by David Weber
Time was becoming scarred.
The scarring manifested only behind the storm front, but she couldn’t deny it. Something was happening to the underlying chronometric structure of the universe. Within the boundaries of the storm, the timestream could be changed, and that malleability equated to weakness. Indeed, if her interpretation of the numbers was accurate, it couldn’t not be changed by an extratemporal interaction. Kaminski had already made some changes in 1986, and she could see the damage in the data she’d requested from Pathfinder-8 as well as the analysis of her own intrusion into 2049.
How much more abuse could time take? Was there an upper threshold where this part of the timeline could no longer be altered without permanent consequences? What would happen when they exceeded that threshold? Would the Knot then be impossible to unravel? Would something worse happen?
She didn’t have the answers, but she knew where to find them. The universe guarded its secrets well, but data was the gateway to truth, and so she poured over the numbers with almost religious reverence.
“Wait a second,” she muttered and zoomed in on a ripple in the chronoport’s dish replay. The anomaly was almost assuredly noise given its amplitude and the level of accuracy she could expect from the equipment, but something about it looked familiar. Why was that? Had she seen the same pattern before? If so, then where?
She frowned, shifted the chart aside, and thought for a moment. If this truly was nothing, then a quick check of the auxiliary array should clear it up. She opened a second chart, fast forwarded to the same absolute timestamp, and zoomed in.
There it was again. The same ripple.
“Ah. That’s why it looked familiar.” She’d already seen it once when she’d reviewed the auxiliary array’s data. At the time, she’d discounted it as noise, but two independent systems had detected the same noise.
“How could I be so careless?” she chided herself as she overlaid the two sets of data and filtered out any differences between the two.
The ripple became more pronounced while neighboring data settled down to background chatter.
“What could this…oh, no. How did I miss this?”
Hinnerkopf pinned the virtual charts to her person, kicked off the wall, and floated past the opening door. She grabbed a handrail and climbed through the chronoport’s central corridor to reach the bridge.
“Telegraph, take the following dictation!” She adjusted the cross-referenced chart and zoomed in again. “Possible TTV phase-in detected at 2018, thirty-five north latitude, negative seventy-eight west longitude. Pathfinder-12 requests permission to break from picket and investigate. Send that message immediately to the attention of Pathfinder-Prime.”
“Director?” Captain Kofo Okunnu unstrapped himself and folded out of his seat. The tall, lanky man’s head almost brushed the ceiling before he pushed off it.
Like most of Shigeki’s inner circle of loyalists, Okunnu had been with the DTI since its formative years, when he’d distinguished himself as one of the first chronoport pilots, and even before that, as a brash and rather handsome physics student assisting then-Professor Hinnerkopf with her experiments.
“Are you sure?” Okunnu asked. “We’ve been watching the scope, and nothing’s come up. Besides, our dish doesn’t have the range to monitor that far into the future.”
“I know what I’m seeing in the data.” She waved the chart in the air. “And you have your orders, Captain.”
“Very well, Director. In that case, yes I do.” Okunnu faced his crew. “Telegraph, send the message as dictated.”
“Yes, sir. Spooled…and sending.”
Her message pulsed through time as peaks and valleys of chronometric energy that equated to ones and zeros. The signal reached Pathfinder-10, which then relayed the message to Pathfinder-8, which then relayed it further down the picket until her messaged reached Pathfinder-Prime, holding position non-congruent at 1945.
They didn’t have to wait long for the response.
“Sir, message reads: ‘Permission granted. Good hunting, Pathfinder-12.’”
“Very good.” Okunnu turned to face Hinnerkopf. “Your orders, Director?”
“Proceed to 2018, but quietly.”
“Understood.” Okunnu floated behind his navigators as they pulled up a map of Earth. “There,” he pointed. “Plot us a course roughly one hundred kilometers southeast of the target location. We can set down in the Atlantic Ocean and deploy our Scarabs and the Cutlass from there.”
“Yes, sir.” The realspace and temporal navigators worked their virtual consoles with practiced ease.
Hinnerkopf’s heartbeat quickened as she realized what she’d just set in motion, and she rubbed her moist hands together. She’d seen the damage the TTV had done to the suppression towers, and while Pathfinder-12’s weapons greatly outclassed the enemy’s, the risk to her life wasn’t zero. She didn’t think it was cowardice that ate at her now, but she had to admit she’d been relieved when Shigeki assigned her chronoport to the far end of the picket. Surely Kaminski would focus his attention somewhere near the middle of the twentieth century while she sat safely in the early twenty-first century and poured over her data.
But that wasn’t to be.
What are you up to, Professor? she wondered. What’s in 2018 that we don’t know about?
“Course plotted and ready, sir.”
“Pilot, extend all baffles around the impeller and lock for a stealth approach.”
“Yes, sir. Baffles extending…and locked.”
“Take us out. Seventy-two kilofactors.”
As much as she wanted to stay out of the action, she had a job to do. She straightened her back as the power pulsed into the impeller and they sped into the future. Nox wouldn’t hesitate in a moment like this, and neither would she.
Hinnerkopf opened her hand and called up the artwork she’d commissioned years ago. A sturdy gray pillar rose from her palm, and a vine with purple flowers wrapped itself around it. She’d never shown her beloved “pillar of strength” the engagement sigil, and perhaps she never would.
But she wanted to. Oh, did she want to. And she wanted what it stood for even more. More than anything else she’d ever longed for. And when she did finally gather the courage to present him with the sigil, she wanted the “yes” to pass easily from his lips because he saw the same strength and resolve within her that she saw in him.
She released the image and clenched a fist.
The professor had to be stopped. And if the task fell to her, then so be it.
She would not fail.
*
Irwin’s Steak & Seafood was not the sort of restaurant one walked into without a reservation, and Benjamin had reserved the small candlelit table over a month ago.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ben!” Elzbietá declared, raising a glass of white wine with her good hand.
“And here’s to many, many more,” Benjamin replied, clinking her glass and taking a sip. He wore a freshly pressed dark red shirt with white bowtie and suspenders, and Elzbietá had chosen a black dress with a V-front that dipped in very flattering ways.
“Ahh…” she sighed contently and set her glass down as she leaned back. “This is nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
She turned and stared out the window. Irwin’s was built on a shallow hill with the parking lot in the back, so she had an unobstructed view down to the four-lane street that curved around its base. Headlights and taillights shone against damp asphalt as dusk transitioned to night.
“You doing okay?” she asked, glancing back at him.
“Mostly,” he admitted. “I’m still a little shook up from Sunday.”
“Yeah, I can tell. So what was with that guy?”
“I wish I knew.” Benjamin gazed down at his drink and swirled it gently. He hadn’t told her everything Raibert had said because he no longer fully trusted his own memory. And, honestly, what was he supposed to tell her? The experience had been so surreal that he wondered if he
’d hallucinated the whole thing. There was the door Raibert had broken, of course, but what if Raibert didn’t actually exist? What if the sanity he’d carefully clung to was starting to slip away? What if he’d busted the door and his subconscious had conjured this Raibert fellow as the explanation?
The thought made him shiver.
Was he really sane anymore? And if not, did he have the right to drag this remarkable woman into his fractured life? She would say yes. He knew with all his heart she would.
But should he even ask?
The lacquered box felt suddenly heavy in his pocket.
“Have you seen or heard from him since?”
“No.” Benjamin shook his head. “No knocks. No calls. I tried looking him up on the Internet, but I didn’t find any college faculty anywhere in the country that matched or came close.”
“Probably not his real name, then.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“You think he might be one of Braxton’s other patients? Maybe some nutcase’s idea of a prank? I mean, seriously, what kind of professor goes to someone’s house unannounced, asks for help, and then busts down the door when you say you’re on leave?”
“A crazy one.”
“All I’m saying is this guy better think twice before he shows up again. God help him if he breaks in when I’m home because even with one eye and one hand, I will still hit my mark at that range.”
“Well,” Benjamin chuckled, “hopefully it won’t come to that.”
The waiter came around and dropped off two salad wedges with house vinaigrette dressing, blue cheese crumbles, baby tomato halves, and minced bacon.
“I had another echo yesterday,” he confessed, slouching a little. “It was a pretty bad one.”
“Hey, now. Don’t be like that.” She took his hand into hers.
“I just wanted you to know.”
“Ben, you don’t have to be afraid around me.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t claim to know exactly what you’re going through, but I’ve been through something similar. And that means I can help.”
“It’s just”—he took a ragged breath—“sometimes I feel like I should be making better progress, and that I’m letting you and everyone else down when I have these episodes.”
“But don’t you see? It doesn’t matter to me if you show the occasional moment of weakness, because that’s going to happen. Sometimes fighting through trauma like this is two steps forward, then one step back. But as long as you keep pushing forward, you’re going to make it.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” He held her hand tightly in his.
“You know I am, buster.”
They chuckled and he let go.
“Thanks, Ella.”
“Anytime.”
“Let’s talk about something else, if you don’t mind. This is our night. We should be enjoying it.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” She raised her glass and brought it to her lips.
“I guess I just wanted to make sure”—Benjamin took a deep breath—“that what I’m about to ask for is the right thing.”
Elzbietá paused mid-sip, then carefully set her glass down.
“And what might that be?” she asked delicately.
“How about I show you?”
He placed the lacquered box between them and opened it.
Elzbietá gasped as the ring’s diamonds transformed flickering candlelight into dazzling fire.
“Oh my God, Ben!” She placed a hand over her mouth. “It’s beautiful!”
“This ring is an heirloom of my family, passed down through three hundred years of Schröders. My grandfather presented it to both of his wives when he asked for their hands in marriage…and now I present it to you.”
He took the ring out of the box and knelt before her.
“Ella, you are an extraordinary woman. But more than that, you’re the rock that’s supported me through the darkest days of my life. Everything seems clearer and brighter when I’m beside you, and there is no one I would rather spend the rest of my days with. Will you, Elzbietá Abramowski, join me in this crazy adventure we call life?”
He lifted her real hand and held the ring before her finger.
“Will you marry me?”
At first she only nodded with eyes moist with joy. Then she licked her lips and spoke a soft, almost inaudible: “Yes…”
Benjamin slid the ring onto her finger. She wrapped her hand around his suspenders and tugged. He rose, and she released the suspenders and moved her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him close before planting a long, passionate kiss upon his lips.
The kiss seemed to last forever, but when it finally ended, all was right with the world.
He sat down, a giddy grin on his face.
Elzbietá held her splayed hand out and admired the ring.
“It fits perfectly, too,” she said.
“Whew!” he sighed. “That went even better than I’d hoped.”
“Were you nervous?”
“Very.”
“Why? Did you think I’d say no?”
“No, it’s not that. I just didn’t know if I was good enough for you.”
“Well, cast aside all doubt, because you’d better believe you are!”
He smiled at that.
The waiter came around again, and Benjamin looked up at him.
“She said yes!” he declared triumphantly.
“Oh? Well, congratulations, sir. And to you, ma’am.”
The waiter set a bottle of expensive scotch on the table, followed by a triple-decker slice of chocolate cake, a cheesecake slice with a chocolate sail stuck on top, a slice of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, and a hot fudge sundae with nut sprinkles and three cherries.
“I’m sorry. What is all of this?” Benjamin asked as he took in the unexpected invasion of their table. “Our order must have gotten mixed up.”
“Compliments of the gentleman at the bar. Also, your bill for tonight has already been paid.”
An icy finger traced down Benjamin’s spine and he slowly turned toward the bar.
Raibert Kaminski sat atop a barstool and stared straight at him. He wore a pleasant smile as he dipped his hat, then stood up and walked over.
*
Pathfinder-12 settled into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of North Carolina, and Hinnerkopf steadied herself with a hand on the wall as contact with the water jostled them. The chronoport slipped into the ocean, and its variskin adjusted both its reflectivity and dynamic emissions to match their surroundings across most of the electromagnetic spectrum.
The chronoport became an unremarkable part of the background as it sank deeper into the water. Variskin countered most photon-based detection methods, including radar and infrared, but the human eye could still catch flaws in the disguise.
The human eye, Hinnerkopf thought, or an AI using the surveillance drones I know the TTV has.
She stepped up to the map alongside Captain Okunnu and watched forty-one icons spread across North Carolina. The largest icon represented the chronoport’s only Cutlass transport and its cargo of one STAND in her combat frame, eleven special operators, eight Wolverine drones, and eight Raptor drones. The other forty were Scarab reconnaissance drones that supplied live feeds back to Pathfinder-12 or supplemented their own capabilities by tapping into indigenous surveillance systems.
Variskin coated every operator, craft, and drone, but that didn’t make them invisible, and the TTV undoubtedly had advanced detection systems at its disposal. Still, the variskin should at least dampen their effectiveness.
“Hmm?” Okunnu murmured as he expanded the feed from Scarab-27. “Got a match.”
“What? Already?”
“See for yourself, Director.”
Okunnu shifted to the side and expanded Scarab-27’s feed until it filled the whole wall with a familiar synthoid sitting at a bar.
“I don’t believe it! He didn’t bother to change his face!” She turned to Okunnu.
“Captain, your orders are to draw out the TTV and destroy it. I leave the details in your capable hands.”
“Very good, Director.” He restored the map and zoomed in on the restaurant. “Open a link to the Cutlass.”
“Open, sir.”
“Agent Cantrell, land the Cutlass two kilometers south of these coordinates, then send all drones forward to the target area.”
“Confirmed, Captain. Should I deploy as well?”
“Negative. You’re too much for one synthoid historian to handle, I think. I want Kaminski scared and hurt enough that he calls in the TTV.”
“Pissing his pants, but not dead. Got it, Captain. Anything else?”
“Whatever happens, you and all operators are to stay clear of both Kaminski and the TTV.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we’re going to hit the entire area with a missile barrage.”
“Understood. We’ll stay clear. Drones only in the engagement zone. Anything else?”
“No, Agent.”
“Then all mission parameters are clear. Ready to execute.”
“Engage the target at your discretion. Good luck, Agent. Pathfinder-12 out.” Okunnu pulled up the chronoport’s external armaments. “Weapons: stand by for a sixteen-missile volley. Set Kaminski as the preliminary target and lay in a low-altitude flight path. Launch as soon as the TTV is spotted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Director, do you believe that level of firepower will be sufficient to destroy the TTV?”
“Probably, but we can’t be sure.” Hinnerkopf closed her eyes and rubbed her chin. “The TTV’s armor proved surprisingly resilient to our cannon fire, plus it demonstrated that its Gatling guns are an effective defense against incoming projectiles.”
“In that case, we’ll err on the side of caution. Weapons: prep for a thirty-two-missile volley.”
“Yes, sir!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Irwin’s Steak & Seafood restaurant
2018 CE
“Is that him?” Elzbietá whispered.
“Yeah. That’s him,” Benjamin said as anxiety tightened his chest. The evening had gone so perfectly, but now it was falling to pieces before his very eyes. At least Elzbietá could see this Raibert fellow. That meant he was real, unless all of this was a hallucination, and he’d tumbled even deeper into a self-concocted dementia.