by Tom Merritt
ALSO BY TOM MERRITT
United Moon Colonies
Lot Beta
Citadel 32: A Tale of the Aggregate
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2017 Tom Merritt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Inkshares, Inc., San Francisco, California, as part of the Sword & Laser Collection
www.inkshares.com
Edited and designed by Girl Friday Productions
www.girlfridayproductions.com
Cover design by Dan Stiles
ISBN: 9781942645313
e-ISBN: 9781942645320
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016942384
First edition
Printed in the United States of America
To Ms. Lambert OBE
BOOK 1—AFTER
X
His flight was timeless. His ship, the Verity, was equipped with all manner of features to pass the time, entertain, research, educate, and more. He made use of none of them.
Mostly he wept. Not so much for what he’d done but for the need of doing of it. And for the fact of his survival. He could have let himself disappear with everything else. Often he wished he had.
But he hadn’t. It was his punishment and his reward. He must live with the guilt, but more than that, he must live. It was his duty to tell the tale, help the others, and make certain it was not all in vain.
So he flew to the Fringe Cascade, a smaller civilization left mostly undisturbed by the disaster. If anyone knew best how to continue in the aftermath, it would be them, even if they didn’t know why, which they likely wouldn’t. Although fundamentally unchanged, they would still believe existence had always been like this. And yet they would be clever enough to know something had happened. When he explained what it was, they could help him deal with it.
A light went on at the console. A very important light. A light that usually demanded immediate attention. Pilot X looked at the light and laughed. He had been detected, and the light indicated the Fringe Cascade was still expecting him. They had scanned him and approved his approach, even though they should have no idea who he was anymore.
“We are approved for approach,” Verity said.
Pilot X merely nodded. He hadn’t spoken in parsecs.
The Verity lurched and threw him away from the console. His head jerked up to the transparent ceiling of the cockpit where Verity’s voice came from. He imagined her scowling at him, though there was nothing up there but the curved window and the hidden speaker. Still, he knew she would be scowling if she had a face. She hadn’t been pleased with his silence. He laughed again. That was two laughs since he had begun this trip.
Another series of lights went on. These did not make him laugh. These were bad. The Verity had been captured and was being pulled in. So he was expected but no longer welcome.
“Our approach is being restricted,” Verity said. “They appear to be displeased.”
Pilot X nodded again. Either they knew nothing or somehow they knew everything.
He’d find out why soon enough.
THE FRINGE
“Commander, I’ve got something.”
“What is it, Specialist?” Commander Angtilik moved down the long row of seated scanners to Scanning Specialist 12’s station.
“It’s a match for a surveillance order. The Verity.”
“The Verity? Don’t know it. Who gave the order?”
The Specialist hesitated. “Uh, it says here you did, sir.”
“What? When?”
“I don’t know, sir. In fact I don’t remember entering it myself. It just popped up like it’s always been there.”
“Nonsense. Maybe it’s from upstairs. Damned odd to slap my name on it if it is. Don’t worry, Specialist. Good work. Do try to pay more attention when you’re authorizing orders, though. Could sound sloppy not to remember orders.”
The Specialist looked doubtful. “Yes, sir. I’ve sent acknowledgment and provided approach for now.”
“Good, good. What else do we have on it?”
The Specialist poked around on his interface for a minute.
“Not much, sir. The order only calls for an alert if the vessel is matched. It’s called the Verity. No known origin. No known crew. One race. Alendan?”
“Alendan? Never heard of it.”
“And that’s it, other than—oh! My apologies, sir. It’s a Level-One alert.”
“What?! That’s ridiculous.” Level One was an all-hands emergency. The idea that a Level One could be spotted but nobody was expecting it or even remembered entering the order was one of the most disturbing things the Commander could think of.
“Well . . . capture it. I’ll head upstairs and try to get to the bottom of this.”
The Commander ran up to the Captain’s office, but the Captain had already headed off to the Admiral’s ready room. The Commander raced down the corridors to catch up and came barreling into the ready room, which was filled with top officers all staring at him.
“Ah, Angtilik.” (It was spelled “Ngtyllik” and pronounced in a way not possible for most people with only one tongue, but “Angtilik” was how an Alendan would say it.) “I assume you can explain this?”
Crap.
“Somewhat, sir.” This brought a perturbed look to the Admiral’s face. The rest of the officers looked less than pleased. Nobody joked about a Level-One alert, and they all seemed to know even less than Angtilik did.
“Specialist Ramsey”—spelled “Rhmjsii”—“spotted the target just now on a ship called the Verity. Records show I gave the surveillance order at Level One signed off by you, Admiral. Neither the Specialist nor I recall the order, which is damned odd in this case. The ship’s only details are a race of origin called Alendan. I’m not familiar.”
A Captain from another part of the operation laughed. “You don’t read fairy tales, then?”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Fergranters?” the Admiral snapped. (Oddly enough, “Fergranters” was spelled “Fergranters.”)
“Sorry, Admiral. The Alendans are characters from children’s stories. A once-powerful race that could travel in time but reached too far and brought their entire people to destruction. Typical moral lessons and such—”
“And that’s all we have?” the Admiral cut him off. Captain Fergranters was from the Cultural Relations arm. They could talk at length if allowed. “Please tell me this isn’t some kind of joke, Angtilik—”
An aide interrupted the Admiral. “Admiral, we’re getting a transmission from the ship.”
“Is it already locked on approach?”
“Yes, sir. It’s been captured on my orders,” said the Commander.
“OK, so they can’t pull much. At least we did that part right. Let’s hear it.”
A burst of static filled the room, followed by a perfectly normal-sounding voice speaking the dominant language of the Fringe Cascade.
“This is Pilot X of the Verity to the command of the Fringe Cascade. I mean you no harm. Doubtless your records about me are in disarray or even missing. I can clear up the confusion. Please allow me to land peacefully.”
The message repeated.
“All right,” said the Admiral. “Grant him his request. But make sure a well-armed battalion meets him to make sure it stays peaceful.”
INSIDE THE FRINGE
Pilot X landed the Verity in a, dark, and mostly empty hangar. The usually bright
silver-gray surface of his timeship seemed dull with the lack of anything interesting to reflect. He left the cockpit and stepped out of the tall cylinder that was the Verity. His ship was deceptively small, given its hidden singularity compartment, but still three times his height. He found himself face-to-face with a battalion of armed guards. An officer stepped forward.
“I am Commander Angtilik of the Fringe Cascade. Are you the one identifying as Pilot X?”
“I am.”
“You’ve got a lot to explain, sir. And let me tell you, calling yourself an ‘Alendan’ did not go over well with the Admiral.”
Pilot X sighed. “I can imagine not.”
The guards took Pilot X into a gray room with soft padded walls. It had the sparse feel of many an interrogation room Pilot X had seen, although slightly more comfortable. He sat in a springy chair in front of a table made of high-quality material with the capability for displays and touch controls, though he saw no obvious way to activate them. Probably biolocked. Still, this felt more like an efficient meeting room than a prison.
He had left the Verity with nothing on him but his clothes, although one of his pockets was a back door into the Verity’s transdimensional chamber. He could reach his toolbox through the pocket, but he didn’t have any plans to do so. The Fringe Cascade folks were militaristic but fair, in his experience. At least they had been. He hoped he hadn’t changed that.
After a short period, the door opened and an older woman entered, wearing an understated uniform bristling with power and the tiny, almost nonexistent metal insignia of an Admiral of the Fringe Cascade.
“I’m Admiral Howtsendra. You may stay seated. You have cooperated well. You’re obviously a man of honor and your ship is . . . well, your ship is beyond belief. So I’m conducting this interview myself. But you are observed and guarded should you be harboring any ill will toward me.”
The Admiral walked to one side of the room and pressed part of the wall. A panel slid open, producing a second chair. She sat down and touched the table. It sprang to life.
“This”—she pointed to a block of text—“is an order that appeared in our system without explanation for a Level-One emergency response to a ship called the Verity carrying a pilot who is of the Alendan race. It is allegedly signed by me, though I never signed any such thing.
“This”—she pointed to another block of text with a waveform diagram and a small video—“is the transcript of our communication with you where you identified yourself as being from the ship the Verity and of the race Alendan.
“Pilot X, if that’s actually your name, we do not find it humorous when someone breaches system security and forges the credentials of a flag officer. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“What do you think the Alendans are?” asked Pilot X.
“Dammit, I’m asking the questions, not you. You don’t seem to have an accurate understanding of the trouble you’re in.”
“I can only answer your question accurately—or at least in a way you’ll understand—if I know where to start. What do you think the Alendans are?”
“Humph.” The Admiral folded her arms and stared at Pilot X for a long moment. “Captain Fergranters says they’re a fairy tale about time-traveling aliens or some such. A moralistic tale about pride, I understand. I’m not familiar with it myself.”
“Interesting.” Pilot X rubbed his chin. “Well, Admiral, that is likely true now, but it is because of me. The fairy tale would be that the Alendans used their power for ill and destroyed themselves. Is that it?”
“Something like that,” said the Admiral.
“It happened. I was the person who pushed the self-destruct button, so to speak. That’s why I’m still here. Why I’m the only Alendan still here. The button was protected against the time change and I was close enough to press it, so close enough to be protected as well. As was my ship.”
“Trash,” the Admiral said and stood. “Why not work the Pineapple Planet into your story while you’re at it! If you can’t be serious, we’ll lock you up until you feel more grave.” She turned to leave.
“Well then, I intend to show you.” Pilot X felt the power to create a paradox well up inside him. Nobody left could stop him. He felt the intention grow like a bubble and burst into inevitability. There was a knock on the door before the Admiral reached it.
She opened the door and a stunned guard stood outside next to Pilot X. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I don’t know how he could possibly have got out. But he volunteered to come back.” The Admiral nodded, unable to muster a coherent response as the second Pilot X stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.
“Verity says this is a rather stupid idea and we’d best not try it again,” the second Pilot X said to the first. “I was right when I told me that earlier. But there’s no stopping it now. Admiral, you’ll need to instruct the guards to accompany me, that me”— he pointed at the sitting Pilot X—“back to my ship and let me inside. I’ll only be in there a few seconds, I promise. Then I’ll be right back here, as you can already see.”
The first Pilot X got up and walked to the door. The second moved out of sight. The first opened the door and nodded toward the Admiral.
The Admiral hesitated and then said, “Um, escort Pilot X back to his ship and allow him to go inside. It’s all right.”
“Yes, Admiral,” the guard said, and the first Pilot X left.
The Admiral turned. She accepted this. She wasn’t gaping, but instead gave a stern, questioning look at the second Pilot X, who was now the only Pilot X in the room.
“Time travel,” said Pilot X. “I am on my way to the Verity right now. I’ll jump it back a few minutes. Enough for me to leave and walk over here just a moment ago, then the Verity will jump back to where she was right after she left. Your guards at the ship won’t notice anything. I created a small paradox that apparently causes a tiny rip in time, according to my ship, and you now believe me.”
“How do you know I believe you? Did you jump forward in time and ask me?” barked the Admiral.
“No, but I could have. Well, Verity would have been mad if I did. But no, I’m just guessing you’re smart enough to figure this out.”
The Admiral made a noise not unlike her earlier “humph” but more internalized and guttural. She sat down again and motioned for Pilot X to do the same. She touched a few more controls on the table and a recording system began. It flashed a discreet CLASSIFIED mark.
“Start talking,” she said.
THE ELDERS
The Grand Chamber of the Elders of the Fringe was seldom used. The Elders preferred to conduct their business in the more comfortable and private chambers of their lodge. The secretive council that oversaw the Fringe Cascade rarely felt the need to intervene publicly in affairs, after all.
But on the rare times they were required to do so, they made use of the chamber to its full effect. The nine Elders would sit in a circle on a round silver-gray platform in the center of the chamber, surrounded by an audience. Each Elder sat in a simple but elegant silver-gray-fabric seat that faced inward toward the Elders across the circle. Nine screens were placed in a circle high above the Elders, and each showed the Elder opposite, allowing an audience member anywhere in the chamber to see some Elders directly and the rest on the screen.
A crowd of a hundred or so was usually allowed into the chamber, and the rest of the Fringe Cascade’s inhabitants could watch the entire procedure remotely. It was theater, pure and simple.
At the moment, the chamber was empty, and Elder Angenhurt (spelled “Ngtenghirt”) stood in the audience level, where she had been directing setup for the hurriedly required Discussions that were to take place. Elder Yoreshun (“Yorzexian”) had just informed her of the full reasons why.
A lone pilot claimed to have flown out of the devastation of a Dimensional War. According to him, he alone survived. His race was supposedly one of the main combatants. He called them the Guardians of Alenda, who protected the secrets of di
mensional physics. The pilot asserted he had no special knowledge of these physics himself, though his ship was capable of travel through them.
The Elders of the Fringe had no recollection of these races but had confirmed the high probability of such a war by studying the absences it left. For instance, an order to apprehend the pilot existed, but no one could recall creating the order or why. So the Elders of the Fringe decided to call the pilot before them before the Admiral and others learned more than was good for them.
“And that is all he told Admiral Howtsendra?” Elder Angenhurt asked.
“The only things of importance before we cut short the interview,” Elder Yoreshun answered. “The Admiral showed unexpected initiative and curiosity in this regard. We believe it may be an effect of the Dimensional War that has thrown off our personality assessments, at least in regard to Pilot X.”
“Then this will be a closed event?”
“Correct,” answered Elder Yoreshun. “We’ll use the chamber to show the public we conducted a thorough investigation. We have a seven-nines confidence that this will ease any provocative factors regarding his story.”
Elder Angenhurt nodded and returned to preparing the chamber.
The seats remained empty and the screens dark. But the nine Elders of the Fringe sat in their ceremonial positions in their ceremonial starlight robes. Pilot X sat in the center of their circle. His black padded chair swiveled gracefully toward each Elder who addressed him. He worried it would make him dizzy, but they seemed to have perfected the technology.
There was no High Elder or Chief, but Elder Angenhurt seemed to have been nominated to begin the interview.
“Pilot X, claimed lone survivor of the race of Alendans, we bring you here to question you on your role in a Dimensional War that we determined must have taken place. Your ship and the evidence you gave Admiral Howtsendra imply you do not dispute this. We sit not in judgment of a crime, but in assessment of you entire. What you say here will not be the only determinative factor in assessing your standing with the Fringe. However, the more truth you describe, the more helpful it will be.”
