by Dana Fredsti
Instead, she looked out the portal at the vista beyond. The airship’s wings amazed her. They weren’t flat, fixed metal like twenty-first century airplanes. These were made of artful, almost fluid projections of solid light, each iridescent panel of energy looking like a feather in the craft’s bird-like wings.
Wrapping her arms around her knees she leaned her head against the window, collecting her thoughts as she tried to catch glimpses of the landscape visible between the passing clouds below.
The days and hours since the Event had been the most tumultuous of her life. Over the past few days, she’d been hunted by dire wolves, nearly burned at the stake by Cromwell’s Roundheads, battled with giant sea scorpions… and worse. A twinge of sadness stabbed at her as she remembered everyone she’d left behind in England. Yet she was still alive, and relatively unscathed. As Merlin had explained, there really wasn’t a future or past anymore. Time had become a jumbled mishmash of shards—different shapes, different sizes, and different times—extending as far as millions of years into the past to nearly two centuries in the future.
If she could buy that, then accepting the sci-fi tech that surrounded her was a piece of cake.
Cake…
Amber’s stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and with it came the siren call of coffee.
“Ship, is it possible to get a cup of coffee in my room?”
“Certainly, Ms. Richardson,” the ship replied. “You can have breakfast in here if you’d like.”
“No, thank you.” The thought was tempting, but she thought she’d rather eat with her fellow survivors. “Just coffee.”
“Would you like cream or sugar?“
“Both, please.”
Without a sound, a blob of ship-stuff protruded from the wall and opened up, revealing a plain white mug, steam rising from the top. The liquid was a rich medium brown, with swirls of cream still dissolving into it, and the fragrance… Amber took a sip and smiled in a moment of pure bliss. She’d never thought to have coffee this good again.
It reminded her of the cafeteria in Star Trek—where the replicator provided whatever its passengers desired. She wondered if the ingredients were synthetic, then decided she didn’t care.
Dad would love this.
Then she shoved that thought away.
Her father, along with her mom, brother, and sister—all of her friends… The odds were so small that any of them had survived the Event that it hurt her to hope.
Her glance fell on a burgundy backpack leaning against the cabin wall. That backpack and its contents were pretty much the only remnants she had from her old life. She didn’t know whether to smile or cry. Instead, she looked out the window again.
Once she’d finished her coffee, Amber picked up her newly cleaned and mended clothes—courtesy of the ship. Breeches and soft leather boots she’d stolen from a Roundhead soldier, a white corset-style top from her Codex cosplay, and the Han Solo jacket her date had been wearing when the world went to hell.
She refused to let herself linger on that memory, either.
Instead, she turned her thoughts to Cam, a first-century British Celt who’d also lost his home and family. He’d defended her and fought at her side since they’d met, and he’d nearly died before they’d gained the safety of the Vanuatu. Suddenly all she wanted was to see him. Breakfast could wait until after that.
Digging into her backpack she pulled out a brush, ran it through her long red hair, and left her cabin.
With the help of the AI, Amber navigated her way toward the medical lab. As she walked down the main corridor, she expected to see lots of chrome, bank after bank of computer screens, and Enterprise-style instrument panels. Yet this felt surprisingly retro.
Cozy, she thought. It reminded her of an Amsterdam houseboat, but roomy enough not to feel cramped. Simple cream-colored walls were warm and inviting, like a library.
Reaching the med-lab, she crossed the glowing sterile field in the doorway and went inside, glad she’d taken care to be quiet.
Cam was sound asleep.
Having seen him very nearly beaten to death, she was amazed to see what Merlin’s medical nanites had accomplished. Like magic, the army of surgical robots—each one no bigger than a blood cell—had performed a medical miracle.
Hours earlier a blotched, torn landscape of cuts and contusions covered his swollen flesh. Before her eyes, where bruises and wounds had darkened his body’s topography, the nanites had laid down delicate links of tiny silver hexagons that made a new map, crisscrossing the fading remnants of his injuries. Then, as now, the transformation fascinated her.
She traced her index finger along the almost invisible strands that stitched his collar bone together. Unable to resist, she ran her hand down across Cam’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. Its strong rhythm comforted her. If she leaned over and stood very still, she could even feel the gentle pressure of his breath tickling the skin of her cheek.
Cam’s body twitched.
3
Advanced Transpatial Physics Lab, Antarctica
February 2, 2219
Twelve minutes before the Event
Heading toward A level, Meta continued the final leg of his back route, down several levels through the cavernous engineering and computational wings of the complex. As he walked, he activated his neural comlink to the project control room, letting them know he was foregoing the press conference and would be initiating the morning’s test run. Against the rules, he glanced up at the closest rover keeping pace just over his shoulder, and spoke directly to the camera.
“Can we please, please edit out that business with Gifford from the final cut?”
He descended past the gloomy, almost infernal industrial decks of the station’s pipes, machinery, and inner workings, then through the cybernetics wing, past tall banks of computer hardware that seemed almost cathedral-like by contrast. And then through one final door that brought him back to the main corridor.
Meta peered to his right down the long arc of the hallway, wary of stray reporters. It appeared he had managed to give them the slip. Relieved, he let the drones get back into formation and headed around the bend to the left. The entrance to the reactor chamber lay just ahead and, like a sentry, a somber man stood there waiting for him, hands sunk in his lab coat pockets, grim resolve on his long face. Though younger than Meta, Iskandar Khan was already starting to lose his hair, and carried a weight of great seriousness on his shoulders.
Meta’s jaw tightened.
He’d been afraid this encounter might occur.
“I can’t let you do it, Doctor.” Khan’s voice was unmenacing, but deadly serious.
“Dr. Khan—Iskandar—you know we can’t afford any more delays.”
“You know this is a bad idea.”
“Nonsense,” Meta replied briskly. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument. “You’ve seen the modeling, you’ve run the quantum simulations yourself.”
“The anomalies in the chronocrystalline topology,” Khan responded, as cracks appeared in his calm, “the irregularities in the quasienergy analysis—”
“All perfectly accounted for,” Meta said. “Nonlocal correlations encoded in the wave-function of the system allows for fault tolerance against any perturbations, and relativistic quantum states will stabilize against the decoherence effects. We’ve been through all this. We both know the mathematics check out. I’m telling you, we can do this, Iskandar.”
“I’m not arguing the mathematics!” Khan shouted.
Meta took a small step backward, stunned at the outburst. Khan had never raised his voice in anger before. The younger physicist caught himself and took a deep breath to regain his composure.
“There’s no doubt that we can accomplish the space-time warping,” Khan said. “What I’m saying is that we don’t know what else may occur when we do.”
Meta raised a hand. “Listen to me, Iskandar. I understand your concern. I do. I’m grateful for it—”
“
But not enough to postpone the trial run.”
“Do you have any idea of the restraints we’re working against?” Meta’s own impatience crept back to the fore. “We’ve delayed the test too long as it is.”
“We’re not ready!” Khan insisted. “We have to understand the anomalies before we proceed.” He pulled his hands from his pockets. They were shaking, balled into tight fists.
“We could speculate to the end of time,” Meta said, “but we’re never going to unearth the answers you seek—not until we take the first step. The time is now.”
“There’s no changing your mind, then?”
“It is a mathematical impossibility.”
Khan laughed, a clipped, ugly sound. “You know, I thought I could reason with you, Jonathan. I should have brought a gun with me.”
Meta stared at his friend in disbelief. “Do you realize you just said that on camera, Khan?”
“You think I’m worried about going to prison?” Khan said, matching his stare with a frightening intensity. “Or dying?”
“You can’t stop this, Iskandar.”
“We’ll see about that.” He pushed past Meta and stormed off down the corridor.
“You can’t stop this!” Meta yelled after him. As Khan vanished around the corner, the director wasted no time activating his neural comlink. “Security, this is Meta. Dr. Khan is in the central hub outside the Primary Chamber. Restrain him immediately.”
4
Shangyu district, Kuaiji, Jiang Nan region, China
Year of the Earth Dragon, 3485 (848 A.D.)
Eight Minutes Before the Event
Wu the Alchemist sits in his garden and consults his copy of the Five-fold Synopsis of the Essentials of the Mysterious Tao of True Formulation, carefully reviewing the thirty-five common mistakes made in the preparation of immortality elixirs.
Safeguarding longevity had proved unfortunate for a recent series of Tang dynasty emperors—and for the alchemists who had prepared their medicines. All died—the rulers by poisoning, the alchemists by beheading… or worse.
Wu dearly hopes to avoid the fate of his colleagues. Returning to his laboratory, he meticulously weighs out his ingredients. One and a half liang of saltpeter to begin, with three qians of charcoal and two of sulfur, and finally, following his instincts, a pinch of crushed red realgar crystals to balance the yin and yang.
Grinding them thoroughly in a jade mortar, he pours the mixture into a small earthenware cauldron and stirs in a dollop of honey to bind it before bringing it to a low heat.
* * *
The explosion brings the neighboring peasants rushing to Wu’s burning house. They find the alchemist outside, his hands and face blackened with soot, his long white beard and hair singed, like his robe. His house is engulfed in flames and yet he laughs and scampers around like a madman.
“Look! Flying fire!” Wu cries. “I have discovered the hidden essence of fire in earth!”
Med-Lab of the Vanuatu
Six days after the Event
Gods of my father…
Vicious memories of pain, raw and red—blows from heavy wooden clubs, kicks from tough hobnailed boots, each impact a thundering lightning strike to his face and skull, his ribs and groin. Looking up from the ground, his vision half-blinded by blood and swirling dizziness, his enemies surrounding him. Each black silhouette like the finger of grasping hands closing in on him…
* * *
Cam opened his eyes.
His people the Trinovantes feared many things—sorcery, curses, sickness, starvation, loss of the gods’ favor, loss of cattle—even the loss of honor—but they did not fear death. That was simply the passage to their next life, to be reborn as man or beast, or—if the gods willed it—sail west to their eternal reward in the Isles of the Blest, Éber Donn, Hy-Brasil, and Tír Annún.
Still… had he died?
Where was he now?
Cam lay on a curiously soft table, unclothed but covered by a simple sheet of cloth. The windowless chamber shone with an unearthly white-silver radiance, bright as sunlight on new-fallen snow. There was but a single doorway, an eldritch blue glow swirling within it as if the way was barred by powerful wards. Had he awakened in a palace of the Otherworld, then? Were the Sídhe waiting to take him across the sea to the undying lands?
Something touched his collarbone—he wasn’t alone. The sensation moved gently to his chest to rest above his heart. He opened his eyes and looked up at the figure who was watching over him. Not a Sídhe princess clad in some gown of glittering samite, but Amber, her torn, filthy clothes exchanged for new finery, the smudges of dirt and dried blood washed from her face.
He had never seen a more beautiful sight.
* * *
Startled, Amber snatched her hand away and hastily straightened. Cam peered up at her and, after a moment, smiled.
“Amber…”
Elated, she reached out and hugged him tight, while he tried his best to return the favor, though the effort was awkward. They remained like that forever, one of those moments that crystalized in time, until she lifted herself up just high enough to bring them face to face. Her lips parted ever so slightly. She leaned in…
“Let’s see how our patient looks this—” Merlin breezed through the blue haze of the med-lab’s sterile field, talking to himself. He halted in mid-stride as Amber sat up and Cam’s arms fell back to his side.
“My apologies, Amber,” Merlin said, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t realize Cam had a visitor.”
“No worries.” Amber spoke quickly, feeling her face flush with equal parts mortification and irritation. She tried to keep both out of her voice as she added, “It’s just so good to see him awake… and alive.”
“That it is,” Merlin agreed. The scientist had traded his black robe for a seamless gray dress shirt and slacks. Amber found it almost disconcerting to see him in modern clothing.
He turned to Cam. “Drog yew ginev, Camtargarus.” Without waiting for an answer, Merlin pulled up Cam’s holographic display. It floated above his prone body, a ghostly blue-green holographic doppelganger displaying his internal organs. All the flashing red warnings from before had vanished.
“It looks as if he’s well on his way to a full recovery,” Merlin said, pleased. “We’ll leave the nanites in there a little longer until we’re sure there’s no long-term cerebral trauma, but I’d say his prognosis is excellent.” Amber exhaled in relief and listened while Merlin spoke to Cam for a few minutes in his own language. She loved the sound of the ancient Celtic tribal dialect.
While the two continued what looked to be a lively discussion, Amber discreetly took notice of Merlin’s own recovery. The scientist had himself been critically wounded in their fight with the Roundheads, yet he had risked his own life, undergoing a transfusion and donating his own nanites to Cam. She could still see the latticework of silver honeycomb binding his head wound, but it was fading. Beneath it there was almost no trace of his injury.
“You’re healing up really quickly, too,” she said to him. He placed a hand on his sternum, absent-mindedly touching the site of his chest wound, then reached up to his forehead.
“Thank you, Amber. I’d almost forgotten about that one.” With a flick of his fingers, he called a mirrored disk into being. It floated in midair while he examined his reflection. “I think the stitches will be completely reabsorbed in an hour or two.” Another flick and the plate-sized disk shrank down to the size of a dime, and then disappeared altogether.
Merlin nodded toward Cam. “I told him that the ship’s surgeon could fix that cut across his cheek, but you’d think I’d asked him to cut off his own ears. He refused to allow anyone to steal his precious battle-scar.”
“I kind of like it,” Amber admitted. “It suits him.”
“I suppose it does,” Merlin agreed. “On a related subject, the rest of our group has been outfitted with language implants. I thought the two of you might want to get yours now. It doesn’t take long at all,
and it’s safe and entirely painless.”
“How does it work?” she asked dubiously.
He laughed. “It’s much easier to explain to Cam. I simply told him I had a magic spell that would give him the power of understanding other tongues.” He made another subtle gesture, and a flight of a dozen small, smooth objects—each about the size and shape of a guitar pick—emerged from the wall and floated in a slowly rotating ring, awaiting his orders. “To be slightly more precise, this array implants a meta-organic nanostorage unit that your brain’s speech and comprehension centers can access.”
“So it works like a Babel Fish?”
“Like a what?”
“You know, a universal translator—like in Star Trek.”
“Oh yes… Babel Fish, Star Trek, universal translator…” he repeated, giving Amber the distinct impression he was running some kind of mental Google search. “Sadly, it isn’t quite as good as all that. I’m afraid there are hundreds of extinct South American dialects missing, for example. Even so, it will give you a working knowledge of several different languages.”
“That’s awesome,” Amber exclaimed. “How many do we actually get?”
“Well, I took the liberty of selecting a hundred and twenty of what I thought could be the most useful, culled from the last five thousand years or so. You can add more as needed.”
“Works for me,” Amber said, her mind reeling with the possibilities.
“I’m glad you think so,” Merlin replied with a wry smile. “Cam is very disappointed. He wants to know why I can’t give him the speech of birds, fish, animals, and insects.”
“Tough customer.”
“Let’s see if a quick English lesson doesn’t cheer him up.” He turned to the Celt and asked him a question. Cam glanced at Amber with a shy smile, and nodded.
Merlin’s squadron flew down and took up position at various points around Cam’s head. They came to life with a bright glow for a few seconds before flying off again. Cam’s eyes dilated, fluttered, rolled back to show just the whites, then returned to normal—albeit wide with surprise. Amber held her breath, and then leaned in closer.
