Soldiers Out of Time

by Steve White

  “A sixty-three light-year hop—that would be a little less than fourteen and a third days for this ship.” Van Horn did some mental arithmetic. “Yes, I believe so, if we go on rations.”

  “Good. We won’t have to waste time returning to Zirankhu.”

  Where I left my Scotch, moaned Jason inwardly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “As it turns out, Jason, your calculation was quite accurate” said Kyle Rutherford, gazing down the long table. “Since your return, the specialists have reviewed the sensor data you collected and applied it to the performance figures for the Transhumanist temporal displacer we captured. And, in fact, that transport was displaced almost exactly five hundred years. I say ‘almost’ because absolute precision is impossible in the absence of exact figures on the mass of the transport’s load.”

  They sat in the conference room adjacent to Rutherford’s office, deep in the heart of the Authority’s Australian facility. Mondrago and Chantal were also present, as was Rojas. Seated beside her at the table was a big, squarely built man with short iron-gray hair and general’s insignia on the shoulder straps of his dark blue uniform—Viktor Kermak, the chief of staff of the IDRF. He had brought a retinue of staffers, but they now sat unobtrusively back from the table, along the wall. This was a preliminary conference, to determine the recommendations that would be given the higher governmental authorities.

  Alastair Kung was also present. Ordinarily Rutherford, as operations director, represented the Authority in meetings such as this. But Kung had gotten wind of what was afoot here, and had muscled his massive way in. Now he sat, somewhat resembling an overweight owl, occasionally looking down his nose over his nest of chins to give Jason a look of disapproving suspicion.

  “Also, Jason,” Rutherford continued, “it is the opinion of the experts that you were correct in your surmise concerning temporal retrieval. It seems the mathematics of the effect predict that an object does not have to be in the same gravity field as the displacer to ‘snap back’ to it when its temporal energy potential is restored. This, despite all the seeming problems involving the laws of conservation of energy and momentum. And those same mathematics suggest no theoretical limit on the distance over which the effect obtains. Of course, the problem with general mathematical statements is that they contain no automatic cutoff points to tell you when they cease to apply to the real universe. And we’ve never tested this out. Indeed, it’s never occurred to us to think in these terms before.” Rutherford shook his head slowly. He still hadn’t altogether recovered from the whole concept of extrasolar temporal displacement.

  “If this is true,” Mondrago mused, “then on their return trips the Transhumanists effectively have the kind of ‘teleportation’ the science fiction writers are always talking about, with interstellar range. That would be a terrific logistical advantage.”

  “Which, in turn, may help make this whole project cost-effective,” Rojas nodded. “Even though it still must be a colossal effort for them.”

  “And,” added Chantal, “we still don’t know why they’re making that effort. What can they have been doing on Planet B, five hundred years in the past, that would be worth it?”

  “At least,” rumbled General Kermak, “we know where this, uh, Planet B is. We also know the location of Planet A, through which it is being supplied. And they don’t suspect that we possess this knowledge . . . we hope,” he added with a hard look at Jason and Mondrago. “So the solution is clear: direct military action!”

  “You’re familiar with the arguments I advanced against an attack on Planet A when Major Rojas suggested it, General,” said Jason mildly.

  “Yes, Commander, I have taken cognizance of them. Which is why I’m not proposing it as an isolated operation. I say, at the same time we hit Planet A, we also go to Planet B. Whatever the Transhumanists went back in time to do there, it must presumably have consequences in the present. Otherwise, why would they have done whatever it is?”

  Rutherford looked alarmed. “Surely, General, you’re not advocating an all-out attack on Planet B in the current state of our ignorance of it? What you suggest may be more than the IDRF can manage on its own.” This, Jason knew, was true. The IDRF’s space-combat capability was limited to relatively small, lightly armed ships, for political reasons and also due to the seeming lack of a need for any heavier metal.

  “No, of course not. First we need to perform a reconnaissance.” Kermak pronounced it correctly. “If it turns out they’ve got more than we can handle there, then we’ll just have to set the wheels in motion to bring in the Deep Space Fleet.” He made no attempt to keep the distaste out of his voice.

  Jason framed his words very carefully. “General, your duties don’t normally involve time travel, so you’re accustomed to thinking entirely in the ‘linear present’ as we call it. But I ask you to consider something. The Transhumanists are taking an enormous amount of trouble to go to Planet B five hundred years in the past. They must have a reason for doing so. If it’s like all their other machinations, it can only be to plant the seed of something that’s not going to come to fruition until The Day—which self-evidently hasn’t occurred yet. Now, the Transhumanists could quite easily go across space to Planet B in the present. Why don’t they?”

  “What are you driving at, Commander?”

  “General, are you familiar with what we call the Observer Effect?”

  “I’ve heard of it. I can’t claim that I entirely understand it.”

  “If you did, you’d be the only one,” said Jason with a smile. “But it seems clear to me that for reasons related to the Effect, the Transhumanists have to leave what they’ve started on Planet B alone. This suggests that whatever they’re doing there is vulnerable at its inception.” He glanced at Rutherford, who had clearly grasped where this was headed and appeared to be experiencing some difficulty breathing. Kung still wore a look of blank incomprehension, which was just as well. Jason continued to address Kermak. “I propose that we nip their little scheme in the bud. And if we do it after they’ve finished setting their project up and have ceased going to Planet B, we’ll have destroyed it without them knowing we have. And then won’t they have a surprise on The Day?”

  Mondrago spoke up, breaking the silence. “General, you might say time travel adds a new dimension to warfare. If I may draw an example from history, military men were used to thinking in two dimensions before the invention of airplanes allowed operations in the third dimension. In addition to going around an enemy’s flanks on the ground, they could—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” snapped Kermak. “They called it ‘vertical envelopment.’”

  “Well, General, think of what Commander Thanou is describing as ‘temporal envelopment.’”

  Jason held his breath, hoping Mondrago, an ex-merc, hadn’t strayed over the line with Kermak. But at the same time, he reminded himself that this was no mere boneheaded warhorse; such types did not rise high in today’s military. And after a moment, the general’s thin lips formed a slight smile.

  “I get the concept, Superintendent. Of course, its usefulness would be very much limited by the Observer Effect. Good thing, too; otherwise the consequences would be . . . unimaginable. But in this particular case, we just may be able to put it to use.” Kermak turned back to Jason. “Do I understand, Commander, that you are proposing—”

  “—That we ourselves perform an extrasolar temporal displacement?” blurted Rutherford, who had regained the power of speech. Kung had not; he finally understood, and his face was a frozen mask of slowly purpling blubber.

  “Right. If the Transhumanists can build a displacer on that scale, then so can we, now that we have their technology. We can send a ship back almost but not quite as far as those transports of theirs are going—maybe to a point in time about a decade later—and proceed to Planet B in that time period. If possible, we can go ahead and abort their scheme, whatever it is. If that’s not possible, we can return with enough ships to do it.” Jason turne
d to Kermak with a smile. “But I would be very surprised, General, if the IDRF couldn’t handle this strangle-in-the-cradle operation on its own, without the need to involve the Deep-Space Fleet.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Kermak stroked his craglike chin, and Jason saw he had struck a chord. “Yes. There’s something to be said for avoiding all the complications that entails.”

  “Especially considering the impossibility of avoiding security leaks when something has to be taken into the political arena,” Rojas added.

  “And security is going to be a problem anyway,” said Mondrago morosely. “Where are you going to build this displacer? The Transhumanist underground is bound to notice a project of that size.”

  “That’s right,” nodded Jason. “It can’t be on Earth, for that reason—not to mention the Observer Effect, since nobody on late nineteenth-century Earth noticed any spaceships popping into existence out of thin air! We’d have to make it in modular components and ship them to some other planet for assembly.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rutherford and Kung seemingly go into shock.

  “Mars, perhaps?” suggested Rojas. Sol’s fourth planet had been the subject of extensive terraforming studies in the twenty-first century, but nothing had come of them. By the end of that century, the competition for the finite funding available had been won by the first slower-than-light interstellar probes. And then, in the early twenty-second century, had come the takeover by the Transhuman Dispensation, which hadn’t been interested. And after its overthrow, no one had been interested because the negative mass drive had opened up a galaxy full of more promising planets. So Mars continued to orbit the sun in its pristine state of cold lifelessness—like Planet A, only smaller and even more inimical to life.

  “It’s still too close for comfort, right here in the Solar System,” said Jason. “I’d prefer an extrasolar planet. I’d also prefer a planet with a breathable atmosphere. Mars is almost airless, and having to build a base there would complicate our engineering problems, besides being expensive.”

  Rutherford, who had managed to recover his composure, spoke with icy sarcasm. “I am reassured that you are thinking in terms of expense! Jason, do you have any conception of the magnitude of this undertaking?”

  “This unprecedented undertaking, I might add!” blurted Kung. “Kyle, I cannot believe that your latitude as operations director can possibly be stretched so far. I would insist that it be put to the full council.”

  “I know it may be a hard sell to the council,” Jason understated. Then he had a sudden inspiration. “But you might point this out to them. To avoid all the political headaches of achieving unity of command in a large-scale military operation, the government will almost certainly want the Authority and the IDRF to handle this, in conjunction with each other but still acting independently.”

  Rutherford’s expression instantly grew more cheerful. As usual, preservation of the Authority’s status as an independent agency would be uppermost in the minds of the council, and he knew it. Even Kung’s face began to grow a lighter shade of purple.

  “Well,” Rutherford said after a moment, preening his beard thoughtfully, “if it’s put to them that way . . . perhaps . . .”

  Kung, however, was still not mollified. “But Kyle, the impropriety! I remind you that all Special Operations Section activities are at present in abeyance pending the Section’s official disbandment.”

  “And I remind you, Alastair, that this is not an expedition of the Special Operations Section as such. Commander Thanou is, indeed, acting for the Temporal Service—”

  “With which his connection is, at present, somewhat ambiguous,” Kung interjected darkly.

  “—but as a consultant to the IDRF, not in his capacity as head of the Section.” Something seemed to firm up inside Rutherford. “And in my capacity as operations director, I am provisionally approving this project, and authorizing funding from my discretionary monies. You, of course, have every right to subsequently raise the question before the council of whether I have exceeded my authority.” Before Kung could speak, he spoke in a more conciliatory tone. “So you see, whatever happens I will bear all responsibility.”

  Kung brightened visibly. In his bureaucratic world, what mattered was not success but avoidance of accountability for failure.

  Well ,well, thought Jason, looking at Rutherford with more respect than he had felt in a while. Is it possible that his conscience is bothering him for not fighting harder—or at all—for the Section? It should.

  “But Jason,” Rutherford continued sternly, turning to face him, “before I can finalize my approval—and in anticipation of later council review—I must have a specific proposal as to just where we want this displacer constructed.”

  “Well, there are a lot of habitable extrasolar planets—”

  “What about Zirankhu?” Chantal suddenly interjected. “Yes, I know it might not ordinarily occur to us. But remember, it’s a dry world with extensive empty areas like . . . this.” She gave a gesture that indicated Australia’s Great Sandy Desert, which stretched away from the installation in all directions. “And we could purchase many of our supplies locally, rather than hauling them from Earth. And furthermore, it’s not far, as interstellar distances go, from Planet A—which, if I understand the spatial relationships correctly, means it also can’t be all that far from Planet B.”

  “Just a moment.” Rojas manipulated her wrist computer, which projected a holographic display of stars in the air above the table. She made various calculations. “Yes. From HC-4 9701 to HC+31 8213—that is, from Zirankhu to Planet B—is nineteen point forty-five light-years, a figure which the proper motions of the stars won’t have changed much in merely five hundred years. A considerably shorter voyage than from the Solar System or anywhere near it. Less than a third as far, in fact.” She must, Jason decided, be sold on the idea. She had forgotten to glare at Chantal on general principles before supporting her.

  “I think Chantal may have hit on something,” he said.

  “But,” Rutherford objected, “we don’t precisely own Zirankhu. How will we induce the Manziru Empire, which claims to rule the entire planet, to permit this?”

  “The same way everything else is done on Zirankhu,” said Jason with a grin. “Bribery. We can go under the table and offer the imperial officials some high-tech goodies if they’ll go along. Not up-to-date weapons,” he hastily added in Kermak’s direction. “But there are other things that they’d like to have. And since those things are forbidden by their own laws and import restrictions—and also because they’ll think they’re swindling us by leasing us some patch of worthless, out-of-the-way desert—the individuals we deal with will agree quickly, before we come to our senses. For the same reasons, they’ll be sure to keep the whole thing under tight security.”

  “Speaking of security,” Mondrago cautioned, “what about the Transhumanists on Zirankhu. Won’t they notice what’s going on?”

  “I don’t think so—not if we handle it right, using dummy private shipping outfits to clandestinely bring in the components. Remember, they’re just coming and going to buy provisions. They don’t have any kind of ongoing intelligence operation in place there. Why should they? They have no interest in the planet, as such.” Jason smiled reminiscently. “And remember, Alexandre, we know some people there who might be of assistance in the security department.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I had a feeling I’d find you like this,” said Jason with a tsk, tsk. “Or else dead.”

  “Fortunes of war,” sighed Mario McGillicuddy, leaning back on the cushions. He reached for his cup of tchova with his left hand, awkwardly but unavoidably inasmuch as his right arm was no longer there. His features were still somewhat pale and drawn, but his characteristic cocky enthusiasm was unabated. “We had some successes at first, and I can’t deny that I may have gotten a trifle overconfident.”

  “Just a trifle, from what I’ve heard of your attempt on that last Dazh’Pinkh-held town,�
� said Jason drily.

  “I tell you, if that fathead Patel had given me any support—”

  “Come on, Mario. You know he can’t.”

  “All right, all right—I overreached. But damn it, we managed an orderly withdrawal back here to the Khankhazh area. And I’m learning from my mistakes.”

  “As long as they don’t kill you.”

  “This one was close,” the mercenary admitted. “Fortunately, I lasted long enough for Captain Chang to get me into the infirmary at the legation. Damned good of him, too; if it had been up to Patel, I would have been left outside to rot. Seems I’m an embarrassment, making it harder for him to maintain his pose of neutrality. Anyway, the infirmary is small, but they’ve got some basic field versions of regen devices—dermal closers and skeletal knitters and such.”

  “So what now?”

  “Now I’m going back to Earth for a while to get the arm regrown. Naturally they don’t have that kind of regen equipment here.”

  “Naturally,” Jason nodded. The Human Integrity Act’s prohibition of bionic replacement limbs and organs had been one of its most controversial provisions, for they were one of the more defensible forms of man-machine interfacing. But the framers of the Act had been adamant. And after a while the issue had been rendered moot by the development of regeneration technology. Portable versions like those at the legation infirmary could take care of most wounds in short order. But to regrow whole limbs required a short stay in a reasonably well-equipped hospital. It was less expensive than bionics would have been, but . . . “Won’t the trip cost money?”

  McGillicuddy flashed a grin. “Didn’t I tell you I had the backing of the merchants that do business here? I still do. They’ve still got confidence in me, in spite of this recent mishap. They paid me one hell of a commission for rocking the Dazh’Pinkh back on their heels with those early victories. And now they want me be back here on Zirankhu, good as new, as soon as possible.”