The Well of Time

by Robert I. Katz

  “My point exactly.”

  Arcturus put down his coffee and looked the Prime Minister in the eye. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Certainly not. You should understand, however, that others will.”

  Arcturus made a rude noise. “People have been accusing me of things for nearly a century. I am the isolationists favorite scapegoat.”

  “Second favorite.” The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. “After myself.”

  Arcturus grinned. “That is as it should be. It is your job to take the heat while I proceed with the serious business of saving the Empire.”

  The Prime Minister sighed. “We have already dispatched a fleet to rescue the survivors of Duval. They will demand that Akadius remove itself from the Duval system and pay reparations sufficient to repair all of the damage.”

  “Reparations for destroying an entire world? That will bankrupt them.”

  “That,” Khoory said deliberately, “is the idea.”

  “They will refuse.”

  “Then we will destroy them. Isn’t this what Michael Glover promised?”

  It occurred to Arcturus that his old friend enjoyed playing the Devil’s advocate.

  The Prime Minister grinned. “The misgivings I’ve expressed represent the fears of my colleagues. I want you to know that I don’t share them. A threat does not disappear because we ignore it.”

  “Let me play the Devil’s advocate in my turn. An ancient president of the United States of America once said, ‘If you see ten problems walking toward you down a road, nine of them will fall into a ditch before they arrive.’ The fact is that most problems do disappear if you ignore them.”

  Khoory’s face grew slack as he consulted his database, then his eyes lit up. “Calvin Coolidge,” he said. “Not known as being one of the best presidents of the United States.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Yes, well, we can talk for all eternity about which problems will grow and which will self-destruct if we pay them no attention but the only thing that will settle the question is time, but unfortunately, the one problem out of ten that doesn’t ‘fall into a ditch’ often winds up costing us more than we can afford. We will do what we think is best for ourselves and our allies and if we have to destroy a few minor threats in the process, our position will not be harmed by it.”

  “I do not know,” Arcturus said, “that the Well of Time is a minor threat. I suspect not.”

  Khoory, who had been thoroughly apprised of the situation, gave Arcturus a long, level look. “What are we doing to discover this Well of Time?”

  “Ptolemy has provided us with a number of leads. We’re following them up.”

  “Ptolemy…” The Prime Minister stared into his coffee. “Ptolemy is proving to be a difficult man to either predict or control.”

  “If you’ve read your history,” Arcturus said, “and I know that you have, you will realize that he always was.”

  “Gloriosa?”

  She looked up. She recognized the voice. It issued from the small speaker at the head of her bed. “I had hoped you would come back,” she said in a bleak voice.

  The voice sighed. “I have come back.”

  “Not as I hoped you would, and not for long.”

  “No,” the voice replied. “Not for long. I wanted you to understand that I am not human, despite the appearance of the body I was given to wear. I shall abide with all of you for a little longer. I am grateful for everything Michael Glover has made possible, but I am most grateful of all to you. You, more than anyone, allowed me to realize what it means to be human. I shall always remember that. My people shall always remember that.”

  “Why?” Gloriosa said bitterly, “Because I fucked your brains out?”

  “No,” Andrew Sloane said. “Because you were generous, and because you were kind.” He paused. “And also, of course, because you fucked my brains out.”

  Michael was pre-occupied, but unlike other men Frankie had known, whose attention turned inward when something was on their minds, Michael grew more focused. He stared around him, his eyes squinting, taking note of everything, cataloguing and assessing. Frankie, who by now knew him well, found this almost frightening.

  “What are you thinking?” she finally asked him.

  “I’m thinking of what I would do if I wanted to conquer the Universe.”

  This was not what Frankie had imagined. “Oh?” she said.

  He grinned at her. “Don’t look so concerned.”

  “I’m not happy with the idea of you conquering the Universe.”

  “But I think it’s useful to consider how I would go about it if I wanted to try. Johnathan Prescott-Jones, despite his reversals, is still a dangerous man, but here he is, in the middle of nowhere, helping a minor despot grow into a middle-sized despot. What do you make of that?”

  Frankie frowned. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “King Gustav, on his own, is not that large a threat. I keep asking myself why Johnathan Prescott-Jones and his unseen partner came here? What is it really, that they’re trying to accomplish?”

  “Why not here?” Frankie shrugged. “You have to start somewhere. Croydon will work perfectly well, if they’re planning on taking over the Universe. It’s far away. There’s no real opposition. They have plenty of time. What’s going to stop them?”

  “Us, of course.”

  “Well, don’t you have a high opinion of yourself?”

  Michael grinned, and Frankie immediately felt foolish. Could Michael Glover conquer the Universe? She frowned. “Well, luckily for the Universe, we’re here and we’ve discovered their plans.”

  “There’s an old saying that luck favors the prepared mind but I’m not a big fan of ‘luck.’ I’m thinking that there has to be more to it than this. The Imperium, the Corporate States and Croydon are all linked by what appears to be an unofficial web of private commerce. We’ve seen these linkages everywhere we go. They’re not as separate as they seem.

  “And this Well of Time…a well is a hole in the ground that stores water, but other things can be stored in a hole in the ground. In the ancient past, people used to put their gold and their jewels down wells, in order to hide them from thieves or invading armies. Treasure hunters and archaeologists love them.”

  “And what do you make of that?”

  “I don’t know,” Michael said. He frowned. “I’m still thinking.”

  After another two days of mulling his options, Michael came to a decision.

  “Illyria?” Captain Thorenson looked at him. “Why there?”

  “I have an idea,” Michael said.

  Chapter 23

  Sheila Atkins, still Prime Minister of her people, had welcomed them. In the end, over two billion citizens had fled the imminent destruction of the pocket Universe that had held their world, fewer than hoped but more than expected. The rest, refusing to believe that the dissolution of that Universe was imminent, had stayed behind, and had died.

  An enormous, unspeakable tragedy, without a doubt. Still, Sheila Atkins and the rest of the two billion survivors were looking forward to building a new life on a new world. They had settled into Illyria’s nearly empty Eastern continent, according to their agreement with the Navy, the Imperial authorities and Douglas Oliver, and with Illyria’s newly minted membership in the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind safely in hand, were busily constructing their new homes and cities.

  “You might think two billion of us would be crowded, and the cities certainly are, but it’s a big continent and there’s plenty of space to spread out for those who are more inclined to small town life.” Sheila Atkins smiled at them over her cup of tea. “We can’t thank you enough for arranging all of this.”

  “I was happy to help,” Michael said. “It wasn’t a sacrifice. All I did was provide transport for Catherine Halliday. She did the negotiating.”

  Catherine, sitting on a couch with a cup of tea balanced on her knee, grinned at him, at which Frankie ga
ve a tiny frown. Michael did his best to ignore both the grin and the frown.

  “And everybody has benefited.” Sheila Atkins seemed carefree. The smile never left her face. And why not? Her people had escaped the death of a universe and the future for all of them looked bright.

  “So,” Sheila Atkins said. She put down her teacup and looked Michael in the eye. “I know that this isn’t a social call. How can we help you?”

  “I need some information,” Michael said.

  “We’ve had a great time,” Matthew said. “We can’t thank you enough.”

  Matthew and Marissa had been excellent additions to the crew and Michael was sorry to see them go, but Douglas Oliver’s two middle children had spent the last few years roaming the galaxy and had finally gotten the urge to wander out of their systems. They were needed at home.

  “You’ll be welcome back,” Michael said, “if you ever change your mind.”

  “Probably not,” Matthew said, almost wistfully, “but thank you.” He wandered off to discuss something with his father.

  Douglas and Jennifer Oliver had welcomed them to their enormous estate on Meridien’s mainland. The party included the former Imperial Governor, Gregory Truscott, now Imperial Trade Liaison, Admiral Stephen Reynolds, head of the Imperial forces on Illyria, and Edward Lane, Executive Vice-President of Oliver Enterprises.

  “It’s good to see you again, Commodore,” the former governor said. “You’ve risen through the ranks rather quickly.” He was smiling but the smile held no malice. The former governor apparently knew the score.

  Admiral Reynolds attitude was strangely diffident. “If you could spare the time,” he said to Michael, “I would like to discuss some of your previous campaigns with you.”

  Michael inwardly sighed. The secret of his former life was evidently leaking out. “I will be sure to make the time,” Michael said.

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “But not quite yet,” Michael said. “We have a mission to complete first.” He hoped.

  The gathering was smaller than a ball but larger than a dinner party. Food was served from a series of buffet tables set up against one wall and the guests mingled as servants wandered through the crowd, serving drinks.

  Captain Thorenson was there, in dress uniform, and Emily Frazier, looking a bit out of place, standing close to Marissa Oliver. Emily, it seemed, had requested a transfer to the naval contingent on Illyria. Also, Gloriosa, dressed in a silky, almost transparent dress that showed off her lush, tiny figure, with Jeffrey Billings hovering by her side. Billings, apparently, had decided to put aside his uncertainties…or at least to try. Looking at Gloriosa’s face, however, Michael was uncertain that Gloriosa had put aside her own.

  Frankie frowned across the room at Billings and Gloriosa, then shrugged. Jennifer Oliver, standing nearby and noticing Frankie’s expression, shook her head. “Sometimes, it doesn’t work out,” she said.

  “Nope.” Not much else to say. Sometimes it didn’t.

  Jennifer smiled at Marissa and Emily Frazier. “Those two, on the other hand, seem perfectly happy, together.”

  Customs differed. There were still worlds that disapproved of same-sex relationships. Frankie, not wanting to offend her hostess, said nothing, at which Jennifer smiled. “Illyrians are an irascible and highly individual bunch. Nobody would dare to criticize someone else’s personal choices.”

  “They’re a good-looking couple,” Frankie ventured.

  “Yes, they are.” Jennifer smiled. “Marissa has always preferred the company of women to men. I’m her mother. I just want her to be happy.” Jennifer’s smile grew broader. “And grandchildren, of course. I want lots of grandchildren.”

  The technology to convert stem cells to either sperm or ova had been available for thousands of years. The parents’ sex was not a problem.

  Jennifer snickered. “My husband is a genetic anomaly. Did you know that?”

  Michael had mentioned that Douglas Oliver was brilliant, capable, and very, very rich. That was all Frankie knew about him. “In what way?”

  “Douglas is a throwback. He possesses nearly all the genetic adaptations that the First Empire gave our ancestors. They wanted soldiers who could adapt and function in any environment. Douglas has superior strength, hearing and eyesight, including infra-red and ultra-violet. He can slow his heartrate and metabolism and stay underwater without breathing for nearly thirty minutes. He has retractable claws connected to poison glands. He can generate electricity like an electric eel. He can detect magnetic fields, which gives him the ability to sense electronic devices and living creatures, even in the dark, and to navigate without mechanical aids.” Jennifer smiled. “Have you ever heard of 5-alpha-reductase deficiency, or androgen insensitivity syndrome?”

  “No,” Frankie said.

  “They’re genetic conditions, very ancient, which induced a partial sex change in humans.”

  Frankie stared at her.

  “Some animals do it voluntarily. Clownfish, for instance, and moray eels, often change their gender. Not so common in humans, but a soldier might need to hide from an enemy or blend into a population. It’s a useful ability.” Jennifer shrugged.

  “Your husband can change his sex?”

  “He’s never done it. Douglas is almost tiresomely masculine.” Jennifer smiled. “I’ve asked him to do it, now and then. I think it would be interesting. He’s always refused.” Jennifer looked over again at Marissa and Emily. Marissa had her hand on Emily’s lower back, casually rubbing up and down. “Marissa has changed more than once, just to see what it was like. She’s always changed back, but you see, Marissa and Emily will have no difficulty having as many children as they want.”

  “Here’s to children,” Frankie said, and sipped her champagne, then she looked at Michael talking with Douglas Oliver and gave a tiny frown. Children…

  Jennifer, watching Frankie’s face, smiled.

  The food was good, the company congenial. Frankie and Michael enjoyed themselves. Henrik Anson, Richard Norlin, Curly and Rosanna all mingled with the crowd. Curly, dressed in an expensive suit and looking quite at home, seemed very far from the unsophisticated farmer’s son he had been, not so many years ago. Rosanna, built like a blonde battering ram, seemed to impress even the extremely athletic Illyrians.

  “A problem has developed,” Romulus said to Michael’s internal server.

  Michael sipped from a glass of champagne and pretended to smile. “Yes?” he subvocalized.

  “Commander Dumas has released Aaron McDonald from his cell. The two of them, plus thirty-seven other men and fifteen women, all from among the ship’s naval contingent, are donning armor.”

  “Dumas…” Michael sighed. “I would not have expected Dumas.”

  “The situation is serious. He has released a worm into the internal grid, a type I have never seen before. It is attempting to subvert all of the ship’s functions.”

  “Attempting?”

  “I can partially resist it but the worm has removed nearly a quarter of the vessel from my control. I have eyes on the interior of the section that has been subverted but nothing else.”

  “Can you communicate with the troops inside?”

  “No. All personnel in that sector of the ship have been locked in their quarters. Most of them have not yet realized this. Those who have are trying to break through their doors, so far without success. I am unable to apprise them of the situation. All electronics have been subverted. Commander Dumas, meanwhile, has ordered all personnel to their quarters and declared a ship-wide emergency. I can try to counteract his commands but he is the senior officer currently onboard the ship and I lack authority.”

  “Great,” Michael muttered.

  Admiral Reynolds looked at him. Michael shook his head. “Any other good news?”

  “He also has access to the contents of the forward armory.”

  The forward armory contained individual firearms, plus a few low-level explosives. Enough to blow th
rough a few walls but not enough to destroy the ship. “What is his end-game?”

  “Unknown,” Romulus said.

  Dumas had thirty-eight men and fifteen women. He had managed to temporarily control a sizeable percentage of the ship but he had no chance of taking over, not against seven thousand enraged personnel. He might have been able to send poison gas through the ventilation system. He might have been able to capture the missile bays and rig something that would destroy Gehenna. Instead, he had chosen to establish a position from which he could do nothing except cause a small amount of damage. He had no chance of resisting the opposition that would soon be mobilized.

  “Has he made any demands?”

  “None.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  Romulus remained silent.

  Michael sighed. Douglas Oliver, who had evidently noted the far-away expression on Michael’s face, wandered over. “Problem?” he said.

  “Unfortunately.” Michael grimaced. “I’m going to have to leave the party. Gehenna is under attack.”

  Andrew Sloane did not enjoy being confined to a box. Luckily, the possibilities of entanglement provided an easy way to extend his senses. With Michael Glover’s permission, he had placed an extension of himself into the ship’s brain, and from this vantage, could observe and communicate throughout Gehenna’s vast extent.

  Andrew Sloane was perhaps the first to become aware of the enemy incursion, but this awareness lasted for mere instants as his consciousness swirled down into a deep, enveloping blackness.

  A few minutes later, Michael, Frankie and Captain Thorenson boarded a naval pinnace. Michael didn’t inform the rest that he was leaving. Let them party. One way or another, this incident would be over soon and a few more personnel would make no difference whatsoever. After twenty minutes, the pinnace docked against one of Gehenna’s airlocks. A contingent of armed marines met them in the docking bay.

  “Report,” Captain Thorenson said.

  One of the juniors saluted her. “No change. They’re dressed in armor and carrying weapons. They’ve spread out across all four decks.”