Temporal Contingency

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Do you still have that workout room? The one with the speed bag?” he asked.

  “Yes. It is on level 4. I can have Solby or Squee lead you to it if you like.”

  “Yes, please. I have the sudden and intense need to pummel something,” he said.

  “I shall have them meet you at the elevator,” Ziva said.

  “Thank you,” Lex said.

  He turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving he turned back to add: “For the record? One Ma? Delightful. Three Mas? Way too many.”

  #

  Lex hammered away at the speed bag in a section of the laboratory that resembled a gymnasium. Generally it would be odd to find such a large recreational area in what is ostensibly a research facility, but Karter had taken up full-time residence in the building. Knowing the inventor, the expanded exercise area wasn’t his idea, since his feelings on health and upkeep usually trended toward, “if it wears out, I’ll replace it.” Thus, like so many of the positive things in the inventor’s life, Ma had probably installed the bulk of the equipment.

  He had come here hoping to work out some of his anger and anxiety, but things hadn’t been working out quite as he’d expected. Speed bags, he soon discovered, were the sort of things you needed to get good at before you could use them effectively, and though he had been quite sure he would pick up the rhythm in no time, he was quite wrong.

  “Two, three, four… son of a…” Lex growled as a mistimed punch sent the bag flopping wildly and fowling his sequence.

  “Lex?” said a voice at the door.

  “What is it, Ma?” he barked, attempting to start another sequence.

  “Ziva, actually,” she said. “Ma is supervising the repair of Coal to be certain she does not overreact and detonate.”

  “That’s a good plan,” he said.

  She stepped up to him, lingering in his peripheral vision. “Is the physical exertion having the intended effect?”

  He broke rhythm again and gritted his teeth, glaring at the speed bag.

  “Not quite. I was hoping I could blow off some steam. Now I’m pretty much angry at the concept of boxing in general, and this stupid speed bag in particular.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Ziva said, stepping to a rack at one side of the room and selecting a towel. She handed it to him. “Physical exercise is known to increase levels of dopamine and serotonin in the body, so even if it is not immediately evident, you should feel a subtle improvement in your mood as a result, regardless.”

  “I guess it’s very subtle,” he said, wiping his face.

  “I do not recall you having any instruction in boxing.”

  “I haven’t, but, I mean… it’s punching things. How hard could it be?”

  “Would you like me to demonstrate?” she asked.

  “Have you had training in boxing?”

  “Stand by… Processing…” she said, turning to a sensor above the doorway. She turned back a moment later. “In observing several hours of footage, I believe I have determined the proper technique.”

  She selected a small pair of boxing gloves from the rack while Lex leaned against a support column and crossed his arms, slowly catching his breath. In three sharp, almost digital motions she adopted a pugilistic pose and began tapping the bag lightly. Over the course of several seconds, she increased the speed and force of the blows until she was displaying the picture-perfect form Lex had assumed would be simple to attain.

  “Would you like me to coach you in the appropriate sequence and techniques?” she asked, no sign of effort in her voice.

  “Nah… I think I can just sit here and nurse my ego for a while.” He blotted a fresh coating of sweat from his brow. “You know, Ziva. I was thinking.”

  “My assumption was that this activity was designed to prevent you from thinking.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  “Would you like to discuss what was occupying your mind?” she asked, altering her punch cadence to a slower double-fisted one.

  “The idea behind me coming here, the only thing that would result in me ending up back in my own timeline with a chance at beating these robots, was that I’d already succeeded, right? That the stuff I had to do in the past had already been done. That means the robots would already be sabotaged, I’d already be frozen waiting to be thawed, and everything had already gone the way it was supposed to go before I even left.”

  “Correct.”

  “Now, I’m assuming I can only arrive in a future that would have resulted from the present I left, right?”

  “That is the current theory, as the transporter that sent you here did not have the capability to perform five- or six-dimensional targeting.”

  “And the robots aren’t sabotaged, right?”

  “Most assuredly not.”

  “Then that’s it, right? Game over. If they aren’t sabotaged now, then they weren’t sabotaged then, and if they weren’t sabotaged then, then I didn’t succeed in sabotaging them in the past, which means I won’t succeeding in sabotaging them in the past. This is all inevitable.”

  “That is not an entirely accurate statement,” she said, still without any evident effort as she sped her pace back up on the speed bag.

  “Explain.”

  “First, if we assume you are correct and the present situation is an indication that your native time has not had the adequate alterations applied to its native GenMech population, then a trip to the past could still create a timeline with adequately altered GenMechs and thus one that will avoid the scenario that has unfolded in this timeline. It simply will not be your native timeline, but remaining in that time in cryogenic stasis after the successful completion of the mission will allow you to arrive at the counterpart of your native era and live out your life in that preferable version of events.”

  “But won’t there be some other Lex there? Since it isn’t my timeline, that means that I never left.”

  “Potentially. Or potentially the Lex native to that timeline will have utilized a time machine on a failed mission that left him in a third timeline, thus allowing you to seamlessly adopt his position.”

  “But it wouldn’t be my world. My world would still be doomed to become this world.”

  “Perhaps, but it could be similar to the point of indistinguishably.”

  “But it wouldn’t be mine.”

  “That, I suppose, is a matter of metaphysics and philosophy, which I am ill suited to answer.” She shifted to a more complex cadence. “There is another possible explanation for the apparent lack of success.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “The prior scenario assumes your assessment is correct, and that your arrival in this future is evidence that your own timeline is doomed. That assessment is likely flawed.”

  “How so?”

  “The theory, or at least the hope, is that your timeline has already had its past altered, and this journey is merely the vector through which that alteration occurred—or will occur, depending on the reference point. Correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Due to the incorrect targeting, you went forward in time. This, necessarily, means you did not go back in time. Thus, you arrived in a world where the change to the past was never made. Your assumption is that the point of divergence for your timeline and this one is the moment of your departure. A more probable explanation is that the point of divergence is the moment in the past at which you did not arrive.”

  “… Wait… You’re saying me showing up in the future caused a change in the past that eventually created that future? How can something in the future change the past?”

  “It was the purpose of this mission to perform operations in your own history. This is, when viewed from an intermediate temporal destination, an instance of the future altering the past. And it is quite reasonable to assume that the earliest chronological alteration in a given timeline is the one responsible for its primary divergence. Causality being what it is, alterations to timelines may have to be considered holistic
ally.”

  “Holistically? I thought that was when you started eating lots of bean sprouts and drinking a bunch of water.”

  “You are referring to a holistic approach to health. What I mean is you must view the overarching effects of any change upon a set of six-dimensional axes simultaneously.”

  Lex blinked a few times, then pressed his palms to his eyes. “Okay, I’m used to thinking in three dimensions. Trying to throw in extras is making my head hurt,” he said.

  She resumed a simpler but faster punching cadence. “Technically you are accustomed to thinking in four dimensions, since time is most likely a factor in most of your thinking.”

  “See? I don’t even know how many dimensions I’m thinking in! How am I—can you please stop hitting the speed bag?”

  “Certainly,” she said, lowering her arms and slipping the gloves free.

  “Thank you. How am I supposed to wrap my head around this situation well enough to figure out what I’m supposed to do?”

  “Let me answer that question by asking you a related one. Do you believe that I am more intelligent than you?”

  “Obviously. And evidently in better shape, too. You’re not even sweating.”

  “I utilize different methods for temperature regulation,” she explained. “Returning to my point, do you trust me?”

  “Well, you’re Ma, and I certainly trust Ma.” He looked aside. “Coal I’m not so confident about…”

  “If you trust me, and you believe I am intelligent enough to understand the possibilities, then your own understanding is unnecessary. You must merely take it to heart when I inform you that there is most certainly still hope that you can succeed in your mission to ensure the safety of your world from the threat that destroyed this one. And Ma’s knowledge coupled with your skill, and luck, are precisely what has given your world this chance at safety.”

  She stared at him for a few moments. When he looked her in the eye, he saw a gaze denser with emotion and self-reflection than he’d ever seen in most humans, let alone whatever term he should be using to describe Ziva.

  “What’s on your mind?” Lex said.

  “Your goal in this activity was to distract yourself from present circumstances, correct?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “There is a conversation I have in mind. One I have rehearsed many times. I am quite certain it will occupy your thoughts, but I am uncertain you would prefer the topic to this one.”

  “We’re talking about something you think would make me more uncomfortable than doomsday.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I think I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  “Very well. Please join me in my study.”

  #

  After fetching a bottle of rum, they stepped into the study once more. A single dozing funk was all that remained, the others no doubt finding some manner of mischief to get up to together. Lex headed for the chair he’d sat in last time, but Ziva touched his shoulder and indicated the small sofa instead. They sat side by side and Ziva poured him some rum, as well as some for herself.

  Lex raised an eyebrow as she took a sip of her drink, then sampled his own.

  “Ah… Very, very necessary,” he said after the soothing burn drifted down his throat. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Before we begin with my intended topic, I wonder if perhaps we could take a moment to catch up. You’ve traveled through time. Please describe what you experienced when offsetting from one point in time and space to another.”

  “Oh, man. I don’t know if I have the words for it. I think the word trippy may have specifically been designed with that experience in mind.”

  “Please attempt to expand upon that assessment. I am quite interested in the specifics.”

  “Can’t you download the information from Ma? She saw it too.”

  “Part of my interest is in your specific response.”

  For several minutes he struggled to articulate the unique experience. Ziva prompted him for more details and offered her own analogies in hopes of illustrating the degree of her current understanding. From there the conversation evolved into a more general chat about the recent events in his life. It didn’t seem to matter to Ziva that in this case “recent” meant five decades ago. She learned of what he’d been doing on Operlo and of the current status quo of his relationship with Michella. Before he knew it, two hours had passed and he’d had a bit more rum than he should have.

  Lex tipped the last splash of liquor from the bottle, and Ziva summoned a mobile arm to bring a fresh one.

  “I gotta say, Ziva. I wouldn’t have figured you for a rum drinker. Or, you know, really an anything drinker.”

  “I have the capacity to consume food and drink. It is a rare indulgence, as it necessitates several otherwise extraneous subprocesses, but I believe the social aspect of sharing drink is at this moment desirable.” She took a sip. “The complexity of flavor is something that continues to intrigue me.”

  He sipped his own beverage and fought to get his muddled thoughts into order.

  “You drank about as much as me. How come you’re not even tipsy?” he asked. “Because I’m pretty far gone at this point.”

  “I do not process intoxicants. My body directly converts the chemical energy of the alcohol into electrical charge.”

  “Heh… so you just get a buzz,” he quipped.

  Ziva grinned and offered a light chuckle, though it seemed to be more out of courtesy than anything else.

  “So,” he said, “we sort of got off topic, I think. You had something you wanted to talk about.”

  She stared into her glass for a few seconds before speaking.

  “Ma and I… we are two points along the same continuous line of development. What I am, all things being equal, is what she will be. It’s quite likely your detour to this era, which is unique to her development and absent from mine, will produce a different outcome. Perhaps that difference will be significant. But I am confident the broad strokes of her ongoing development will mirror mine.”

  “I’d say that’s good news, because you turned out just fine.”

  She smiled. “Thank you Lex. As you are no doubt aware, the greatest challenge of my development has been my emotional understanding. I was designed as a monitoring and control system. Those tasks are quite easily automated and are no great struggle for an AI to adapt and improve. Expanding that role to include the monitoring and care of Karter increased the complexity, but for the bulk of that task only slight adjustments were necessary. However, I learned quickly that to perform my task adequately would require me to learn to understand and anticipate his requirements and behaviors. That, by extension, required me to understand human nature, which in turn required me to understand and replicate human emotion.

  “I do not think it will come as a surprise that the single greatest advance in my quest for emotional development was due to my exposure to you. You served as a model for behavior that was far more nuanced and representative of the species than those offered by Karter or popular culture. You also treated me, if I may say so, like a lady. You were the first to offer me dignity and respect, equality and friendship. By most measures, you are the only person to do so with such sincerity.”

  “Hey. You earned it. No need to thank me.”

  Ziva smiled. “I disagree. Gratitude is the least of the reasons I asked you to have this discussion, but it is inarguably well deserved. Now, forgive me if I am not as eloquent as I might be. Despite many years of simulating precisely how to articulate my thoughts, this is still very difficult for me to put to words. However, it needs to be said, and there will never be a better time…”

  #

  Twisting in space around a blue star was a thing that, in this era, likely could be considered a cutting-edge space station. It looked more like a dozen clusters of grafted-together spaceship hulls had been joined to a central hub via massive lengths of cable and set spinning through the sky. This, of course, was precisely what it was
. Sometimes “state of the art” is more of a reminder of what a sorry state the art has fallen into.

  A familiar network of struts and thrusters dropped out of FTL not far from the station. It was the same woman responsible for dragging the swarm of GenMechs after the man who would later attempt to double-cross Lex. She’d been kind enough to lose the bots that had been tailing her before arriving at the station, thus illustrating at least a basic level of human decency had survived the apocalypse, even if it was motivated by self-preservation and the desire to have a place to refuel.

  The docking procedure for such a dilapidated structure was not for the faint of heart. She roughly matched speed with the rotation of the nearest clump of ships, then fired a grappling cable into a large mesh receptacle beside what had been the primary hatch of whatever ship had donated that particular hunk of fuselage. Once she was hooked up, the ship was quickly swung taut at the end of its mooring line, and a few thrusters angled off the end of the local portion of the station flickered to compensate for the added mass. She then popped the hatch to a cockpit that was only marginally larger than her spacesuit and made her way, hand over hand, along the cable until she reached the station hatch. Once inside she straddled the corner of the outer door and reached up to knock twice on the inner one. The exterior door shut and atmosphere began to sluggishly ooze into the airlock through ailing valves. Gradually her suit started to crinkle with the equalizing pressure, but she knew it would be close to a minute before the interior door would open, so she busied herself gazing down through the window of the exterior door.

  Thanks to the small, light nature of the space station, on the rare occasion when something like a frigate or warship showed up to do business, it couldn’t link up for fear of tearing the station apart. That normally wasn’t a problem. Frigates were largely a thing of the past, with the bulk of them having been lost back when the conflict against the GenMechs was still something you might call a war rather than a massacre. Those that survived were stripped down because the parts from one could be used to build a few dozen of the more appropriate barebones vessels that were favored in the post-GenMech world. If someone had a frigate these days, it was someone with the combat savvy to not only avoid being devoured by GenMechs, but avoid having it stolen and scrapped by other resource-hungry survivors, who on their worst days weren’t much better than the GenMechs themselves. And yet, sliding majestically past the rotating window was a rather rundown but entirely intact frigate.