The Gordian Protocol Page 33

  “What is?” Elzbietá asked.

  “The chronoton storm,” Benjamin said. “Or rather the ‘malleability of time upstream of the storm.’”

  Elzbietá looked blank, and Benjamin sighed.

  “Philo can explain the details,” he said, “but the short of it is we get one shot at correcting the Event. If we screw it up, that’s it. No redos.”

  “Why?” Elzbietá asked. “We have a time machine. We have infinite redos.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not true,” Philo stated. “We now know that time is malleable, at least in the sense that any interference with it can create distinct, parallel universes going forward. But we’re trapped within the boundaries established by the chronoton storm, and if our interpretation of the numbers is correct, nothing we do can break outside the existing, intertwined universes. The energy which should have created another universe had to go somewhere, so it only pours even more energy into the moving storm front, and we’re stuck with every change—and its consequences—we make. There are no ‘redos’ on this one.

  “Any changes we make to the events of May 16, 1940, in this universe will ripple down the timestream to the storm front. Of course, that’s exactly what we want…but only if those changes closely follow the original version of that day. I don’t believe we need to precisely match the original sequence of events, but key features must align for the Knot to unravel. Otherwise, the phenomenon will only worsen. Our interferences will become a permanent part of the Event, the timeline will diverge even farther from its original form, and the storm front will be only stronger. I estimate that would make the Event almost impossible to repair, as any subsequent visits would only introduce more variables.”

  “Like he said, no redos,” Benjamin summarized.

  “Oh, I see,” Elzbietá said. “So, basically, us going into May 16 is like cutting open a patient, and when we’re done there’ll be a scar. If we fail and try to go in again, not only do we have to fix the original problem, but we have to fix the scar, too.”

  “Huh.” Philo raised his eyebrows. “That’s actually a very good way to put it. Yes, it is as if time is being scarred by our interactions.”

  “See? This stuff isn’t so hard to understand,” Elzbietá beamed.

  “Uh-huh,” Benjamin grumped. “Anyway, the problem is that while I do know the time and place of the Event, we also need to restore it to something as close to the original as possible. And on that note, I should really get back to it. I’ve got a lot of reading ahead of me.” He turned back to his desk and pulled the next eBook interface over.

  “Well, you keep right at it.” She stood up and hugged him from behind. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m going to do my absolute best. You have my word.”

  “Oh!” Philo started, and the others turned to him. “Raibert just called. He’d like both of you to join him on the bridge. It sounds important.”

  “Good important or bad important?” Benjamin asked.

  “He didn’t say.”

  *

  “Nope, this just isn’t going to cut it.” Raibert shook his head and crossed two whole arms. “We need something bigger, Kleio.”

  “That is the largest weapon pattern in my database.”

  “Well, it’s not big enough. Not nearly big enough.”

  “If you are concerned about size only, perhaps I could come up with a trebuchet design that is larger than this.”

  Raibert narrowed his eyes. “Kleio?”

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “No one likes a smartass.”

  “Professor, it is impossible for me to be a smartass because I am not sentient.”

  He put both hands on the command table and hung his head as Benjamin and Elzbietá entered the bridge.

  “Ah, good. Come on over, you two.” He beckoned them closer.

  “Problem?” Benjamin asked.

  “Yeah. We need bigger guns.”

  “What is that thing?” Elzbietá pointed at the weapon diagram hanging over the table.

  “That, young lady, is a 45mm defensive Gatling gun.”

  “That’s a defensive weapon?” Benjamin exclaimed.

  “Yep. Beautiful, isn’t she? Seven barrels, each nine meters long. Cyclic rail capacitors capable of accelerating three thousand rounds per minute. And to top it all off, each round hits with over six hundred kilojoules of kinetic energy, plus a variety of internal payloads that include high-explosive, incendiary, and antipersonnel dispersal types.”

  Elzbietá whistled.

  “What are you defending against?” Benjamin demanded. “The apocalypse?”

  “Admin chronoports, Doc. There are a dozen of them out there searching for us, and we need to be ready for them. This vessel originally came with two 12mm Gatling guns, one of which got blown off, and even if we still had both, they’re not exactly the sort of weapons I want to charge a militarized time machine with. We can print a replacement, but I think we need to do more. Fortunately, we also have patterns for larger weapon systems like this. Unfortunately, it’s not quite big enough for what I have in mind.”

  “Which is?”

  “Popping Shigeki’s chronoports like they’re big metal piñatas.”

  “Not that I’m opposed to more firepower, but you’re a historian,” Benjamin said. “What could this ship possibly need a gun that big for?”

  “Generally speaking, the Kleio wouldn’t ever need a monstrosity like this.” Raibert gestured through the “defensive” weapon. “But she has the same pattern library that ART Preservation TTVs get.”

  “Art preservation requires Gatling guns?” Benjamin looked at Elzbietá, and she shrugged at him.

  “It does if you’re going to show up in the past and take whatever you want, which ART, the Antiquities Rescue Trust, regularly did. Or does. Or will do. Or…” Raibert waved a hand aimlessly through the air. “Philo, which verb tense should I use here?”

  “Don’t look at me. Old English wasn’t built for multiverse time-travel scenarios. Just go with whatever feels right.”

  “What happened when the people from the past didn’t feel like giving up their property?” Benjamin asked.

  “Well, you see…” Raibert grinned fiendishly. “That’s where the aforementioned ‘defensive’ guns come in.”

  “That’s horrible!” Benjamin blurted.

  “Hey, don’t look at me. Philo and I managed to stop the worst of ART’s rampages long before we knew how much of a mess time travel was actually making. And now that we do know, we’re going to put a stop to them for good…assuming we actually make the transition back to that reality.” Raibert suddenly lowered his head. “Ah, damn it. Now I’m starting to depress myself.”

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Philo said. “If I make it through this and you don’t, I’ll be sure to spread the good word.”

  Raibert smiled bravely at the avatar.

  “Hm?” Benjamin took half a step back, and his face scrunched up as if he were reappraising Raibert.

  “What?” the synthoid asked. “Something on my face?”

  “Sounds like you regularly butt heads with your superiors.”

  “Yeah, sure. I guess you could say that.” Raibert shrugged indifferently. “ART’s pretty powerful in the Ministry of Education. Philo and I did give them one hell of a black eye and also managed to stick them with a whole host of restrictions, but stop them?” He shook his head. “Wasn’t going to happen.”

  “I thought so.” He flashed a crooked smile at the big man. “You know, that’s actually not too different from my own situation. I’ve been fighting against the collegiate establishment for some time. My parents too, in fact.”

  “What are you talking about?” Elzbietá chuckled. “You’re the chairman of the history department. You’re like the poster boy for the establishment.”

  “In this universe, sure,” he said, and the humor drained from her face. “But the other Benjamin—who I must now accept as a part of me—has had a very di
fferent experience. His college is infected with a noxious form of groupthink that tries to silence voices of dissent rather than engage in honest debate. Raibert, as strange and surprising as this is to admit, I can honestly see some similarities between us. We’re both outsiders who have fought against entrenched ideas we believe are wrong. I…almost feel a sense of kinship with you right now.”

  “Almost?” Raibert asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Let’s just say you’ve given me something to think about. In a good way.”

  “Oh. Well, you’re welcome.” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess that’s a start.”

  “Now, you were saying something about popping chronoports before I interrupted you.”

  “Yes. So, the problem is we need bigger guns. I want something that’s going to split those chronoports right down the middle. Just blow the fuckers right in half.”

  “My database does not contain a weapon system that meets those requirements,” Kleio stated.

  “And that’s why we need to look elsewhere,” Raibert said.

  “You mean else-when,” Elzbietá corrected.

  “Oh, look at you!” Raibert grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a time traveler. You’re exactly right. And that’s why we’re still moving down the timestream. We need to get closer to the thirtieth century. The closer we are, the more effective any goodies we pick up will be.”

  “But where can we stop?” Philo asked. “The Edge of Existence is guarded by Admin time machines.”

  “I said closer, Philo, not right on top of it. We need to be smart about where we stop.”

  “When we stop,” Elzbietá corrected again.

  “Yeah, what you said,” Raibert dismissed.

  “Obviously, I don’t know a whole lot about the thirtieth century,” Benjamin began, “but is the Admin currently at war with anyone?”

  “No, Doctor,” Philo said. “They’re the dominant solar power in this version of the timestream. Most of their problems come from within their sphere of influence. Secessionists, terrorists, protech radicals, that sort of thing.”

  “Protech radicals?” Benjamin asked.

  “The Admin was originally formed to enforce a group of laws called the Yanluo Restrictions. They’re basically regulations that forbid or heavily regulate technologies. Protech radicals are one of the countergroups that support the roll back or even the repeal of the Restrictions.”

  “Both the Admin and SysGov spawned from similar formative events,” Raibert said. “The Admin had a weaponized AI called Yanluo and its self-replicating swarm go out of control. We, on the other hand, had the Near Miss: an industrial accident that turned a large strip of China into pinballs.”

  “I’m sorry, did I hear you right?” Benjamin chuckled. “China gets turned into pinballs in your timeline?”

  “The Near Miss is no laughing matter, Doc. That disaster killed millions and pointed out the need for a global governing and regulatory body. In fact, it’s what motivated the nations of Earth to form SysGov. It’s as important to me as the formative…something-or-other is to your country.”

  “The American Revolutionary War?” Benjamin offered.

  “Right. Exactly. That thing. Just as important.”

  “You really don’t know a whole lot about my time period or what led up to it, do you?”

  “Hey, there’s a lot of history out there. I can only keep track of so much.”

  “But pinballs?” Benjamin pressed.

  “The Chinese were experimenting with industrial biotech and microtech self-replicating systems,” Philo said. “They were designed to mass produce simple objects quickly and cheaply, but an outbreak during beta testing led to a ragged strip of Asia a thousand kilometers long and as wide as seventy-five kilometers at some points being ‘processed.’ The construction pattern loaded into the initial swarm was for a basic pinball with very loose requirements for base materials, since it was meant to test the swarm’s capabilities with a simplistic goal.

  “The swarm took that pattern and ran with it, converting most of the landscape, as well as the entire development team and anyone else unlucky enough to be in the swarm’s path, into giant piles of pinballs fabricated from whatever materials were present at the time, including people’s bones.”

  “Bone pinballs?” Benjamin asked.

  “Yeah. Bone pinballs,” Raibert said. “Philo, do you still have that video with the dog?”

  “Yes, it’s in my personal cache,” he answered cautiously, “but are you sure you want me to show it to them?”

  “Damn right I want you to show it. I’m sensing a lack of cultural sensitivity from our twenty-first-century friends here, and we’re going to show them the dog.”

  “What?” Benjamin asked. “Is this like one of those funny Internet videos?”

  “You’ll see. Play it, Philo.”

  “All right, then.” The avatar shuddered. “Here goes.”

  The weapon diagram vanished, and a 2D video feed showing an abandoned city street replaced it. The angle of the view indicated it was coming from a surveillance camera, perhaps one mounted on a streetlight.

  Black sludge crept into view, oozing out of windows, seeping from the sewage drain, and sluicing across the sidewalk.

  A small off-white orb popped out of the sludge and pattered down the street.

  Then another.

  And another.

  “Was that…?” Benjamin asked quietly.

  “You’ll see,” Raibert said.

  The camera angle shifted to the side and revealed a whole city block buried in moving tar. A building collapsed in the distance, and tiny orbs popped out of the sludge and rolled away.

  The goo advanced and pushed pieces of debris with it.

  But not just debris. Bicycles, trash cans, cars, buses. Even a helicopter with busted blades.

  And bodies. Lots of bodies.

  The camera zoomed.

  Sludge pushed along an elderly man’s corpse half submerged in the ick. His arm caught on a piece of rebar, the sludge rolled him over, and the camera revealed that only half of him remained.

  A dog floated in the muck next to him, a Maltese puppy with its legs submerged in the filth.

  Or, more correctly, with its legs already eaten away.

  Black ooze crept over its back, and it howled and whimpered as tiny bone beads plinked out of its body.

  “That’s…just horrible,” Elzbietá breathed.

  “Yeah, it is.” Raibert swiped the video aside. The weapon design reappeared. “I like to show that when people tell me we shouldn’t regulate self-replicators so much. And the death toll from the Yanluo disaster was a hell of a lot worse, even if the tech was way different. We lost millions; they lost billions. I’m no fan of the Admin, but they have some good reasons behind their Restrictions. You need to place bounds on tech like this.”

  “If that’s the case, the thirtieth century may not be the best place to search,” Benjamin noted.

  “What are you thinking?” Raibert asked.

  “Well, sounds to me like their tech base is artificially stagnant. If that’s true, then we can expand our search to include a wider selection of earlier time periods. Restrictions or not, wars are a strong impetus to develop and innovate. What if we focus our efforts on the time periods after major conflicts the Admin fought?”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Raibert said. “Good thinking, Doc. If we phase in right after a war finished, there might be some surplus hardware lying around.”

  “And since the war is over, people will be less diligent about guarding it,” Benjamin added. “Possibly.”

  “Worth a shot. Philo?”

  “Searching…and, got one.”

  “Damn,” Elzbietá said. “I could have really used you when I was writing my dissertation.”

  Philo dipped his horned helmet to her.

  “What do you have for us?” Raibert asked.

  “In 2773, a cold war between the Admin and NEDA, the
Non-Earth Defense Alliance, went hot, and it didn’t end well for NEDA. The Admin’s superior numbers and resources stomped all opposition into the ground, and the war ended in 2775 with Mars and the rest of the NEDA members being absorbed into the Admin. That’s actually where a lot of its present day problems come from. The interesting thing, though, is why the war started in the first place. In the years preceding the war, NEDA actively developed forbidden tech in flagrant violation of the Yanluo Restrictions.”

  “Including weapon systems?” Elzbietá asked.

  “Oh yeah. You better believe it. They call it the Violations War for some very good reasons. I grabbed everything I could when I infiltrated the Admin’s infosystems, but the records I got don’t have a lot of detail about past wars. There’s enough to tell me that at least some of NEDA’s weapons should meet our piñata-popping requirements, though.”

  “Nice!” Raibert exclaimed. “Sounds like we have a winner. Now we just have to narrow it down further. We need to figure out which year and geographic location we’ll phase into. If our assumptions are correct and the Admin’s tech has been fairly static, then their twenty-eighth-century military will be just as nasty as thirtieth-century Peacekeepers.”

  “Maybe even more so because of the proximity to a war,” Benjamin said. “Their military forces will be battle hardened.”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Raibert countered. “Philo, any thoughts?”

  “None that I like. I’ve got the locations of the largest Peacekeeper bases, but those might be too risky for us.”

  “Yeah, not unless we have a solid plan. Phasing in at a military base and blundering around at random is a surefire way to get more of the Kleio blown off.”

  “What about a museum?” Benjamin suggested.

  The other occupants faced him.

  “A museum?” Raibert asked pointedly.

  “What? Lots of museums have weapons from past wars in them.”

  “Oh, right,” Elzbietá said. “And even if they’re not perfectly functional, the Kleio should be able to restore them to working order. Or just use them as patterns for new-build versions.”

  “Hmm,” Raibert murmured. “I guess it’s a thought. Not one that I had, but it’s a thought. Philo, anything?”