Pilot X

by Tom Merritt

  “You certainly have. I’ve never heard of anyone but the Secretary being in a room with a Progon and Sensaurian representative at the same time!”

  Pilot X laughed. “Yeah. Not an actual Progon, I don’t think, but I could never be entirely sure. That’s a civilization that is utterly alien. I don’t know if it’s even proper to call them a people. But they are a civilization.”

  Pilot X admired the precision of the Progon way of doing things. His dealings with them had become entirely predictable. Despite their occasional off-key emotional outbursts, which he suspected were a poor attempt to speak his own language, the Progons had a cool logic to how they conducted themselves. They needed to be stopped, of course, but in the way a falling rock needs to be stopped. At least that was Pilot X’s opinion.

  “Listen, I’d like to ask a favor,” Ambassador Uy said, becoming serious. “I’d like to recommend you for a diplomatic post. I get a say in the Ambassadors that train under me, and I think you’d be stellar. An excellent outsider perspective with real-world experience. I hope you don’t mind, but I surveyed your public records and you certainly meet the qualifications.”

  Pilot X was stunned. “But I’ve never studied!” he protested.

  Ambassador Uy shook his head, smiling. “Neither have half the Ambassadorial Corps. The students who study diplomacy are often at a disadvantage in real fieldwork. They’re excellent on theory but have a hard time translating it into practice. That’s why we have a mix. It’s why I prefer the three-person team that I keep. Ambassador Tri is an excellent academy-trained Ambassador, but my other trainee, Ambassador Ku, is leaving. Ambassador Ku had excellent field skills. I think you would too. Will you consider it?”

  Pilot X wasn’t sure.

  “Don’t answer yet. I’ll send you some reasons why I think it would be good for you and for me, and for the Guardians of Alenda in general. Look it over. If you’re still not convinced, I’ll understand. But just look it over. Will you do that?”

  Pilot X smiled and nodded.

  Ambassador Uy was sincerely pleased. “Excellent. We’ll talk soon.”

  “We can talk in five minutes if I come back to right here,” Pilot X joked. “But that might throw off your prepared remarks. Maybe I better stick to continuity this time.”

  Ambassador Uy laughed at this somewhat off-color joke for a timeship Pilot. They were forbidden from messing with the timeline on their own initiative. The joke could have been taken in poor taste. It wasn’t. Ambassador Uy wished him well and left.

  THE MISTAKE

  Pilot X hung over the Moon of Pantoon, waiting for his passenger, Economist Rex, to return by pod shuttle from the surface. Pantoon was a universal trading post but allowed no non-Pantoonian vessels on its surface. All visitors traveled to and from the surface in a local invention called pods. They looked like huge glowing plastic balls. You got the impression they were translucent when you saw them from the outside, but that was just a quirk of their manufacture. What seemed to be the outline of a passenger was some kind of surface-conduit system that managed the propellant of the pods.

  Pantoon’s orbital space was alive with floating sparks as pods lifted off and descended, ferrying trade representatives from hundreds of civilizations back and forth. It was a glorious traffic nightmare. Pilot X still didn’t understand how the little things got off the surface. Admittedly, it was a small world, so the escape velocity wasn’t high, but the pods had no rockets. They weren’t flung into the air or ferried up by another launch vehicle. They just fired up their engines and flew up until they left the gravity well, arcing gracefully toward their destination. It seemed impossible but there they were, hundreds of them, currently defying the laws of physics.

  Pilot X had never been to the surface of Pantoon, but he’d studied up on the pods. If he was more conspiratorially minded, he might have disbelieved the reports, but there were too many of them from too many varied sources for it to be a hoax. It was a trade secret so closely guarded that most Pantoonians were not instructed in how it worked. The technology was never shared and pods were never exported. Like the wide-bodied canal boats of Gerice on Alenda, this was a mode of transportation unique to one spot.

  While he waited, Pilot X looked over the information Ambassador Uy had sent. It was compelling. Pilot X would continue to pilot the Verity, which would be assigned to Ambassador Uy’s diplomatic service. Pilot X might have to occasionally act as a Pilot for other Ambassadors, but always as a courtesy and not frequently.

  He would get a huge advancement in rank and privilege and learn even more about the workings of the tripartite peace that kept most of time and space stable. He wanted to know more too. Ever since his run-in with the Progons and Sensaurians, he suspected there was more going on between the three civilizations than anyone let on.

  He knew Mersenne was not particularly resource rich. It was not particularly strategic either, or at least he didn’t think so. It was extremely odd that both Progons and Sensaurians risked violating the peace to prevent the agreement he had carried. He wanted to know why. And he wanted to know why the Secretary had chosen him to carry it. It was so far back in the timeline that it must be important. He’d been hoping to visit Mersenne later in its history, but he hadn’t had the chance. Mersenne was not an approved recreational destination. In fact, from the little public information he could find, the planet had a sad, short history, relatively speaking. No civilization lasted throughout time and space except the Progons, Alendans, and Sensaurians. And even those three didn’t last all the way to the end, apparently. Only one civilization knew the real fate of the universe. The Fringe Cascade guarded the end points in time and space, marking a border that couldn’t be crossed by any civilization.

  That’s why time travel was so heavily guarded. It’s why the Alendans felt such weight and responsibility. It’s why they had come into cold conflict with the only other civilizations that had a semblance of time travel. And, less important in the grand scheme, it’s why he couldn’t just up and visit Mersenne. Becoming an Ambassador might give him a chance to return. He’d love to check in on Yeoman Alphaea and see if he rose to success. He hoped he did.

  Verity interrupted his thoughts. “Economist Rex’s pod has begun its ascent.”

  “Thanks, Verity. Plot-jump to his last departure point. Then file a plan to visit Ambassador Uy.”

  “At what time point would you like to visit Ambassador Uy?”

  Pilot X hadn’t thought about this. No need to keep the Ambassador waiting. “Let’s say one day after he submitted these reports to me.”

  “Plans filed.”

  Pilot X noticed one of the distant pods connecting with one of the other ships began to shake. That was odd. The dockings were usually so elegant. He noticed a few more rough dockings happening here and there. Maybe something was up with the pod navigation system. Was it centralized? Nobody but the Pantoonians knew, but that could explain a problem affecting multiple pods at once. It was an interesting insight into pod engineering.

  Some of the other pods seemed to be shaky in their ascents as well. He checked Economist Rex’s pod, but it seemed to be gliding up normally. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw an explosion on another ship. Explosions in space were sometimes easy to underestimate. There was not a lot of fire and no shock wave. But that just made it more startling.

  A Trellian cruiser had flashed a bright light and swung orthogonally out of its orbit, jolted by something. It almost looked like it had been hit by a missile, but there were no hostile ships out here. It didn’t look like an internal problem, but it must be.

  “Verity, what caused that Trellian ship—”

  “The Trellian cruiser was hit by a pod at high speed. The pod did not properly slow its ascent.”

  Well now, that was damned odd. Something must be wrong with the pod-guidance system. He checked again on Economist Rex, but still saw nothing unusual.

  Verity spoke up. “I have filed an observation report with Pantoon co
ntrol, but there was no response other than to acknowledge receipt. No alerts have been issued. No hostiles have been detected.”

  By this point, Economist Rex’s pod was within docking range and was gliding slowly in to connect with the Verity.

  Alendan timeships were built so you could open the small cabin in a vacuum and not lose any air, at least not much to speak of. What little that might leak around the force shields was easily replaced by the gargantuan quantity the ships could access from their amazing singularity chambers. It was one of the ships’ great efficiencies. No air scrubbing and circulation equipment was needed when you had a small planet’s worth of room available that didn’t add any weight to the ship.

  The singularity chambers were a stable wormhole that led into what was essentially a pocket universe, though infinitesimally small when compared to a normal universe. Storage, passengers, supplies, and agriculture—all fit on board. Not technically on board, of course, but easily accessible. And since it wasn’t technically on board, the timeship didn’t have to provide thrust for it. The trick was to move the wormhole’s open end as the ship moved through space-time. But Alendan science had figured that out, which meant there was always enough air to make docking trivial.

  The Verity slid open the door to the main cabin as soon as Economist Rex’s pod pushed up tight against it. The only concern was not to depressurize the pod, so the cabin’s force shield was extended around it, holding the pod to the Verity.

  Once the shield was secure, Verity signaled the pod that it was safe to open. The pod did a check of its own, and when satisfied, began the process of loosening its circular porthole. It was a loud and slow process, but eventually the many layers of shielding unlocked like a puzzle, and Pilot X could see Economist Rex standing inside, waiting to come out.

  “Welcome back, Economist Rex.”

  “Fly!” yelled the Economist, and then fell to the ground in a heap. Standing behind him was a Sensaurian in body armor.

  “We meet again, Pilot X,” said the Sensaurian. “I’ve been looking so forward to seeing you.”

  How did it know him? Was this the same Sensaurian he had seen on Mersenne? That Sensaurian diplomat had been in a yellow bucket. This one was a green sluglike being, as were all Sensaurians, but Pilot X was not familiar enough with Sensaurians to tell if it was actually the same one. It had squeezed itself into a suit of translucent plasteel equipped with eight different extensions for manipulating the outside world. The Sensaurian itself was locked into the middle and controlled the limbs from there. It was like looking at an octopus standing up on its side.

  “You don’t remember this aspect of us, of course. But we remember everything.”

  Pilot X realized it didn’t really matter if he had met this Sensaurian before. They were a hive consciousness and could send parts of their consciousness backward in time. So all Sensaurians would potentially remember meeting him on Mersenne, and this one might even have knowledge of his future.

  “Well, I don’t recall you, in fact. But what do you want? What have you done to Economist Rex?” He knelt down to look at him; he was alive but breathing heavily.

  “We have only stunned him. We wouldn’t want a diplomatic incident. Wouldn’t want a war, would we?” The Sensaurian gurgled and made slurping noises that Pilot X assumed might be meant as laughter.

  “Well, I think you may have messed up there. Pantoon won’t take kindly to you commandeering their pods and abusing their visitors.”

  “Oh, but they won’t mind. As of today, Pantoon has agreed to join the Sensaurian Civilization. A great day for Pantoon and all Sensaurians. Some parts of us have been assigned to greet representatives from every civilization to welcome you to the new Pantoon. We mean no harm and will continue trading activities here without interruption.”

  Pilot X could not tell if the Sensaurian smiled. He couldn’t tell if the Sensaurian had a face. But it certainly sounded from the voice coming out of the translucent suit’s speakers like it was happy.

  “The Trellians seem to have come to harm,” Pilot X pointed out.

  “An unfortunate accident,” the Sensaurian purred. “There was some misunderstanding of these pod controls. It seems a few rebels wanted to withhold information about how they worked. They have been dealt with.”

  A chime from the Verity indicated a system-wide announcement was incoming. Pilot X told Verity to put it on speakers.

  “Attention, ships in orbit. This is the Pantoonian Executive. As most of you know by now, we have . . . agreed . . . to an affiliation with the Sensaurian Civilization. The Sensaurians have promised not to change our operations in any way but will install a permanent presence on the planet and of course receive access to our archives.”

  Pilot X let out a low whistle. Pantoonian archives held all the secrets of Pantoon, including how the pods worked. This essentially ended Pantoon neutrality and would shake the universal economy to its core.

  The Executive continued. “We apologize that interference by rogue elements has caused some damage by pods. The situation has been rectified and will not be repeated. Sensaurian representatives have reached out to each of you to sign an acknowledgment of the new situation. We understand that not all of you have the authority to act on behalf of your own civilizations. This is merely an acknowledgment of the situation, promising you will inform your superiors, nothing more.”

  The Executive signed off.

  A coup. That’s what it is, thought Pilot X. They would get every civilization—almost every one was represented here—to sign acknowledgment. It didn’t need to be binding; it just needed to be known. Then no one could claim ignorance and any move against Pantoon, even economically, could be treated as a provocation.

  “I’m afraid your Economist Rex tried to struggle with me as I boarded our pod. You’ll have to sign the acknowledgment, Ambassador X.”

  “I’m not an Ambassador, I’m a Pilot,” X responded automatically.

  “Oh, my mistake, I guess. I do so forget when I am sometimes. Pilot X. Could you please acknowledge the situation and inform the Guardians of Alenda of its existence?”

  This Sensaurian knew him. Maybe knew the future him. It seemed to think he would become an Ambassador. But how could he? If he became the Alendan who acknowledged Sensaurian superiority over Pantoon, it would ruin his diplomatic career before it ever began. It wouldn’t matter that it was bad luck.

  He had to find a way out of this. No, he would find a way out of this; otherwise, the Sensaurian would not have mistakenly called him Ambassador. He realized this is what his teachers had warned of as a “confidence paradox,” which came with all manners of horrible possible side effects. He distracted himself with the facts of the situation.

  Economist Rex lay on the floor inside the Verity, unconscious but otherwise safe. The Sensaurian stood in the pod at the entryway, but hadn’t actually entered the Verity yet.

  That was it.

  “Verity, close the door.”

  The Sensaurian made a noise that was cut off by the door sliding into place.

  “Verity, find a point in Progon space-time that is diplomatically safe for Alenda but where tensions between Progon and Sensaurians are at a high point.”

  “There are five points that have above ninety percent hostile Progon-Sensaurian tension and above seventy percent Alendan diplomatic safety rating,” responded Verity.

  “Pick the one with the highest safety for me and jump,” Pilot X answered.

  The ship gave a minor shudder, an effect of the attached pod being carried along with them. Verity had not released it.

  “Verity, open the door.”

  The capsule door slid open. The Sensaurian still stood there.

  “Where are we?” it asked.

  “Progon space,” answered Pilot X. “When are we, Verity?”

  “At the height of the Fruitless Expansion War, known by Sensaurians as the War of Attrition, or in their language—”

  “It gets the idea,” Pilot X
interrupted.

  The Sensaurian was quiet.

  Pilot X waited.

  “What do you intend to do?” the Sensaurian said, its voice a challenge.

  “I intend to withdraw my force field from around your pod and leave you in Progon space during one of your most bitter wars, and let the Progons do with you what they will.”

  “It does not matter,” the Sensaurian said. “This segment is but an infinitesimal part of us. It matters not if it dies.”

  “But it won’t die right away,” Pilot X explained. “It will be captured and examined. The Progons of this time will know everything it knows. Granted, they can message through time, but ‘this segment’ contains rich information they couldn’t glean otherwise. They also get a Pantoonian pod to examine. Big tech advantage. Go ahead and think about that along with the rest of your hive mind. I know you contacted them already. I’ll give you a moment.”

  The Sensaurian remained motionless for several moments.

  “I prefer you not do that. What do you want?”

  “Convince me not to,” Pilot X said.

  “How?” asked the Sensaurian.

  “Start by leaving Pantoon alone.”

  “We do not know much about Pantoon. We cannot promise that.”

  “Yes, you can. You can remember. This segment will remember. And I can take it back.”

  “The Pantoonians will notice your absence. They will be angry you took the pod here and risked discovery.”

  “I’ll return us to the second we left. They won’t notice a thing unless you tell them.”

  The Sensaurian paused.

  “We cannot leave Pantoon. It would be a disgrace. We know this. We risked much taking the moon; it would be too devastating.”

  “More devastating than the Progons recovering modern information from you directly?”

  “Progons capture pieces of us regularly. They do not learn much.”

  The Sensaurian’s resolve was stiffening. Probably as it integrated better with the Sensaurians of this time.