The Gordian Protocol Page 11

  “Portcullis-Prime to Portcullis-17,” Sung-Wook said.

  “Portcullis-17 Operations here.”

  “Scramble your Switchblade Squadron but do not fire on the intruder. We’re going to try to capture it.”

  “Confirmed, Portcullis-Prime. We have the coordinates and are launching our standby drones now. Switchblades will not open fire without your orders.”

  “Thanks, Seventeen.”

  “Barricade-3 and Barricade-4 have confirmed the orders, sir. Now moving to intercept.”

  “Very good.” Sung-Wook stepped next to Jonas and put a hand on his shoulder. His PIN interfaced with Jonas’s own, and the two entered into a closed-circuit chat.

  “Something on your mind?” Jonas asked. To any observer outside the chat, his lips didn’t move and no sound came from his throat, but Sung-Wook’s virtual senses heard his words and saw his mouth form them.

  “What was that about?” Sung-Wook asked privately. “Why did you countermand my order?”

  “I don’t like unsolved mysteries, and this chronoport definitely qualifies. It’s behaving too strangely, and I want to know why.”

  “Okay, fair enough, but you made me look bad in front of my team.”

  “Sorry, pal. I didn’t mean to.” Jonas winked at him. “How about I make sure your next evaluation positively glows?”

  *

  “Ladies and gentlemen and abstracts,” Raibert said in a stiff, formal tone. “I come before you today bearing grave news of a calamity that threatens our very existence.” He stopped and shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you think that’s too pretentious a start?”

  “Maybe a little,” Philo twittered in his virtual hearing.

  “Hmm. Let’s try again.” He cleared his throat, tugged his black dress jacket straight, smoothed the cycling patterns of his dress scarf, adjusted the angle of the wide-brimmed hat, and studied the mirrored copy of himself in his virtual sight. “Ladies and gentlemen and abstracts. I need your help. Really, really need your help. In fact, if you don’t help, we’re all going to die. Eventually. In about thirteen hundred years.”

  “That one could have been better.”

  “Hello, everyone. Today is a day of reckoning for the Consolidated System Government, and I reckon we need to work together to solve it.”

  “Nope. Try again.”

  “Surprise!” Raibert spread his arms wide. “The entire universe is going to explode. Better get to work fixing it.”

  “Not really doing it for me.”

  He cleared his throat into a fist and composed himself.

  “Greetings, everyone. I know this is going to come as a shock to all of you, but there’s a big, nasty, potentially apocalyptic chronoton storm heading our way. It’s going to obliterate the universe in one thousand three hundred years, and I was just thinking we should all get together and do something about that. What do you say?”

  “There’s lint on your shoulder,” Philo pointed out.

  “Thanks.” Raibert brushed it off.

  “What are you getting so nervous about?” the AC asked. “Just tell the Ministry the problem and let them sort it out.”

  “I’m nervous because you and I have what could kindly be referred to as a ‘reputation,’ and I’m worried the Ministry isn’t going to take us seriously.”

  “Are you referring to the ART exhibition after the Alexandria raid?”

  “Why yes, that’s exactly what I’m referring to.”

  “Maybe they’ve all forgotten about it by now?” Philo offered halfheartedly.

  “Hrmph!” Raibert pulled out his scarf, tucked one end into his jacket, and tossed the other over a shoulder. “Weren’t you the one who was poking fun at my meat-based forgetfulness? Even if the physical citizens in the Ministry have forgotten—which I seriously doubt—their ACs haven’t. We destroyed whole careers with that stunt.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ. That idiot and his sycophantic followers did all the damage. We just turned on the spotlight.”

  Raibert sighed and rearranged his scarf for the fifth time.

  “Face it, Philo. There are a lot of people at the Ministry who don’t like us. If we don’t play this right, it’s going to be an uphill battle to make people take us seriously.”

  “Then what do you think of this?” Philo offered. “What if we reach out to Chen or Andover or maybe even both of them? Show them the evidence and get them on our side before going to the Ministry.”

  Raibert stopped fiddling with his scarf. “You know, that’s actually a really good idea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Sure, they may not have many backers, but it’s not zero, and they do have a certain air of authority as the loyal opposition. Even if most people think they’re crazy.”

  “Doubters will think twice once they see the data we have, and it’s better than going to the Ministry all by ourselves, I say.”

  “Yeah.” Raibert nodded. “The more I think about it, the more I like it. Which one should we start with?”

  “Definitely Andover. You know how loopy Chen can be sometimes.”

  “Right. Good point,” Raibert said with a grimace.

  “Professor, would you please come to the bridge?” Kleio asked.

  “What is it?”

  “We are approaching our phase-in target at the Edge of Existence, and I have detected an unusually high number of TTVs ahead.”

  “Okay. How many?”

  “I have isolated a total of eight signatures based on a combination of telegraph traffic and impeller wakes.”

  “And they’re doing what exactly?”

  “Two are moving toward our phase-in target location and the rest are holding non-congruent positions at negative one month from the Edge of Existence.”

  “That…seems really weird.”

  “Hence the reason I thought it prudent for you to take a look at it, Professor.”

  “All right. Be there in a sec.”

  Raibert tipped his hat a few degrees forward. He really did cut a dashing figure when he dressed up. He nodded to himself, switched the virtual mirror off, and walked through the prog-steel shutter and down the corridor to the TTV’s bridge.

  A map of Earth switched on over the command table, and eight icons pulsed about the planet, each with coordinates that detailed their relative temporal and physical positions.

  “Those them?” Raibert asked.

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “What the heck are they doing just sitting there? And why are those two heading toward us?”

  “I am unable to ascertain that, Professor.”

  “Is there any announcement from the Ministry?”

  “I have detected several telegraphs to and from the TTVs, but I do not understand them.”

  “That can’t be right.” Raibert’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You don’t understand them?”

  “They appear to contain only gibberish.”

  “Maybe our telegraphs were damaged in the storm,” Philo suggested.

  “Diagnostics on both telegraphs do not indicate any damage.”

  “Then why are we only getting gibberish?” Raibert asked.

  “I cannot say, Professor.”

  “Well, whatever.” Raibert shrugged. “We’ll be home in less than an hour, and we can ask the Ministry what’s going on after we phase in. Kleio, make a note that our telegraphs are potentially glitchy and need to be given a thorough examination after we land.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go work on my speech some more.”

  *

  “Three…two…one…phase in.”

  “Okay!” Raibert cracked his knuckles. “First, let’s get the Ministry on the line and find out what all the commotion is about. Then we can go give Andover a call.”

  “I am attempting to do so, Professor, but there appears to be a problem.”

  “Oh, not another one.” He hung his head. “What is it this time?�
�

  “It seems I am unable to connect to the local infostructure.”

  “What, is your transceiver busted, too?”

  “Diagnostics for the transceiver indicate full functionality.”

  “But you still can’t link up?”

  “That is correct, Professor. I am detecting several connection beacons, but none of them are allowing me in. They do not appear to be using standard interface protocols.”

  “Uhh, Raibert?” Philo said in a worried tone that sent a chill down his spine. “Something is very wrong here.”

  “You mean besides nothing working on this tub?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know how to put this, but several cities are in the wrong spots.”

  “What? How can whole cities be in different spots? Kleio, did you phase us into the wrong year?”

  “No, Professor. 2979 CE coordinates confirmed. We are at the Edge of Existence.”

  “Then how can cities not be where they’re supposed to be?”

  “I do not know, Professor.”

  “Philo, show me.”

  “Here’s the thirtieth century map of northern Africa.” A topographical map appeared on the command table with a false-color scale starting with blues and progressing to purples, reds, oranges, yellows, and finally white for the densest population centers.

  “And here’s what we’re seeing now.”

  A second topographical map manifested over the first. Sometimes cities that should have been there weren’t, some that shouldn’t have been were, and those that matched up showed different population levels.

  “This isn’t home, Philo!”

  “I know! And that’s what’s wrong!”

  Raibert’s mind raced through the past few days. Chronoton storms. Knots in time. Universes tangled together. Changes that persisted. Changes that propagated downstream. A timeline that was suddenly more malleable than anyone had thought possible.

  And now just within the past hour, strange chronoton telegraphs that were gibberish…or perhaps encoded? Cities not being where they were supposed to be. Strange TTV activities near the True Present.

  This was the thirtieth century, but it wasn’t the one he knew.

  It was something else. Something alien. Something impossible.

  And something very, very wrong.

  “Philo, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Yes, and it scares me.”

  “I think we now know the nature of the Event that created the Knot.” He leaned over the command table and stared at a landscape that couldn’t be but was. “The Event. The one we figured out was somewhere between 1905 and 1995. It changed everything downstream when the Knot formed. Philo, we’re stuck in a timestream that isn’t our own!”

  “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Phase-in detected five hundred meters to starboard,” Kleio reported.

  Raibert pushed aside the maps and opened an external view. He knew they truly were in a different timestream the moment he laid eyes on the TTV, for it was unlike any he’d ever seen. Instead of the long elliptical bodies the Ministry used, this one consisted of a thick delta wing with multiple pods slung underneath the hull and the long spike of its impeller protruding out the back, giving it a shape reminiscent of manta rays.

  It was also smaller than the Kleio, roughly half the size at ninety meters in length, and it hovered on the exhaust of two large fusion thrusters rather than the more elegant reactionless graviton thrusters the Kleio possessed.

  But of more immediate importance, it was also much more heavily armed.

  The delta wing flexed upward into a shallow V to better expose a quartet of rectangular pods that contained what looked like 4x4 banks of missiles. Another two pods with more rounded profiles were slung underneath the wingtips and housed long-barreled railguns.

  Suddenly the Kleio’s two small-caliber Gatling guns didn’t provide the level of comfort they normally did.

  “Heavy weapons detected,” Kleio reported. “Radar and lidar signals detected. We are being targeted. Shall I activate our defenses?”

  “No!” Raibert shouted. “Don’t shoot! Don’t open the blisters! Don’t do anything!”

  “Understood, Professor.”

  “Raibert, they’re carrying enough firepower to vaporize us.”

  “And I am not about to antagonize them!”

  “Second phase-in event detected,” Kleio report. “Five hundred meters to port.”

  Another delta-wing TTV bristling with weapons appeared on the other side of Kleio and hovered with its weapon pods trained on them.

  “We are being hailed on an open channel,” Kleio said.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Unidentified chronoport! Land inmediatamente y exit your craft! Take any acción hostil y you will be destruido!”

  “Uhh, what the hell language was that?” Raibert asked.

  “I think they want us to land,” Philo said.

  “Well, forget it! We’re not going to! Kleio, get us out of here! Phase out!”

  “I am sorry, Professor, but I am unable to.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Some external force is preventing the impeller from gaining traction. I am detecting a chronometric field emanating from a tower one hundred fifty-five kilometers northeast of our position.”

  “So no time travel?”

  “I am afraid not, Professor.”

  “Unidentified chronoport! Land inmediatamente y exit your craft! This is your last advertencia!”

  “I think they mean business, Raibert. Look, something’s happening!”

  The two gun pods dropped from each chronoport. Metal along the top of each pod flexed, extended, formed three long blades, and began to spin. The descent of the pods slowed, stabilized, and then they tilted toward the Kleio and advanced with railguns tracking.

  “Twenty small craft approaching from the south,” Kleio said. “They are roughly the same size as the four pods that detached from the TTVs.”

  Another view opened over the command table to reveal twenty slender delta wings speeding toward them with railguns peeking out of their streamlined noses. Their wings morphed as they approached, melting back into main bodies that then sprouted helicopter blades. The blades spun into action, and the new craft took up positions around the Kleio.

  “Unidentified chronoport! Land inmediatamente y exit your craft o you will be destruido!”

  One of the helicopter drones fired a hypervelocity slug past the Kleio’s nose.

  “Okay! Okay! Message received!” Raibert exclaimed. “We clearly don’t speak the same version of English, but I know exactly what that means. Kleio, find a deserted spot to set us down. Do it slowly and keep the guns stowed.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “What are we going to do, Raibert?” Philo asked, concern leaking across the firewall. “These people don’t look friendly.”

  “What can we do? Our time drive is offline, and there’s no way we can fight our way out of this.”

  He placed both hands on his cheeks and ran them down his face.

  “Raibert?”

  “Okay, here’s what I propose. We’re dealing with a new timeline, so when we land, I’m going to go out there and make first contact.”

  “No, that’s too dangerous.”

  “So is being shot at by all of that!” He indicated the drones swarming around them. “Look, that chronoton storm is still out there, and it’s still going to destroy the universe. As far as I’m concerned, we have the same job to do, and we need to suck it up and do it. So I’m going to go out there, look as harmless as I possibly can, and try to talk to these people. We’re dealing with a society that has time machines, so they should understand the problem, right? I mean, it’s the destruction of all reality we’re up against here. How unreasonable could they be?”

  “I guess we don’t have much of a choice,” Philo said. “And whatever happens, I’ll stay in touch and be with you every step of
the way.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re going to stay right here. We have no idea what this society thinks about abstract citizens. We don’t even know if they have ACs. Which means you’re going to sit tight inside the Kleio’s infosystems and not show the slightest sign that you exist while Kleio acts totally unhelpful and dumb as dirt. Right, Kleio? Can you do that for me?”

  “I am sure I can manage, Professor,” Kleio responded.

  “Great. I knew I could count on you.”

  “But what if they’re not reasonable?” Philo’s avatar appeared next to him and put a virtual hand on his shoulder.

  “Well, that’s easy.” Raibert flashed a disarming grin. “It’ll be your job to rescue me.”

  “I have landed, Professor. Disengaging graviton thrusters.”

  “Open the main cargo ramp.” Raibert pushed off the command table and strode out of the bridge. “I’ll head out that way.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “Raibert,” Philo protested.

  “Stay hidden.” He turned back and wagged a finger at Philo. “If you don’t, who’ll pull my butt out of the fire? You hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you.” The Viking avatar frowned. “And I will. Pull your butt out, that is. If it needs pulling.”

  “Just you watch. I bet we’re worrying about nothing. These people are going to be super reasonable and this whole thing will be a cinch!”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Raibert rode a counter-grav tube down to the cargo bay and hurried across the wide three-story space that took up much of the TTV’s forward internal volume. The cargo hatch split open and formed a shallow ramp to the sand dunes outside. A dry, scorching wind swept across him, and his skin prickled with fresh sweat.

  He gulped down his apprehensions, stood up straight, and walked proudly down the ramp.

  “This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  One of the helicopter drones swooped past the entrance, and the huge flattened barrel of its railgun tracked his every step. The roar of its rotors assaulted his ears, and buffeting gusts blew his hat off. He ignored the temptation to chase after it, and instead held his hands high in the air and stepped forward.

  A second drone dropped down, and both kept their railguns trained on him.