Crucible of Time

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  He tried further afield: sending queries to members of several pandimensional races, like the yaantel, the Tintangles, and the shadow-people. Moving in and out of the continuum as they did, they had more of a birds-eye view of the universe. Perhaps they would have noticed a change.

  Replies filtered in. Nobody reported seeing any changes. Perhaps time had proven its resiliency, after all—snapping back from all the small-scale changes inflicted on it in the eons past. That meant the Galactic Core Mission planning team had the right of it, at least on that particular score, at least if this information was accurate.

  The Logothian pondered for a time what he might do about the information undoubtedly gained during the mission. He needed access to that information, but the GCM team was being parsimonious in sharing their data. Amaduse was not of a mind to tolerate that for long. His duty was to facilitate access to information, not just for the libraries and his own curiosity, but for all the circles of those making decisions for Shipworld. Right now that process was threatened by factions, and by a general lack of trust. There were strong partisan influences on both the GCM team’s interpretation of the data and on the data’s release—or non-release—to greater Shipworld. Additional reports from Rings-at-Need indicated that the GCM team was keeping the returned travelers quarantined, even from the yaantel, who had as much right as the GCM to interview them.

  Amaduse saw peril in these decisions. The knowledge the travelers carried was too important to be held prisoner to politics. His duty was to ensure that that did not happen—and that meant gaining access to the travelers. If they were not permitted to travel to the yaantel, he would find another way. The GCM team did not need to like it.

  ***

  Julie woke up thinking about John, and then Antares; and then, John and Antares. Her feelings were hopelessly tangled. When she remembered Antares’ devastating loss on her behalf, Julie felt first a flash of guilt, and then a wrenching empathy for Antares. Was there some way she could help? Not by lying here, helpless, she thought. She pushed herself up from the sleeping mat and stumbled into the shower. With steam billowing around her and needles of hot water massaging her neck, she thought, Antares could be the closest connection I’ll ever have to John, especially if he doesn’t come back. She bowed her head to accept the pounding of the water on her shoulders. Finally she turned into the shower, made an adjustment to the flow, and raised her face to let the warm cascade sluice away the tears.

  By the time she’d dried off, the closet had finished cleaning her clothes. She dressed and left her room to find Napoleon arranging breakfast on the table, with the help of a lithe, fine-furred creature who peered at her with enormous eyes, bowed without a word, and departed. Looking after the creature, Julie murmured to the robot, “This looks really good, Napoleon. Thanks.”

  Napoleon clicked.

  Ik appeared from his doorway to join her. When she inquired as to whether he had rested well, he answered, “I, hrrm, found it remarkably strange to be resting in—” he gestured around with outstretched arms “—a room. A place I can stand up in, and walk around in.”

  Julie concurred. She had woken several times near the end of the night—disoriented, struggling to figure out where she was in the ghoststream, before remembering. And now, by the light of local day, she wondered aloud, “More debriefing today, you think?”

  “I imagine so,” Ik said.

  “Hm.” Julie poured herself a cup of coffee. She raised the cup, hands trembling.

  “Hrrm?” Ik asked. She looked at him. “This may not be my business, Julie Stone . . .”

  Oh God. Is it painted on my face? Can everyone read it?

  “But because you are my friend, I will ask anyway . . .”

  Yes, apparently it was painted on her face.

  “Hrah. I know you are troubled. Antares was, also . . . hrrm, after you went to sleep.”

  Julie said nothing. She had no words.

  “I am aware that there is tension between you two. Because of . . . well, hrah.” Ik canted his head, not finishing the sentence.

  Julie strained to keep her voice neutral. “I hope it didn’t keep her up sleepless.”

  Ik’s head moved in a funny little pattern, side to side and forward and back. “I think, hrrm, that it might have.”

  Her stomach cramped.

  Ik straightened. “Julie, you are my friend. And I have been Antares’ companion through many difficult times.”

  “I know, Ik. I’m not trying to involve you.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is, she is someone I—that is, you, I hope—can trust.”

  She barked a laugh, spilling hot coffee on her hand. “Ow. That’s not it, Ik. Really.” She sucked the coffee off the back of her hand. “I trust her. She brought us back, both of us. Oh God, yes, I trust her. But still, it remains . . . she loves John, and so do I. And that’s not going to go away.”

  Ik’s head bobbed as he considered. A moment later, his gaze shifted suddenly as Napoleon said, “Good morning, Lady Antares.”

  Julie turned to see Antares emerging from her room. The Thespi looked beautiful, of course; or actually, on second glance, a little wan, as though she really hadn’t slept well. If Thespi women even slept, Julie thought. They probably just reclined there being beautiful, or maybe growing their beauty.

  Antares greeted them with a throaty murmur. She selected a piece of triangular red fruit from the table and poured herself a cup of a pale green tea, then sat to one side, saying nothing. She appeared troubled.

  For a minute, no one spoke. Then Julie, unable to stand the silence, cleared her throat noisily. “No word from anyone yet, that we know of.”

  Antares murmured, “They may give us a day to rest.” She didn’t sound as if she believed it, though.

  “That’s good, right?”

  Antares shrugged and breathed a whispery sigh. “It would be easier to rest, if we could find a way to contact—”

  Napoleon interrupted with, “Excuse me, but I believe we have a visitor.”

  Julie swung toward the entry, but Napoleon said, “No, Lady Julie—not that doorway.” As he spoke, a blurred light the size of a human child appeared, floating in the center of the room. The glow subsided, and the blur resolved into Rings-at-Need.

  Julie yelped in pleasure.

  “I think we’re all glad to see you,” Napoleon said to the Tintangle. “Am I right?” he asked, swiveling his head around.

  “Hrrm,” said Ik. “Oh yes,” said Julie, in the same instant. Antares simply looked at Rings in amazement.

  “I am pleased to see you safely back,” said Rings, spinning in short bursts. “But I regret that your hosts seem to want to keep you isolated. That is what Amaduse said when he asked me to look in on you. Is that true?”

  Ik began to speak, but Antares interrupted to say, “Yes, true. They have prevented me from seeing the yaantel—” and her voice hardened a little “—and I have asked several times.”

  Julie scowled. “Doesn’t the translator have influence? Can’t it ask to hear what we have to say?”

  Rings gonged softly. “Oh yes. It also asked me to come here and learn what I could from you.”

  At that moment, the physical door to the station slid open with a whicking sound. In strode two members of the mission team. Julie groaned in annoyance. She recognized them as part of the support staff, but did not know them by name. One of them was vaguely humanoid, except for its stubby arms, and a head that looked as if an anvil had dropped on it. The other bore a passing resemblance to Cromus, but was smaller, with a tan-colored carapace. They stood just inside the doorway and stared at Rings-at-Need.

  “Greetings,” said Rings. “May we help you?”

  “We require a conversation with the travelers, and the Thespi,” answered the humanoid newcomer. “We are sorry, but we do not know how you came to be here. We must ask you to leave.”

  Before Rings could answer, Antares stood. “We were promised privacy and rest, for as lon
g as we needed. Yes? We still require privacy, and that includes our invited guest.”

  The two beings looked at each other. The humanoid said, “The Tintangle was not invited by us, and I am afraid it represents a security risk.”

  “Security risk? Why?” Julie asked. When the two gazed blankly at her, she asked again, “Why is Rings a security risk? Isn’t he the one who brought us to you in the first place?”

  The Cromuslike creature clicked its pincers nervously. “That is true. However, circumstances have changed. At this time, the Tintangle does not have security certification for access to this mission information.”

  Julie scratched her side. “That makes no sense. You trusted him before. Besides, he’s our liaison with—”

  “The yaantel?” asked the humanoid, with what seemed an accusing intonation. “Exactly. It has come to take information to the yaantel, has it not? When it has already been denied permission to do that?” When Julie didn’t answer, it continued, “That is why it is a risk. The yaantel is not cleared to receive this information at this time.”

  At that, Julie lost what little patience she had left. “You’re preventing the translator from knowing what happened?” she snapped. “How could you even think of doing that?”

  The anvil-head said, “If it were just the yaantel, the situation might be different. But we have no way of knowing whom the yaantel might pass the information on to.”

  Julie threw up her hands and laughed helplessly. “Have you all taken leave of your senses? I trust the translator more than anyone on Shipworld! Let me talk to Cromus! And then I want to talk to the translator!”

  The one like Cromus snapped its pincers in agitation. “Really! Really!” it rasped. “Cromus was the one who sent us. Cromus is busy dealing with—”

  “Busy? Cromus is too busy to talk to us?”

  “We did not mean—”

  “Hrah,” said Ik. “We are starting to wonder if you appreciate the grave risks we took for you.”

  “Not for you only,” Julie said. “For the people of Shipworld, maybe. For the galaxy, maybe. But not for people who take our efforts and try to own them for I don’t know what purpose!”

  The humanoid emitted a soft groan. “You must not speak of the team—of the team leaders!—that way. They are only trying to prevent problems—to keep inflammatory stories and leaks from getting out and—”

  “What?” Julie demanded.

  “Causing problems,” the creature repeated.

  “Hrrm, what sort of problems?”

  The humanoid shifted slightly, to speak to the Hraachee’an. “There are other circles of power in Shipworld. Surely you know that. There are those who would look at the records of your mission and say, ‘It is too dangerous to do these things. They should not have been done.’ And they would try to shut down our efforts to protect the future.”

  “I see,” said Ik, though his tone indicated that he did not. “You are trying to protect your projects? Perhaps they are too dangerous. But as that may be, we have not agreed to give up our freedom for the sake of your project.”

  The humanoid stood a little straighter. “I believe, in fact, you have. When you agreed—”

  “No, we have not,” Julie interrupted. “We saved the galaxy, because you asked us to. That doesn’t mean we’re your slaves. We came to you through Rings-at-Need and the transl—the yaantel. We intend to share our experience with them. If your superiors don’t like that, they can take it up with the yaantel—after we have our visit.”

  The two visitors looked shocked. They exchanged glances, before the Cromuslike one said, “This is unanticipated. We must consult our leaders. You will be restricted to this suite until we return.”

  Julie watched them, glaring, as they turned and left. “Well,” she said, finally, “I’m starting to wonder: Rings, can you get us out of here, and to the translator?”

  Rings had remained silent and motionless throughout the exchange. Now he answered, “I came to hear your story, not to break you out. I’ll have to investigate. Please wait.” Rings spun, blurred, and was gone.

  Julie sighed deeply and spread her hands helplessly toward the others.

  ***

  Rings was gone for nearly an hour. When he reappeared, he seemed to have some difficulty. He looked like a glitching holo as he spun out of his travel continuum. When at last he was solid and able to speak, he said, “That was interesting. There are force barriers where there weren’t before. They are serious about keeping me out, and you in. I had to use some dimensional back doors to get here.”

  “Hrrrl,” growled Ik. “They are spying on us, too, then. Watching to see what you would do. Moon and stars! I thought we could trust them!”

  “Uhhl!” Antares cried. “I hope we can trust some of them, still!”

  “Either way,” said Julie, “we need to know, can you get us out of here, Rings?”

  The Tintangle rotated briefly one way and then the other, as though shaking his head. “I am afraid not. At least, not immediately.” He spun twitchily for another moment, and then added, “I have moderately stable communications with the yaantel right now. The yaantel is exploring options. It asks for your patience, and your story.”

  Julie sighed in frustration. “We’ve got nothing but time, right? Let’s tell you our story.”

  Chapter 37

  Homeward for Answers

  “BANDIE JOHN BANDICUT! Are you all right?”

  Bandicut stared out into space. No, he was not all right. Not even close.

  Charli was gone. There was nothing more to be done about it.

  ***

  Over the remainder of the flight home, he worked at trying to come to terms with that. He and Li-Jared began to talk again, drawn together by the commonality of loss. Li-Jared was starting to emerge from his funk, perhaps jarred out of it by the necessity of rescuing Bandicut from the silence-fugue. Li-Jared even began speaking civilly to Ruall again.

  Ruall had words for Bandicut: “Charli is still out there in riverstrand-space. But search your inner thoughts carefully.”

  Bandicut, in fact, was constantly searching the inner vaults of his mind, just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. Was some remnant of Charli there, some connection to the Charli who lived now in the eternity of the starstream? Some Charli-echo? He imagined he heard echoes of her voice, but he was pretty sure they were only memory-echoes.

  “Search again, from time to time,” Ruall said.

  Bandicut would, of course. He doubted he could ever stop searching, hoping for a familiar whisper across time and space.

  ***

  The Long View’s outbound track in the starstream was smooth and steady, like coursing down a subtly winding river whose banks were periodically interrupted by entrances to hidden harbors. The Long View flew past them all and hurtled single-mindedly outward, away from the galactic center.

  The ship still felt eerily empty without the guests who had filled it, and without its missing members.

  “I hear echoes of Bria everywhere,” Ruall remarked at one point. She seemed to be inviting Bandicut to say something similar about Charli. He wished he could.

  ***

  Eventually they left the starstream to head in their own direction. Dark took her leave, saying she wanted to explore the starstream further. “Thank you, and come see us again—please,” Bandicut murmured. “You know where to find us.” He was sorry to see her go. He strove to focus his weary thoughts on what lay ahead. He was eager to be reunited with his friends, of course—but that presumed that his friends had also made it back alive—and in the now, not a hundred years before, or after. Was that too much to hope for? Had Ik and Julie survived and returned from whatever strange mission they had been sent on? And what about Antares and Napoleon?

  The questions burned in his mind.

  The light-years, outside n-space, flowed past.

  ***

  “Coming out of n-space,” Copernicus announced, and they all gathered to watch it happ
en. They had reached the edge of the galaxy. Would they see anything but empty space ahead?

  The viewspace shivered and swam, and then hardened once more to clarity. Ahead of them, a shadow only a little less black than the darkness stretched across their path. “One moment,” said Copernicus, as he made adjustments to the image. A moment later, the shadow brightened and came into focus: It was the vast sprawl of Shipworld, stretching from the left side of the viewspace to the right, a long succession of great, connected modules that seemed to go forever. Behind the immense structure, fuzzy spots of light focused to reveal the tiny shapes of faraway galaxies. Some of them were larger. Above Shipworld and to the left lay the glowing splendor of the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds, the Milky Way’s largest satellite galaxies.

  A quick blink to a stern view revealed the heart-wrenching majesty of the Milky Way itself behind them, a glowing splatter-painting of the starry road they’d left behind.

  Ruall clanged, “Well done, Copernicus! Are you ready for me to take the con?”

  “No need,” said Copernicus. “Unless you really want to. I have established contact with traffic control, and I have our approach course lined up.”

  “Oh,” Ruall said, her voice muted. She was mellowing. “Carry on, then.”

  “Aye.”

  The structure ballooned before them, fractal-like levels of detail crystallizing into visibility as The Long View closed the distance. Finally an opening yawned, and streaming lights guided them into a hangar, and then into the waiting arms of a docking cradle.

  With the tactile clunk of docking, Bandicut let out an enormous sigh of relief: Home at last. Home such as it is now. He called out to the robots: “Can you get a time and date check? How long have we been gone?” He swung to look at Li-Jared, and thought he saw the same question in the Karellian’s eyes. Was he still feeling like a prisoner? Or was the anticipation of seeing Ik and Antares winning out? “You okay?” Bandicut asked.