GODS OF TIME

by DG SIDNA

  THREE

  All at once the daylight of Brooklyn is gone. What had seemed like a surreal sequence of impossible events only moments ago is now all too real. I'm no longer afforded the luxury of denial. Impossibly, I'm somewhere else—a large room darkened by heavy shadows. Everything the soldier girl told me was true.

  And yet, something is wrong.

  Careena is still beside me, sprawled on the ground, unresponsive and dying. Looking around, we're not in a cabin aboard a cruise ship. The lighting is too dim and industrial. We're in a cargo bay, some sort of massive hangar with high ceilings and rows upon rows of heavy shipping containers stacked floor to ceiling.

  I place my hand on the steel flooring. It pulsates. Some great engine is beneath us. A warp engine? Like in my dad's favorite science-fiction shows? Or something else perhaps, something I could never come to understand? Does it truly mean that we're in space? In the future?

  I look up. Each of the shipping containers is stenciled with the name STELLAR PEARL. So we're on the right ship. I'm not sure how much that comforts me. To make matters worse, Story Beckett, my holographic aid, is nowhere to be found. Did I do something wrong? What should I do now?

  "Hello?" I call out, though I'm afraid to use too loud a voice.

  Someone must have still heard me. A voice calls back from further down the rows of containers. "You there! This area is off limits to passengers."

  I call back. "I'm sorry, but my friend, she's hurt."

  The man runs over to us. "Hurt, you say? I'll have the medics down here immediately."

  He speaks into his sleeve, requesting a doctor.

  Having arrived so abruptly from the outdoor rooftop and now finding myself in this darkened cargo bay, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. At first, all I can see of this man next to me is his outline; he's short, much shorter than me, but stocky in a strange way. He's in a uniform, though it's different to the one Story wore. Hers was blue and silver. His is crimson and grey. But that's not the only thing about him that's different. As he reaches down to pull back Careena's overcoat, my eyes have adjusted enough to see his hands.

  My mouth slowly drops open.

  His skin is the color of shale and has the rough texture of oak bark. On each of his hands are only four digits, two in the middle, with an opposable thumb on either side.

  He's focused on Careena's injury. "I don't know what could have caused an injury like this here. What happened, miss?"

  I can only whisper the words. "I'm not sure." I'm instead trying to summon the strength to look up, to see this man's face. When I finally do, I see a brow like a rocky ledge shadowing two all-black eyes. A dull ivory horn protrudes downward from his chin.

  I should be terrified, but there's a gentleness in his eyes, a caring nature in his demeanor.

  "Miss, you're staring," he says.

  I catch myself. "Sorry... I'm sorry. Will she be alright?"

  "I hope so. I believe this to be a nanite wound. I've never seen such a thing myself, but Doctor Heinlein was a medic during the Second Khelt War. She's dealt with every manner of injury you can think of. If anyone can help your friend, it's her."

  The medics arrive only a moment later. They're all human as far as I can tell. One of them places a small metallic bead on the floor. The bead melts into silver liquid and expands under Careena like a rectangular pool of water. All at once it hardens into a cloth material with chrome handles. The truly astonishing part happens next; the silver cloth levitates upward, with Careena on it. A medic takes the rear handle and hurriedly pushes the floating stretcher out of the cargo bay.

  "They're taking her to sick bay," the alien man tells me.

  "I should go with her."

  "You'll see your friend soon, miss. My name is Lieutenant Chimat. I must tell you, an injury of this kind, and your access to this area, is a most strange occurrence. The captain will have a few questions for you."

  I go cold.

  "Let's start with your room number," Lieutenant Chimat says.

  I stammer.

  I don't know what to say.

  "You do have a room aboard the ship, correct, miss?"

  "Uh..."

  "Miss?"

  "1701." It's worth a shot.

  He pulls a black card, not unlike a credit card, from his jacket pocket. He holds it out to me. "I just need to verify that."

  I stare at it dumbly.

  "Put your thumb on the scanner, please," he says.

  All at once I go from cold to sweating. My stomach is churning knots. I know that once I place my thumb on the card, the gig is up—they'll discover I'm a stowaway. And who knows what alien space people from the future do to stowaways. Toss them out the airlock into a supernova? Feed them to cosmic alligators with three heads? I've seen enough movies with my dad to know that the possibilities are really quite endless.

  "The thumb, miss."

  I decide I have no choice. I place my thumb on the black scanning card and ready myself for alarm klaxons and heavily armed security guards with futuristic rifles to hurl me to the floor.

  Lieutenant Chimat looks at the results on the card, though as far as I can see, it's still a matte black card signifying nothing.

  "Ms. Isabel Overhill from Cawdor III," he says. "Room 1701. Premium package, paid in full. Sharing with your aunt, a Ms. Careena Overhill. That was her, I take it?"

  I let out the biggest sigh of relief in my entire goddamn life. "Yes! Yes, it was. Oh, my poor aunt. My poor, poor aunt. How could something so terrible happen to such a nice lady? I mean, she's not, like, that nice, super annoying actually, and a bit foul-mouthed, but having her guts turned into nano-vomit stuff? I mean, no, that's not, like..."

  I realize he's staring at me. If he's capable of facial expressions, I certainly can't read this one.

  "Follow me," is all he says.

  I come to discover that the Stellar Pearl is a beautiful ship, long, slick, and modern, with white and grey paneling running down long and wide halls, occasionally punctuated with windows looking out into space.

  But it's not until I'm led through the central atrium that I truly appreciate this marvel of future design. A single, oval-shaped glass dome dominates the vessel's topside, protecting a wide arcade of shops and cafes. This boulevard must be nearly a quarter mile long, and is accented by statues, trees, small plazas with outdoor seatings, and fountains. I could just as well be in Paris and not the central artery of a space-faring cruise liner.

  Though we head in the opposite direction, the boulevard ends behind us in a large, circular park, complete with English-styled gardens; it's as if a piece of Mother Nature has been scooped up from some idyllic planet and lovingly placed inside this massive floating terrarium.

  We leave the atrium and Chimat leads me to the bow, where the bridge is located on a triangular disk protruding ever so slightly ahead of the rest of the ship. I imagine if I could see the Stellar Pearl from some distance, it might resemble a hammerhead shark navigating through the currents of space.

  There's a checkpoint before entering the command portion of the ship and I'm scanned for weapons, which causes another moment of anxiety as I remember that I still have Careena's tiny gun, Old Bessie, tucked away in my jacket pocket. Yet, it goes undetected. Perhaps it's so rudimentary and antiquated that modern scanners simply pass right over it.

  I'm asked to sit in a small waiting room while Chimat briefs the captain. It does not escape my attention that a guard is placed at the room's exit. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, which, really, summarizes just about everyone I've seen aboard so far. Not a lot of old fogies in the future, apparently.

  At least there's a window here. Stars are passing by outside, some more quickly than others, each a solar system, each home to their own worlds, their own planets, each holding the possibility of life. I can conjecture that some of those worlds have been colonized by now. But surely there are others still awaiting discovery. And, impossibly, one must be Earth.

  Must be home.r />
  The waiting turns out to be terrible for my nerves. I'm not sure if it's my hangover or my anxiety, but I want to wretch. My hands tremble and I can't keep my knees from shaking. I'm going to be found out, of that I have no doubts.

  What then? What will these people think of me? I'll be like a Neanderthal, thawed from ice, more a curiosity of science than a sentient being. I can't even fathom half of what I've seen so far in this brave new world that I've found myself in.

  My eyes well up.

  It's everything I can do not to cry.

  And then there's a comforting voice beside me.

  "You're doing great, Isabel."

  It's Story Beckett. She's standing beside me. Though I know she's not really here.

  "Story, where the fricken hell have you been?"

  "I apologize. There's something wrong with the QDD's uplink. It took me a moment to find you again."

  "I did exactly what you said."

  "I know. The ring's processor must have been damaged when Agent Smith was attacked. There could be some minor quirks until we have it looked at on Tegana. We're still three days out. I've already checked on Smith, it looks like she's going to pull through. So for now, our best course of action is to keep a low profile."

  I almost can't help but laugh. "A low profile? Really? Your buddy Careena was shot with some sort of gun that little rock dude has never even seen before. And I don't have to tell you that I stand out like a Victorian washerwoman here. You do realize I'm sitting here waiting to talk to the captain, right? I'm sure the captain of a fancy ship like this isn't a complete idiot."

  "I know you're stressed, Isabel, but you can do this."

  Again come the tears. "I really can't."

  "You can."

  I plead. "Can't you speak to them? You're with the military, right? I mean, that's a military uniform, right? You have to."

  "I'm military, yes, but it's more complicated than that. They are a different federation. Think of them like Australia and me like Canada. I really have no standing with them. In fact..."

  "In fact what?"

  Story's lips tighten. "It would be something of a diplomatic situation were they to know that I was here, seeing how I've hacked their computers to give you and Agent Smith a room."

  "What do you mean, knew you were here? I know you're a hologram, but there are cameras all over the place. And the guard is right there at the door." I wave to the guard to make my point. He's rather handsome now that I look at him again. Unfortunately, he pretends not to see me. Which is not the most unexpected reaction when it comes to me and boys.

  Story explains. "The projection doesn't work that way. The ring isn't projecting my image in front of you for you to see me. It's projecting a signal directly into your brain. This conversation is happening entirely in your head. You're the only person here who can see me."

  I'm horrified. Absolutely mortified. Now I understand why the cute guard is ignoring me. Because he thinks I'm fricken nuts! "So you're saying I look like a crazy lady talking to myself! Oh babe, that's going to make for a great first impression with the captain, believe me."

  "No, no, don't worry," she says. "You're not talking to yourself. Your responses to me are also being generated in your mind by the ring. As far as the guard can tell, you're just minding your own business. You'll get the hang of it soon. We call it SI, sensory intervention. It's simply a matter of convenience, nothing more. If you take a moment to notice your attention, you'll see it's quite easy to distinguish what is you in the real world, like when you waved, and what is taking place only with SI, like this conversation."

  "The ring does all this?"

  "Yes. It acts like a receiver for my signal. But the QDD serves many other functions as well. It also acts like a translator. For example, I'm actually speaking Ugandan Acholi. And earlier Lieutenant Chimat was not speaking English to you either. In reality, he can't even produce the correct sounds."

  "What was he speaking then?"

  "One of the languages of Thane, his homeworld. We call all of them Thanish, but I'm sure they're just as varied as the languages of Earth. But you perceived English. And even his lips matched, as do mine, which is one of the conveniences of SI, replacing what you're really seeing with something... less awkward. Otherwise we'd look dubbed, which is how it was in my parent's time."

  Again, I'm somewhat appalled. "And you people are okay with that? With machines waves that invade your brain and trick you into hearing and seeing things that aren't even there?"

  "I understand how it might seem a little strange to you, but for us it's second nature. Translators are very common tech. I imagine nearly everyone on this ship is using one. And there are safety precautions to prevent abuses, but the truth is all technology, no matter how beneficial, carries both risks and moral implications. I assure you, however, this technology is safer than the radio waves you're using back home."

  Back home.

  How I wish I was there now.

  "So where are we?" I ask. "What year is it?"

  The ebony skinned officer takes a deep breath. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

  "No, but tell me anyway."

  "Isabel, it's 3021."

  "Oy vey," I whisper.

  Lieutenant Chimat returns to inform me that the captain is ready to see me now. I understand, without being told, that the rabbit hole only gets deeper from here.

  FOUR

  Captain Wilhelmine Gernsback is a serious-looking woman with straight blonde hair and chiseled features. She definitely has the air of authority. She wears the same crimson and grey uniform as Lieutenant Chimat, who has left us in privacy here in the captain's ready room. With a wave of her hand, the captain instructs me to take a seat across from her handsome oak desk. I hardly even notice the gesture.

  I'm still stunned that I'm a thousand years in the fricken future.

  "Ms. Overhill, I appreciate your coming to see me."

  If I were brave and clever, like a hero in a Hollywood action movie, I'd quip—I wasn't aware that I had a choice, captain. But in reality, I'm too intimidated by this woman to do anything other than nod meekly and take my seat.

  At least Story is with me, standing beside me, visible to no one else, holding a thin tablet in her hand. The young officer is without a doubt the most calm and composed person I've ever met. It's a little annoying, actually. I'm realizing a pattern. Everything in the future is annoying.

  "First things first," Captain Gernsback begins as I sit. "I'm told your aunt is quite the fighter. She'll pull through, you needn't worry."

  "Oh, thank goodness," I say.

  "Now obviously we have some questions."

  "Of course."

  "Do you know how your aunt received her wound?"

  Story has promised to coach me through the entire meeting, though until I understand this mysterious SI better, I'm not supposed to look up to her, less I make a mistake distinguishing the real from the purely mental and give our little charade away.

  I wait for my prompt, but she seems distracted by her pad. Her fingers are moving with amazing speed and precision. What she's typing, I have no idea, but if she's smart, it's my obituary.

  "Tell her you don't know," she instructs me, without ever looking up from her pad.

  That's it? That's how I'm going to fool this scary captain lady?

  I give it a shot. "I'm sorry, I don't know."

  "Are you aware of what manner of wound it was?"

  "No, ma'am, I don't know that either."

  "Weaponized nanites," the captain informs me. "Which is very troubling. As you probably know, offensive nanites were outlawed by the Bishkek Convention centuries ago. Our natural immune system is useless against such an enemy. These microscopic robots break apart the chemical bonds in organic cells to power themselves until a person is turned into ash, quite literally from the inside out. Normally it happens in a matter of minutes. And yet, I'm told your aunt's wound never grew beyond the size of a fist."

  "L
ucky, I guess." That part was unprompted, but Story doesn't seem to mind. Or notice. She's still banging away on her pad.

  "Oh, it wasn't luck, Ms. Overhill," the captain says. "Your aunt has previously been inoculated with a military grade nanite defense system of her own. The little bastards fought it out, creating quite a show, I'm sure. Doctor Heinlein tells me we got to her just in time. Your aunt's defensive nanites would have eventually been overwhelmed. The fact remains, her own nanites, while not strictly illegal for therapeutic uses, are highly regulated outside of medical quarantine. They are dangerous and, if hijacked, difficult to defend against. She should never have been allowed aboard a civilian passenger ship with this type of military technology in her blood. I'm still a little curious how she got past our sensors upon boarding. But I supposed you don't know anything about that either."

  "No, ma'am. I'm sorry."

  The captain looks down at her own thin tablet. Everyone's got a fricken tablet but me. "It says here you two are Cawdorian. You boarded six weeks ago at Cawdor III. Is that correct?"

  Story looks up from whatever she's doing. "Tell her yes."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Not that it's any of my business, but may I ask, what is the nature of your visit to Tegana? I see you have no onward ticket. Tegan immigration is notoriously strict about such things."

  Story coaches me on what to say. I repeat verbatim, "We have invitation visas from the Tegan Ministry of Science. My aunt is the mandate's foremost expert on earthworms and, as you may have seen in the news, Tegana is currently experiencing a massive die off. Most people don't realize just how important worms are for the ecosystem."

  "This is the cargo you have in the hold? The manifest says Lumbricus rubellus, two hundred million. Eisenia fetida sixteen million. Those are worms, I take it?"

  I continue my repetition, even though worms creep me the hell out. "Yes, ma'am. We went down there because my aunt wanted to check the stasis settings. Then there was a bright flash and my aunt was wounded. That's when your officer found us."

  "You were not supposed to access the cargo bay without an escort, Ms. Overhill."