by David Weber
It did the job. It also took out most of China, Mongolia, and parts of Russia, in the process.
After Yanluo’s defeat, the stunned peoples and governments of Earth came together and, in 2763, formalized the Yanluo Restrictions and created the System Cooperative Administration, under the Articles of Cooperation, to enforce these restrictions.
On that day, the Admin became, and remained, the most powerful governing body in the entire solar system, with jurisdiction stretching from the habitat caverns of Mercury all the way to the aloof Oort cloud cabals.
Shigeki’s shuttle sped past the Prime Tower as the sun set in the distance. The tower stood over three times as tall as any other structure within sight and over ten times the height of the DTI tower built in the campus outskirts. It loomed above its surroundings, a single, enormous monolith in Peacekeeper blue, its sides traced in wide, climbing bands of white that directed the eye to the silver Peacekeeper shield—so large it served as a satellite building in its own right—at its midpoint. That was it. No flourishes. No embellishments. No baroque structures. Just the grandeur and spectacle of its size.
“You know something, Nox?” Shigeki said.
“Sir?”
“It really is an ugly tower.”
“It could have been worse.”
“How so?” Shigeki leaned back from the window and faced his chief of security.
“One of the proposed designs was, to put it kindly, a bit on the phallic side.”
“Hah! Yeah, that would be worse.”
“There was a referendum called for approving the design, and I’m trying to remember if that particular one included two large domes at its base.”
“Oh, good grief! Seriously?”
“Or maybe that was just an improvement my friends and I submitted. I honestly can’t remember. Regardless, the teenage me thought it was the pinnacle of comedy.”
Special Agent James Noxon was a rarity in the Admin: a human being who’d joined the Special Training And Nonorganic Deployment command and voluntarily submitted his mind to connectome recording so that his consciousness could be loaded into a synthetic body. There was no coming back from a transition like that, and the men and women who signed up to become Peacekeeper STANDs knew it. They also knew they would be regularly sent into the absolute worst combat situations imaginable; it was their job to charge headfirst into places and battles that flesh and blood Peacekeepers couldn’t possibly survive, and Nox had been one of the very first of their kind.
Nox resided within a first-generation synthoid, whose exterior represented the apprehensions of a populace unwilling to allow inhuman machines to blend in amongst them, and so his skin and eye color loudly proclaimed his synthetic nature. Attitudes toward synthoids had softened in the intervening centuries, but that soulless, nonhuman stigma had never truly left their kind.
Shigeki always felt a little sad when he looked at Nox. STANDs were the tip of the Peacekeeper spear, but they were also shunned by those they protected. Thankfully, attitudes changed with time, and modern synthoids could legally match the outward appearance of natural humans, but Nox had never done so. Shigeki wondered if he’d simply given up on ever being considered human again.
“That was over two hundred years ago,” Shigeki said. “I didn’t know you still had clear memories from that far back.”
“I have a few, and unfortunately my connectome wasted one of them on that.”
“Well, no one’s perfect.”
Shigeki glanced out the window and noticed a flight of Switchblade attack drones drop into formation around his shuttle.
“That’s a rather hefty escort. Are we expecting trouble?”
“No, but given how unusual the situation is I thought it prudent to take all possible precautions.”
“And how unusual is it?”
“Take a look for yourself.”
Shigeki let Nox interface with his PIN, and a gunmetal ellipse with a spike on the end appeared between them.
“What sort of crazy chronoport design is that?” Shigeki asked.
“We don’t know.”
“Is it even armed?”
“Minimal weaponry in the blisters here and here,” Nox said, pointing. “And it didn’t use them.”
“It’s not something copied from us, and it doesn’t look like any of the Freep originals. Who built this thing?”
“We don’t know. Hinnerkopf will investigate that once she arrives.”
“Fair enough. Next question, how’d we get our hands on this thing?”
“It phased in over North Africa. High-speed entry with no attempts at stealth.”
“That sounds awfully stupid.”
“I find it difficult to argue with that, sir. Jonas had two chronoports from Barricade ready when it phased in, and the pilot almost immediately surrendered. We only fired one warning shot.”
“It didn’t try to run or self-destruct?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I take it we have the pilot in custody?”
“Yes, sir. He and the chronoport are being carried to the DTI tower. They’ll arrive less than an hour after we do.”
“Any Yanluo Violations to deal with?”
“Actually, we’re pretty sure there are several.”
“Thought so.” Shigeki grimaced. “Are we taking the appropriate precautions?”
“Yes, sir. The pilot and his chronoport will both be isolated in the subbasement upon arrival.”
“And where is this pilot from?”
“We don’t know.”
“Do we even have a wild guess?”
“No. Kloss plans to interrogate the prisoner as soon as he returns.”
“Good. We need some answers.”
“Though you may want to consider doing the interrogation yourself.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the prisoner has requested to speak to you personally.”
“Oh, he has? Has he?” Shigeki scoffed. “And why should I?”
“Actually, we only think he’s asking for you. His speech is, well just listen for yourself.”
Nox played a recording that came through Shigeki’s virtual hearing.
“Nǐ hǎo. Wǒ nèed to spèak with pěrson in chàrge of nǐ de tǐme trǎvel prògram. Zhègě is màtter of grěat ùrgěncy. Fàte of àll èxistěnce is at stàke. Wó am bèíng rèallý sèrìóus àbóut zhègé! Pléase stóp pòintíng zhègé át wó!”
“Wow,” Shigeki said. “Okay. I see what you mean. I think I understood about every other word in that mess. What sort of bastardized version of English was that?”
“We don’t know.”
“Do we know anything for certain right now?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
Shigeki let out a frustrated growl and opened a call to Dahvid Kloss, DTI Under-Director of Espionage.
“Kloss here.”
“Kloss. Shigeki.”
“What can I do for you, boss?”
“Change of plans. I’m going to speak to the pilot first. No offense, but this one’s so weird I’m taking direct control of the investigation.”
“Understandable. And no offense taken. Anything else?”
“Institute a full information blackout. I don’t want news of this spreading until we have a better handle on what’s going on.”
“Not a problem. As chance would have it, my team already has a suite of data scrubbers and monitors ready for deployment on your command.”
“Good man.”
“It’s what you pay me for.”
Shigeki closed the call.
“What’s next, sir?” Nox asked.
“Next.” He glanced out the window to see their shuttle swing around the DTI tower’s upper landing platform. “Next, I’m going to call Jackie and tell her I’m sorry and that it’s going to be another late night. Then I’m going to do my damnedest to figure out what the hell is going on.”
CHAPTER TEN
Department of Temporal Investigation
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2979 CE
It was a cell.
No matter how hard Raibert tried, he couldn’t deny that reality.
It was a cell, and he was all alone in it.
At least they’d given him his hat back. He clutched it in his hands as he sat in a stiff chair behind a small desk with another empty chair on the other side near the door. The large helicopter drones had dropped smaller drones around the TTV, some quad-legged and the size of big dogs but with guns for heads, and others that took flight on tiny propellers with guns slung underneath.
Guns. Lots of guns. And then he was in a massive aircraft with dozens of people in full body armor and their guns, all pointed at him. One of the dog-drones had retrieved his hat, for whatever reason, and then one of the people in armor had returned it to him. It was a small act of kindness in a strange and stressful situation, but he did appreciate it, even if the man or woman in the armor didn’t understand him when he said thank you.
The aircraft had led to a landing pad, and then corridor after corridor, and down, down, down into the bowels of a dark tower.
And then he was placed here. In a cell. With nothing but a hat with sand in it.
This was not a promising start.
He twisted the hat in his hands and sat and waited.
The door split open, and he looked up.
A man walked in wearing a crisp blue uniform with white stripes up the sides of his pants, a blue peaked cap with a white band that wrapped all the way around, and a silver shield over the left breast with DTI written on it. His black hair was bound in a long braid and traced with strands of silver, giving Raibert the impression he was younger than the newcomer, if only slightly.
The man pulled out the chair, sat down, and clasped his hands together on the table.
“Hola. My nombre is Csaba Shigeki. Entiendes me?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I only understand some of what you’re saying. I don’t have access to—”
He stopped. Normally Philo and the databases on the TTV would supplement his mental faculties to the point where he could speak any language as fluently as his own, and he reflexively poked at the emptiness that resided on the other side of his mental firewall. The sense of being so very isolated made his heart sink, but he knew he’d made the right call. The very fact that he was in this cell told him that much, and he remained on guard about accidentally revealing Philo’s existence. If worse came to worse, he’d need the AC’s help. He wasn’t about to rely on Kleio to save his hide, after all!
Raibert made a show of clearing his throat before continuing.
“Pardon me. It seems our languages share the same root, but diverged somewhere. Your name is Csaba Shigeki?”
The man nodded.
“Ah. Well then. That’s progress already!”
“Sí, it is.” Shigeki smiled warmly, and the genuine expression comforted Raibert greatly.
“My name is Raibert Kaminski. Professor Kaminski.”
*
“Wǒ nàme Ràíbert Kàminski. Jiàoshòu Kǎmǐnski.”
Shigeki was almost certain the little man in black with the ugly, pattern-changing scarf had just given him his name, but a subtlety in the speech caught his attention. He’d stated “Kaminski” twice, but the second time he’d used different tonal inflections. Were these tonal shifts communicating a subtext within the language, such as temperament or emphasis? Or did the climbing or dipping vowels alter the very meanings of the words? If the first were true, he could probably ignore them for now, but if the second were true, then this was going to be a very long night indeed.
Shigeki opened a secure data channel. The man looked absolutely harmless and had made no attempts to access the infostructure around him. Even if he tried, the DTI tower was one of the most secure places on Earth, and Kloss had activated their best nonsentient software monitors and set them to watching the interfaces as an added precaution.
Every word this odd man had spoken so far had been recorded, and Shigeki dumped all of it into a language analytics and translation program. The result flashed in his virtual sight, and it took him a moment to accept it.
“Chinese and Old English?” he said.
Who spoke Chinese anymore? The language had almost completely died out over two hundred years ago after Yanluo, and the bombardment that followed, devastated Earth’s Chinese-speaking population.
“You’re speaking a combination of Chinese and Old English?”
*
“You hablas a combination de Chinese y English Antiguo?”
“Hmm? I something a combination of Chinese and English something?” Raibert pondered the words and thought he understood what should fill in the gaps. “Ah, well, I guess I do, now that I think about it. Though if you look at Modern English’s roots, the old Chinese portions of it have morphed over time. Some words and phonetics came over, but the tonal qualities in Chinese really changed over the centuries and became more of a modular emphasizing subtext to the language. It probably makes understanding what I’m saying a real pain in the know-you-what. Umm, I’m sorry. Did any of what I just said make sense?”
Shigeki held up a finger. “One momento, por favor.”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll wait.”
Shigeki looked away with the unfocused eyes of one communing heavily with an infosystem, and when he looked up and spoke again, it was in a different language.
“Nǐ néng shuō zhōngwén ma?”
“Ahh…sorry?” Raibert shrugged.
Shigeki frowned, faced the wall again, and looked up a minute later.
“Can you speak Old English?”
Raibert blinked. Old English had been a required course at the university, mostly because so much of history from the last millennia was written or recorded in one of its various forms. Sure, the language lacked the nuance of his native tongue, but he could speak it.
Probably. It had been a while.
“Yes, I think I should be able to, I mean…” Raibert concentrated and tried to recall lessons he had long forgotten. Fortunately, the distance between Old and Modern English wasn’t too great. He just replaced the correct words, threw some articles back in, chopped off all the tonal shifts, and…
“Yes, I can speak Old English.”
“Finally!” Shigeki declared, and clapped his hands together. “It seems we are making progress.”
Raibert breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
“Now,” Shigeki began, and knitted his fingers together, “would you mind explaining what it is you’re doing here?”
Raibert beamed at the request. It was, after all, the question he’d come here to answer.
“Why, I’d be more than happy to, sir. You see, it all started while I was on my way back from spending eleven months in Julius Caesar’s service.”
*
“This way, Professor. This way.”
Shigeki gestured for Raibert to enter a well-lit circular conference room with a round table ringed with a dozen chairs, most of them empty. He stepped in and dipped his hat to the three people already seated as Shigeki and his synthoid bodyguard followed and the malleable door pinched shut.
“Professor, I’d like to start with a few introductions.” Shigeki rounded the table and stood with his hands on the chair back opposite the door. “My staff have all loaded the appropriate linguistics packages into their PINs, so we shouldn’t have too much trouble communicating. You have, of course, already met Special Agent Noxon, my chief of security.”
“Oh, why yes.” He dipped his hat to the gray-skinned synthoid. “A pleasure, sir.”
“Professor,” Nox replied curtly, arms folded across his broad chest as he stood in front of the door.
“This is my son, Jonas Shigeki, who serves as my Under-Director of Suppression.”
Jonas sat with his chair leaned back and his boots propped up on the table, but Raibert caught the cool, calculating glint in his eyes. He was being studied, despite what the man’
s carefree demeanor might suggest.
The family resemblance was immediately apparent in the lines of his face and shape of his eyes, though Jonas’s complexion was notably darker than the senior Shigeki’s and his long, black ponytail lacked any hint of silver.
“You don’t know this yet, Professor, but you have Jonas to thank for countermanding the attack order against your ship. You gave us quite a shock when you showed up, but he picked up on how unusual the situation was and called off the attack.”
“Oh, why thank you, sir.” Raibert dipped his hat to the young man. “Thank you very much.”
“Don’t mention it.” Jonas flashed a crooked smile.
“Next is Doctor Katja Hinnerkopf, my Under-Director of Technology.”
“Professor.” The short, compact woman sat in her chair with ramrod posture. Her lips were a flat line, and her buzz cut only added to the aura of severity.
“A pleasure, ma’am.” Raibert dipped his hat once more.
“And finally, this is Dahvid Kloss, my Under-Director of Espionage.”
The man’s short, dark hair stuck up at odd angles as if he’d just woken from bed without bothering to groom, and his wrinkled uniform only added to his unkempt look, but despite his disheveled appearance, he watched Raibert with a fierce, unblinking gaze.
“Good day, sir.” Raibert tipped the brim of his hat to the man.
Kloss said nothing as he leaned back in his chair and stared at Raibert over steepled fingers.
“Everyone, I would like to introduce you to Professor Raibert Kaminski.” Shigeki took his own seat. “He is what you might consider an unexpected guest of ours, and he has a very interesting tale. I ask that you all keep an open mind and listen carefully to what he has to share. Professor, if you would, please?”
“Yes, thank you. Umm, where do you think I should start?”
“At this point, I’m the only one who has heard your story, so please feel free to start wherever you feel most comfortable, though I believe your encounter with the chronoton storm would serve as a good jumping-off point for this discussion.”
