by Ellen Larson
Inside, the Marshall was giving a little lecture on spatial tethering to the Authority honchos. Lazar, shield in hand, stood behind them, ready to assist if needed. Donny stood at the comm, face flushed, eyes glued to the controls. She cleared her throat and went over to him.
“Systems good?”
“So far.” He glanced anxiously at the Vessel, as if to make sure it had not disappeared in the three seconds since he had last checked.
She had seen that look many times in her life, on the faces of those still inexperienced enough to think that confidence was something that came naturally to other, braver people, rather than through the trial and error of everyday life. “You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah. I know.” He exhaled. “It’s just—there’s so much riding on this.”
“So everyone keeps telling me: the future of Rasakan-Okuchan relations.”
“That’s nothing. They told Molt this morning they’re sending him for training soon as this is over. And me and Sarah, we’ve set a date.”
Merit put on a smile and gave him the thumbs-up. “And you’ll see that Celia gets her operation, won’t you?”
“Artie’s already workin’ on it. She’s become like a daughter to him.”
“Select?” said the Marshall. “It’s time.”
Merit’s chest tightened as she looked at Donny’s broad, open face. “See you around.”
In the east bay, the Vessel hovered ten centimeters above the floor, a dual polyhedron, dodecahedron and icosahedron interlaced, held in place by the uncanny might of the Artifice, twenty kilometers away. Its black polymer facets and pointed vertices looked out of place in the old-fashioned study.
As did Marshall John Frey, standing by the oblong hatch. He produced the Vessel key, a little slab of steel and nylon, and pointed it at the hatch. There was a loud pop, followed by a soft whoosh as the hatch swung open.
Merit peered inside. “Looks smaller than I remember.”
Marshall Frey spoke in a loud voice. “We’re all in your debt, Select. This is a proud day for the JCP, for the Protectorate, and for all peace-loving Rasakans and Okuchans. You don’t need me to tell you what to do. So I’ll only say, good luck.” He held out his hand. “Now all you have to do is get the job done.”
Merit took his hand. His grip was warm and firm. “I will,” she said. And that was true too.
“Three minutes,” came Celia’s voice in her ear. “Hatch locked, double locked. Security net laced. Request omega check.”
Merit lowered the shutters over the six triangular portholes, checked that the spatial tether was secure, then buckled herself into the pilot’s chair. She touched the tiny microphone in her headset. “Pilot omega check. Green, green.”
“Two minutes.”
The countdown was like music. Beyond all other considerations, this was where she belonged; this was what she had been trained to do. She leaned back in the stubby chair and closed her eyes. Muscle by muscle, she relaxed her body. Her breathing slowed. She had not meditated for years, but she was not worried. As she had discovered long ago, it was not something that once learned she could ever forget. After all, she was a Retrospector. She closed her fingers around the pendant that lay upon her breast.
“Ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six. . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
* * *
Twelve years earlier
“Select? Select! Pff. Merit Rafi!”
Merit jumped, then turned to behold the old Prioress in formal dress, all silver and white, the gauze veil at the bottom of her shield fluttering in the light spring breeze. “Prioress! I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you there. With respect.” She curtseyed apologetically.
The Prioress linked arms with her and led her across the crowded forum to a quiet place by the hawthorn trees. She took off her shield and kissed Merit on each cheek. Her kind face glowed with pride and happiness.
“I wanted to have a few private words with you before they serve the wine.”
“Oh, I plan on being abstemious,” Merit assured her. “I want to make a good impression on the CPF honchos.”
“Good for you,” said the Prioress. “But I was referring to myself. I always tie one on at these events. End-of-term tradition.”
Merit widened her eyes, then laughed. With this woman for a friend, she could handle whatever surprises the future brought.
The Prioress took her hand. “Your father would have been so proud of you. Don’t ever forget that each day he will be with you, if you remember him each day.”
Merit said nothing, but squeezed the Prioress’s hand very tight.
“Felicitations, Merit,” said a soft voice. “Best wishes for your happy day.”
Merit turned to behold a slight figure in a dark suit. “Lena! I’m so glad you came.” In her newfound confidence, she managed to sound—and feel—like she meant it. It had always been a struggle to like Lena. But from now on, she realized, it would be easy. “I don’t think I’ve seen you for two years.”
“Has it been so long?” Lena’s eyes were fixed on the opal pendant gleaming on Merit’s breast. “I’m so busy I hardly notice the passage of time.”
“Lena is going to be a part-time instructor next term,” said the Prioress. “She will teach biology to first-level Prospectives.”
“That is splendid news!” said Merit. “The Conservatory is lucky to have attracted a scholar of your stature.”
Lena bowed her head. “I am the lucky one, to have this chance to pay back some small portion of what I received here.”
“I’m sure you’ll do that and more,” said Merit. “I’ll be busy at the CPF, but I’ve applied for the outreach program to Rasaka. If I’m approved, I’ll need to work up a series of conference presentations for their university students. I’d welcome your collaboration.”
Lena smiled, but her blue eyes lacked any warmth, or any emotion at all. “You’re very generous, but I wouldn’t dream of tying you down to a commitment made on impulse out of pity.”
“I didn’t mean—” Merit took a breath, and spoke more slowly. “I hope to forge professional relationships with people in many disciplines. I know my limitations, but I believe I can overcome them by working in concert with others.”
“You’re very kind,” said Lena. “And now I must leave you to your celebrations. I promised a friend less fortunate than you that I would help her study. Benedicte, Merit. Prioress.” She bowed low and walked away, moving as if every step was an effort.
When she was out of earshot, Merit turned to the Prioress and observed: “It’s such a shame about her. She would have been a fine Retrospector.”
The Prioress’s silence was too pointed to be ignored.
Merit raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t she?”
The Prioress gazed at Lena’s slowly retreating form. “Academically, she was unparalleled. But sometimes people aren’t suited.”
Merit nodded. She knew what that meant. “It was a health issue, right?”
“Yes, a health issue. I have great compassion for her, and a deep sense of responsibility.” The Prioress looked sideways at Merit. “Her attunement had unfortunate side effects that may never be wholly cured. It’s best that she remain within the community, where we can take care of her.”
Together they watched Lena disappear beneath the archway.
“So,” said the Prioress, more cheerfully. “Here you are at last.” She patted Merit’s black pendant. “Wearing the symbol of the sisterhood of Retrospectors. Merit Rafi, Select.”
A bright smile lit Merit’s face. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called that. I keep thinking you’re talking to someone else. Someone much older, and . . . more weighty.”
“Pff!” said the Prioress. “You know anyone over forty-nine kilos is unsuited.”
Merit laughed, then sighed. “Part of me still thinks it’s a dream. Me? Selected? I’m a below-average student and I’ve always had trouble following the rules.” She smiled into the Priore
ss’s face. “I owe this day to you, completely. If you hadn’t insisted I keep trying, I would have quit. I guess it’s true that you can see into the future.”
The Prioress gave her a wry smile. “I had faith in you, Merit. And faith makes prophets of us all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
* * *
Friday, 14 April 3324, 9:55 p.m.
The soft hiss of oxygen. The violet glow, enough electromagnetic energy to see by, but not enough to push the Vessel into synchronicity. The queasiness as time flexed and curled inside out. She was in the Continuum, her own private utopia. Released from the inevitability of linear time. Immortal. Free.
The violet light turned to cobalt, and the dizziness passed. She unbuckled herself and looked at the three chronometers on the control panel. One gave the home time: Monday, 17 April 3324, 12:10 p.m. The second gave the local time: Friday, 14 April 3324, 9:56 p.m. The third, the mission chronometer, gave the remaining mission time: fifty-nine minutes. Fifty-nine minutes to do her job, after which, if she had not by then manually initiated the reflex, the Vessel would automatically return to the home time-frame. Fifty-nine minutes to figure out how to push the Vessel into synchronicity, get out, and carry out the order of execution against Omari Zane. Fifty-nine minutes left to live.
She pulled the tondo from her right hip pocket and ran a finger over its carved surface. He would see it again before he died.
She raised the shutters on the portholes. The study looked much as it had on Saturday, except that it was illuminated by a dozen light pods that sprayed cones of yellow light upon the walls and by the red glow of the fireplace. And it was no longer empty.
Through the porthole to the right of the hatch she saw a man sitting with his back to her, hunched over the black desk. His heavy frame had thickened to corpulence since she had last been in his presence and his once-dark hair was a shock of white. But he was still Omari Zane, one-time General of the Okuchan militia, former Governor Pro Tempore of the Oku Protectorate, traitor to his people.
Though it remained in the Continuum, the Vessel was in collimation with the local time-frame, delta time-quanta away. This made it effectively invisible to anyone in the study. It also made it impossible for her to exit, even if she could unlock the hatch with the set of crack tools she had brought. Thus her first task was to find a way to bring the Vessel into full synchronicity with the local time-frame.
She switched on the Vessel’s monitor and pulled up the mission plan. Status was green: the spatial tether was tied to the distant Artifice with a staggering degree of accuracy; life support was optimal. That was about as much as the pilot’s console was good for: anything that generated much of an EM field wouldn’t make it through the Continuum. That was the catch that made it necessary to send humans, not equipment, back through time for observation.
In her former life as an idealist, she would have begun by entering all the security codes she had ever known, hoping to hit upon the right one, in an attempt to access the higher-level controls. But her later life as a fatalist had imbued her with a new disrespect for authority and its protracted chain of command. So, after trying one or two old codes she abandoned that route.
Releasing the clamp that held the pilot’s chair to the floor, she picked it up and bashed its stumpy leg against the nylon panel of the control console. The panel buckled and a space appeared between it and the console casing. Thrusting the chair leg into that space, she worked it back and forth until the panel popped open.
Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she squatted and peered inside. The boards were all solid-state—no buttons or security codes to worry about. Just dozens of silicon wafers held in place by nylon clips. The risk of doing irreparable damage was high, but immaterial. It wasn’t like she cared about getting back.
Her exertions had raised a film of sweat on her body. She threw off her jacket and pulled a plastic magnifier out of her kit. There would be an alphanumeric code on the wafers, which would help her decide in what order to smash them.
Movement in the triangular portholes. She glanced up, expecting to see Zane, headed to stoke the fire or to fetch a book.
Instead, she saw a figure dressed in white.
Lena Salim, in full Prioress getup, standing in the open study door. Forty-five minutes early.
Not at all what she had expected.
Merit glanced at Zane, who had not stirred.
Lena closed the study door and moved to her right, circling the big globe. Merit frowned. The halting walk and modest stoop were gone; her movements were quick and purposeful. Slipping a hand inside her robes Lena produced a small box—an oblong box with a black stripe around its middle. She removed what was inside and placed the empty box on the bookshelf.
The hair on Merit’s arms rose.
A Vessel key lay in Lena’s hand.
Merit looked around helplessly. There was nothing she could do; no way to communicate if she had wanted to. She could perform a manual reflex—but returning was not on her agenda.
Lena pointed the key toward the south bay and pressed the touch pad. When nothing happened, she took a step to the right and pointed it at the east bay.
The interior lights flashed violet and the vox beeped. Merit’s knees buckled as the Vessel slipped into metachronic synchronicity. It was now visible in the local time-frame.
Lena approached the Vessel. A loud pop broke the silence. Then a soft whoosh as the hatch swung open.
The Prioress’s double-heart shield hove into view.
“Felicitations, Select,” said Lena. Her voice was clear, triumphant. “It’s been far, far too long.”
“Not as long as I thought it would be,” said Merit.
“The look on your face was worth the wait.”
“Easy for you to say.” Glib through force of habit, her pulse and thoughts nonetheless raced. She moved closer to the hatch and glanced at Zane’s hunched form. He did not seem to have heard or noticed them. He was not writing, rather he appeared to be studying the map of Ancient Earth on his desk, one hand gripping the rim of a large wooden box. “What’s his problem?”
“He has no problems.” Lena turned her shield to Zane. “Except, of course, that he’s about to die.”
Merit’s mind buckled. The words were undeniably true, but how did Lena know it? Her eyes strayed to the control console.
“Don’t do it,” Lena warned. “You’re probably flustered, so I’ll remind you that I can initiate a reflex with the key in an instant. And with the hatch open?” She raised her hands. “Poof.”
Merit sniffed. “What’s this about Zane? Are you saying he’s terminal?”
“Certainly,” said Lena. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To terminate him?”
How could Lena know, when she herself had only thought of the idea twelve hours before? “As you know, during a Retrospection I’m not allowed to talk about anything material to the mission with anyone I might have incidental contact with.”
“Really, Merit,” said Lena, shaking her head. “You were sharper in the old days. It was a rhetorical question. I was trying to tell you that I know perfectly well why you’re here.”
“Oh.” Lost as she was, Merit could only think to get her talking. “Okay, I’ll play. Why am I here?”
“Technically, you’re solving the murder of Omari Zane. Which is a delicious irony, all things considered. How long are you going to wait before you take your chance?”
Merit raised her hands and rested them against the top of the hatch. A casual pose, belying her complete confusion. “I don’t think chance will get much play. You do realize that although I come from your future, this is my chronometric past. It’s too late for either of us to change anything. What’s done is done.”
“Yes, it is. When did you realize it must have been you?”
“You know I can’t answer.”
Lena gave an impatient snort. “Why do you bother? The fact that you’re here, with that look on your face, tells me everything. Omari Zane wi
ll die tonight, and Authority will approve a Retrospection—I know it because here you are! In due course, though you won’t be there to boast, you will be identified as his murderer.”
Merit gave a short laugh. “What the hell. I guess what I’m thinking is not material. Okay, I admit that five minutes ago I would have bet my sugar coupon that you got it right. Except I thought it was gonna be harder to open the hatch.”
“And now?” asked Lena in a teasing tone.
Merit took refuge in the truth. “Now I feel like I’ve completely lost my mind. How did you know I’d be here?”
“Haven’t you heard? I can see the future.”
“Alternatively”—Merit kicked idly at the sill—“you’re up to your eyeballs in an Authority plot to take over the Retrospection Program.”
“Ooh!” Lena sat on the arm of the settee. Getting comfortable. “What makes you think that?”
“For one thing,” said Merit, “you’ve got a Vessel key, and Authority keeps those babies locked tight in the vault.”
“Well reasoned.”
“And for another, your boyfriend wears Authority gray and black.”
Though she could not see her face, she could sense Lena’s hesitation and hear the unmistakable surprise in her voice.
“How did you figure that out?” Lena asked.
Merit shook her head. “Sorry. Material. Of course it’s okay for you to answer my questions.”
“I doubt you really expect me to do that,” chuckled Lena.
“No, not really.”
“Well, then, let me surprise you again. It’s true I’d enjoy seeing you make use of that famous flair for deductive reasoning everyone used to rave about. But that might take time, and I want you to know everything before you die. I want to see your face.”
“Good choice,” said Merit. “My flair hasn’t really been firing on all cylinders lately.”
“Then let us proceed.” Lena crossed her arms on her lap. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this. What would you like to know first?”