by Nick Webb
He pointed at the lines he’d drawn, almost like the branches of a tree on its side. “We are on this timeline, where these quantum decisions have been made. And you want to go back to this point,” he tapped on a spot where two lines converged, “where your family died, and bring them forward to this point, where we are. Except the way we are doing it is wrong. The quantum effects of the singularities will always interfere with the quantum reality of what you’re trying to change, and it’s not going to work out.”
Shin-Wentworth closed his eyes. “Are you saying my family is dead in this timeline, and will always be dead in this timeline?”
“Kind of, but not quite. It’s more like, once an irreversible process like a death occurs, trying to change that is, well, it’s irreversible. One thing I didn’t tell you about the video,” Wiggum looked down at his feet, then up at Shin-Wentworth again. “I saw your family. Before the matter from the Findiri singularity showed up and destroyed their bodies, they were already dead. Something about the quantum effects of traversing the Einstein-Rosen-Rao bridge interfered with . . . something, perhaps in their brains, and by the time they exited, they were essentially brain-dead, according to the readings from the holoprojector drone.”
Shin-Wentworth fell silent for awhile. “And you’re saying in this universe, that’s irreversible. But not in other universes.”
Wiggum pointed to where the very first lines diverged from a single point. “Observe. We always say the universe began at the Big Bang, at the first Planck second. But that’s wrong. The universe, and all other possible universes which spring from the Big Bang, existed for perhaps an infinite amount of time before that, in a different physical reality known as inflation. Think of it as a nearly infinite region outside of space-time that eternally inflates and increases in energy much, much faster than the Big Bang ever accomplished. But then, bam! Something happens—we don’t know what—and the universe transitions from inflation to our present view of space-time. For our universe, the epoch of inflation ended here,” he tapped on the first point, “and our universe began. But other universes are still in inflation. And, side note, all universes will end up back at inflation, since their expansion accelerates faster and faster. Eventually our universe will expand so fast it’ll rip apart into a new epoch of inflation, giving rise to new universes.”
Shin-Wentworth waved his hand back and forth in annoyance. “Yes yes yes, but what the hell is the bloody point?”
“Long story short—” began Wiggum,
“Too late,” said Shin-Wentworth.
Wiggum sighed, and mouthed something under his breath that looked a lot like experimentalists. “Long story short, we need to make a singularity that goes all the way back to inflation, then forward from there in time along a different quantum path than ours. Except the path needs to be almost entirely the same. Exactly parallel. Just one quantum transition needs to be different, soon after the Big Bang in that universe, such that the universe unfolds the exact same way as ours in nearly every respect. Then you reach your target time of three-odd days ago, grab your family, and continue on the rest of the way here.”
“But what’s different in that universe compared to ours?” said Shin-Wentworth. “I’m not going to rescue my family in a universe in which the Swarm destroys us all the next day.”
“The difference, hopefully, is that maybe there’s a hydrogen atom out in the Orion Nebula that is shifted a few meters away from its current position in our universe.”
“Hopefully?”
Wiggum shrugged. “That’s the best-case scenario. In reality, there’s no telling what the difference could be.”
The enormity of that one statement weighed on Shin-Wentworth. He imagined the weight of the world on Captain Granger as he made the life-or-death decisions that affected billions. He made them in an instant.
“Let’s do it. How?”
Wiggum started rubbing the pen marks off the wall, before realizing they were permanent. “We need to use a pair of two-dimensional singularities that are linked through a path that crosses the Inflation Barrier. The primary problem is the necessary power to initiate one. Our power plant puts out, what, a few terawatts?”
“Nearly twenty.”
“Oh, okay. But still, not nearly enough. To initiate a two-dimensional singularity that reaches all the way back to inflation? We’d need, oh . . .” He trailed off, wiggling his fingers as if counting on them. “A million terrawatts?”
Shin-Wentworth didn’t know if he should laugh, scoff, scold, or yell at the man for wasting his time. “A million? Where else besides the Western Hemisphere power grid on Earth are we going to—”
And then it hit him. There were already two-dimensional singularities in existence that were powered by energies that high.
Wiggum was way ahead of him. “Yeah? You think it’s possible?”
“Only one way to find out, I suppose,” he said.
“Can we even get it aboard the ship?”
Shin-Wentworth shrugged. “Do we even need to?” He tapped on the comm button nearby. “Bridge, this is the Commander. Start q-jump calculations for Chantana Three.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Veracruz Sector
Chantana III
Vestige Corvette Legend
Jasper dialed in the coordinates that Qwerty sent over and powered the engines to full. “We should be down there in just a few minutes. They might not see us. There’s a lot of ships going in and out right now for the evacuation.”
Granger watched the dry barren surface of the planet approach, and could just make out the giant hole in the ground that started to open up at their approach—two sliding steel doors that slowly withdrew from each other.
“It’s too much of a coincidence. Oppenheimer has to know I’m here somehow,” said Granger.
Jasper shrugged. “Maybe. Does that change anything?”
“I guess not. We’ve still got a job to do. Just changes the timeline a little.”
The corvette entered the hole, and Jasper piloted it down past at least ten kilometers of rock, only lit by the lights on the exterior of their ship. When they finally entered the caverns below, Jasper gasped. “Wow.”
“Wow indeed,” murmured Granger. Below them was an entire city, streets running in haphazard directions in true Trit style, buildings of varying shapes and sizes, all stretching off into the distance. The space was immense. Whatever technology had been used to carve that space out—which he understood extended around the entire planet—was incomprehensible. And yet he, Granger, was at the root of it. Somehow.
“Almost to the coordinates they gave us. Looks like a little landing pad next to one of their government buildings. I think.”
Jasper set them down next to what looked like the tallest tower in the city. Not huge, running up only fifteen or so stories, it still dwarfed all the buildings around it. Outside was a delegation waiting to meet them.
“Old-man-et-cetera, at last!” said one of them as they stepped off the corvette’s hatch. One of the Trits came up to greet them, followed by five smaller Trits—what Granger assumed was the being’s children.
“Varioosh, I presume?” he said.
“Correct,” she said. Granger assumed for some reason it was a she. It was like he just knew, instinctually, or possibly based on distant memories he didn’t even realize he still had. “I am almost incapable of believing that it is you, and that it is me that gets to be the first to greet you. I am overwhelmed with positive emotions, almost to the point of wanting to throw you over my shoulder and escort you to a grand feast.”
“Thank . . . you?” he stuttered.
Qwerty leaned over and whispered, “Eating is kind of a big deal to them.”
Granger side-eyed him. “It’s a big deal to me, too.” He turned back to Varioosh. “Actually, I’m famished. Is this a real feast you’re referring to? Or just a . . . joke feast?”
Varioosh’s eyes got bigger. “There are no joke feasts among our people, Old
-man-et-cetera. Come with my children and me. We will discuss the message Leader Klollogesh has for you as we eat.”
“And I come for another reason too, Varioosh. Long ago, it is my understanding that I came among you. Is that your understanding as well?”
She bowed slightly. “It is.”
“And when I was among you, I left a book.”
Her eyes crossed slightly. “Book?”
“Yes. A book. A collection of paper bound together with words on it.”
“Paper?”
Oh god, these people. “Yes. Books have information written in them. Sometimes technical information. Or stories.”
At the word stories, her eyes got bigger. “Stories! Yes, we have many stories.”
“Good. Can you show them to me?”
“Show them? I do not understand your strange sentences, Old-man-et-cetera. But I can tell you some stories. Leader Klollogesh can tell you all the stories. That is why he is Leader, of course.”
“I see,” said Granger glancing over at Qwerty.
“If I’m not mistaken, Captain, I’m starting to think that the Itharan culture is almost entirely oral. In all this time I have yet to see anything written beyond the short text transmissions we exchange with them.”
Granger sighed. “Great. So one of them has the entire Voynich Manuscript memorized? At least maybe that means it’s already deciphered for us.”
“That’s entirely possible.”
Varioosh held out a hand to her side indicating that they follow her. They entered the government tower and were led through a maze of rooms and hallways and random spaces that apparently served no purpose whatsoever, at least that Granger could tell. Each space was filled with what to him looked like random collections of equipment, furniture, and tables of half-eaten food. Granger made a mental note never to ask a Trit to design any building for him—or anything at all, for that matter.
Eventually they arrived at what he could only guess was a large banquet hall, as there were at least a dozen circular tables scattered about the space, all laden with food.
It smelled delicious.
“Have you ever tried Trit food, Mr. Qwerty?” murmured Granger to his side.
“No, Cap’n, can’t say that I have.”
Varioosh led them to the table closest to a wall on their left and pointed at it. One of her children tried to grab something off the table, but she batted its hand away, making a tsk sound. Some things were common across all cultures, he figured.
“Old-man-et-cetera. As the guest of prime importance, the honor falls to you to consume the first delicacy. In fact, all conversation may not begin without it.”
Granger made a pained smile, looking down at the dish she had indicated. Several squid-like things were moving, mixed in with some leaves of green and purple. “Please. Time is of the utmost importance. Perhaps we all just eat and move on to the main event? Can we dispense with some tradition for the sake of, you know, the impeding emergency? You did see the other ships that just arrived in orbit?”
Varioosh looked almost solemn. “We did. And I have skipped over at least ten different culinary customs of ours in the interest of speed. But this one we must not skip, Old-man-et-cetera. It won’t take a moment.”
“Fine.” He knew that if he spent any time at all thinking about what he was about to do, he might not do it. So he grabbed one of the moving squid-like things and popped the whole thing in his mouth. He bit down several times until the thing stopped moving, then swallowed as fast as he could before any gag reflex could trigger.
Varioosh’s eyes grew wide. She bowed halfway and held her hands out above her head in some kind of act of . . . respect? Granger could only guess. “So it’s true! You are truly Old-man-et-cetera. It is told in our stories that this was your favorite dish. That you couldn’t get enough of it when you were among us.”
His mouth felt like it was simultaneously on fire and drowning in bitterness. He’d never tasted anything so awful, and was glad he’d finished the thing before he could even process what it tasted like, or he’d have never finished. “Happy,” he coughed and forced back some acid reflux, “to be back. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
A door opened off to the side and another Trit, followed by four smaller exuberant youngsters, entered the room. “Many thanks to you, Varioosh, ghingza gryk klollog I will entertain Old-man-et-cetera from here. You must board your evacuation ship. Ghunza tlosh The bad humans are here, and the worse humans are undoubtedly not far behind ghingza gryk tallog sta,” said Klollogesh.
Granger glanced back at Qwerty. “Translator glitchy?”
Qwerty shrugged. “Seemed to work fine with Varioosh. Maybe he just has a wider vocabulary?” He tapped a few buttons on his handheld and looked at some of the parameters on the translation program. “I think we’re getting the gist of it, though.”
Varioosh had left, her children in tow, and Klollogesh was beckoning to them to follow him through another door. “Come. Quickly. The bad humans have threatened to destroy our world unless we hand you over to them.”
“What bad humans and worse humans are you referring to?”
Qwerty was examining his handheld. “Uh, sir, just detected several ships that q-jumped into orbit.” He looked up with a face of consternation. “One of them is the Resolute. Oppenheimer’s flagship.”
“And where Oppenheimer goes, the Findiri are probably not far behind. Great.” He turned to Klollogesh. “Are you taking me to them now? It would be understandable, to save your world,” said Granger.
“Ha! Fligli ghosh. Very humorous, Old-man-et-cetera. Dhash shoglin Not after your display of eating the most foul, disgusting, revolting delicacy known to any Itharan fliglish ghash. The stories tell that you were the only alien to ever tolerate it without launching the contents of your single stomach across the table. Come.”
Granger tried to parse the Trit logic of that statement, but failed, and so fell into step behind Klollogesh. He led them through another maze of rooms and corridors with some urgency. Occasionally his children would get sidetracked and begin chasing each other or playing with objects in some of the rooms and Klollogesh would bark something at them that the translator couldn’t identify, though his meaning was clear.
Their destination soon became clear too when they exited the building onto another landing pad, though not the one where they’d left the corvette. Granger looked over at one of the other nearby landing pads and saw the Legend perhaps a quarter-kilometer away. Here, two Trits stood in the hatch of one of their ships, beckoning them forward.
Jasper stopped. “Wait, what about the Legend? Why aren’t we taking my ship?”
Klollogesh shook a finger. “Plohlosh shlogun it is not safe for you to leave in your own ship dharmasha ghosh. Ghilimsha ghoshaga. Rholishlik ghoshantik ghash.”
The translator seemed to be having even more trouble with Klollogesh’s speech. “You think that Oppenheimer is waiting outside for the Legend? And that it’ll be safer for us in one of your ships?”
“Ha! It is like you read my mind before I even say the words tlohthla shoghosh. Ghoshaga tloth The stories about you don’t even cover half of your greatness, Old-man-et-cetera. Tlohthla ghoshag sa shaltha.” Klollogesh looked up at the distant roof of the endless underground cavern.
Granger followed his eyes. Several dozen kilometers away he could see a bright flashing light, midway between the ground of the cavern and the roof several kilometers above it. “What is it?”
“It is the technology you gave us, Old-man-et-cetera, centuries ago dhloshlag gloshlag sa sha. It is what enables us to live under the surface of Ithar Three. It saddens me greatly that we must leave. Ginzaga glosh.” He glanced down at his handheld device. “You must hurry. The worse humans are almost here.”
“The Findiri?”
“Yes. Gloshag tlitlith. Ghingza gryk klollog. Ghunza tlosh. Ghingza gryk tallog sta.”
Granger glanced back at Qwerty, who looked down at the translator
program on this handheld, and shrugged. His own handheld beeped, and he glanced down at it.
A wide transmission. From Fleet Admiral Oppenheimer—his face appeared on his screen.
“This message is to every being under the surface of or in orbit around Chantana Three.” He paused, and allowed his translator package to convert the sentence into what sounded like Trit to Granger’s ears. He continued. “We’ve tracked the traitor Timothy Granger to this world. We have no quarrel with the Itharans or the Eru. But I warn you that if you do not hand him over to me aboard this ship, there will be severe consequences.”
The translator converted the message and fell silent. To Granger’s surprise, Klollogesh waddled over to a screen on the wall and flipped it on. Oppenheimer’s face appeared there, and the Trit spoke, waving Qwerty over to bring his translator package on his handheld.
“Leader Oppen. Fligli ghosh I can confirm for you that we have Old-man-et-cetera among us, dhash shoglin.”
Oppenheimer listened to the translation, and looked confused. Qwerty added, “He means Granger, sir.”
“Then I give you twenty minutes to deliver him to me aboard my ship,” said Oppenheimer.
Klollogesh made a sound that Granger couldn’t decide was laughter or a snort of derision. Or just something caught in his throat. “Fliglish ghash and what will you try to do if I refuse?”
“We will occupy your world, take your leadership into custody, add Chantana Three to the new Human-Findiri empire, and arrest Granger anyway.”
“Do you have the force with which to back up this humorous threat plohlosh shlogun?”
Oppenheimer looked enraged. “You tell me.” He looked down and tapped something out of view. He looked back up and smiled. “I assume your sensors are working? Or at least just look up.”
Granger glanced down at his handheld, linked back to the Legend, and brought up a scan of the space around Chantana Three. Four large Findiri ships had just q-jumped in and were approaching the planet, settling into a low orbit. He looked up at Klollogesh in horror.