sent to investigate. The supposed planet turned out to be a chimera. But, purely by accident, the vessel’s sensors detected a seemingly inexplicable flux of exotic energy still farther out—in this direction.” Willett again indicated the three o’clock bearing.
“Are you saying it’s thought that this may be linked to Yoder’s experiments? That he may actually have succeeded in creating some kind of . . . gateway, and that it may still be open?”
“That is precisely what I am going out there to determine.”
Takeda grew thoughtful. “You know, Doctor, it may surprise you to learn that history has always been an interest of mine. And nothing I’ve ever read has given me any cause to doubt what I, like all of us, was taught in school: that the First American Rebellion never stood a chance, and that the peaceful settlement on the basis of imperial federation was the best possible outcome. In fact, the more history I read, the more I’m convinced of that second part. Empires evaporate if they get too big relative to their power base. That would eventually have happened to the British Empire if its power base had remained limited to just one little island. As it was, North America and, later, other colonial countries were incorporated into a power base that grew to keep pace with the Empire’s expansion.”
“Much as Rome incorporated other city-states on a basis of dual citizenship.”
“Exactly.” Takeda felt the pleasure a history enthusiast always feels at discovering a kindred spirit—rather like a Mason encountering another Mason. “Now, if that peaceful settlement hadn’t happened, the only alternative I can see is that the war would have dragged on, with more bloodshed leading to more bitterness. So after the inevitable British victory, a harsh, repressive rule would have been imposed, with mass treason trials, wholesale hangings, no more local self-government, and the American colonists left as sullen, unhelpful subjects—a calamity for everyone concerned.”
“I think I un
derstand what you’re saying, Captain. If Yoder did succeed, he probably found a universe he liked even less than this one.” Willett paused. “But are you certain the British victory was inevitable? What if, somehow, the Rebellion had succeeded?”
Takeda made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, come, Doctor! I know you’re a New American, but you’re also a rational man. Everyone knows the rebels couldn’t possibly have won—that’s the consensus of all reputable historians. A large portion of their own population wasn’t behind them. The British had total command of the sea and the most highly professional army on the planet. And even if by some miracle the rebels had won their independence, their ‘United States of America’ would never have lasted. They undoubtedly would have fragmented into a patchwork of squabbling little agricultural states, pawns in the geopolitical games of the European powers.”
“Well, Captain,” said Willett with a smile, “it’s just barely possible that we may resolve some of these questions.”
* * *
Washington Station orbited well outside Tau Ceti’s “Secondary Limit,” beyond which the Bernheim Drive could warp space around a ship, enclosing it in a space-time bubble not limited to the velocity of light. But going superluminal within Tau Ceti’s debris disc was frowned upon—the density of space detritus was low, but any collision with a substantial object could damage or even wreck the drive. And, at any rate, it took some very careful piloting to not overshoot one’s objective across mere interplanetary distances.
Thus it was that Hawke accelerated outward in slower-than-light mode, with the drive folding space and thereby reducing normal gravity in front of the ship. Still, at four hundred gravities of pseudo-acceleration (fortunately unfelt by the ship’s occupants, who would have been in a state of free fall had it not been for the artificial gravity generators) the voyage was not a long one.
Willett explained that Jonas Yoder’s ideas for an alternate-reality linkage device were related to the drive. “We don’t know the details,” he admitted. “Yoder was very secretive, and he took all his notes with him when he departed. But it seems to have something to do with the fact that the drive changes the shape of space around the ship by wrapping negative energy around it. Negative energy, like negative mass, is allowable only in the microcosm—the domain of quantum mechanics. But of course you know all this.”