by R. M. Meluch
“Romulus is fixin’ to go back in time.”
Calli’s eyes rolled to the overhead. “He can’t do it.” She had to move fast to keep up with Farragut charging up the ramp tunnel.
“Can he not?” Jose Maria asked across Farragut. “Are you sure, fair Captain? Are you absolutely sure?”
“I went to school with Romulus,” Calli said. “He believes whatever he wants to believe.”
“You did not go to school with Romulus the patterner,” Jose Maria said.
“He still can’t go back in time. No one can.”
“The Xi tablet did,” Jose Maria said.
Had her there.
“Something for sure triggered that black hole in the Myriad back in forty-three,” Farragut added. “We had front row seats at that event.”
“Front row?” Jose Maria nearly smiled. “Young Admiral, I understand you jumped onto the stage.”
“I tried,” Farragut said.
“Five years ago we failed to stop the Archon’s messenger from going through the Rim Gate,” Calli said flatly. “It went. The black hole formed. But nothing happened to us. Jose Maria, you saw it.”
“I was not there, fair Captain.”
“Right. Why did I think you were there? Point is nothing happened. History didn’t change. Romulus may as well flap his arms and expect to fly.”
“I believe something did change,” Jose Maria said. “Were you aware, fair Captain, of a recent break-in at your Smithsonian Institute?”
Calli looked lost. “Does that mean something?”
“Someone took the Xi tablet.”
Farragut lifted his gaze heavenward. “Oh, for Jesus. Where is Romulus now?”
“Right now? We don’t know,” Calli said. “Last verified sighting was at the games here on Beta Centauri two nights ago. Some little goddess has been filling in for him in his imperial box the last two nights.”
“He’s in motion,” Farragut said. “Get him.”
“John? He’s in a Xerxes. How do we hunt an undetectable ship?”
“We know where he’s going.”
“We do? You think he’s going to the Myriad?” Calli asked. “That’s a huge area and a voyage of several months unless he means to storm the Shotgun.”
“He’s not going to the Myriad,” Farragut said. “Not directly. He’s fixin’ to take the Xi tablet into the Xi gate at 82 Eridani.”
“There’s still a gate at 82 Eridani? I thought all the wormholes closed. They disappeared when the Arran messenger went through the Rim Gate and the black hole formed. Every wormhole in the Myriad closed.”
“The gate at 82 Eridani didn’t close,” Farragut said. “I just checked.”
“It’s still open?”
“It’s still there,” Farragut said. He didn’t know if it was exactly open or shut.
“Well, good,” Calli said. “The gate at 82 Eridani used to connect to the Rim Gate in the Myriad. This is great. Romulus can go in the gate at 82 Eridani. He’ll arrive in the ass end of a black hole two thousand parsecs from here in the Myriad. Good place for him. Requiesce in inferno, fututor.”
“I’d like to believe that, Cal, but I don’t guess that’s the scenario Romulus is imagining. There are two patterners planning this venture. I gotta take it seriously.”
“Two? Where’d Rom get another patterner?”
“Numa’s patterner turned.”
“No. He can’t have. Who told you that?”
“Numa. Two patterners think Romulus is going back in time. I’m running this grounder out. How fast can we get to 82 Eridani?”
“Without breathing hard, two days.”
“How ’bout an ETA more like the ranch is burning down.”
“Twenty hours.”
“Light it.”
28 April 2448
1500 hours
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Centauri Star System
Near Space
CALLI SIGNALED THE COMMAND DECK on her wrist com as she ran to the ladder. “Dingo. 82 Eridani. Threshold velocity.”
Farragut felt the familiar coiling sensation of the ship’s six mammoth engines winding up for an almighty spring. Heard them running all out. Felt like he belonged here.
“Threshold, aye,” Dingo Ryan said, then warned over the com, “A Xerxes type ship has a higher threshold velocity than the Mack, if that’s what we’re racing, Captain.”
“Romulus doesn’t know there’s a race,” Calli said.
But he probably had a head start.
Captain Carmel and Rear Admiral Farragut charged onto the command deck, Jose Maria behind them. Calli was already talking. “Is there any launch platform in the stellar neighborhood that can get a Star Sparrow into the 82 Eridani system earlier than we can?”
Tactical responded, “Sirius is close to 82 Eridani.”
“No good,” Calli said. She knew the place. “Base Sirius doesn’t have interstellar missiles. Tactical, get the feed from the LEN observer buoy in the 82 Eridani system.”
Farragut murmured appreciation. “Glad you’re in the hunt, Cal.”
“John, I’m not going to 82 Eridani because I think Romulus has a prayer of going back in time. I’m going there because it puts Romulus in a chokepoint. When he approaches that gate, I’ll have a clear shot at him with no collaterals.”
“Fair Captain, how do you intend to detect him?” Jose Maria asked.
John Farragut answered. “There’s a static condensate cloud in front of the gate. A LEN scientific expedition laid it out years ago. It was meant to show up anything coming out of the gate. We were looking for Hive back then. But nothing ever did come out. Romulus will show up the instant he hits the condensate. Even if we don’t see the Xerxes directly, there’ll be motion in the particles.”
“82 Eridani is several light-years away from us,” Jose Maria said. “How will the sighting be instantaneous?”
“There’s a LEN space buoy still in place,” Farragut said. “It observes the condensate field. The LEN’s science project ran out of money, but the buoy’s still observing, and it’s a resonant feed.”
“Tactical!” Calli barked.
“Tactical, aye.”
“I want the res feed from the 82 Eridani observer buoy on the main tac display, now.”
The field around the Xi gate showed as it existed in real time. The gate itself was not visible. The monitor provided a highlight to indicate where the gate was. The condensate appeared as a wide misty field. Nothing moved inside it.
Romulus hadn’t passed through it yet. There was still time.
“Romulus must drop down from FTL to approach the gate. When Romulus enters that condensate field, even in a Xerxes, we’ll see him,” Calli told Jose Maria. Then to Dingo, “Get us in firing range before he shows.”
“We’re all out, Captain,” Dingo said.
“I mean to nail Romulus in real spacetime,” Calli declared. “He is not going to disappear into that wormhole and die where I can’t see him. I need to see the body!”
No one said it out loud, but you could hear the silent amens.
“Captain, how do we connect ordnance with a Xerxes?” Dingo asked. “Targets don’t come any slipperier.”
“Don’t target the Xerc. Target the point in space he must occupy in order to enter the gate. You’re right. There’ll be no getting a lock on him. We’ll detonate something in the exact position he has to be. Dingo. Prep a karit missile. Calculate the optimal launch time and get it out of here.”
A karit missile had a higher threshold velocity than did the Mack, but the karit also had a shorter range.
“Get a karit there best speed. We can adjust downward for intercept after it arrives in the 82 Eridani star system.”
Dingo set the launch in motion. “Aye, aye, sir.”
&n
bsp; Jose Maria was trying to keep a placid face, but his eyes crushed shut. “This race could be for nothing. Romulus could be through the Eridani gate already.”
“No,” Calli said. “We would know. There’s no disturbance in the condensate in front of the gate. Nothing passed that way. We haven’t lost yet.”
“Don’t intend to lose,” Farragut said.
He wished Romulus had already gone through the Xi gate. Then he would know for absolute certain that events were safely fixed in time, not to be changed. John Farragut wanted his past left just the way he remembered it. His marriage to Kathy. The birth of their daughter, Patsy Augusta.
The very notion that any of that could come undone scared him as nothing in the universe could.
We’re racing across space on the eve of annihilation, and I just want to stop the boat and talk to my wife and baby girl.
“Wish to God Augustus was here,” he said aloud.
Calli flinched. She couldn’t have heard right. “Augustus? He was evil.”
Farragut wagged his head no. “Nasty, disagreeable intolerant, ruthless. But not evil. Not at all.”
“How is ruthlessness not evil?”
“Ruthlessness is not active malevolence,” Jose Maria answered. “It is a want of compassion. Nature is merciless too. Augustus was, after a fashion, extraordinarily ethical. There was no hypocrisy in him. No tact either.”
“Roger that,” said Farragut. “He mighta been constructed from two bodies, but he only ever had one face. I liked him fine when I wasn’t fixing to shine his eye socket.” He punched his fist into his opposite palm. “No one got under my hide like that son of a she dog. Wish he was here. Status of the karit launch.”
Dingo reported, “Coming up on launch window.”
“Launch when ready,” Calli ordered. “Don’t wait for my say so.”
“Aye, sir.”
There were sneezes less noticeable than a karit’s launch. A karit whispered its way out.
“Karit’s away.” Fire control reported. Then, “Threshold velocity achieved.”
“Godspeed,” Jose Maria said.
28 April 2448
1800 hours
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Near Space
FTL
Farragut paced as if caged.
Augustus had once called him a patterner, because Farragut picked up connections between events without being aware he was doing it. Farragut supposed that meant he should trust his gut.
Not that his gut had a single neuron in it to be a reliable guide, but some background process running in his subconscious right now knew that if he didn’t catch Romulus before he hit the gate, then John Farragut had kissed his Kathy and Patsy Augusta good-bye for the last time.
He’d had the same sense of doom back in the Myriad five years ago, chasing the Archon’s messenger to the Rim Gate. His subconscious had been wrong that time. That chase had been for nothing. The Archon’s messenger went through the gate, and history didn’t change.
He was pretty sure it hadn’t.
History had better not be changeable. Because Merrimack wasn’t going to catch Romulus in time. Not with Romulus in a Xerxes with a two-day lead.
Romulus intended to rewrite everything Farragut didn’t want rewritten.
Farragut never knew a man could be so happy tied to the ground. He would do anything to defend his ground.
* * *
Hours crawled. Any second Romulus could show up in 82 Eridani. The karit missile was still two hours out. Merrimack even farther.
28 April 2448
2330 hours
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Near Space
FTL
The ship’s chronometer wound up to the Hamster Watch. Ship’s night. The time when anything that was going to happen always happened.
Rear Admiral Farragut woke up the commander of his Fleet Marine attachment and ordered him to the squash court. Farragut just needed someone to bash the hard green ball around with. And he was pretty sure TR Steele wasn’t sleeping.
Steele reported as summoned.
There was a lot more Farragut here than when he used to be captain of this boat. The rear admiral had got fat and happy Stateside. But he was still quick on the court. Colonel Steele was angry and distracted, slamming the little green ball around with a rage like it had slept with his wife.
Farragut was lining up his serve, talking. Not saying what Steele expected.
“TR, I’m a little fuzzy on how things get done in the Fleet Marines, but in the regular Navy, marriage trumps frat.”
The serve whistled clean by. Steele was left staring at the green ball thudding on the deck.
That was game point. All Farragut.
Farragut said, “So unless you forced that girl—you didn’t, did you? They’ll ask you that in your court martial—then you’re righteous. They’ll scowl at you something fierce, and if they really want to be brass holes about it they can make you serve on separate boats, but they can’t take your fried eggs.”
Steele stood in stunned disbelief. Not just at what Farragut said, but that he was saying it.
It could only mean that Rear Admiral Farragut was a mortal man. Steele never thought a captain, much less a rear admiral, could be a regular guy like the rest of us mutts.
Just another man who’d had his life turned sideways by a woman.
“Now I hear the world may be ending in a couple hours. You have a wife, TR. Go be with her. Whatever else is happening, park it until we know we’re all still here.”
Colonel TR Steele summoned Flight Sergeant Kerry Blue to the narrow compartment that was his cabin.
She walked in, and the lights seemed brighter, sharper, more cruel.
The air left Steele’s lungs.
His Kerry Blue was afraid of him.
“You thought I was dead,” Steele heard himself tell her.
What made him say that? He couldn’t just let it pass, could he? Why not plunge an icepick into his own gut?
He saw her freeze up. Her face went chalky, her eyes glassy. She was trying real hard to get the lie out there and make everything all right. But she couldn’t say it.
Kerry Blue lied like a dog. Dogs can’t lie. Dogs are all out there, and so was she. Looking as though she’d been kicked. Mouth open, trying to say something.
Steele’s own face had to be a shipwreck. How many times had he seen a Marine come back from leave wearing the same look that had to be pasted on his own stupid face right now? Steele knew the look too well. The Marine returns early. He sees his woman’s got a bump, and he’s not the guy who put it there. Sometimes they cry. Steele wasn’t gonna cry, but he knew he was wearing that god awful look.
And there’s Kerry Blue, stark white.
She was afraid of him. Sticks like a knife. Whatever else, her fear hurt.
He wanted to roar at her. Order her out. But he knew she would take all the air out with her, and then he couldn’t breathe.
Furious with himself for bringing it on.
You had to go and say that. He’d put it out there for her to confirm or deny: You thought I was dead.
Why did he say that?
He’d left Kerry Blue alone. Not his idea, but he’d done it. Knew damn well he couldn’t leave Kerry Blue alone.
Anger turned like a smart missile. Found its true target.
This wasn’t some groundside Jody. Steele knew who the traitor was. The man’s got the right name for it. Rage burned. But Steele couldn’t move against one of his own.
Park it, the rear admiral had said.
John Farragut was the same age as Steele. But he seemed a thousand years older and smarter. The rear admiral knew how to order his targets.
Kerry Blue was everything that was real. She was his, and she was here. Now.
/> He needed to be here for her.
Now.
29 April 2448
0530 Hours
U.S. Space Battleship Merrimack
Near Space
FTL
Farragut reappeared on the command deck before the change of the watch.
Captain Carmel looked at him twice. “John. Is that a mouse?”
Farragut touched his cheekbone gingerly. It felt puffy. “Squash ball. Where are we?”
“Karit’s coming in pretty on the outer edge of the star system. Unless Romulus appears right now, we’ll have the luxury of an ambush.”
Just as Tactical cried, “Motion in the condensate!”
Luxury and time had run out.
“Confirm identity of target!”
The object was stealthy, but tactical imagers derived the dimensions and angles of the object from its motion inside the condensate.
“It’s a Xerxes!”
“Status of karit missile,” Calli demanded.
“Karit missile is inside the star system. Target is slowing for approach to the gate. We have a shot.”
“Adjust the karit’s speed. If we show too soon, we’ll spook the target.”
“Aye, sir. Karit will drop down from FTL in ten, nine. Target’s advance remains steady. Karit will achieve intercept in six. Five.”
Farragut braced for the dreaded last second jink when Romulus would escape the trap.
His teeth were clenched. Farragut caught himself leaning in, tense, willing the karit onward to intercept.
“Three. Two.”
The explosion lit up the Tactical display. The misty condensate scattered.
Got him!
Several techs stood straight up at their stations with a yell. “Yeah!”
The live feed from the observation buoy showed the hit. The condensate lit up for miles.
The target’s stealth failed as it died, tumbling away from the gate.
Tactical constructed a visual image from sensor readings of the broken object in the darkness.
A stunned disbelief descended on the command platform.
You could make out the leopard spots on the Xerxes’ shattered hull.
We shot the wrong Xerxes.
“It’s Bagheera!” Dingo said.
