Pilot X

by Tom Merritt

  “Sure. That’s true,” said Pilot X. “But they’re usually from the same time period. When segments have been sent back from the future, their future knowledge is carefully guarded. Yours isn’t. You weren’t prepared for this. The Progons of this age will make great use of this. Verity, prepare to withdraw the shield and eject the Sensaurian. The vacuum should keep his information well preserved.”

  “Shutting down force field now.”

  Well done, thought Pilot X. Withdrawing the field from the pod was instantaneous. Verity was bluffing.

  “Wait,” said the Sensaurian. “We are not unwilling to negotiate. But you exaggerate. Time cannot be changed. What happened in this war has already happened.”

  “Has it?” Pilot X knew this was largely true. “Timelines exist in bundles. Certain points are fixed because the bundles always converge there. And in a sense you’re right, because all the bundles exist in a sense. But are you willing to jump to a new bundle? A bundle where the Progon war ends up the same but rages farther and higher and strengthens them more? Sometimes cataclysmic events can wipe out whole timelines and replace them. Are you willing to risk that this isn’t the beginning of one?” Pilot X knew he was oversimplifying, but he was trying to strike the tone of a Guardian of Alenda who knew the intricacies of timelines. For he was Alendan. Everything he said was broadly true, although he exaggerated how common it was. Switching across bundles was difficult. Rewriting whole timelines was almost impossible. Almost.

  “We need not be exclusive,” said the Sensaurian.

  What was this? A bargaining point? Now Pilot X was out of his depth. He’d hoped he could intimidate the Sensaurian into just backing down.

  “What do you mean? I don’t want to date you.” The Sensaurian didn’t get the joke.

  “That is not the proposal. We do not have to be the only ones with a presence on Pantoon. We do not have to be the only civilization with access to Pantoonian archives. The Alendans could do so as well.”

  Pilot X knew little of negotiating, but he sensed he shouldn’t give in too fast. Plus, he would need to convince the Pantoonians to go along with moving from total independence to having two overlords. Wait. Not overlords. Embassies. And to head off Progon trouble, why not give them one too? But how to convince the Pantoonians? Just the reduction in Sensaurian influence alone might be enough, but—

  “The archives,” he snapped, causing the Sensaurian to jerk. Then Pilot X remembered something. If he proposed his plan to this Sensaurian segment, the entire Sensaurian Civilization would remember it and have time to plan a countermove. Had they already?

  “Verity, take us back as close as you can to our departure from Pantoon. I don’t want more than an eyeblink.”

  “Moving,” said Verity, as he felt the timeship jostle against the extra weight from the pod.

  The Sensaurian was motionless, communing with the current Sensaurian state. It took less time than before, likely because they had centuries to prepare. Were they prepared for him before? Maybe they hadn’t fully integrated. Maybe it was a trap. He would find out soon enough.

  Before the Sensaurian could speak, Pilot X said, “You must not take access to the archives. You must offer the same affiliation and presence to the Progons.” He paused and then added, “And you must not remember the conversation we had in the past.”

  He expected resistance especially to this last point. It was a wild hair.

  “We do not remember this conversation. We agree to your terms.”

  The Sensaurian was probably lying, but Pilot X had the agreement he wanted. He couldn’t prevent traps now, in any case. He had no idea what form they would take.

  “You will contact the Alendan Ambassadors, the Progons, and the Pantoonians. Once that’s done and confirmed, I will release your pod. Verity, close the door and secure the pod.”

  The door closed. If all went well, which Pilot X fully expected it wouldn’t, the Pantoonians would protect their secrets and benefit from closer trade ties and a permanent tripartite presence. And who knew? The interaction of the three civilizations might calm things down overall.

  Pilot X left Economist Rex’s hospital room. The Economist was recovering well and would be back on his feet soon. He thanked Pilot X profusely, which embarrassed the Pilot a little. He had just left the Economist lying unconscious in front of the pod for most of the time.

  Only after the rather stunned Ambassador Uy had contacted Pilot X to confirm what was being proposed did Verity open its door again. And only after an official Alendan Ambassadorial team and a Progon envoy arrived and were confirmed safely on Pantoon did Pilot X release the pod. And only after all that was done had he tended to Economist Rex. Still, he supposed the Economist had missed all that, and in his mind, Pilot X had probably got rid of the Sensaurian and raced him back to Alenda and safety. The Economist had not yet been brought up to speed on events, and the doctor had warned Pilot X not to bring it up quite yet.

  As Pilot X neared the front doors of the hospital, a Messenger arrived. How genteel. Was it a birthday party? Some kind of anniversary soiree? Physical Messengers were usually only sent as some kind of highly stylized method of inviting someone to a personal event. It was the highest of fashion in Pilot X’s home space-time.

  “Instructor X?” the Messenger asked, approaching him. This stunned him. He had never been an Instructor, nor did he have plans to be. He was hoping Ambassador Uy’s plans would make him an Ambassador, not an Instructor.

  “Pilot X, if that’s who you’re after,” Pilot X answered.

  “Oh!” The Messenger looked very surprised. “My apologies, I’ve come to the wrong place,” he said and turned on his heels and left.

  Well, well. So Pilot X would someday be Instructor X and someone would send a Messenger to him and get the date wrong. Oops! Spoiler! He wished he would have played it cool now and found out a little more info. Well, he supposed he’d have to wait a few years. One couldn’t become an Instructor unless you exited a main corps—like the Diplomatic Corps, for instance. And he was only just now on his way to Ambassador Uy’s to get that possibility off and running.

  Ambassador Uy’s office was in an unfashionable corner of the diplomatic complex. A curtain with a broken loop hung askew across the window. Dust coated random surfaces, puffing and moving on its own due to a crack in the window glass. Piles of data-storage devices from several eras cluttered the shelves alongside ancient paper books stored on their sides and a few clay masks from foreign planets. The desk was old and wooden and creaked whenever anyone touched it. The Ambassador didn’t even have the excuse of it being temporary. His team was assigned to Alenda.

  The office did not inspire confidence. Pilot X assumed he wouldn’t be offered a better one, and thought he might turn down an office and just work out of the Verity. The fact that he could continue to pilot was a great asset to Ambassador Uy, given the amount of travel his team did. That was one of the reasons Ambassador Uy had recruited Pilot X. He’d have to serve as Ambassador Uy’s trainee for a couple years and pilot some other Ambassadors around, but that was all right. He couldn’t expect to get his own field post right out of the gate.

  Ambassador Uy leaned back and chuckled. “Pilot X. How’d you like to have your own field post right out of the gate?”

  Pilot X choked.

  “Don’t look so surprised. You’re the brave Pilot that stopped the Sensaurians from occupying Pantoon without firing a shot. You don’t know how hot to hire you several future-posted Alendan Ambassadors were. But our rules are very specific about using time-sensitive knowledge for persuasion. I lucked out. I never got posted in a place where anyone had heard about what you did and I recruited you anyway. In fact, I got accused of cheating by more than a few fellow diplomats, but they’re just jealous. I wanted you for fieldwork, and now there’s no reason to wait. You’re preapproved, son!”

  Pilot X choked some more.

  “What do you say, Ambassador X?”

  “Yes,” Ambassad
or X croaked.

  THE CORE

  He spent his first few weeks as an Ambassador attending many meetings and parties. Ambassador X’s kind of meteoric rise could cause jealousy, but he didn’t feel it. Everyone seemed genuinely enthusiastic about what he did on Pantoon.

  “You’ve set the table for peace! An actual peace between the three parties,” said one aged Ambassador who must have traveled enough to know whether what he was saying was true. “I don’t mean some glorified truce like we have scattered all through the timeline. I mean locking down threads and reducing war to a minimum. A star-burning peace, I say!” He slapped Ambassador X on the back and took a drink, his eyes glittering with the brandy.

  His initial missions were mostly local and somewhat ceremonial. He went to Layglifer, the nearest planet to Alenda, to confirm the yearly alliance and friendship of the two planets. He sat at a table for a short period of time with an Ambassador from Layglifer, signed an actual piece of paper with an actual pen, and then went to an amazing dinner.

  He flew the Chief Guardian of Alenda to Pantoon. The Chief Guardian was a ceremonial post. He would meet with the High Sensaurian and the Progon Central Commune Unit. In other words, the highest-ranking but least powerful officers in each civilization were getting together.

  Ambassador X also did some low-level trade negotiations between various small civilizations here and there. He even settled a transit path dispute with the Fringe Cascade using his experience as a Pilot.

  Nothing he did was historic. Nothing he did made a real difference. After a while the novelty of ceremony wore off. He kept his complaints to himself and tried his best to enjoy the high life he now lived. He felt guilty for not being more excited. Many people would eagerly trade places with him. No one on Alenda was actually impoverished, but others in the universe were. Still, he wasn’t ungrateful, just bored. That wasn’t his fault, was it?

  Assignments like this went on for years until one day, Ambassador Uy called him in for what he assumed was a normal check-in. Ambassador Uy had aged. His face looked lined and his hair was gray. At least this time. Alendans didn’t always meet each other in chronological order, but Ambassador Uy tried to. He was old-fashioned that way.

  “Ambassador X,” he smiled and stood in greeting. His smile as always was genuine and warm. “Sit down. This isn’t the last time we’ll meet for you, but it is for me. I’m sorry not to make a synchronous end to our relationship, but I think you’ll understand. Well,” he chuckled, “I know you will. I just came from your last meeting with me. Risking a paradox there, I suppose.” He chuckled again. “Ambassador X, I’m putting you up to the Secretary to replace me. I know you’ve been underused, and I apologize for that. It’s the nature of our business sometimes. It may have felt boring, but it was a great service to me. It could have been seen as an insult to send a staff Ambassador for some of the ceremonial duties you’ve taken on. Your celebrity helped there. Some of the smaller logistical matters you’ve handled so well would have been blown out of proportion if I’d taken them. Your newness helped there. But you’ve served without complaint, and for that I thank you.”

  Ambassador X nodded.

  “There is one more assignment I must ask you to take before I can step down, because it would not be appropriate for you to do it after you took my place.”

  “Of course, Ambassador. What is it?”

  “I need you to attend a meeting with the Alendan Core.”

  Ambassador X’s pulse rose. The Alendan Core was the oldest continuous linear society on Alenda. It predated the ability to travel through time. Time-traveling Alendans had confirmed its existence back into preindustrial times, though it had been called different names in its history. Its members forswore time travel in order to maintain a unique linear perspective on society, which they offered for the benefit of whoever might want it.

  Their activities were shrouded in mystery.

  “I would be honored,” said Ambassador X.

  “We’ll see about that,” answered Ambassador Uy.

  It was a childhood dream of every adventurous Alendan to be approached by the Core. Ambassador X couldn’t understand Ambassador Uy’s response, but he wasn’t given more time to think about it.

  “Every quarter the Diplomatic Department sends a representative to meet and speak with the Core. Since the Core doesn’t travel through time, they request we not provide any information except strictly what they request. They don’t expect us to keep track of where in time they are in relationship to where we’ve been, so they tailor their questions very narrowly. Sometimes they don’t even ask anything but merely meet to assure us they still exist. Sometimes they don’t even do that. But we send someone every time anyway.”

  “Who will I meet with?” asked Ambassador X.

  “I don’t know. We never know,” he said and grunted dismissively. “We keep the agreement. We take notes. We report back. The report gets logged by the Ambassadorial Division of Chronography, and we move on. I don’t even know why we do it, really. They never give us any information. But still they provide a valuable service in other ways, historical mostly, so it’s best to keep them happy, I suppose.”

  “When and where?” Ambassador X asked. Ambassador Uy’s attitude was dampening his spirits just a little.

  “A couple years ago.” Ambassador Uy looked down. “Before your encounter on Pantoon. We, uh, actually forgot to meet with them, to be honest. We always try to schedule the appointments before they happen, but they understand when we don’t. I know sending you could be considered a bit of a spoiler, but they don’t mind that sort of thing for some reason. Just don’t tell them anything that happened. Study up a bit on events surrounding that space-time. Verity has the location.”

  Ambassador X nodded.

  When he returned, Verity had already prepared for the jump. He would meet with the Alendan Core in a restaurant, a comfortable place that served mainstream food. It seemed like an odd place to meet with a secret society. Ambassador X was to sit in a reserved booth near a window and wait to be contacted.

  He wondered if the restaurant was a ruse to stop them from being followed. Maybe the Alendan Core would blindfold him and take them to their secret headquarters. Maybe Ambassador X had read too many adventure novels as a boy. The location of the Alendan Core headquarters wasn’t a secret. Unless that location was a ruse! He really needed to stop.

  The Verity put down in the nearest landing lot, a long walk from the restaurant. Ambassador X enjoyed the novelty of stretching his legs in this suburban segment of the Alendan capital. He saw people out everywhere and wondered what they did. Shouldn’t they all be at work? But he supposed they were. And shouldn’t those kids be in school? Well, maybe not. He had no idea what hours or schedules kids kept. Maybe this was a holiday break. Or maybe this was school. Maybe kids were assigned to go play with each other on the street for an hour a day and report back with their findings. He so rarely moved in these kinds of circles anymore; he had no clue what normal life was like.

  He found the restaurant. It took up a large area on the corner of two streets. Huge glass windows gave the diners inside commanding views of a park across the street, an office building, and several other businesses. Why anyone would need a commanding view of any of this, Ambassador X was unsure. But the park was nice, especially in the warm afternoon sun.

  The building was one story and had a ledge made of rough material that extended from the roof, giving the windows shade but not blocking the view. He entered through a door set where the two walls of glass met at the end of a small walkway. Inside, a podium surrounded by green plants sat unattended. Past it was a counter where single patrons could sit. To his left and right were booths and a few tables.

  He watched the cooks making food behind the counter as he waited for someone to help him. The air smelled lightly of grease, not too thick or unappealing.

  “Welcome, stranger,” a voice said, and Ambassador X looked back to the podium to find a prim young man in a
standard blue service gown.

  “Well, thank you.”

  “It’s a sunny day, isn’t it?” asked the man.

  “It’s beautiful. Your restaurant has a lovely view of the park.”

  “Yes, it certainly does,” the man said airily. “Are you from here?”

  “Nearby, yes. Though not this immediate suburb.”

  “Oh, are you in the Capital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Amazing what’s been happening there. I have a friend who works in Administration. Administrator Tezel. You wouldn’t know her, would you?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, she was telling me all about the latest incursion by Progons. It’s starting to concern me.”

  They chatted for a bit about current events. The young man was curious about life in the Capital. Ambassador X liked the boy. He never caught his name, though.

  “Party of one?” the man finally asked.

  “Yes, for now, but I reserved a booth. Ambassador X.”

  The young man didn’t flinch at the title, which was surprising. Half the people he met were impressed by the Ambassador title alone. The other half recognized his actual name.

  “Of course, I have it here,” the young man said while looking at a screen, showing no indication that he recognized Ambassador X. “Right this way.”

  He led him to a rich red leather-clad booth looking out over the park. All the booths in the restaurant were immaculately cared for. Ambassador X almost didn’t want to sit on them, they were so lovely.

  “Our menu is right there,” the young man said, indicating the booth’s screen. “Just touch what you want or press the Serve call button if you have questions. Enjoy your meal.” The young man smiled and left. Ambassador X chuckled.

  “Android,” a voice said. Ambassador X turned and saw a large man in a dirty white shirt leaning over the seat from the next booth. “All the Waiters here are androids. I heard ya laughing. They are kinda funny. Say everything you’re supposed to say, way up on current events, but never crack a joke. Never talk about human things, if you know what I mean. No personality. That’s why I prefer the Mandalor’s Stump. Real people. But man, that place is expensive. I can’t be a regular there, no way. My name is Driver Yenz.” The man stuck his hand out in greeting.