by Zen, Raeden
How far the teams had fallen since the days of Livelle, Brody pondered. Did they still view him as their unofficial commander? Did they fear if he didn’t push back against the chancellor now, that he never would?
“You’ll have to forgive Verena,” Nero said. “She sometimes forgets her courtesies.” Nero spoke true, for to talk the way she did to her captain without allowance wasn’t normally done. Brody never minded his strategist’s forthrightness, though sometimes he feared she pushed the limits on what Lady Isabelle, who mined transhuman brain impulses in Marstone’s Database, might deem acceptable debate.
“That so?” Verena said. She nodded sideways to Nero, speaking to Brody as if her eternal partner didn’t exist. “This one has nothing to talk about today except the idea this mission will lead to his lordship.” Nero long coveted higher office in his adopted home of Palaestra City. Brody couldn’t believe his striker would view the recall summons this way.
“And this one has nothing to offer today but depression—”
Verena slapped Nero.
Brody’s face flushed. That Nero uttered a forbidden word, depression, surprised Brody, as it clearly did several scientists who passed them on the staircase, though the strangers tactfully studied their shoes. He could only hope Marstone hadn’t captured Nero’s outburst. For all citizens recited the Pledge to Beimeni during development, a pledge that proscribed the forbidden emotions, depression and envy. Not infrequently, the commonwealth enforced the restriction on these emotions in transhuman adults, all of whom were trained during development to control their mental state through their mind-body-cosmos interface. Citizens had been sentenced to the Lower Level for infractions less severe than Nero’s outburst, and few ever returned, even though the chancellor’s precepts allowed it. Brody knew this all too well, having referred countless RDD scientists to its depths at arbitration hearings over the decades. He never saw any of them again.
“Reassortment won this battle,” Brody said, “but if we remain united, if we remain committed to our research, we will lead the people back to the surface—”
“Permission to speak freely, Captain,” Verena said.
“Granted.”
“You’re as delusional as your striker.”
“What would you have me do?” Brody said.
“We need more resources, intellectual and financial, and we require flexibility and time, and we don’t need a commonwealth mission.”
“We will serve Chancellor Masimovian in any way he requests.” Brody’s tone brooked no argument. He spoke too boldly, though, for many scientists lingered upon the stairs, too many minds through which Marstone heard and saw all. But Brody couldn’t worry overmuch about Lady Isabelle and her tenehounds, not with his strategist and striker in tatters. He needed them focused, or they’d lose their assignment to Project Reassortment.
Brody waved them forward. “Heywood awaits us.”
They trudged together, around and down, up, up, up, and around to the summit. Brody rested briefly at the brim, a glass counter over a carbyne wall, setting his elbows on the ledge next to Nero’s. Verena waited near the entrance, hands on hips.
“I’m telling you right now,” Brody said, “don’t let whatever’s going on with you two hinder this mission.”
“You’re talking to the wrong teammate.”
Brody knew his striker would respond this way. “If we are to keep the Reassortment project, you must tuck in that tongue of yours.”
Nero offered a grunt, which Brody took for agreement.
A keeper bot ushered the Barão Strike Team into Heywood’s office, where the supreme scientist of the Huelel Facility lay snoring. Heywood’s head arced over the side of his davenport, his legs curled over his console.
Nero cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. “Ho, Heywood.”
The supreme scientist fell, startled, his long black coat stuck to the chair. He scrambled up, wiped his face and nose, and flipped his coat over his body. “Yes,” he said, as if he’d just drunk fifty espressos. “Ho, Captain, you’re here! I knew you would be!” His hair was scattered across his forehead, his eyebrows curled up at their edges, and his head jerked in a slight tic whenever he spoke.
“Chancellor Masimovian recalled us to the Huelel Facility to meet with you,” Brody said.
“Yes! Follow me.”
They followed Heywood down Huelel Corridor, also known as the Pathway through Space and Time. Brody loved its scenery. To his left hung a pair of colliding galaxies, with bright blue-white sections of newly formed stars surrounded by pink hydrogen clouds. The shape reminded him of a Pompeii worm, an extremophile found only at hydrothermal vents in the ocean floor, curled and colorful with feather-like heads. The Large Magellanic Cloud simmered on the far wall, not to scale Brody knew, for it extended fourteen thousand light years from one end to the other. Gas rich and metal poor, it contained hues of violet, red, orange, green, and blue, intermingled with stars. He wondered what it would be like to cruise freely from one end to the other. It was hard to imagine, stuck inside the Earth.
They entered the spherical simulation room. Suspended above a pad in the center was a hologram of the Cassiopeia, a carbyne-class space shuttle the Barão Strike Team used for missions and surface excursions. On either end of the pad, words hung in midair, glowing gold, as if strung along by an invisible puppeteer: EXOTIC MATTER, SURVIVAL, MAGNETOSPHERE, ZEROPOINT FIELD, INTERSTELLAR PROBE, SIGNIFICANT CONVERSION, QUANTUM WAVEFUNCTION.
This last caught Brody’s attention. Early in Heywood’s career, the chancellor had challenged him to develop a method for interstellar travel, saying: “While I’d prefer a return to the Earth’s surface over abandonment of our home world, if we cannot resolve Reassortment, and if our planet truly can no longer sustain humanity, we must find one that can.” As the years passed and Heywood failed to produce, market traders in Navita Territory and RDD scientists in Palaestra Territory suspected his time in Huelel would be short-lived. Then, at a conclave at which Brody was present, Heywood announced his discovery and manipulation of “exotic matter,” created within a unique particle accelerator in Area 55 and deployed via missile. When manipulated with the zeropoint field at the Earth’s and sun’s Lagrange points—coordinates of gravitational stability—it could theoretically generate a portal, extending humanity’s reach anywhere, or anytime, in the universe.
When that conclave concluded, Heywood had achieved significant conversion based on a simple majority vote of the supreme scientific board, and received the accompanying Mark of Masimovian: a synthetic tattoo of the chancellor’s bust held by two phoenix feathers, formed upon his neck and upper back. This secured Heywood to his position as Supreme Scientist of the Huelel Facility, to the celebration and dismay of many Easterners. The Beimeni Press reported on numerous Navitan trader suicides in the days that followed.
Now the Barão Strike Team stood together in a recess at the bottom of the stairs. Heywood stood near the Cassiopeia.
“The lead strike team on Candor Chasma lost contact with the Lorum twenty days, three hours, ten minutes, and fifty-nine seconds ago,” he said. “That is why the chancellor has called you here.”
The strike team he spoke of was the Holcombe Strike Team, one Brody knew well, for he and Captain Ruiner Holcombe had both been purchased at the Harpoon Auction in 260 AR by Vastar Alalia and completed the training program together in 262 AR. Ruiner was as loyal as he was diligent and talented. Whatever mission this was, the Holcombe Strike Team would have been the best choice to execute it, or so it seemed to Brody.
“The chancellor has issued a directive to this facility,” Heywood said. “He wants you to find out what has happened on Vigna.”
Heywood activated the controls. The mission buzzwords disappeared, and the Cassiopeia burst out of Earth’s atmosphere, flying toward Lagrange point one where it moved into a stable orbit. Then a rocket launched from it, and the distance displayed at one hundred meters, then five hundred meters, then five hu
ndred kilometers, then one thousand kilometers, then the rocket exploded, forcing the dense pellet of exotic matter to collapse upon itself. Bursts of light followed, and the portal took shape. A shimmering band radiated, turning from violet near the portal’s center to dark blue at the outermost edge. The Cassiopeia curved in its orbit, entered the portal, and disappeared.
Now Brody understood why the chancellor had recalled his team. He was too shocked to speak.
“You’re not sending us to Mars,” Verena said, “you’re sending us forty thousand light years from Earth.”
Nero perked up a bit. “Finally.”
Brody tilted his head toward his striker, his eyes wide. Nero shrugged.
Brody snorted. “I thought we agreed the Vigna system was beyond our reach,” he said to Heywood. “A being capable of speaking through the universe is not one we should challenge—”
“Unless no advanced species now exists,” Heywood said, “in which case Vigna might prove useful. The exoplanet is within the habitable zone, far enough from the blue star, close enough to the white and orange ones, with a strong magnetic field. We know an atmosphere exists. Vigna may be hospitable to transhumans.”
“Why not send Ruiner’s team?” Brody folded his arms. “His aera and strategist have more experience with Vigna.”
“The chancellor has spoken.” Heywood handed the team three z-disks.
When Brody touched his, a flash spread over his vision. He sensed the data within, the mission goals and protocols; the Vigna system, theories on atmospheric composition, topography, aquatic and land life, three moons, a strong magnetic field, the three stars, the trajectories; the Lorum, and the disappearance of signals at Candor Chasma.
“You will arrive at Mission Control three days hence.” Heywood paused when Verena gasped. “Where the Cassiopeia stands ready.”
“Too soon,” Verena said. “We need a debrief session with the Holcombe Strike Team.”
“That your captain may do,” Heywood said, “but they’ve had no more luck than your team in deciphering the Lorum’s language.”
No more luck than Antosha, he means, Brody thought, seething. “When will I next see Damy?” Brody barely saw her as it was with his hectic schedule on Reassortment and hers on Silkscape. He dreaded how she’d react to a mission like this.
“You’ll return faster than you imagine, and no custodian of the Reassortment project is required.” When Brody raised his eyebrows, Heywood continued, “You could reunite with her in less than fifty days—”
“Not by my calculations.” Verena moved her eyes rapidly, flipping through the data in her extended consciousness. “Brody’s right. With time dilation we might not return for thousands of years.”
“Not so,” Heywood said. His face twitched and he swiped his hair over the side of his wide forehead. “You speak over me but not above me.” Verena twisted her face, but didn’t reply. “Your captain is far more skilled than most with the zeropoint field.” Heywood swayed toward Brody. “Captain Barão, any material that passes through the exotic portal has its quantum wavefunction collapsed at a location designated by the person who manipulates the field.”
“What does that mean?” Nero said to Brody.
Brody searched his neurochip for the board meeting during Heywood’s conclave. Rapidly, he scoured his own meeting notes in his extended consciousness: The explosion applied to the exotic matter at the Lagrange points altered its state, like liquid water changing into ice. In their new state, the exotic particles gained new quantum numbers that, when having the correct values, connected to another particle in the nearby universe and formed a bond with that particle. It would be at these critical moments when a pilot—a skilled telepath—would have to use the ZPF to change the quantum numbers of the collapsing exotic matter. To travel through the universe, the pilot must have the destination fixed firmly in her mind. Through manipulation of the ZPF, she must adjust the quantum numbers of the dense exotic matter so that each particle is connected to a particle at the destination by the ZPF—
“Captain?” Verena said.
“The distance and speed at which we can travel,” Brody said, closing the notes, “is restricted by the ability of the person manipulating the zeropoint field.” He ran quantum calculations and probabilities to determine the number of jumps to various star systems based on his unique connection with the ZPF and the roughly forty thousand light-year journey to Vigna. “With predetermined coordinates, I can execute the journey in twenty jumps.”
Heywood nodded. “I think you might even be able to do it faster than that, Captain.”
“I won’t risk my team’s safety. Twenty jumps, no less.”
Nero looked lost.
Brody sent his striker the notes from the conclave. “We’ll have to jump from system to system and find a suitable Lagrange point in that system where gravity is stable enough to perform another jump.”
“What if you miscalculate the wavefunction?” Nero said.
Brody looked up, then to Nero. “We could end up anywhere.”
Heywood raised his hand, manipulating the holograms above the pad. Twenty arced lines formed from star system to star system, beginning with their solar system and ending with the Vigna system. “Even with twenty jumps, I think you can make it to Vigna and back in fifty days or less as the Earth rotates.”
Nero frowned. “But we don’t have much time to learn the mission protocols.”
“This is very short notice,” Brody agreed, reviewing his notes. “There’s another problem.” To Heywood, he said, “At the conclave in 333, you mentioned you’d created enough exotic matter for a twenty thousand light-year journey. Round-trip to Vigna is—”
“Eighty thousand light years,” Verena said.
“What’s changed since then?” Brody finished.
“I assure you we have enough—” Heywood said.
The Huelel Simulation Room’s glass doors slid open, and the holograms fizzled, as if jolted with electrical surges.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Heywood said. “You may not enter unannounced!”
An early adolescent girl in a red cape darted around the room’s edge as if she were a ballerina.
Brody furrowed his brow, as did Verena and Nero.
“My gods,” Verena said, “a Courier of the Chancellor.”
The girl rushed down the white marble stairs to the recess where the team stood. Her hair fluttered, colorful and silky, like a peacock’s feathers.
“I carry an important message for the team,” she said, expressionless, breathing hard. Her name tag read VALENTINE.
“I would hope so,” Heywood said. Valentine crinkled her face. “Well, don’t you hold back now, show us what it is!”
The courier pulled out a z-disk and handed it to Heywood. He placed it on his workstation. His request failed. DNA MISMATCH appeared above his workstation in bright silver letters.
“The message is for the Barão Strike Team,” Valentine said. “Captain Barão can access it. He alone.”
Brody took the disk and transferred the information to the hologram-producing pad. It rotated as if around a sphere.
ATTENTION: BARÃO STRIKE TEAM
YOUR SERVICE TO THE CHANCELLOR AND THE COMMONWEALTH AND, BY EXTENSION, THE GODS, HAS BEEN NOTED. HOWEVER, LACK OF PROPER OR SIGNIFICANT CONVERSION IN THE YEARS 366–368 AR HAS ALSO BEEN NOTED BY MARSTONE AND BY THE OFFICE OF THE CHANCELLOR.
YOU ARE HEREBY WARNED FOR THE GOOD OF THE COMMONWEALTH.
TERMS OF THE WARNING:
THE BARÃO STRIKE TEAM’S MISSION TO VIGNA SHALL RECEIVE SPECIAL SCRUTINY.
SIGNIFICANT CONVERSION IS ENCOURAGED.
Verena stood still while Nero swore and Brody’s bronze face turned pale.
“You have been warned,” the courier said, “and now I must go.” Valentine floated up to the exit as gracefully as she’d entered.
Nero shook his head. “The nerve of that child.”
The nerve of Chancellor Masimovian, Brody thought
, his heart pounding in his chest. The courier’s visit, the impromptu mission, Heywood’s assertiveness—it all reeked of demotion.
“Captain,” Heywood said, “I know you’re capable of completing this mission—”
“To achieve significant conversion, you know that we’ll need more than that. We’ll need—”
“A piece of Vigna, perhaps,” Heywood said, too quickly for Brody’s liking. “Yes! Supreme Chancellor Atticus Masimovian wouldn’t deny that a species brought back from Vigna, an intelligent life from another world, is significant conversion.”
“I thought you said we lost contact with the Lorum?” Verena said.
“When were the board and ministry notified about this Warning, and why wasn’t I told?” Brody said.
“How can the Warning be issued to us?” Nero said.
More questions flew like arrows until Heywood shouted, “HOLD IT!” He sighed, blinked, and moved his head to the side. His hair slipped over his forehead. “Captain, the board didn’t know about the Warning and neither did I. If I had known, I wouldn’t have allowed this interruption.” He looked at Nero. “The chancellor may censure any and all who serve within Beimeni.” To Verena, he said, “Yes. We did lose contact with the Lorum, this I promise, but the recent presence of a higher being surely indicates the existence of lower beings, life forms that might prove useful to us, or not, I don’t know, I serve—”
“Chancellor Masimovian,” Verena said, “same as we, but this order is for a team of three in a single shuttle. On Vigna there could be many foes, seen and unseen—”
“You are transhuman. Your range of survivability is wide, and where your genes won’t protect you, the interstellar synsuits will, and if all else fails, your captain’s power in the zeropoint field will shield you.”
