by David Weber
“Thanks, Raibert.” She swept her gaze all around her, then stopped and stared at the door. “Umm, is that a Viking standing outside the room?”
“Yes and no,” Raibert said. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll explain everything.”
*
“And that’s our story,” Raibert finished an hour later.
“I’ll be honest here,” Benjamin said. “Every time you say ‘chronometric,’ I think a part of my brain commits suicide. Can you be a little clearer about what’s really going on with the timeline?”
“Sure. Maybe an analogy might help.” Raibert thought for a moment. “Ah! This one ought to do the trick. Are you familiar with the Gordian Knot?”
“Sure I am,” Benjamin said.
“Great. I thought you would be. See? We have so much in common. It’s like we were meant to work together.”
“Just keep telling yourself that, Raibert.”
“Alexander the Great, right?” Elzbietá said and gave Benjamin a wry half smile. “Sorry, Ben. I’m afraid I was more interested in physics when I was in high school and an undergrad. I think I’ve got the basics, but it’s not really my period.”
“Not a problem.” Benjamin smiled back at her, astonished by how light that smile had made his heart. He reached across the table to squeeze her hand, then looked back at Raibert.
“The Gordian Knot refers to a myth associated with Alexander of Macedon,” Benjamin began. “As the story goes, he marched his army into the city of Phrygian, capital of Gordium, in 333 BC. Inside the city he found an old ox wagon with an impossibly complex knot tied about the yoke, the ends of which were well hidden. According to Phrygian tradition, the wagon, which was then kept in a temple dedicated to Zeus, had belonged to Gordius, father of King Midas. An oracle had once proclaimed that any man who could unravel the knot would become the ruler of all Asia, and this had piqued Alexander’s interest.
“He confronted the ancient puzzle, and, after struggling with it for some time, he supposedly drew his sword and severed the knot with one mighty stroke. That night, a great thunderstorm raged over the city, and Alexander’s prophet Aristander interpreted this as a sign that Zeus was well pleased and that he would grant Alexander many victories.”
“Not supposedly,” Raibert corrected. “It pretty much played out exactly like you described.”
“There’s some dispute on the matter,” Benjamin continued, giving Raibert a doubtful look. “Modern scholars question whether he actually cut the knot or if he used another solution such as pulling the pin out of the pole the yoke was tied to.”
“Oh, come on,” Raibert protested. “Time traveler, remember? I actually inserted myself as one of Aristander’s assistants and even recorded Alexander cutting the knot. Interesting fellow, as far as twenty-three-year-old world conquerors go.”
“Fine,” Benjamin admitted. “I guess I can’t top that. Go ahead and take all the mystery out of it.”
“The important part,” Raibert said to Elzbietá, “is a Gordian knot is a seemingly impossible problem that can be solved only in an unconventional way. And that’s precisely what we have here. Forget all the ‘chronometric’ whatevers I mentioned. All you need to know is that sixteen universes, including this one, have become knotted. To any casual observer, the Knot appears impossible to unravel, which is why I need a sword to cut it. A sword represented, in this case, by the Event that has to be put back the way it was. A sword that currently resides in your head.” He pointed a finger at Benjamin.
“Well, you can’t have it.”
“Oh, come on! Seriously?”
“Why not?” Elzbietá asked. “You heard what he said. Sixteen universes including our own are at risk. Everything else he’s told us has panned out to be true, so I don’t see any reason we should doubt him or his sincerity.”
“At last!” Raibert gestured to her with an open palm. “Someone is finally willing to take me at my word and not throw me in prison or shoot me or try to strangle me. Thank you, ma’am! Thank you!”
“It also makes sense now why not-Benjamin’s memories are so complex,” Elzbietá continued. “They really are a second set of memories from another reality. He and you are simply two versions of the same person. Ben, everything we’ve seen fits.”
“I know, and I agree with what you’re saying.”
“Then why don’t you want to help him?” She came up to him and placed her hands at his sides. Her movements were still weak and unsure, but she had the strength to stand on her own.
“It’s because neither of you understand what you’re asking me to do. What you’re asking me to give up.”
“Then make us understand.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “Please.”
“Is it because of all the extra people that will die in the twentieth century after the change?” Raibert asked.
“No, it’s not that. Or rather, that’s not all of it.”
“Then what is it?” She cocked her head and smiled at him. “Please tell us.”
“Ella…” He struggled to articulate the pain in his heart, for what had once been a delusional fantasy was now a reality. A reality that once was and could be again. “Ella, if those other memories are true, you don’t exist in the world Raibert wants to re-create.”
Her mouth hung open, and he looked down at the floor.
“I can’t know for certain,” he continued, “but your grandparents would almost certainly have been killed in the Nazi concentration camps. You would never have been born.”
She closed her eyes and tears leaked from them.
“That’s why I can’t help this man, more than any other reason. I’m sorry, but I can’t lose you.” He pulled her close and hugged her.
“Ahh,” Raibert mocked. “That’s so sweet.”
“Shut up. It’s not like you have anything to lose when the timeline gets restored!”
“Oh, you think so? Well, let me tell you something, Doc. I’m currently stuck in a synthetic body that is native to this version of the thirtieth century, and there’s no way I can be pulled out of it. So, I honestly have no idea what’s going to happen to me if or when we unravel the Knot. You think I’m doing this for myself? I’m probably not going to exist when we’re done! In fact, the one person here with the least at stake is you!”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, stroking Elzbietá’s hair.
“No, I’m not! We know with one hundred percent certainty that you exist in both timelines. You’re guaranteed to survive! The rest of us? Who the hell knows?”
Elzbietá pushed him back and wiped away the tears.
“Are you okay?” Benjamin asked.
She shook her head.
“It’s all right. Don’t worry, I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to help.”
“No, Ben.” She wiped under her nose and sniffled. “You have to.”
“But…” His voice trailed off as his heart sank.
“I’m not going to place my own life ahead of everyone else, and I don’t want you to do that either.” She inhaled deeply and composed herself. “This is bigger than us.”
Benjamin couldn’t find the words. He simply gazed into her clear blue eyes. He saw the terror, the fear not simply of death but of never even having existed, yet behind that terror—stronger than any fear—was a steely resolve that had taken her through the Mato Grasso air strike, through the long, agonizing recovery, through her own PTSD and his. The strength that would not be broken.
By anything.
“I’ve always told myself that it would have been okay if I’d died that day,” she said as if she’d read his mind. “Sixty-two people died to destroy that missile complex, and I was almost one of them, but we saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Their sacrifice was worth it, and if I’d died that day, mine would have been worth it, too.”
“Ella…”
“And now that I’m confronted with the same choice, only with an uncountable number of lives on the line, do you really expect me to
put my life ahead of everyone else’s? This isn’t just millions, or billions, or even trillions of lives, Ben. This is sixteen entire universes. Sixteen solar systems. Sixteen Milky Ways. Sixteen Magellanic Clouds and sixteen Andromedas. The human mind can’t even begin to conceive how many planets and stars and species we’re talking about here! And you think I could put my life ahead of all of that?”
“No,” he admitted sadly. “I don’t.”
“Then this is something you need to do. If you love me and you’re truly the man I know you are, you’ll do this. I know it’ll hurt, and I’m scared, too, but this is something you have to do. Our lives are too small and the price to save them is too high. I refuse to pay it.”
Benjamin lowered his head.
“So please do as I ask.” She took his hands into her own and squeezed. “Please help him.”
Benjamin clenched his eyes shut.
“Please?” she whispered.
“All right.” He opened his eyes and raised his head. “Raibert?”
“Still here. Just being patient while you two sort things out.”
“The sword you’re looking for is a train traveling from Cologne to Berlin. It was attacked near the city of Stendal as it crossed the Elbe River. Everyone on board was killed.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard. What’s the date?”
“May 16, 1940,” Benjamin said. “The day Adolph Hitler was assassinated.”
*
“There, Director.” Captain Okunnu highlighted the icon on the chronometric chart. “Contact reestablished with the TTV at plus three months. Signal is solid on our scope.”
“Are we at risk of losing sight of them?” Hinnerkopf asked.
“Doubtful. They almost gave us the slip when we passed through the storm, but now that we’ve reacquired their impeller signature, I think the chances of us losing the trail are quite low.”
“And do you believe they know we’re behind them?”
“I don’t pretend to be able to read minds, but the TTV’s given no indication it’s aware of our presence. We’re safely within the center of its wake, and our baffles are fully extended. They may have the technological advantage, but our chronometric signature is significantly lower at our present speed. They may not be able to detect us at all.”
“Their advantages may not be as great as we initially thought,” Hinnerkopf observed.
“How so, Director?”
“At no point have we witnessed the TTV exceed seventy kilofactors. Perhaps that’s the design limit of its impeller.”
“But didn’t your report say its impeller design was one we’re incapable of replicating with current technology?”
“I did, but that doesn’t necessarily make it better. It only means it’s harder to make.” Hinnerkopf pursed her lips and tapped a finger against them. Was her design the superior one after all? It was a flattering notion, but she couldn’t afford to underestimate her quarry.
“In that case, should we attempt to overtake them?” Okunnu asked. “Our baffles remain effective up to seventy-two kilofactors. And even if we’re spotted, our maximum speed easily outstrips theirs.”
“No.” Hinnerkopf’s voice was firm. “Continue to match their speed and course. If they slow down, we slow down.”
“Understood, Director,” Okunnu said after a moment’s hesitation.
“You don’t approve, Captain?”
“It’s not that.”
“But it is…what?” she pressed.
“As you say, Director,” he responded neutrally. “It’s not my place to judge.”
“There are a number of reasons we’re going to play the waiting game.” And none of them are because you’re scared. Right, Katja? “First, we’ve already expended half our long-range munitions. We hurt them, but how badly? If our next attack doesn’t finish them off, we’re left with only the Switchblades: a weapon that’s already proven largely ineffective against their armor. Furthermore, we’d have to phase-lock with them in order to launch our missiles.”
“We can hit the TTV with them while non-congruent,” Okunnu replied a bit stiffly.
“But only if we get dangerously close,” Hinnerkopf countered, and the captain was forced to nod.
Without impellers of their own, chronometric drag would begin shifting the missiles out of phase the instant they left their launchers. Worse, the phase gradient would climb quickly…which made “dangerously close” a pretty drastic understatement, actually.
“That’s a valid point,” he acknowledged with manifest unwillingness.
“Yes, it is. But there’s an even more important reason we should wait and see.”
“What’s that, Director?”
“Once this current threat is eliminated, it will fall to the Admin to unravel the Knot in a way that preserves our existence. What does the professor know that we don’t? Why was he in 2018? Why did he take on passengers there? Why is he moving away from the Knot now? Is there some complexity to this phenomenon hidden between the twentieth and thirtieth centuries? Is there a secret he didn’t share with us? Too many unanswered questions, Captain. Too many of them for my liking.”
“I see your point.”
“And so we’ll wait and see where he phases in.”
“What if we find nothing unusual at the phase-in point?”
“Well, Captain,” Hinnerkopf said with a thin smile. “Then at that point, I say the professor has nothing more of value to show us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Transtemporal Vehicle Kleio
non-congruent
Benjamin squinted at the cloudy fluid in the eyedropper as he sat in what had become his study. Virtual readouts of eBooks filled the space around him, but he couldn’t see them since he’d taken off those ghastly interface glasses. He’d taken out his contacts, too, which had reduced the room to a blurry mess.
“You sure this’ll work?” he asked.
“Quite sure,” Philo said through the one earbud he still wore.
“The little robots aren’t going to eat my eyeballs or something?”
“Good grief! Why would you even think that?”
“I don’t know,” he grumbled and picked up the eyedropper.
“Just one drop in each eye and ear.”
“Right, I remember.” He took the earbud out, peeled open his right eye, and tapped the button on top of the dropper, which released a pre-sized droplet.
The fluid wasn’t anything like a saline solution. It was syrupy, white, and opaque, and when he tried to blink it away, the fluid flowed back under his eyelid as if it had a mind of its own. Which it probably did.
He administered a drop each to his left eye and both ears. The fluid crawled deep into his ear canals, and he shivered from the intrusion.
“Unpleasant,” he complained, blinking rapidly.
The door split open, and he turned and squinted to see who it was. The cloudiness over his eyes quickly faded, and the world started coming back into focus, but he still couldn’t identify the person who’d stepped inside.
“Hey, Ben! Hey, Philo!” the newcomer said.
“Oh. Hey, Ella.” He blinked some more and the space around him came into sharp focus.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Philo said, his voice coming through clearly.
“What are you working on, Ben?” she asked.
“Just trying out these magic eye drops. You?”
“Getting used to my implants. Check this out!” Elzbietá spread her arms, and virtual displays spawned above her hands, then twirled around at high speeds before collecting in a neat pile in front of her. She clapped her hands together and they vanished.
“How did you do that?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just can. It’s as natural as breathing.”
“That’s by design,” Philo stated.
“Do the implants make you feel any different?” Benjamin asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. Have I been acting differently?”
“No. You’ve been perfectly normal.” He glanced around and grimaced. “For whatever counts as normal in this place.”
“You’ve taken quite well to them,” Philo said. “In fact, I think you’ll soon be better at interacting with the Kleio than Raibert is.”
“Because he’s in an Admin synthoid now?”
“That’s right.”
“How about you?” She sat next to Benjamin and rubbed his thigh. “How are you holding up?”
“Surprisingly well, actually. It’s strange. I’ve been fighting these dual memories for months, but it’s actually much easier to simply lay back and accept them.”
“Well, it’s not like you had any reason to accept them before now.”
“True, but now I know my memories of David and my father’s death and all the other stuff is as much a part of me as my memories of you. Coming to that realization’s helped center me in some way. I don’t feel normal—not like I did before The Day—but I think I can honestly say I’ve never felt this close to normal since.”
“Hey, that’s great!” She patted his thigh. “I’m really proud of you, Ben.”
“Thanks. I genuinely do feel like I’ve turned the corner here. I’m not going crazy. I haven’t been hallucinating. It’s all real. It’s all a part of me, and the secret to living with myself is accepting all of who I am.”
“That’s just wonderful to hear.” She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “So, have you made any progress on the Event?”
“Sort of. I’ve been having some difficulty getting used to all these intangible displays floating around the place. That’s one of the reasons I put in the eye drops. I need to be able to search through the material Philo saved more effectively.”
“We could print it all out,” Philo offered, “but we currently don’t have enough raw material to print that many paper books. We probably could if we phased in and let the microbots eat a few trees. Or maybe print them with plastic pages.”
“It’s not worth the hassle,” Benjamin said. “I’ll get used to it. Kleio has more important things to worry about than printing out a library for my sake. Besides, that’s not the biggest problem.”
