She cut the internal comm. Within twenty minutes, she and Matt were locking up the ship and walking quietly, companionably, down the halls of the Beta Priamos Station. She didn’t like breaking up this comfortable moment, but she had to broach this subject before they were around any Minoans.
“Isn’t this going a bit fast?” she started hesitantly. “Aren’t you skeptical about the Minoans and their sudden insight into the Builders? They stayed quiet during our entry into G- 145, and now they’re helping us retrofit exploration ships, for Gaia’s sake.”
“Of course I’m suspicious.” Matt’s tone was casual as he strolled at an easy pace for her shorter legs. “Although I’ll point out that they never entered this system, to our knowledge , until Hellas Nautikos asked for an advisor.”
She noted the emphasis. “They also showed up in a vessel with some sort of cloaking. I noticed none of you who witnessed that, from you and David Ray to the crew of the Bright Crescent, have asked the Minoans to explain that capability.”
“Because I don’t want to remind them of what I know. Look at everything they’ve helped us with in the past twenty days, from squashing Abram to translating the Builders’ language—so I’m just hanging on for the ride.” Matt stopped and faced her, lowering his voice. “But I am wary of their agenda.”
She nodded, relieved. However, once they’d entered Dr. Lowry’s major laboratory, the sense of being drowned and tumbled about by a torrent of technological flux returned. “Our wayward bot is still transmitting?”
The two remaining members of the Artifact Analysis Team, Dr. Lowry and Dr. Novak, nodded.
Novak, a middle-aged man with a bit of excess weight around his waist, made a gesture toward the data on the wall, as a statement of the obvious. “We think it’s in communication with the alien technology.”
Matt had to be convinced. “How could that be possible, when I pulled its memory module?”
“That only held the temporary data we needed. The bot still had its processors,” Ariane pointed out.
“We sent out other bots, keeping them suitably distant from the buoy. We captured data from five thousand kilometers, then moved closer. So far, we’ve been as close as two kilometers, without suffering hijacking attempts like—ah, your bot suffered.” Novak brought up photos and video, showing the alien artifact that they now knew was an N-space buoy.
“It looks different,” Ariane said.
Matt frowned, then saw the change as the video moved closer. “It didn’t have those tails before. What are those?”
The fuzzy cylinder in the picture resolved into the familiar spindle shape of the alien buoy. What they hadn’t expected were the three ribbonlike gossamer tails that extended from the “bottom,” the narrow end. Before the tails, the spindle measured about forty meters long. Now they added another twenty, at least.
“Those appeared about a month ago,” Dr. Lowry said. “They unfurled on their own and since we’re nervous about letting a bot touch any buoy surfaces, we’re unsure of the material.”
“We think they’re solar collectors. It deployed them once your bot gave it enough energy.” Dr. Novak tapped the lab bench to bring up another picture.
“That’s impossible. The bot’s collectors are too small to charge—” Matt’s jaw dropped as he watched Novak zoom in on the small bot, sitting on the sunward side of the rounded “top” of the alien buoy. “Is that part of my suit?”
Novak enlarged a picture of a jury-rigged connection between previously unnoticed ports in the buoy and the bot’s external charging cable. There, in the middle of the snarl, was part of the control harness for an EVA suit.
“I think I’ve been mugged,” muttered Matt.
Ariane put her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. After their bot had started to misbehave, Matt had tried to retrieve it by exiting the ship, going untethered, and climbing around the artifact. The bot had resisted capture and he discovered that it had appendages sharp enough to damage an EVA suit. Moving about nimbly, it had sliced off wiring harnesses and punctured his suit. The suit sealant expanded so that Matt didn’t have enough flexibility to move. Eventually, when his comm was cut, he was in trouble.
“We think it’s been trickle-charging the systems on the buoy,” Novak said.
“Hijacking—doing that—could only be considered—” Matt sputtered. “You’re saying something had the intelligence to intercept our commands and hijack our bot, then figure out how to use the bot to power itself. That’s super sophisticated.”
“We realize that, Mr. Journey. But what other assumptions could we make, when looking at that?” Dr. Novak’s voice was quiet as he gestured toward the picture of spliced wires wrapped with, of all things, shredded strips from Matt’s EVA suit.
“What about DiastimBot Instrumentation? That bot’s still under warranty, and I submitted a problem report to them.” Matt’s face was beginning to flush.
“Ah, we spoke with their engineers.” Novak watched Matt’s color with trepidation. “They sent us schematics and procedural code, with the primitive commands and rules. Of course, we had to sign nondisclosure agreements.”
“So they helped?”
“As much as they could, Mr. Journey. The engineers told us the bot is custom-made—”
“And expensive. Don’t forget that,” Matt snapped. “I need it back.”
Ariane put a light restraining hand on Matt’s upper arm, to remind him that Novak wasn’t responsible for the bot’s behavior. Matt glanced sideways at her and his color began to fade. She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze before letting go, which reminded her how much muscle he had on his arms. Her hand fell to her side reluctantly—she wasn’t the touchy-feely type, really, but she didn’t want to remove her hand. Novak pulled her back into the conversation as he raised his voice.
“You should leave it in place,” he protested. “The DiastimBot engineer said the license owner and parent ship had been ‘burned in,’ so we hope to get response from loyalty or ownership subroutines.”
“Those subroutines didn’t help us earlier,” Matt said.
“At the time, you didn’t know the bot was receiving other commands,” Novak said. “We’d like to experiment with command sequences, but we think it’s best if those commands come from its owner and parent ship.”
“Well . . .” Matt was mollified; the chance to actively support the research overwhelmed his outrage and embarrassment, temporarily. But, from the set of his jaw, Ariane knew he wouldn’t be leaving G-145 without that bot.
Dr. Lowry had let Dr. Novak take the lead regarding the bot. Now she took over the briefing, tapping commands to display images of symbols on the buoy.
“The translator hasn’t helped us very much with these.” Lowry stopped in an area that had a diagram of lines and dots, with symbols arranged around it. “We think this is a star diagram, so we’re doing pattern matching against the stars as they look from the buoy’s position. The symbols near this diagram have roughly translated to ‘biological temple,’ which is puzzling.”
“Have you verified the buoy is anchored in N-space?” Ariane asked.
“It reads like any N-space connection would, from a gravity generator or buoy.” Lowry shrugged. “Since it’s fixed in real-space with no obvious means of station-keeping, which only Minoan time buoys can do—we’re assuming it’s anchored. What else can we do, given our level of technology?”
This, of course, was the gift the Minoans had given humankind: a way to have controlled entry and exit from N-space. Some considered it a yoke rather than a gift, because humans were still dependent upon Minoan-made buoys. Having conquered the creation of a Penrose Fold to transition into N-space, humans still needed references and a way to return from N-space at a specific when and where, in real-space. This anchoring, between real-space and N-space, still had to be provided by the Minoans. It was a bit humiliating, considering that humans had figured out how to use N-space for both dumping and building gee, as well as for signal transm
ission. As a result, humans built gravity generators as well as FTL data exchange relays—but still couldn’t create their own buoys.
“Have you been able to determine what’s inside?” Ariane asked Lowry.
“It’s too well shielded. We’ve got some density readings.” Dr. Lowry displayed a diagram, which showed them no more than they’d been able to get from Minoan-made buoys.
“Does it give off a lock signal?”
“Sure, it transmits several organized signals at specific frequencies.” To supplement her answer, Lowry showed the spectral graph of electromagnetic transmissions. “And here’s where we hit the wall.”
And a big, thick wall it was. Ariane looked at the graph as she rubbed her chin, contemplating. Just knowing an organized signal transmitted on a specific frequency, was a long way from understanding the encoding, much less the data. This could take years, or decades, to understand.
“We’re hoping that if the buoy was able to hijack your bot, it’ll be willing to communicate with us through it.” Dr. Novak sounded eager, but Dr. Lowry frowned at him.
“You’re anthropomorphizing again, Oran,” she warned.
“We could compare its interaction with the Minoan system buoy. After all, we have two—” Ariane stopped. We have two buoys in this system. She remembered Frank’s earnest face, saying that Abram’s men may have encountered the Builders’ technology before.
“Yes?” Dr. Lowry looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“The temporal-distortion wave would have destroyed both buoys . . .” Oops, she was muttering out loud. She clamped her jaw shut as she thought about Overlord Six’s mysterious involvement with Abram. Financing Abram’s attempt would get rid of any connection to the Builders—possibly permanently, if the sun went nova, or putting it twenty-plus years away, if the sun survived. An aggressive Overlord such as Six, if he already had a Builders’ buoy, might want to shut down the competition.
Dr. Lowry didn’t notice that Ariane had stuttered into silence. “The Minoan buoys can’t be destroyed, although they can be ‘severed.’ I suppose—”
“Destroyer of Worlds is correct.” Contractor Director stood in the doorway to the outer lab. Its soulless voice, sounding neither male nor female, cut Lowry off. “The Criminal Isolationists could have severed both time buoys.”
CHAPTER 14
Today we watched Garnet Tachawee and Sabina Cavanaugh, co-wives of SP Isrid Parmet. They described the execution of AFCAW Colonel Dokos and identified the executioners—one’s now lost in N-space, and good riddance, I say. Another point: Who’s dressing Terran women nowadays? They still have deplorable fashion sense.
—Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2106.057.14.30 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 6 under Conflict Imperative
Contractor Director startled everyone inside the small lab. Matt and Ariane recovered quickly, being familiar with the Minoan ability to move silently. Dr. Novak, however, had probably never encountered a Minoan this close and personal. His face paled and he dropped his slate. His foot caught on his stool and his arms flailed for support, pushing on lab equipment with shiny metal tubes sprouting from it. Dr. Lowry and Matt were nearest. Lowry jumped to save the lab equipment while Matt kept the cosmologist from getting a concussion on a lab bench.
Ariane was too far away to help. Distracted by the sudden use of that incriminating title, she turned to Contractor Director. “I prefer the title Explorer of Solar Systems,” she said quietly, so the others didn’t hear.
“We know,” Contractor Director said. The Minoan stepped past her and a guardian followed, as she stood transfixed by the short and condescending answer.
“I could use some help here!” Dr. Lowry grunted as equipment began to tip. Ariane leapt to assist her, and they wrestled the equipment back onto the lab bench while Matt straightened out Dr. Novak.
“Sorry. Late.” David Ray, gasping and puffing, appeared in the doorway. “Just notified of cha—change. Ha—had to run through two rings.”
They all looked at the Minoan emissary.
Contractor Director dipped its horns. “I changed the meeting time and place. Dr. Novak has signed the Hellas Nautikos cooperative research agreements, and he will have need of this information.”
This didn’t seem to reassure Dr. Novak. Matt guided him to a stool, while everyone settled and the guardian moved to the hatch, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed. As Ariane picked a stool to sit upon, she was reminded of her college science labs, except there had been a graduate student standing at the end of the two benches preparing to lecture, rather than a Minoan emissary. She leaned on her right forearm, which rested on the smooth and cool countertop made of synthetic soapstone.
David Ray sat down across the bench from her. Having caught his breath, he leaned over and whispered, “They have a good sense for drama, don’t they?”
She nodded. By now, humankind assumed the Minoans chose to mimic a bygone civilization on ancient Earth. However, they didn’t have to wear horned headdresses with cascading jewels, or flowing robes. Perhaps the cold air that moved their clothing was necessary, but they could just as easily walk about with tanks. That wouldn’t make the same impression, would it?
“You may record this, since this information will be verified in the Builders’ records on Priamos. This is not privileged information.” Contractor Director allowed them to switch on recorders in their slates.
“We began observing the culture you call the Builders approximately sixty thousand UT years ago, when—”
David Ray’s arm shot up for a question, and Ariane felt her life regress to secondary school. The familiarity deepened when Contractor Director sternly said, “Questions will be entertained later, General Counsel for Aether Exploration.” David Ray lowered his arm with chagrin, as the Minoan began again.
“We waited about thirty-two thousand years to make contact with them and to forestall further questions, we will provide exact timelines to your xenologists below.”
She watched David Ray, with a twist of anguish on his face, make notes on his slate. He probably wanted to explore each statement in depth. There was much more to ask the Minoans, now that they could compare humankind’s progress with another sentient species. The ramifications, to net-think and popular culture, were both horrifying and exhilarating. This generated more questions: How long had the Minoans existed? How many species had they seen evolve to sentience? How had the Minoans managed to survive, over such a long time? After all, the universe was a very dangerous place.
“Mistakes were made with the Builders,” the Minoan continued. David Ray was vibrating in his seat. “Over thousands of years, the Builders became hostile and what you define as ‘xenophobic.’ We watched their decline begin thirteen thousand years ago. They eventually withdrew from their outposts, such as this one here in G- 145, to their home world systems. In an attempt to cut off contact with us and other possible spacefaring species, the Builders damaged the fabric of space and time.”
“Meaning what?” David Ray couldn’t stand it any longer.
Contractor Director’s head turned to observe Ariane and David Ray. She shifted uncomfortably under the Minoan’s silent scrutiny as previously unrelated facts crashed together in her brain.
“Temporal distortion,” she whispered, her mouth dry. “They pushed temporal-distortion waves into N-space.”
“They destroyed their own buoys?” David Ray sounded incredulous.
“No.” She cleared her throat, staring at Contractor Director. “They damaged nous-space itself. That’s why you can’t travel to their worlds anymore.”
The shock in the room was palpable. After a quiet pause, Contractor Director dipped its horns toward her.
“Correct,” the Minoan said. “We could not survive the nous-transit, but you could, with the enhancements we provide.”
“Do you seriously believe his death was due to ‘natural causes’?” Joyce demanded.
Benjamin Pilgrimage, or at least his image in the view port, looked uncomfortab
le. “Our medical examiners can’t identify the reason Dr. Rouxe’s heart stopped. The Tribunal members are satisfied with the results.”
“The Tribunal is satisfied that an effort was made, nothing more.” Joyce was sweating, which he hoped Benjamin couldn’t see. He’d increased the interval between his pain meds and he was paying for it. The right side of his torso screamed with every breath he took.
“I’m getting pressure to close the case. It’s quite possible that Rouxe died from natural causes.”
“We all know your medical staff isn’t well trained in forensics. Nor are they up on the sophisticated multicomponent poisons used today.”
Benjamin’s face tightened. “What else would you suggest we do?”
“Send the body to Hellas Prime for examination by our people,” Joyce answered promptly.
“We can’t do that. Pilgrimage sovereignty—”
“Might have been what got us into this problem.” Joyce’s response was savage. “But I have an answer that can save your pride. Your offices on Hellas Prime enjoy extraterritorial status, so send the body there. It stays on sovereign soil and from there, you can ask for any experts you’d like.”
“Dr. Rouxe was a Terran League citizen and the Terrans are asking for his body. They’ll resist sending him to Hellas Prime.”
“So ask them to provide their own forensics expert, who can observe and consult, under embassy jurisdiction.”
Benjamin looked sour. “It would have been easier if your advisors had suggested this a couple days ago. What happened to all that promised help from your Directorate, anyway?”
“Sorry, those advisors were pulled into something more important,” Joyce lied coolly.
He wasn’t so calm and collected after he concluded the call. With shaking fingers, he adjusted the medication dosage from his implant back to the default programmed by the medics. I was an idiot to assume I could get along without the pain meds so soon.
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