The Gordian Protocol Read online

  Philo shrugged. “It’s not a topic I’m particularly fond of. The Gwon family is not to be trifled with.”

  “That’s an understatement. They used the Ministry to block us at every turn, and Lucius made it clear that if we stepped too far out of line we’d never see the inside of a time machine again.” Raibert chuckled sadly. “Which is kind of funny when you think about it, because then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “We still tried, though,” Philo added.

  “And failed spectacularly,” Raibert continued. “At least until the Alexandria Expedition. Before that, I approached Teodorà to get her on our side, and that didn’t end well. She got fed up with my ‘anti-ART activism’ and the harm it was doing to her career. And then she broke up with me! Though on the bright side, at least we didn’t have to put up with her pressuring us into having foursomes anymore. Am I right, Philo?”

  “Yeah.” He shuddered. “Good riddance to that idea.”

  “Anyway, Lucius stripped all of my ART seniority, which meant everyone else got to select from the open mission docket first, and we had to choose from what was left.”

  “It could have been worse,” Philo pointed out. “Most of them weren’t interested in the missions we liked anyway.”

  “I’m sorry. I know the rest of that was important.” Elzbietá eyed Raibert, then Philo, then Raibert again. “But…foursomes?”

  Raibert glanced over to Philo, but the AC held up both hands.

  “Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the one who brought it up. You explain it.”

  “Fine, whatever,” Raibert huffed.

  “You don’t have to if this is a sensitive topic,” Elzbietá offered. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s not like that.” Raibert grimaced as he rubbed his temples. “Look, just let your imagination wander for a moment. We’re from a society where every physical adult has access to full sensory overlay. What do you think some of them are going to use it for?”

  “I can make a pretty good guess,” Elzbietá admitted.

  “Right. Only it’s a bit more complicated than that because most of us have integrated companions. Now in polite society, when two physical citizens wish to”—he waggled his hands in a vague and decidedly nonexplicit manner—“you know, engage in consensual activities, a bunch of mental firewalls go up and their ACs go do something else for a while.”

  “In polite society,” Philo emphasized.

  “I just said that.”

  “I know, but I thought it deserved repeating.”

  “Look, am I explaining this or are you?”

  “Oh, please,” Philo raised both hands again. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Benjamin rested his cheek on a fist. “Is this conversation really necessary?”

  “It is now.” Raibert glared at Philo before continuing. “Anyway, what some physical citizens do is get their ACs in on the…festivities, shall we say? Basically, you have two people going at it like they would in any century, but their mental firewalls open up and their integrated companions do what they can to”—his expression soured—“enhance the mood.”

  “Enhance the mood?” Elzbietá echoed. “How so?”

  “Mostly just sensory overlays,” Philo explained. “Visual imperfections get smoothed over and the scene is augmented with virtual lighting, sound effects, textures, aromas, music, that sort of thing.”

  “I thought I was explaining this.”

  “I decided to help.”

  “That doesn’t sound too out there,” Elzbietá said.

  “Maybe to someone with a glandular system and a reproductive drive,” Philo began, “but I don’t have either. Can you imagine how awkward that makes it for me?”

  “Which is why the physical and abstract halves of normal society give each other a little privacy sometimes,” Raibert continued, “and edgy stuff like foursomes is frowned upon.”

  “Let me guess.” Benjamin leaned back crossed his arms. “The asshole was into that sort of thing.”

  “Yup.” Raibert glanced at his companion. “And we have a firsthand witness to prove it.”

  “It was so humiliating!” Philo shuddered with disgust. “I had to edit and record everything!”

  “That’s terrible!” Elzbietá said.

  “Yeah, but I’ll grant Lucius this one pardon.” Raibert wagged a finger. “Of all his perversions, the sexual escapades were probably his most harmless.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if—” Philo began, but then stopped and took on a look of great contemplation.

  Raibert raised his eyebrows.

  “Okay, yeah, I’ll give him that one,” Philo admitted finally. “Everything else was worse.”

  “At least it’s all behind you.” Raibert reached over to comfort Philo with a firm pat on the shoulder, but then stopped. He withdrew his hand and grimaced down at it. “Fucking Admin garbage synthoid body,” he breathed.

  “I’d give you a hug right now,” Philo said, “but I can’t.”

  “I know! And that’s the problem!”

  “I guess there are worse time travelers we could have gotten stuck with,” Benjamin said.

  “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Maybe it was.”

  Raibert looked up to find a thin but warm smile on Benjamin’s face, and he realized that another piece of the barrier between them had just been knocked over.

  *

  “Report!” Hinnerkopf demanded, floating into the bridge.

  “TTV phase-in confirmed.” Okunnu unstrapped from his seat and glided over to meet her. “They’re within the L4 Lagrange point, 2777 CE.”

  “So he wasn’t trying to get back to the thirtieth century after all. But there’s nothing unique about this part of the timeline. Why here? Why so far from the storm front?”

  “I couldn’t even begin to guess, Director.”

  “What’s our status?”

  “We stopped as soon as we spotted the TTV decelerating.” He gestured to the virtual displays at the front of the bridge. “Current position is negative three months from the TTV, non-congruent.”

  “Why did he stop here?” she muttered. “Why this year, and why the Lagrange point?”

  “Your orders, Director?”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Hinnerkopf stated aloud. “This year and place are too far from the Knot and the storm front to have any relevance.”

  “Then perhaps the professor has nothing left to show us.”

  “Perhaps…” Hinnerkopf stared at the clutter of military space stations, industrial asteroids, and cylindrical habitats scattered around the L4 Lagrange point. Several of those icons glowed bright Admin blue, and she nodded as a clear course of action came to her.

  “Take us in,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, Director.”

  “Quietly,” she stressed.

  “Understood.” Okunnu spun toward the bridge crew. “Pilot, move us in at ten kilofactors, maximum stealth approach. Phase-lock with the TTV and bring us in one hundred kilometers off the target’s estimated position.”

  “Yes, sir. Accelerating now. ETA is thirteen minutes.”

  “Variskin online and loaded with standard spaceborne stealth profile.”

  “Shall we ready a missile volley?” Okunnu asked Hinnerkopf.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  “We’re not taking him out?” His brow furrowed.

  “You misunderstand me, Captain,” Hinnerkopf smirked. “We’re going to use every resource at our disposal to prevent the TTV from ever making it out of this century.”

  “Then, I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

  “Take a good look at when we are, Captain. The professor has blundered into the years following the Violations War.”

  Okunnu faced the display, but still seemed to be playing mental catch-up with her.

  “There are so many Admin warships and Peacekeepers just sitting around with no enemy to fight,” she continued. “
And we have every authentication code ever used by this era.”

  “Ah. I see what you mean now.”

  “Oh, Professor.” She smiled cruelly as the chronoport sped forward through time. “There were so many simpler ways for you to commit suicide.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  L4 Lagrange point

  2777 CE

  “Now that’s one big ship,” Benjamin said as the image over the command table resolved in his interface lenses.

  “The FPNS Lion of Aurorae Sinus.” Raibert leaned forward and placed both hands on the table. “Nearly two kilometers from bow to stern and with enough launch bays for a hundred twenty gunboats our size. Not much in the way of external weaponry, but with that many little helpers, who’s counting?”

  “Its name comes from a creature out of this timeline’s Martian folklore,” Philo commented. “A lion with a pure white pelt who comes to the aid of those with hearts untainted by evil.”

  Benjamin snorted out a laugh.

  “What? Was it something I said?”

  “Sorry. I just find it amusing that Mars has been colonized long enough to have its own folklore.”

  “We’re a long way from home, all right.” Elzbietá rubbed Benjamin’s shoulder. “The size of that thing is unreal, but some of those other ships are almost as big.”

  To Benjamin, the Admin shipyard resembled a coarse blue comb, several times as long as the enormous carrier, with ships resting between its few thick teeth. The Lion was clearly the largest and rested at one end of the shipyard, but fourteen smaller ships occupied scattered slots, some nothing more than skeletal structures, while others looked nearly complete. A white stripe ran up the main shaft of the shipyard, and a silver shield adorned the center.

  Lighting banks illuminated the work of men and women in what had to be spacesuits while a few small industrial craft maneuvered heavier components into place. The space around the Lion was dark and deserted by comparison, and the shipyard showed little activity within half a kilometer of the Freep supercarrier.

  “External weapons are still in place,” Philo observed. “But that appears to have been a cosmetic choice. From what I can tell, they’ve been disabled, either by emptying the ammunition stores or removing critical components. Its conversion into a museum is definitely underway.”

  “But it also doesn’t appear to be a high priority,” Benjamin said. “Otherwise we’d see more activity around it.”

  “Maybe it’s something the Admin works on when they don’t have anything better to do,” Elzbietá commented.

  “Forget the outside weapons.” Raibert shooed the notion aside. “The gunboats are what we’re here for. How do those look?”

  “Some of the launch bays are open,” Philo said. “And those that are have been emptied. Most are still closed.”

  “Probably part of the decommissioning process,” Benjamin said. “If you look at which have been opened, it’s like they’re working their way through the ship from front to back. We could park the Kleio in one that’s next to the closed bays and try to get inside from there.”

  “Sounds like a good place to start,” Raibert said. “Kleio, take us in.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  The Lion’s launch bays were stacked three high and twenty across on each side of the massive ship. The Kleio eased closer, its hull obscured by the metamaterial shroud, and it slid invisibly into one of the bays. The shroud constricted a little more tightly for clearance around the weapons blisters, and the Kleio came to rest with its entire hull inside the bay.

  Raibert and Elzbietá activated the helmets on their prog-steel suits, while Benjamin opened a virtual interface over his wrist and triggered his manually. Metallic tendrils enveloped his head, prompting a flash of claustrophobia before his interface lenses shone the external view straight into his eyes.

  “You still okay with me coming along?” he asked once all of them were sealed inside their armor.

  “The faster we get this done, the safer we all are,” Raibert said through Benjamin’s earbuds. “Besides, we’re in this together. Just be careful what you touch.”

  Two fat-barreled, snubnosed pistols descended from the ceiling on microbot strands. Benjamin grabbed one while Elzbietá took the other.

  “Uhh, Kleio?”

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “What are those supposed to be?” He pointed to the weapons.

  “They are Popular Arsenals PA13 Watchman burst pistols.”

  “Okay, fair enough. Next question. Why are you handing out modern weapons?”

  “Because Doctor Schröder asked me to print out a pair.”

  “And who approved the order?”

  Philo raised a hand.

  “Really, Philo?”

  “They’re part of the team now, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but…” He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I looked through your ship’s catalog and thought they might prove useful,” Benjamin said. “You don’t sound happy.”

  “I just like to know when we’re handing out weapons to the time-traveling newbies. When’s the last time you used a gun, anyway?”

  “About twenty years ago,” Benjamin answered, which was more or less the truth.

  Raibert gave him a doubtful look. “Well, be careful with that thing.”

  “Afraid I’ll shoot one of us by accident?”

  “Nah,” Raibert dismissed. “The software on those things wouldn’t let that happen unless you bypassed the safeties, which you’d better not even think about doing. Just remember it’s not a toy. That gun will pulp an unarmored human.”

  Benjamin inspected the weapon and the displays that spawned around it, peered down its virtual sights with the barrel pointed to the floor, double-checked the safety, then adhered it to his hip. He grabbed a half dozen extra clips the microbots dropped and stuck then to the opposite side of his hip.

  “Hmm.” Raibert nodded slowly. “All right. That makes me feel a little better.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Elzbietá said, grabbing her own spare ammo. “Lead the way, Raibert.”

  “Right.”

  Benjamin and Elzbietá followed the synthoid down the tube to the cargo bay. The tube exit contracted shut behind them. Each of them strapped on a backpack filled with a microbot reservoir.

  “Equalizing pressure,” Philo said. “Deactivating gravity.”

  Benjamin had to suppress a moment of terror as his body screamed out that he was falling. The boots of his prog-steel armor stuck to the deck as unseen mechanisms sucked the air away. He inhaled and exhaled deeply as he came to terms with the falling sensation. Each breath seemed louder than before, and he thought that was because it was one of the few noises he could still hear.

  “Open it up,” Raibert said.

  The Kleio’s bow split open and a ramp extruded to the launch bay. Benjamin found the first few steps to be less awkward than he’d imagined. The suit actively increased or decreased the adhesion of each sole, allowing him to maintain an almost normal stepping motion.

  He left the Kleio and looked around the launch bay, which was six times as deep as it was wide and tall. The back wall formed a dark square covered with white orthogonal outlines and white text that might have indicated openings in the otherwise flat, featureless surface. All of the markings were turned on their side and used the wall to his right as the “floor,” which he supposed made sense. If the ship had to operate while accelerating, then its interior would be laid out like a two-kilometer-tall tower. That way, it could function both in free fall and under acceleration.

  Benjamin walked to his right, placed one boot on the “wall,” then stepped fully onto it and stood up. The markings were all oriented correctly, and visual edits from his interface lenses allowed him to read the weird combination of Spanish and English this timeline used.

  He turned around and gazed out into the cold depths of space. A few lights shone in the distance and moved majestically across the star f
ield.

  Something tapped his shoulder, and he turned to find Elzbietá standing on the “wall” with him. The interface lenses allowed him to see her face even though the prog-steel weave completely obscured her head.

  “You take me to the nicest places.” She tilted her head and winked at him.

  “It’s because you deserve only the best.”

  “Come on. Over here, you two.” Raibert ran his hand down one of the white outlines.

  “Is that supposed to open?” Benjamin asked, walking over.

  “Yeah, but the malmetal doesn’t have any power.”

  “Maybe there’s a manual bypass,” Elzbietá suggested.

  “Sure. I’ve got your bypass right here.” A prog-steel blade extruded from his wrist, its edges faint from what might have been high-speed oscillation. He stabbed it into one corner of the outline, then stroked it down to the floor. The blade vanished back into his suit, and he shoved his fingers into the cut and tore the malmetal sheet aside.

  “There. Bypassed,” he announced.

  “Not exactly the most elegant solution,” Benjamin observed.

  “I do what I can.” Raibert stepped through the opening and entered a hallway that eventually turned left. “Philo, start mapping the interior.”

  “On it.”

  Six remotes from the Kleio zipped past them and hurried deeper into the ship. Raibert led the way, and Benjamin took up the rear. They proceeded cautiously into the dark, followed the hall to a junction, and took another left that led to a white outline.

  Raibert cut another hole to reveal one of the neighboring bays. The bay door was closed, and a boxy vessel almost as large as the Kleio sat clamped to the floor.

  “Philo, what do you make of this one?” Raibert asked.

  “Looks like a troop transport of some kind. Tough armor, but minimal weaponry.”

  “Not what we’re looking for, then.”

  “Should we move on?” Benjamin asked.

  “Hold it, Doc.” Raibert raised a hand. “There’s an opening on the side. I’m going to take a peek at the interior first.”

  He kicked off the floor and floated along the craft’s side, slapped a hand against the hull, then pulled himself in until his feet stuck to the side. He crawled forward on his hands and knees and looked through an oval gap in the outer hull.