by Patrick Lee
Because the Whisper had been out there all these years, seeding the world with vines that all converged on this moment. Something very big was about to happen, whether or not he left the Whisper in its box. He could feel it. All that this thing had ever done, in its twenty years on Earth, had been to place Travis in this corridor, at this moment, alone.
For a reason.
Time to find out what it was.
He crouched, set the gun aside, unlatched the steel box and opened it. Blue light blazed. He pulled off the top of the transparency suit and dropped it against the wall, and with his bare hand, he lifted the Whisper from the box.
There was no trance effect this time. No erotic intensity pushing his logic and willpower aside. Just Emily Price’s voice, steady and even.
“Hello, Travis.”
“Hello,” he said.
“All appearances to the contrary, I really have no tendency toward screwing around. Let’s get right to it, shall we?”
“Let’s,” Travis said.
“There’s something very important coming out of the Breach, just over three minutes from now. Entity 0697. It’s critical that you be there to receive it. You alone.”
“What is Entity 0697?”
“You’ll see. It’s time to make your way down now, Travis. While you do that, I’ll tell you as much as I’m sanctioned to tell you.”
Travis looked at the stairwell door, through which Paige and the others would arrive in the next minute or so. Then he went past it, to the elevator shaft, and stepped onto the inset ladder inside. Only the elevator shaft went all the way to B51.
He descended, unhindered by the Whisper in his hand; he freed two fingers from around it to grip the rungs. The blue light settled into the rhythm of his pulse, flaring over and over on the dull walls of the shaft.
“I’ll tell you the story of your life,” the Whisper said, “the way it would’ve gone if I hadn’t come along and started changing things. Fifteen years in prison. You get out. You do not move to Alaska. You join your brother’s software business in Minneapolis. He shows you the ropes. You learn very quickly. Programming, it turns out, is only another species of detective work, at which you’re a natural. It’s all about cause-and-effect logic, if/then reasoning, shot through a prism of creativity. Your insight greatly enhances the development of your brother’s fledgling artificial intelligence system, Whitebird. Over the years it progresses through iterative leaps, the major upgrades corresponding to the belt-color rankings of martial arts, in reference to the old eight-bit Karate games it was once tested on. First iteration, Whitebird. Second iteration, Yellowbird. Third, Greenbird. By April of 2014 your brother has put the project entirely under your control. You create Bluebird, which Sony purchases for two hundred forty million dollars. It becomes a standard bearer for video-game intelligence. Tangent takes notice of you. In October of that same year they recruit you to live at Border Town and design specialized software and hardware for them, based on the Bluebird architecture. You rise to prominence within Tangent in short order. At some point after that—here I’m limited in what exactly I can tell you—things begin to go badly.”
“Badly how?”
He passed B48, the numbers stenciled on the inside of the shaft doors.
“It’s better if I don’t say any more about it,” the Whisper said, “until you see Entity 0697 for yourself.”
The Whisper fell silent. Travis didn’t bother to question it further.
The shaft brightened as he descended. He looked down and saw light streaming in at the bottom, illuminating the pancaked wreck of the elevator cab. The impact had blown out the shaft doors on B51. The light was shining in from the concrete corridor on that level. The elevator had compressed so much that it only blocked the bottom half of the opening. There would be room to slide through easily.
Travis reached the rung above the elevator. The roof was bent and canted to the side but looked sturdy enough. He stepped onto it, and a moment later he was in the corridor, staring toward the dark shell that enclosed the Breach. Around his feet, blood soaked the concrete, pooling in every imperfection in its surface.
“Travis?” It was Paige’s voice, coming down to him from high above. “Travis, where are you?” Her tone, confused and unnerved, made him want to answer. Made him want to call up the shaft, tell her it was all okay, he’d be right with her.
“You need to receive it alone,” the Whisper said.
It wasn’t forcing his mind. Only telling him. He nodded, and set off down the corridor, Paige’s voice calling again behind him, over and over.
To the end of the corridor. To the giant black dome. To the igloo entrance, and through its glass door.
The Breach waited in its little soundproof cage. Purple and blue, its depth receding to a vanishing point.
He could already see the entity coming. A shape against the dazzle of the tunnel’s colored light. Something white, and nearly weightless, wafting along the passageway like a feather through an air duct. But it wasn’t a feather. Not quite. Maybe thirty yards away down the tunnel now. Twenty. Ten.
Travis opened the door, and the Breach Voices pierced him at once, like scalpel tips into his eardrums. He thought of Dave Bryce, stuck down here with this sound until it drove him mad.
Entity 0697 emerged from the Breach and drifted down onto the receiving platform. It was a single sheet of paper, with writing on it.
Travis stooped to pick it up, expecting the Whisper’s scratch language, or maybe some alien script he wouldn’t recognize at all.
Instead it was neatly handwritten English.
He stepped back from the glass door and let it fall shut again, mercifully silencing the Breach Voices. But by that time he’d forgotten all about them. He’d forgotten everything else in the world, except what was written on the paper in his hands.
THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM PAIGE CAMPBELL TO PAIGE CAMPBELL. I AM SENDING IT FROM A POINT IN THE FUTURE WHICH I WILL NOT DISCLOSE. AS VERIFICATION THAT THIS IS REALLY PAIGE, MY FAVORITE PASSAGE OF ANY NOVEL IS THE LAST PARAGRAPH BEFORE THE EPILOGUE OF WATERSHIP DOWN BY RICHARD ADAMS, A FACT I HAVE NEVER SHARED WITH ANYONE. AS VERIFICATION OF TIME, HERE ARE THE DETAILS OF A MINOR EARTHQUAKE THAT WILL OCCUR BENEATH THE MOJAVE DESERT THREE DAYS AFTER THIS MESSAGE ARRIVES. MAG 2.35, DATE JULY 3, 2009, 10:48 UTC, LAT 34.915, LON –118.072, DEPTH 14.32KM. THIS MESSAGE IS AN INSTRUCTION REGARDING A MAN NAMED TRAVIS CHASE. IN 2009 HE IS A SOFTWARE ENGINEER WHO LIVES IN MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, AT 4161 KALMACH ST. FIND TRAVIS CHASE AND KILL HIM. MORE THAN 20 MILLION LIVES ARE AT STAKE.
Travis saw that the Whisper’s light was strobing faster than before. A lot faster. It was still matched to his pulse.
His eyes went back to the message. “This can’t be,” he said.
“It is,” the Whisper said. “She really wrote that, and really sent it, using technology that will eventually be developed by Dr. Fagan. Fagan’s theory turns out to be correct: objects can be sent into the Breach from this side, but they return without reaching the far end, and depending on their velocity, they can return before they were sent in. Even years and years before.”
Travis shook his head. Behind his disbelief, uncountable questions churned. His eyes tracked over the words on the paper again. Paige. Hating him. Wanting him dead.
“What am I, in the future?” he said. “Am I a monster?”
“Monster is a human label. It’s subjective. I could argue that you were a monster twenty minutes ago when you murdered four men with a crowbar and enjoyed it.”
“They deserved it.”
“Deserve is a human label too. It changes depending on who’s saying it.” The Whisper paused, its light reflecting off the glass of the Breach’s enclosure, and then said, “I can tell you this, objectively. The Travis Chase who joined Tangent by way of being a software engineer eventually became someone Paige Campbell wanted dead. Wanted it badly enough to send that note, to make it happen retroactively. That same Travis Chase found out about what she’d done, and in
turn found a way to counteract her move. He had, by this time, developed his AI architecture to a system called Brownbird, which was radically advanced. But there was a way to improve its performance beyond what humans had ever thought was possible—beyond what even a quantum computer could do—by upgrading the hardware with Breach technology. It would be very difficult to describe for you how it works. Even the Travis Chase who built it didn’t fully understand its operation. The quick version is that it uses matter outside of itself for calculation, connecting to it by way of particles very close to what physicists in 2009 call gravitons. The system can set up spin computation in every elementary particle of a nearby lump of material—the planet Earth, for example. Yesterday, Paige told you how powerful a quantum computer with one hundred qubits would be. Imagine one with as many qubits as the Earth has quarks. That system is called Blackbird. Didn’t I promise to tell you my real name someday?”
“I created you?” Travis said. “I sent you … back to 1989?”
“Yes. For two purposes. First, to position your present self here and now, so that you would intercept Paige’s message to herself. Second, to arrange events such that you would still become a member of Tangent, as in the original timeline—though a few years earlier in this case.”
The coiled logic of it settled over Travis. Then, even through his confusion, he sensed a flaw in what the thing had told him.
“You’re wondering how I’ll be created now,” the Blackbird said. “This time around, you won’t join your brother’s business. You won’t become an AI designer. You won’t know how to build me. So how will I come to be?”
Travis waited for it to go on.
“Humans call this problem the grandfather paradox. They get tied up thinking about it. What happens if you go back in time and kill your grandfather before he meets your grandmother? Do you cease to exist, having prevented your own birth? No. Your arrival in the past becomes your birth, even if it means being born fully grown, with a head full of memories of a childhood that may never end up happening. It’s no different in my case: I may have once been built by Travis Chase, but my arrival in 1989 became my creation, superseding the other. The grandfather paradox is a fallacy. I exist. It’s that simple. And now I’ve done what I was sent to do, so I’ll be shutting down. Permanently.”
“Wait,” Travis said. “Tell me what happens in my future. What happens to turn me into … whatever I’m going to be? Can I avoid it?”
He heard the Blackbird laugh softly inside his head, as if it found that idea absurd. But it didn’t say so.
“I’m not supposed to talk about that.”
“But I don’t understand,” Travis said. “Did the other—did I … want to reset everything, and have a second chance? A chance to not become someone bad?”
“The Travis who sent me didn’t consider himself bad. Does anyone?”
Before he could ask anything else, the Blackbird flared bright in his hand. Bright enough to make him look away. He saw his own shadow projected on the wall, enormous and terrible. Then it vanished. He looked at the Blackbird again. Dark and dead in his hand.
“Travis?”
Paige. Behind him at the entry to the dome.
In his other hand he still held the note. It was in front of him; she hadn’t seen it yet.
He could show it to her. Tell her everything. Start off on the right track, find some way to prevent whatever it implied.
Her footsteps came toward him across the concrete.
He folded the paper and slid it into the waistband of the transparency suit, the bottom half of which he was still wearing. It vanished there half a second before Paige came around to meet his eyes.
He reacted as if he’d just become aware of her. As if he’d been gazing at the Breach, lost in it.
Lying to her already, before he’d even spoken.
She saw the Blackbird in his hand. Her eyes narrowed, confused.
“Did you take off its key?” she said. “It’s dangerous even without it—”
He held it up to the light, showed her the cellophane-like key still attached to it.
“It’s dead,” he said. “Shut down after I killed Pilgrim. I don’t know why.”
She held his eyes, stared deep into him. If she saw through what he was saying, it didn’t show. She moved closer. Her eyes softened. Her hand touched his arm.
“Hey,” she said. “It’s over. Whatever it was, it’s over.”
He nodded and managed something that wasn’t entirely a frown. She folded into his arms.
Over her shoulder, he found himself staring into the Breach. Blue and purple like a bruise, reaching away to infinity. He considered the track of his future, another path leading somewhere he couldn’t see. Leading to something that would remake him into a man Paige wanted dead. Something lying in his road, out there in the darkness, years and miles away from this moment. Waiting.
“It’s over,” Paige said again.
He held her tightly, and hoped she was right.
Ghost Country
Patrick lee
EYES ONLY—DO NOT REPRODUCE
SPECIAL CLEARANCE REQUIRED—ATOLL 6
[a] US Code 403 / Article 2.1.1
[b] White House Special Directive
3 August 1978
EXECUTIVE ORDER 1978-AU3
Legal titles and definitions established in this document shall be binding on all signatories to the TANGENT SPECIAL AUTHORITY AGREEMENT (hereafter TSAA):
“BREACH” shall refer to the physical anomaly located at the former site of the Very Large Ion Collider at Wind Creek, Wyoming. The total systemic failure of the VLIC on 7 March 1978 created the BREACH by unknown means. The BREACH may be an Einstein-Rosen bridge, or wormhole (ref: VLIC Accident Investigation Report).
“ENTITY” shall refer to any object that emerges from the BREACH. To date, ENTITIES have been observed to emerge at the rate of 3 to 4 per day (ref: VLIC Accident Object Survey). ENTITIES are technological in nature and suggest design origins far beyond human capability. In most cases their functions are not readily apparent to researchers on site at Wind Creek.
“BORDER TOWN” shall refer to the subsurface research complex being constructed at the VLIC accident site, to serve the housing and working needs of scientific and security personnel studying the BREACH. All signatories to TSAA hereby agree that BORDER TOWN, along with its surrounding territory (ref: Border Town Exclusion Zone Charter), is a sovereign state unto itself, solely governed by the organization TANGENT.
This document is legally binding and enforceable effective immediately, 3 August 1978.
EYES ONLY—DO NOT REPRODUCE
Part I - Iris
Chapter One
Fifty seconds before the first shots hit the motorcade, Paige Campbell was thinking about the fall of Rome. The city, not the empire. The empire had gone in stages, with any number of dates that historians could argue over and call endpoints, but there was no disagreement as to when the city itself had been sacked. August 24, 410. Sixteen hundred and one years ago to the week. Paige didn’t know the details beyond the date. Though she’d once planned to be an historian herself, before ending up in a very different line of work, she’d never studied that region or period in much depth. She only remembered the date from European history in high school. But she wondered. She wondered if the city’s inhabitants had known, even a few months before the fact, that they would see it all come to its end. She thought about that and then turned in her seat and watched Washington, D.C., slide away behind her into the night. She could see the Washington Monument and the Capitol Dome lit up in the darkness. The winking lights of an airliner coming up out of Reagan National. The headlamps of cars behind her and on surrounding streets. Billboards and storefronts and arc lights, the glow of it all cast up onto the low cloud cover that lay over the city like a blanket. The infrastructure of the modern world. It looked like it would stand forever.
She turned forward again. The motorcade was heading east on Suitland Park
way, back toward Andrews Air Force Base, where she and the others had landed only a few hours earlier. It was seven minutes past midnight. The road was wet from the rain that had been falling steadily since their arrival. The pavement caught and scattered the glow of taillights ahead. Paige was in the rear vehicle of the procession. Martin Crawford was sitting next to her.
Behind them on the back bench seat, locked in its carrying case, was the object that’d prompted this visit to Washington. The Breach entity they’d just demonstrated for an audience of one.
“He was calmer than I thought he’d be,” Paige said. “I thought he’d have a harder time believing it.”
“He saw it with his own eyes,” Crawford said. “Hard to dismiss that kind of evidence.”
“Still, he’s new on the job. He’s never seen an entity before, much less one like this.”
“He’s the president. He’s seen a lot of things.”
Paige watched the traffic skimming by across the median, tires spinning up long ragged clouds of moisture from the roadbed.
“I thought he’d be scared,” she said. “I thought, once we showed it to him, he’d be as scared as we are.”
“Maybe he hides it well.”
“Do you think he can help us figure this out?” Paige said. “How to stop whatever’s coming?”
“We don’t know what’s coming yet.”
“We know it’s nothing good. And that we don’t have a hell of a lot of time before it gets here.”
Crawford nodded, staring forward. He was seventy-four and looked it, except in his eyes, which probably hadn’t changed in decades. They looked troubled at the moment.
Paige glanced ahead and caught her own eyes in the rearview mirror up front. No lines around them yet—she was only thirty-one—but this job would put them there soon enough.
She turned and looked back at the entity’s case, just visible in the rain-refracted city light. She thought of what she’d said to the president: that this entity could be considered an investigative tool. It offered a unique way of seeing the world—and a way of looking for things that could be found by no other means.
