by David Weber
A single time axis appeared on the chart with various points highlighted with chronometric data.
“Okay, so let’s backtrack the model to its origin.”
Additional lines overlaid the first and traced theoretical paths into the storm’s past.
“The storm must have had an initial phase of violent expansion. That’s obvious from our observations. After all, we were cruising along at seventy kilofactors, and it overtook us, but now it’s slowed to only twelve factors and is still slowing. Fortunately, the model supports that as well. Unfortunately…”
“Yes?” Raibert asked.
“Unfortunately, that one percent error gets compounded the farther back we calculate. I’m going to end up with a range of values for the storm’s origin. A fairly wide range.”
“Better than nothing. What years are we looking at?”
“It’s…hmm.”
“Yes?”
“Hmmmm.”
“Philo?”
“Hmmmmmmm…”
“Come on, Philo. Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the range?”
“Looks like the storm could have originated anywhere between 1905 and 1995.”
“That’s…a lot of ground to cover.”
“Best I can do with the instrumentation we have. If we could come back with another TTV, or even several, we could form an array and increase the accuracy. We might even be able to trace the origin down to a specific decade or maybe even a single year.”
“But for now, all we know is that some event—who knows what?—but some event in the timeline between 1905 and 1995 tangled all these universes together and created this storm.”
“Yeah,” Philo nodded. “That about sums it up.”
“And the storm is moving forward through time, gaining on the present. What happens when the storm crashes into the Edge of Existence?”
“Good question.” Philo opened a fresh chart. “Give me a minute.”
Raibert leaned back from the table with both hands firmly on the railing. The timeline of the universe wasn’t infinite in both directions. It had a definitive end point that currently existed in the year 2979 and continued to move forward at a pace of one second per second or a time factor of one. That point in the timeline was referred to as the “Edge of Existence,” though it was also sometimes called the “True Present” or the “Age of the Universe.” No future existed beyond the Edge of Existence because it hadn’t been created yet, and no TTV could visit a part of the timeline that didn’t exist in the first place.
“Hmrph,” Philo murmured, studying a chart that was almost completely covered in field lines. “That’s not good.”
“Define ‘not good,’” Raibert asked pointedly.
“Well, think of the Edge of Existence as the immovable object and this storm the Knot created as the irresistible force. When the two meet, bad things are going to happen.”
“But the storm is slowing, right? Didn’t you say it was slowing?”
“Yeah, but the reason it’s slowing is because the storm is accumulating energy. Lots and lots of energy. We basically have fifteen other universes pouring chronometric energy into our own. And yes, the storm is slowing as a result of that, but it’s an exponential decay. No matter how much energy it accumulates, it cannot drop as low as one time factor, which means it’s always going to be gaining on the Edge of Existence and the two will eventually meet.”
“And when they meet?”
“Boom.”
Raibert squinted suspiciously at the avatar.
“Define ‘boom.’”
“Okay, maybe ‘boom’ doesn’t quite cover this,” Philo admitted. “Imagine the big bang.”
“All right. That’s not where I thought you’d start, but okay.”
“Now imagine it happening at every point across the entire universe all at the same time.”
Raibert swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
“Now imagine that release of energy burning up the entire Knot and the backflow of chronotons triggering big bangs in another fifteen universes.”
Raibert stared at the chart for nearly a minute before he could finally speak again.
“Philo?”
“Yes?”
“Boom is not a sufficient way to characterize this.”
“I know.”
“This isn’t a boom! This is the apocalypse! We need to stop this! Is there even a way to stop this? Please tell me there is!”
“I think so. We just need to unravel the Knot. Undo whatever core event created the initial entangling of these sixteen universes. We do that, we cut this storm off at the source, and the pent up energy will dissipate before it reaches the Edge of Existence.”
“But that means we have to search through ninety years of history!”
“Yeah, that’s the tricky part, and we still have no idea what sort of nature this ‘event’ might take.”
“This is too big for us.” Raibert shook his head. “We need to get back to the thirtieth century and warn the Ministry. Hell, warn all of SysGov.”
“Agreed,” Philo said, nodding emphatically.
“All the resources of our entire society need to be thrown at this. Every TTV mobilized. Our best minds, both physical and abstract, brought to bear. We can’t screw this up. We need to find a way to unravel the Knot before our universe is destroyed!”
“You’re absolutely right, but there is a small silver lining in all this.”
“If there is, I don’t see it.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Philo tapped the time index on the current chart he’d prepared.
“What is…ooooh,” Raibert exhaled, and his mood immediately brightened.
“The storm front is slowing,” Philo began. “At its current speed and rate of decay, it’ll catch up to the Edge of Existence in thirteen hundred years.”
“Will it now?” Raibert stepped back from the table and smiled ear to ear. “So we have some time to sort this out.”
“Well, the Knot is getting worse. I suppose it’s possible it’ll wind itself up so tight that not even fixing this event in the past could unravel it. That might happen somewhere between now and the forty-third century. It’s hard to say more without better data. But yeah, we have some time.”
“Well then!” Raibert rubbed his hands together. “I guess there’s no point to sticking around here anymore. Any reason we can’t head back home and give everyone the bad news?”
“I don’t see why not,” Philo said with a grin that mimicked Raibert’s. “It’ll be bumpy, but we’ll get through the storm, and once we’re through, it should be smooth sailing all the way to 2979. Figuratively, of course.”
“Well, of course.” Raibert let out a long sigh of relief. “Whew. I am so glad this is going to be someone else’s mess to fix.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Admin suppression tower Portcullis-Prime
2979 CE
Jonas Shigeki leaned back in his chair, propped his boots up on the desk, and closed his eyes. His Personal Implant Network negotiated a connection with the Earth-based server for Worlds Beyond Ours, and the loading screen filled his virtual vision while a simplified and softer rendition of the game’s theme music played over his virtual hearing.
The game finished loading, and Jonas found himself in the cockpit of his newest starship, one of the exceedingly rare—and extremely expensive—Star Racers. He’d actually spent a hefty sum of real world money on the ship at a developer’s auction rather than rely on the in-game currency, but its stats were worth every dollar he’d burned on this little luxury.
The spacious black and chrome cockpit materialized around him, filled with charming but anachronistic buttons, levers, dials, and blinking lights. A planet striped with azure and magenta bands loomed beyond the forward-facing bubble canopy, and he took a slow, satisfied breath in the real world. It had been a long, hard slog to get here during his last session, but finding this planet amongst WBO’s procedurally generated star systems had
made every beam hit and asteroid collision worth it.
Jonas commanded his in-game avatar to click a few switches and shove a lever forward, prepping the Star Racer for descent. He reached for the throttle, and an alarm warbled in his virtual hearing. Not an urgent you-are-under-attack alarm, but more of a do-you-really-want-to-do-this cautionary note. He frowned and surveyed his dashboard one more time.
And then he noticed the source of the problem. The Star Racer had only two tons of fuel left. He could land on the planet, but his ship didn’t have enough propellant to pull back out of the gravity well.
Well, shoot.
Jonas blew a breath out the side of his mouth and logged out of the game. He put an open hand on his desk, let his PIN integrate with the office infostructure, and placed a call.
The recipient acknowledged the call almost immediately, and his voice came over Jonas’s virtual hearing.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, Sung-Wook. How’s it going?”
“Just bored out of my skull like usual. What’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“Okay, you need to clarify that,” Park Sung-Wook said cautiously. “Do you need my help or need my help?”
“The second one.”
“Thought so. Is this something that can wait until later? I’m at work right now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jonas replied. “But you just said you were bored. Are you even doing anything?”
“Just staring at an empty scope until my eyes bleed. Same as everyone else here.”
“Then you can afford to take some time out of your busy schedule and help me out. Right, pal?”
“Maybe, but you know what a stickler for the rules my boss is.”
Jonas laughed so hard some of the air snorted out of his nostrils.
“Is that so?” he added once he could breathe again.
“Yeah,” Sung-Wook said. “The guy can be a real hard ass sometimes.”
“Well, then maybe I should talk to him. He and I go way back, after all.”
“I don’t know. I’m still a little leery about this. What if it ends up on my next performance review?”
Jonas rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to end up of your performance review, okay? Look, I just need you to spot me some fuel in WBO. That’s all.”
“Did you go joyriding and lose track of where you were again?”
“No. I’ll have you know I knew exactly what I was doing the whole time.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I got forced into making a few bad jumps, is all, and now I’m a little bit stranded.”
“Is that like being a little bit pregnant?”
“Sure. Whatever. Now, could you please just send one of your ships over to mine?”
“Why not call in a tow and save both of us the trouble?” Sung-Wook asked.
“Well, because I don’t want the coordinates for this planet becoming public knowledge. If I call in a tow, this thing is going to show up in the forums and then everyone is going to want a piece of it.”
“Yeah, right. It can’t be that good.”
“Can’t be that good, huh?” Jonas opened his WBO offline status in his virtual sight and read the stats of the planet he’d discovered. “Eighty-seven percent ultra-rare flora. Fifty-two percent ultra-rare fauna. Twenty-eight percent ultra-rare resources.”
Sung-Wook whistled. “Damn! You seriously found a triple-ultra?”
“You bet I did!”
“Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“Because you know I like messing with you.”
“Can I have a share of the loot if I help you out?”
“Well, I don’t know. That depends,” Jonas replied, grinning.
“Come on, man. Please?”
“Okay. Since you asked nicely, I guess I could part with some of it. How’s a quarter sound to you?”
“A whole quarter? Hell, I’ll get one of my ships heading there right now!”
“Thanks, man. Much obliged.”
“Which sector are you in?
“Thirty-seven-double-zeta.”
“Okay…yeah, I’ve got a ship in an adjacent sector. Just send me your exact coordinates and I’ll bring the juice.”
“Sent,” Jonas said. “Oh, and watch out for the pirates on your way in.”
He logged out of the call and leaned back with his hands behind his head.
“Yep. All in a day’s work.”
He stretched back luxuriantly. A quarter of his loot would be a major profit for Sung-Wook, but no more than a friend was worth. Besides, he thought, without the juice, I couldn’t make it home to claim any of the loot, and that— The sudden, raucous sound interrupted his thoughts with no warning at all, and his eyes went wide as he realized it was the suppression tower’s general klaxon. He’d never heard it outside a training exercise in his entire career, and the abrupt blast of sound startled him so badly he nearly tipped his seat over before he grabbed the edge of his desk and pulled himself up.
A report flashed into existence over his desk, and he skimmed it quickly.
“Oh, shit!”
Jonas bolted out of his chair, grabbed the peaked cap off his desk, and hustled to the door. Malmetal parted to let him out, then pinched shut behind him as he hurried down the stairs, his long ponytail bouncing with each step.
“Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!” he muttered, setting his cap and smoothing out his Peacekeeper blues. “This had better not be another one of Dad’s unscheduled drills.”
The malmetal door at the bottom of the stairs parted, and Jonas Shigeki, DTI Under-Director of Suppression, strode into the operations room of temporal suppression tower Portcullis-Prime. Two dozen Admin Peacekeepers sat in three rows, all facing the map of Earth that covered the far wall. They called up reports in the room’s shared virtual vision, and several more agents scurried to their seats while a red light strobed on the map.
“Status!” Jonas called out in a clear, commanding tone.
“Unidentified chronoport detected at negative six years,” said Superintendent Park Sung-Wook, chief of operations for Portcullis-Prime.
“Six years?” Jonas asked. If this was one of Dad’s drills, it was a strange one. What was a chronoport doing that far out?
“Yes, sir,” Sung-Wook said. “We’re working on a more precise fix now.”
Jonas stepped forward, clasped his hands tightly behind his back, and watched data populate next to the flashing light on the map.
“Intruder at negative six years and thirty-one days, approaching at…seventy kilofactors?” Sung-Wook looked up and met Jonas’s inquisitive gaze.
“Go on.”
“Yes, sir.” Sung-Wook returned his attention to the virtual display. “ETA to True Present is forty-six minutes. Speed and vector are unchanged from initial ID.”
“Where do we project phase-in?” Jonas asked.
“Northern Africa, if the intruder’s speed and vector remain consistent.” Park Sung-Wook leaned over one of his agents. “What are we up against? Is this a new style of Lunar chronoport?”
“Can’t confirm or deny, sir. The impeller profile doesn’t match any on record, nor is it even close. It appears to be an entirely new design.”
“Incoming telegraph from Barricade Squadron. They have the intruder on their scopes and are requesting permission to intercept.”
Jonas glanced over the map and noted the eight green icons patrolling around the Earth at negative one month. The chronoports in Barricade Squadron formed the Admin’s first line of defense against unauthorized time travel, and they fell under his command as the Under-Director of Suppression.
More raw data populated next to the intruder’s red icon, and Jonas scrunched his brow in consternation. The intruder was coming straight in. No attempt at stealth. No evasive flight patterns.
Just flying straight and true as if it didn’t have a care in the world.
And its impeller could move it at seventy kilofactors? Sure, the Departm
ent of Temporal Investigation’s own chronoports could top that, but the DTI had designed and built the first chronoton impellers and still retained a significant tech advantage over the dissidents, secessionists, and terrorists who tried to emulate or steal their work.
“Sir, another telegraph from Barricade Squadron. They are requesting orders.”
And the intruder was spotted at six years out? Which meant its mission must have taken it even further back than that. How had it slipped past Barricade when leaving the present? That was perhaps the most alarming part, but if it really had stealth systems that good, why throw that advantage away and come blazing into the present at high speed?
Something wasn’t right here.
“Cut Barricade-3 and Barricade-4 loose,” Sung-Wook ordered. “I want that chronoport destroyed as soon as it enters the True Present.”
“Yes, sir. Relaying kill order to—”
“Belay that order,” Jonas cut in.
“Sir?” Sung-Wook turned sharply to face him.
“The intruder is to be captured.”
Sung-Wook’s jawline tightened, and it took him a few moments to respond, but when he did it was with a curt nod.
“All right. You heard the boss, everyone. We’re going to capture the intruder. Signal Barricade-3 and Barricade-4 and have them move to intercept the intruder after phase-in. Make it clear this is a capture operation. They are not to attack unless they come under direct fire from the intruder.”
“Yes, sir. Telegraphing orders.”
“Full lockdown!” Sung-Wook commanded.
“Portcullis-Prime to all suppression towers,” the communications operator said. “Unidentified chronoport approaching True Present. Full lockdown in effect. Full lockdown in effect.”
Icons sprinkled across the globe lit up as each tower confirmed the order and all of them powered up their suppression fields.