Tales of the Continuing Time and Other Stories

by Moran, Daniel Keys

  “Any simulations on how the Navy does against it?”

  “Lights.” The image vanished and Josefs gave Marcus a sour look. “You know there are – old ones. Best specs we have for Archangel class are thirty years old; the last simulations were run eight years ago. The Navy lasts less than an hour in the optimistic scenarios.”

  “We’ve upgraded the Navy since then.”

  “Not enough.”

  “So what am I supposed to do with this person, this –” Marcus glanced at his briefing pad. “Ola Blue?”

  Josefs actually smiled. “Whatever she wants you to.”

  HE MET HER at one of the two dozen ports that serviced the city of New Colton, capitol of Benardine, population eleven million and climbing. It was raining and had been for most of the last week; Marcus stood inside the terminal and waited for her dropship. Marcus had no idea what to expect. Popular belief was that Earth humans had genegineered themselves into three-meter tall monsters, lacking nothing but metallic skin to pass for Tamrann. From experience Marcus was skeptical of popular belief. He did his best to have no expectations, waiting for her. Expectations often kept people from seeing what was put before them.

  It was nearly midnight when her dropship descended through the cloud barrier, toward the wet, brightly lit landpad. Despite himself Marcus was impressed. He knew intellectually that Benardine was sometimes backward compared to the rest of the Continuing Time; it was still a shock to watch a ship actually land on the surface of a planet using a gravity drive. Marcus saw no engines on the dropship. It settled down as though it had been lowered on wires, not raising enough wind to disturb the pattern of the raindrops falling around it. The dropship’s landing ramp descended gracefully and a woman walked down it, through the rain and into the terminal where Marcus and the honor guard awaited her. She wore what at first looked like a pale blue rain slicker, darker blue trousers, and pair of black boots that looked like the boots popular among young people that year in New Colton – Marcus blinked; the rain slicker wasn’t wet, and neither was the woman wearing it.

  She looked like one of his younger sisters. Dark skinned; slightly almond-shaped brown eyes. Short, tightly curled black hair. He had an immediate impression, he could not have said why, of true youth. She was tall, though not as tall as Marcus, and slim.

  He stepped forward. “Ma’am. I’m Colonel Michaelson. Do you have a title I should use?”

  Her voice sounded like his youngest sister’s. “No. You can call me Ola.” She held her hand out, and Marcus stepped forward to take it. Her skin was dry and her handshake firm; her hand felt small in his. “I understand you have cleared a wing of the hotel across from the Executive Mansion for me. How long will it take us to get there?”

  “To the Capri – driving time, thirty minutes. With security checks, with traffic slowed by the rain, more like forty-five.”

  The woman nodded. “Forty-five minutes is long enough. We can talk as we drive.”

  MARCUS’S FIRST ASSESSMENT of Ola Blue was that she was impetuous. She paid attention well enough but seemed hasty. The moment he finished talking she spoke in response, and nothing he said to her slowed her.

  “You have been at war forty-seven years.”

  Marcus had to think. “Depends on when you say it started.”

  “Your war has disrupted travel through this System. It has measurably impeded trade across a region of some 400 Gates.”

  “It hasn’t been a party for the people in this System.”

  He thought her lips moved. A smile? “Tell me why you are at war, Colonel Michaelson.”

  He sighed. “Sel Blue – Ola – we’re fighting because we’re fighting, at this point. Because pulling out of Atango would mean six million of our soldiers died for no reason.”

  “Why did the war start?”

  He recalled asking the question of one of his schoolteachers as a child. “There are K’Aillae, humans, and slissi on Atango. The K’Aillae came first, humans and slissi later. About seventy-five years ago there was a war on Atango; K’Aillae against humans. The humans lost, mostly –”

  “Those who did not go over to the enemy.”

  “Collaborators, Zaradinists, call them whatever you like. The Zaradin DNA we all evolved from is a more important bond, they believe, than the differences of form.” Marcus shrugged. “A lot went over, but more didn’t. The humans who didn’t join up, fought. Mostly they lost, until we stepped in. After we stepped in, the slissi did as well, against us. Since then it’s been one bloody long mess. We have better tech and more disciplined soldiers; they have shorter supply lines and, one could argue, more committed soldiers.”

  “The Face of Night,” said Ola Blue, “sent me here to stop your war.”

  Marcus said bluntly, “Why? Why you?”

  “I do not know,” Ola said immediately. “Shelomin Serendip said to me, ‘Go to Gillen. They have been at war for forty-seven years. Stop them.’” She turned slightly to face Marcus. “Your world is a representative democracy. It is an archaic form, but I understand the principle. You have a single deliberative body, a Congress, which votes. An elected Lower Court and appointed Upper Court, which must ratify the legality of votes, based upon interpretation of two documents, your Constitution and Operating Principles. And an Executive Officer who must veto or approve each vote. For your war to end, your Congress and Lower and Upper Courts must agree to end it; and your Executive Officer must approve the vote or fail to veto it. Or, your Executive Officer must make a decree that the war shall end; and your Congress and Lower and Upper Courts must each fail to overturn this decree. These are the only two legal ways for your war to end.”

  “Legal,” said Marcus quietly.

  Ola shrugged. “I could destroy your Navy and order a garrison placed inSystem to see that you fight no further. But the Director could have ordered that herself, and did not; she therefore wants a different, perhaps a more elegant, solution. Marcus, in your fantasies, where power has been handed to you, to right wrongs, to render justice, to order things as you would –”

  The words sent a shiver through Marcus.

  “– that power is here. Think about how to end this war within the form of your government. Bear in mind,” said Ola Blue, “that if an elegant solution is not found, a rougher solution will be.” She looked away from him. Their car was descending toward the Hotel Capri’s landpad; even through the rain Marcus could see the white glow of the Executive Mansion, a kilometer to the east. “Think about it until tomorrow,” said Ola. “We will meet tomorrow for dinner.”

  HE LEFT Ola Blue at the hotel. He did not get out of the car and she did not appear to expect him to. The car lifted and took Marcus directly to the Black Cube, to debriefing. A squad lined the edges of the downlot, weapons live and pointed toward where the car deposited Marcus. Marcus bore it stolidly; he’d expected it. They shone spotlights on the car that nearly blinded Marcus, and soldiers approached from each side, weapons trained on Marcus. He clasped his hands atop his head and sat motionless.

  They kept him in the car for most of ten minutes while nano-probes crawled over the vehicle. What the remotes were telling them that the car itself hadn’t already, Marcus couldn’t imagine. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more heavily bugged vehicle.

  THEY STRIPPED HIM and put him through a decontamination more thorough than the one he’d gotten returning from Atango, before taking him on to debriefing.

  The debriefing team angered Marcus but did not surprise him. The current Executive, Lendyll Wilson, was a hawk, not unusual for his party, and it trickled downward. Those he recognized were hawks; Manfred Josefs, and Elian Gostrep, both of whom he’d served with on Atango. General Yasmeen Cooridan headed up the Executive Security detail – Marcus’s old job.

  Marcus didn’t recognize the rest of the group. He’d resigned four years ago, when Exec Wilson took office.

  Fi
rst they had him repeat every word he’d exchanged with Ola Blue, as closely as he could recall it. They went through it twice before moving on to his impressions and observations.

  “A little formal in her speech. Speaks Anglic with a North City accent. Gives the appearance of youth – doesn’t appear to reflect before she speaks. Looks like a Benardine. I thought Earth had drifted more from us than that, but perhaps she was sculpted for the look.” He thought. “I couldn’t smell her; I tried. We shook hands – soft hands. Short fingernails. She doesn’t do manual labor and probably never has. Good grip, not too strong ... that’s it.”

  Gostrep asked, “Do you think she suspected your conversation was not private?”

  “She gave no sign of it.” They looked at Marcus. He shrugged. “Officers, she may be young, but she’s definitely from Earth and that’s definitely an Archangel that brought her. How naive could she possibly be?”

  Cooridan and Josefs looked at each other, then back at Marcus. “She is probably from Earth,” corrected Cooridan, “a planet twelve hundred lights away that no one now alive on Benardine has ever seen. Colonel, we don’t know anything about this woman. We slowscanned her; the signal didn’t get past her clothes, except around her face and hands. On her face and hands, Marcus, the signal didn’t penetrate her skin. You look at the scans – you see a glowing blob shaped like woman, and that’s all you see.”

  “So they’ve got better tech than we do,” said Marcus impatiently. “We knew that already. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  “We?” said Cooridan skeptically. “Colonel, you’re going to go home to your wife. We’ll decide where to go from here.”

  Marcus nodded. It was what he’d expected. There were people in this administration who respected him – soldiers who had served with him, mostly. But even those didn’t trust him, and the rest thought him a coward at best, a traitor at worst. “Do I appear for the dinner she requested?”

  “Probably,” said Elian Gostrep. “We’ll let you know, and we’ll send a car for you – I don’t have to tell you not to talk to your wife?”

  “I’m still on detached duty,” said Marcus. They seemed willing to take that as an answer.

  THE MONITORS IN Ola Blue’s suite showed her enter the main room, sit down on the floor, and call room service to envelop her in entertainment holos. She kept requesting new holo feeds until room service told her it could not display any more at once.

  She sat almost motionless, eyes open, until well past dawn the following day, Spring 52, 2488, watching the entertainment and news feeds for New Colton.

  MARCUS OWNED A five room, two story house on the outskirts of New Colton, in the Willomey subdivision. He had bought it after returning from his last tour of duty on Atango, and had married Ground Force Brigadier General Jhana Remaine, a year later, upon her return from her last tour of duty. They had lived together in this house six years now.

  In their marriage they had recapitulated the central political struggle of Benardine. Jhana had served two six-year tours of duty on Atango. She had come home more committed than ever to the war, to the defense of the free humans on Atango. She was as near perfect a human being as he had ever met, physically, mentally, morally, and he knew himself privileged to be married to her; even in the area of their one disagreement he was unable to judge her too harshly – he had seen the same things she had, on Atango.

  She was awake when he entered their bedroom, wearing her nightclothes, sitting up in bed with the newsfeeds hovering in the air around her. She smiled at him. “You’ve made a stir.”

  “I have?”

  “MercNews managed to get a feed of you greeting the Earther. I saved it.” She gestured at one of the holos, said, “Replay.”

  The feed was grainy, taken from some distance. It showed the dropship descending from the clouds, landing on the stonesteel; the woman appearing, walking into the terminal where an almost recognizable Marcus Michaelson was waiting for her. The video signal blanked out as the honor guard behind Marcus was coming to attention. “Someone shot down the spybot at that point – Navy, probably.” She leaned back and looked at him, arms crossed. “I scrubbed the house this afternoon. There have been two attempts at attention since then, but security knocked them both down.”

  Marcus told her about his day.

  When he was done she asked, “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

  “Read from the script.”

  Her skepticism was unnerving. “Are you sure about that?”

  “What would you do?”

  “What the administration asked me to,” she said promptly.

  “And if Jay Jackles were still Executive? If he asked you to meet with this woman and give her detailed instructions on how to force Benardine off Atango? Would you do that?”

  “Love,” she said softly, “I’m a military officer. So are you –”

  “Detached.”

  “You haven’t resigned yet.”

  “No.”

  “I’d do what I was ordered to do,” said Jhana. “So will you.” The windows of their bedroom were growing gray with early light. “Darken the windows,” she said. “Come to bed, Marcus. Get at least some sleep before they send an escort for you to take you to see this beautiful Earther again.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t say she was beautiful.”

  “You did. You said she looked like your sisters. Your sisters,” said Jhana mildly, “are almost as pretty as you are ... though not quite.”

  HE AWOKE SOME hours later with her head on his shoulder, aware that she was also awake.

  “I was thinking,” she said, her lips next to his ear. “Maybe we should have a child now. Not wait until after the next campaign.”

  Marcus didn’t need to think about it. “I don’t want to raise children to go fight in this fucking war. I’ve seen enough young people –”

  “If she does what she says she’s going to,” Jhana whispered urgently, “one way or another – maybe we won’t have to see any more.”

  “SHE WENT SHOPPING today on Verian Citywalk.” Today was Tuesday, Spring 52. “She bought –” Yasmeen Cooridan paused, alone with Marcus in the briefing room. “At the first store, four dresses, two blouses, eight long scarves, a chadour, three pairs of pants. Bright colors, mostly, a lot of purples and reds. Two pairs of shoes, open-toed sandals and high-top running shoes. Two pair black stockings. At the second store she bought a black gown and a pair of black flats. At the third store –”

  Marcus finally interrupted. “Is this necessary?”

  Cooridan didn’t appear to hear him. “– we’d installed deep radar in the changing room.” A holo appeared in front of them – Ola Blue, nude, in visible light. No body hair, and she looked a little thin to Marcus, without much in the way of muscular definition – normal enough, all around. “She’s standing there naked. We blasted her with a signal that would have traveled through a kilometer of lead. Watch what happened when the deep radar went off.”

  The image went into slow motion, two hundred frames per second slowed down to ten. A red marker in the holofield lit when the deep radar scan began – no other part of Ola Blue’s body moved, but the palms of her hands pointed upward, toward the roof above her head where the deep radar had been installed. Two thirds of a second later – 131 frames – the deep radar unit, now a molten mass, descended through the roof and splashed on the floor of the changing room.

  They watched it again, in real time. The red light flashed once in the holo, and Ola Blue stepped out of the changing room as the roof collapsed behind her. “I’ll take the dress,” said Ola Blue. She gestured at the changing room, now burning behind her. “When that’s done, please have the clothes I wore in here sent to my hotel.”

  Cooridan waved the holo off. “She paid them in SpaceFarer Gold Credit.”

  “They took it?”

 
; “Wouldn’t you have?” Cooridan smiled at Marcus. “Her clothes were fine. Half that store burned – it was burning while she paid them and left – but the clothes she wore off the ship were fine once we dug them out of the ashes.”

  “Anything from the deep radar?”

  Cooridan shook her head.

  “She discovered contractions.”

  She smiled. “You noticed that. Probably off the holo feeds in her hotel – she watched them all night. You’re going to be having dinner with her.”

  Marcus had already known that; they wouldn’t have brought him back to the Black Cube otherwise. “Has she complained about the deep radar?”

  “She hasn’t even mentioned it.”

  SOME OF THE other things she hadn’t done since arriving on Benardine included eating, drinking, eliminating and sleeping. She had bathed, twice, in her suite’s large tub, filled the tub with the water at its hottest setting – not quite scalding – and lain there almost motionless, eyes open, for close to half an hour each time, once before leaving the hotel to go shopping, again just before leaving for dinner with Marcus.

  OLA HAD WORN the black evening dress, black stockings, and black flats. She wore a pair of gold earrings and her brown eyes were now a dark shade of gold – Marcus suspected they were actually glowing, though the light in their private dining room was bright enough that he was not sure. She looked impossibly elegant and Marcus, wearing his uniform, felt under-dressed and awkward.

  “Your dress suits you,” he said as they were seated.

  “It’s possible,” said Ola, “that if you pay me an actual compliment, your wife will not even find out.”

  “I can’t take the risk.”