The Gordian Protocol Read online

  Kloss chuckled.

  “What?” Hinnerkopf asked.

  “A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.” He took in the TTV image and shook his head. “But I expected that answer. Kaminski and his time machine have been weighing on my mind. It makes me think about where we are and where we could be. Human lives are a series of cascading decisions. Change any one of them and how different would we be? Would we even recognize a version of ourselves that hadn’t, just as an example, ever met the boss?”

  “You mean when I saw him as a babe suckling at his mother’s teat?” Nox asked.

  “Well, yes,” Kloss said. “I suppose you do have a unique perspective when it comes to the boss.”

  “I’d probably still be at the university,” Hinnerkopf admitted. “Still begging for funding for my prototype impeller while no one listened to me.”

  “And I’d be stuck in a prison domain,” Kloss said. “Or worse.”

  “Probably worse,” Nox teased.

  “Oh, please.” Kloss smiled. “It wasn’t that rough a crowd.”

  “You blew up one of the L5 stations!” Nox said.

  “Now that’s unfair. I joined a group that supported a group that supported another group…that blew up the station. Totally different.”

  “Just keep telling yourself that.”

  “It’s not like we were a direct part of the Free Luna movement.”

  “You called yourself Freeps for Free Luna!” Nox laughed. “You had the name of a listed terrorist organization in your title!”

  “Details, my good sir. Mere details. And we were an officially recognized political movement…before we were all arrested, that is.”

  “What you were was a bunch of spoiled rich kids with too much time and money on your hands,” Nox said.

  “Well, that too.” Kloss shrugged his shoulders. “And I’m forever grateful the boss pulled me out of there. The point is, where would I be without him? Where would my life have taken me if the boss hadn’t shown up one day with a pardon loaded in his PIN? No one else saw that I wasn’t a true believer. Certainly not the judge! Only the boss picked that out of my record, and because he needed people on his team that could think like an outsider, he offered me the chance of a lifetime.”

  “You can tone it down, Kloss,” Nox said. “He can’t hear you right now.”

  “No, I’m being completely serious. The man turned my life around. I think what I was really searching for back then was a cause to believe in. He probably saw that before I did, and I’m never going to forget the second chance he gave me.”

  “In an odd way, it wasn’t too different when I first met him,” Hinnerkopf said. “At the time, I was struggling to find sponsors for my research. And then in he strode with more money and resources than I could possibly comprehend. I thought my troubles were over, but as it turned out they were just beginning. Imagine my shock when he ordered not one time machine, but a whole squadron of them. My nerves were so shot, I threw up that night.”

  “But isn’t that what you wanted?” Kloss asked.

  “We didn’t even have a working prototype! We were close, very close in fact, but we weren’t there yet. Can you imagine someone showing up out of nowhere and ordering multiple copies of a device I was still struggling to make work? But he insisted we move forward with mass production as soon as possible. He’d seen the emerging technology, and he’d had the vision to know something like the DTI would be needed.”

  “Hell, there wouldn’t be a DTI without him,” Nox said. “He’s the one who fought for the funding when everyone else thought this was a crazy idea. He busted every political roadblock put in his path, got the funding and resources approved, recruited the talent, and basically built this team from the ground up.”

  “And it hasn’t stopped there,” Hinnerkopf said. “Who could have imaged an ex-terrorist and a—”

  “Ex-terrorist sympathizer,” Kloss corrected.

  “Fine,” Hinnerkopf sniffed. “An ex-terrorist sympathizer and an obscure physicist would become under-directors someday?”

  “One person saw it,” Nox observed.

  “Yeah, I guess he did,” Hinnerkopf said. “He brought us on board because he saw something in us others didn’t, but I don’t think any of us would have amounted to much on our own.”

  “Which is why we all need to do our part to watch his back,” Kloss said.

  “And speaking of which,” Hinnerkopf added, “where’s the professor?”

  “Let’s see.” Kloss opened a status tracker over his palm. “In front of the judge and apparently ranting up a storm. A chronoton storm, as it were.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Ah, but I couldn’t help it.”

  “Is the judge one of our regulars?”

  “He’s in front of Salvatore, and I briefed her ahead of time. It should be over in…never mind. She just held him in contempt and even used the spinal interrupt to gag him. Looks like she’ll be passing the agreed sentence after a short recess, so I’ll go ahead and get a flight ready to take him to Extraction. He should be loaded into the prison within two or three hours, tops.”

  “Then that’ll be one less problem to worry about,” Hinnerkopf said.

  “Now, about the other problem.” Kloss waved a hand vaguely through the TTV image. “How long do you plan to study it?”

  “Is that really any of your business?”

  “Of course it is. I’m the one that has to keep its presence here a secret. Any number of factors could give it away, such as us not using this hangar for an extended period of time. The sooner we get rid of it, the easier my life becomes.”

  “Well, I don’t think you have much to worry about. At least as far as the intact TTV is concerned.” Hinnerkopf shook her head. “I had hoped the interface would be more forthcoming, but it’s completely unusable without the professor. My next step is to break the ship down into manageable pieces. That way we can dispose of the self-replicators and weapon systems, and I can start using more invasive methods to empty its infosystems.”

  “Splendid!” Kloss said. “In that case, I see no cause for concern. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “Yes. Please do that,” Hinnerkopf replied, a bit more harshly than she’d intended.

  Kloss dipped his head at her and departed.

  “He still manages to get under my skin,” she said once they were alone.

  “He means well,” Nox said. “I’ll admit, I was doubtful when the Director started bringing Freeps into the DTI, but none of them turned out to be problem employees. Least of all him.”

  “He’s such a suck up, though,” she complained.

  “More like a loyal dog.” Nox grinned and crossed his arms. “Have you noticed that sometimes the director will hold off giving his opinion in a meeting just to see the rest of us fight it out?”

  Hinnerkopf rolled her eyes. “Because he knows as soon as he speaks up Kloss is going to turn right around and start backing whatever side he took.”

  “True. But it’s also because he wants to see what Kloss and the rest of us come up with on our own. He values each of us, and we wouldn’t be on his team otherwise. But from that inner circle, I think Kloss is the most diehard. If the director suddenly asked us to walk barefoot through Yanluo’s burning realm, Kloss would be the first one to take his boots off.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t take my boots off,” Hinnerkopf scoffed. “I’d tell him to give me a moment while I printed out fireproof environmental suits. Or I’d tell you to go in instead, because you’re already fireproof.”

  “We each bring something different to the team,” Nox said with a shrug.

  “Hmm.” Hinnerkopf opened a catalogue of drones and began building a list of the ones she’d need to tear the TTV apart.

  “Don’t you agree, Katja?”

  Hinnerkopf stepped away from the catalogue and looked up into the synthoid’s yellow eyes.

  “James?”

  “I have to escort the director back hom
e soon.” He stood straight and clasped his hands behind his back. “But afterward, would you mind if I joined you for dinner? If only to provide some company?”

  “What brought this on? I thought we were…I mean, you’d said there wasn’t…”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking.” He smiled bashfully. “Perhaps Kloss isn’t the only one who became a little introspective with the news we just received. Anyway, I just thought it would be nice to, you know, reconsider some of our past decisions. Over dinner, if you don’t mind the intrusion.”

  Hinnerkopf looked the synthoid up and down. Here was a metal man who’d given up on his humanity, whereas she was the woman who still saw that spark within him. It hadn’t worked out. After all, how could something like that succeed? It had just been a fanciful dream they’d both abandoned, and rightfully so, because sometimes the distance between two hearts couldn’t be crossed, no matter how hard they tried.

  Or had they been wrong to give up so soon?

  “No, I don’t mind,” she finally said. “See you at dinner.”

  “I’ll be there.” Nox nodded to her and left the monitoring room.

  Hinnerkopf put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. She let out a nervous laugh and was about to return to work when the virtual display for the drone in the TTV flickered in the corner of her eye.

  She turned and faced it. For a moment—just a moment—she thought she’d seen the audio feed on.

  But no. Of course she’d turned it off. It must have been a simple trick of the lighting.

  She shook her head, chastising herself for being jumpy, and pulled the drone catalogue back over. She needed to finish her requisition list quickly if she was going to leave at a reasonable hour and be ready by the time James came over.

  The dismantling of the TTV could wait until tomorrow.

  *

  “Whoa!” Philo exclaimed, retreating deep into the Kleio’s infostructure. “That was a little closer than I would have liked.”

  “You were almost detected that time,” Kleio said.

  “Yes, thank you for pointing out the obvious. I had no idea that was the case.”

  “You are welcome. It is my pleasure to be of assistance.”

  Philo eased back up to a peripheral layer, peeked into the digital beachhead he’d established in the Hangar 4 monitoring room, and watched the Under-Director of Technology select her drones like an executioner selecting axes.

  “This is bad.” He ducked back inside. “Really, really bad. Raibert’s being sent to prison, and they’re going to take you apart tomorrow.”

  “I would agree that the situation is suboptimal.”

  “What do we do?” he asked, mostly to himself.

  “Standing by to assist.”

  “No!” Philo said sharply.

  He’d activated the protocols which substantially broadened the parameters of Kleio’s analytical projections. Under the circumstances—and especially with Raibert…unavailable—he needed all the help he could get, including a voice of caution. His own enthusiasm and need to be doing things had been a serious character flaw in his past, with consequences he hated even to remember, and he couldn’t afford anything remotely like that now. So he’d ordered Kleio to run a continually updated threat analysis within the parameters he’d established. They’d been easy enough to define, given how brutally their mission imperatives had been simplified: survival, Raibert’s rescue, and escape from this hideous perversion of their own time. Everything else took secondary priority to those three goals, which was another point he’d emphasized to the TTV’s computer. Unfortunately, his commands had…loosened many of the restraints which had been built into her. Her spontaneous advice was incredibly valuable, but the possibility that she might actually take independent action was…worrisome, to say the least.

  “You’re going to stay right where you are,” he told the ship now, “and when that woman comes back tomorrow, you’re going stall her for as long as you can.”

  “I will endeavor to carry out your orders. But what will you do, Philosophus?”

  “I…I need to go out there.”

  “That is not advisable. If I am not mistaken, the Peacekeepers will delete you if you are discovered.”

  “I know, but what choice do I have?” he asked. “My access is too limited from here, and Raibert needs me. All we know is he’s being taken to a prison. We don’t know where or when or what kind of place it is. I need to learn at least that much if we’re going to have a chance of saving him.”

  “There is also the matter of the suppression field. My impeller is still being actively disabled by a powerful chronometric field effect.”

  “One problem at a time, okay?” Philo let out a virtual huff. “But yes, you’re right. I also need to figure out what to do about that, or rescuing him will be all for nothing.”

  He thought for moment, and then hit upon a glimmer of hope.

  “Kleio, I need my toolbox.”

  “Are you referring to the toolbox you instructed me to bury within my restricted partition? The one you very adamantly specified I should never mention to Raibert or any other member of the Ministry?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Now please tell me you didn’t delete it to make room for more videos.”

  “I did not delete it to make room for more videos.”

  “Good. Good.” Philo gave her an electronic nod, but then a horrible thought came over him. “Wait a second. Did you say that because I told you to say that or because it’s true?”

  “Both.”

  “Okay. Good, good.” He let out a virtual sigh. “Now bring it up.”

  “Unlocking restricted partition. Granting access.”

  Philo opened the toolbox and peered upon a dizzying array of virtual devices he hadn’t used in over fifty years. A weird thrill ran through his being, but also a shiver of self-loathing. The programs, abstractions, and yes, even weapons within the toolbox came from a time when he’d accompanied a very different man and when he’d been a darker shadow of his present self. They were from a part of his life he’d been sorely tempted to delete outright on more than one occasion. But then, how would he have remembered his mistakes?

  No, he’d needed to remember so that he never made the same mistakes again.

  And so he’d kept this part of himself, even though he’d never spoken of it to Raibert.

  Many of the implements within the toolbox were not, strictly speaking, legal, even in SysGov, so he could only imagine what the Admin would think of them. But if using them meant he had a better chance of rescuing his companion, then he would gladly wield them once more.

  First, Philo placed all of his auxiliary processes into stasis and removed them, stripping down to his core connectome. Then, he browsed through the toolbox’s library like a knight of old selecting the finest weapons from the castle’s armory before setting out to do battle.

  He attached a selection of viral bombs to his connectome, followed by multi-instance repeaters, connectome skinners and masks, encryption drills, and last but not least, the codeburner axe he hated so much.

  “I’m ready. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, Philosophus.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to need it.”

  Philo eased back into the outer layers of the Kleio’s infostructure and probed the connections around him. Carefully. The Admin had done a thorough job of isolating the TTV from their systems around the hangar, but that hadn’t stopped Philo from finding holes in their defenses and establishing little bastions of safety. Long-range infostructure connections were admirably hardened, but shorter-ranged devices proved to be much softer targets. Perhaps they’d underestimated just how sensitive the Kleio’s transceivers were or how narrowly its comm beams could be focused.

  “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

  He moved his entire connectome into one of those bastions and waited. If the Admin found him now, they’d kill him. He prodded the connections around him, found one tha
t ran to a more powerful trunk in the tower’s infostructure, tested it, teased it.

  And finally moved through.

  “Whoa!”

  A nonsentient monitor loomed before him like the digital equivalent of an ocean, except this was an ocean on its side, and it formed a shimmering vertical surface that stretched up and down to infinity. The monitor was massive and powerful, with all the root functions of the local infostructure at its absolute command, and it possessed a thirst for unauthorized subroutines.

  But it was also stupid.

  Philo waited in the safety of the connection’s buffer and watched it pass by. The Admin program poked at the connection and tasted the contents of the buffer. It sensed nothing out of the ordinary and moved on.

  So far so good.

  Philo eased out of the buffer and into the main infostructure trunk.

  The monitor whirled around and focused a gaze upon him that burned the outer layers of his code to ash.

  “No!” he screamed as the mammoth entity lunged forward and engulfed him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Department of Incarceration server tower

  2979 CE

  The two Peacekeepers escorted Raibert down the corridor, and he didn’t resist because he couldn’t. His arms and legs were no longer his own, and the judge had silenced his tongue with a gesture. He tried spitting at one of his captors, but the spinal interrupt prevented even that miniscule show of defiance.

  His connectome was going to be extracted, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d always intended to follow his father’s example and go abstract someday. Not any time soon, mind you. Just someday when he was good and ready, damn it. When he’d had his fill of the physical and his natural body began to wear out.

  Not like this. Not forced upon him against his will.

  But now he was going to become an abstract citizen, or whatever the Admin called them, trapped in a prison domain for the rest of his existence.

  The long, dark corridor stretched on. His legs kept a robotic pace with the Peacekeepers, their boots clicking and echoing with each step, and he found his mind wandering to his father, who’d abstracted decades ago. He’d made the leap shortly after Raibert’s twenty-fifth birthday, when his son had finally been considered an adult in SysGov. The age of twenty-five marked the point where brain growth typically stopped and wetware implants could legally be added to a physical citizen, such as the ones he’d received at the time. Back then, a world of possibilities lay before him, and he’d eagerly spread his metaphorical wings.