A Gulf in Time

by Chris Kennedy

  “Hehe, it was too hard, what with all the explosions and laser fire. Besides, a chance to meet the administrator? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  “Remember, the goal isn’t to kill him.”

  “No?” Farhome asked. “Still? Well, that’s disappointing.”

  Calvin shrugged. “Not yet, anyway. We still need him.”

  Farhome’s smile broadened, and he winked at Calvin. “No killing him now, then, but at least there’s hope for later.”

  * * *

  Administrator’s Office, Mineral Cartel Station, Unknown System

  Calvin’s group filed into the administrator’s office to find five armed ant men already there.

  “Tell them to leave,” Calvin said.

  “There are five of you,” Tichp replied. “The administrator deserves protection, too. As he told you, he will not negotiate at the point of a rifle.”

  “The only protection he’s going to get is that I don’t want to destroy this station at the moment,” Calvin said. “That, however, may change if they don’t leave right now.”

  “And if they don’t?” Tichp asked.

  “Then they’re all going to die, and it’s likely you’ll die in the crossfire.”

  “You would kill them and me for no reason?”

  “Your boss was about to throw me off the station. That’s reason enough for me to not fool around anymore. They can leave, or you all can die.”

  Dantone energized something behind him, and the sound of it powering up appeared to decide it for Tichp. He wilted a little and waved for the troops to leave. There was decidedly more space once they were gone, and Calvin was able to breathe more easily.

  “That’s better,” Calvin said. “Now, why don’t you call in the administrator so we can get this all worked out?”

  After a few moments, the administrator slunk in with his shoulders bowed. He took his seat and looked up at Calvin. “Before you kill me, can you at least tell me who you people are? Or at least the cartel you work for?”

  “As hard as it may be to believe, the story we told you earlier is the truth. We aren’t from any of the other companies or cartels or whatever it is you think. This isn’t a hostile takeover. In fact, we had the best of intentions…until you decided to throw me off the platform, anyway. At that point our intentions did become a little more…antagonistic.”

  “That’s fine,” the administrator said, looking down at his two sets of folded hands. “If you don’t want to tell me, it doesn’t matter. Just kill me and be done with it.”

  “I keep trying to tell you—we don’t want to kill you, or take over this facility, or anything like that.”

  “No?” the administrator asked, looking back up again.

  “No,” Calvin said. “There are a few things we’d like—”

  “I knew it!” the administrator exclaimed.

  “—but they’re mainly stores-type items, and we’d be happy to pay for them.”

  “I notice you said ‘mainly,’” Tichp said. “What else will you be requiring of us?”

  “Some information. We’d really like to know where and when we are.”

  “So even though you have won, you are going to insist on pretending you are from the future?” the administrator asked. “Fine. I’ll play along. It’s the 14th of Wamkah, in the year 2,145 after Trrgos’ reunification. You are currently in the Klahr System, onboard Liltor Corporation’s mining platform above the planet Togat. Anything else?”

  “Huh,” Calvin said. “I never thought about it, but we don’t have a common system of time-keeping.”

  “What do you mean?” the administrator asked. “Do you not know of the reign of Trrgos? How is it possible you do not know of the first chief executive? He brought the galaxy back under one system of government, ended war, and implemented the cartel structure.”

  “As I told you, much has been lost from your time—the time we are currently in—to the time we’re from. We really don’t know anything, beyond the fact that your culture existed, it was more advanced than ours, and something happened to it which caused civilization to end.”

  “When does civilization end?” the administrator asked. “I would prefer not to be around when that happens.”

  “We don’t know,” Calvin said. “And without a common system of reference, it’s hard for us to guess when it’ll happen.”

  “Or if it will,” Master Chief muttered.

  “What does that mean?” the administrator asked.

  “It means we have no idea if our appearance here will alter the timeline and provide your government with the information necessary for it to save itself, thereby altering the timeline.”

  “Could it not also be that your presence here is what causes the downfall of our civilization?” the administrator asked.

  Calvin shrugged. “I guess that’s possible, too, but I don’t think it’s likely. We’re pretty sure our Enemy is the same force that will ultimately destroy your civilization.”

  “But you don’t know that is the case.”

  “No, like I said, that’s true. Whatever ultimately ends your civilization will destroy it so thoroughly that nothing is left to tell us anything about what it is or how the downfall happened.”

  “Then why are you telling me this? Maybe because I know it, I will do something that will change the course of history.”

  “That’s also possible,” Calvin said, “but I don’t think so. There are a number of schools of thought on this, and the one I think I’ve come to accept is that I can’t affect history—no matter what I do, somehow events will transpire that will cause the timeline to remain the same. Nothing I do can change history.”

  “And why do you think this is?”

  “Because it’s the only view that allows me to do what I need to do,” Calvin said. “I could ask ‘what if’ all the time, and allow that to guide my actions, but if I do so, I might become more afraid of what might happen than of doing what I need to do—I may be paralyzed into inaction and miss my chance to act because I’m afraid of the consequences. Yes, I may change history this way, but I don’t think so. Besides, from our perspective in time, your society is wiped out at some point in the future. There’s nothing I can do that will be worse than that.”

  “Unless you’re the cause of why we get wiped out.”

  Calvin nodded. “True, but I don’t think so.”

  “So what are your intentions?”

  “We want to talk with whoever is the head of your military.”

  The administrator cocked his head a second, appearing to listen to something only he could hear. “Perhaps you were not listening,” he finally said, “but we do not have a military. While I understand the concept of a standing armed force, it is only through the use of background information. When Trrgos ended war, he disbanded all the militaries. There is no ‘military head’ to talk to.”

  “So who do we talk to, then, if we were trying to get decisions made?”

  “What kind of decisions?”

  “Decisions like whether or not a military force should be developed to fight the Enemy when it shows up here? Decisions on how to improve weapons and technology to arm that force?”

  “Well, each company has its own small security force, but those are limited by law according to the size of the company. There is also the Security Cartel that companies and cartels can petition to provide security services, but no one is really developing weapons and technology. They are not allowed to.”

  “Why not?”

  The administrator chuckled. “Were you not listening? Trrgos outlawed militaries and froze weapons technologies to what existed at the time. Anyone other than the Security Cartel members who are caught developing or using weapons or weapons technologies are subject to termination, along with their families.”

  “Where does that leave us? We have weapons.”

  “Oh, you will all be terminated once the Security Cartel catches up with you. There is no doubt about that in my mind w
hatsoever.”

  “Who can authorize the use of weapons?”

  “Only the Council of Principals or the emperor himself could do so.”

  “Who’s the Council of Principals? Where do they meet?”

  “That is the standing board of cartel heads who advise the emperor on the performance of his job. The emperor is elevated from the council and serves for a period of ten years, at which time the position rotates to the next cartel in line. The current chief executive is from the Banking Cartel. As to where it meets, the Council of Principals meets in the Trrgos System.”

  “And how do we get there?”

  “Through the stargate, of course.” The administrator looked up with a strange gleam in his eye. “And how will you be paying for the use of the stargate, Mr. ‘I’m From the Future?’ Please don’t tell me that money doesn’t exist in the future and everything is free.”

  “Would you believe me if I did?”

  “No, I would not.”

  “That’s fine,” Calvin said, “because it does.” He winced as the realization came to him. “So…would you like that in US or Terran Dollars?”

  “I do not believe either of those are valid on the galactic exchange. If you do not have our currency, you do not go through the stargate.”

  “We don’t have your currency,” Calvin said. “However, we would be willing to barter for it.”

  “Good,” the administrator said. “As it turns out, I have a task that needs doing. Something where weapons might be helpful. If you were to accomplish it for me, I would be willing to let you use the stargate.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  CO’s Conference Room, TSS Vella Gulf, Klahr System

  “A task, huh?” the CO asked. “Why do I think I’m not going to like this?”

  “It shouldn’t be too bad, I don’t think,” Calvin said. “We just have to bring a box back from the next system over.”

  “Why doesn’t the administrator just send his folks to go get it? Surely he has access to a ship somewhere and security forces he could send. At least he did before we shot them all up.”

  “That’s just it,” Calvin said. “The administrator said they were about to go get it when we arrived. Now that we’ve…depleted his staff, shall we say…he says he doesn’t have anyone to send.”

  “So…just go get a box. Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”

  “Because there is, of course,” Calvin said. “It actually fell into the hands of some aboriginals on the planet. Apparently, the group he sent wasn’t prepared for conflict, and the minimal security forces they had were overwhelmed. The remainder of the group returned home, but they had to leave the box when they fled.”

  “And the million dollar question?” the CO asked. “What’s in the box?”

  “That is, of course, the issue,” Calvin said. “The box isn’t so much a box as a crate—a crate of weapons. There were ten laser rifles inside. There’s a second box with batteries in it, but we only have to return the rifles; the administrator doesn’t care about the batteries.”

  “And the aborigines? Do they know how to operate the rifles?”

  “The administrator got kind of shifty at that point,” Calvin said, “so I’m going to have to say, ‘yes.’ Apparently the rifles were to arm one faction so it could put down another faction and force them to mine for the Liltor Company. However, the aborigines went off script. They decided they didn’t want to work for Liltor; they wanted to be independent contractors. They had no problems enslaving the other factions of aborigines on-planet, but they didn’t want the pittance Liltor was going to pay for the minerals they harvested. They wanted additional arms. As it turns out, there’s also a prohibition on arming indigenous civilizations below a certain level of technology, of which this race is, so there’s a certain aspect of the administrator getting his hand caught in the cookie jar.”

  The CO chuckled. “So let me get this straight. The administrator armed a group of people he shouldn’t have armed, and when they decided they didn’t want to play by his rules, he got cold feet and decided he wanted the weapons back before he got in trouble for giving them to the aborigines.”

  “Yes, sir, something like that. We have to go in and retrieve the weapons. If we bring them back, he’ll let us use the stargate and give us directions to get to the system where the ruling council is.”

  “And you think he’ll actually follow through on his promise?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I promised to throw him off the platform if he didn’t,” Calvin replied. “I think I made that point very clear.”

  “The Shawn Hobbs School of Winning Friends and Influencing People,” the CO said.

  Calvin shrugged. “Well, he was going to do it to me first. You, too, if you remember.”

  “I remember that very well,” the CO said. He paused, obviously thinking, then asked, “So, do you think you can get the rifles back easily?”

  “I do.”

  “What do we know about the aborigines?”

  “They’re a race of snake-like people who live underground, called the T’Chillen. They had a picture.” Calvin paused while he brought up the picture on the view screen. A giant snake rested with its massive form wrapped around a padded column. It was hard to tell, the way the snake was wrapped around it, but its body looked to be around 20 feet long, from its beak-like mouth to its metal-colored tail spike, and at least as big around as a well-built human. The alien had tiny, serpentine arms and a forked tongue, with black on black eyes atop stalks.

  “That’s pretty damn ugly,” the CO said. “Something that big would also probably take a lot to bring down.” He shook his head. “And the stupid administrator wanted to arm them, too? What was he thinking?”

  “I think he was thinking with his wallet,” Calvin said. “He thought the snakes would make a great race of slaves. Turns out they’re psychopathic bastards that had other ideas.”

  “And you want to go take ten laser rifles from them?”

  “I don’t particularly want to do that, sir, but it’s something we can do to get him to let us use the stargate.”

  The CO shrugged. “Tell him to turn on the stargate to the system, and we’ll go get his damn rifles.”

  * * *

  Bridge, TSS Vella Gulf, Valex System

  “The equipment is stabilizing,” Steropes said as the ship completed the jump. “Launching probes.”

  “Launch the alert fighters?” asked the XO of the Spacehawks, Lieutenant Commander Sarah ‘Lights’ Brighton.

  “Not yet,” Captain Sheppard replied. “I’d like to keep them close for the moment. With the T’Chillen cities being underground, I don’t expect to need them, but I want to keep them ready in case there’s something the administrator didn’t tell us. If everything goes as planned, they’ll be released to resume training flights while we’re in-system, which I know we haven’t done enough of lately.”

  “Captain Sheppard, I think I know where we are,” Solomon said.

  “Progress!” the CO exclaimed. “Finally. Where and when are we?”

  “I believe we are in the next arm, spinward, of the Milky Way galaxy from our home system,” Solomon said. “I am fairly certain of this…perhaps 73%.”

  “So you also know ‘when’ we are?”

  “If I am correct in my estimation of where we are, I can make a determination on when, but I’m not sure you want to know.”

  “Why don’t you try me?”

  “We are approximately 54,635 years before our time.”

  “So we missed our target by 2,500 years or so?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I’m surprised we got that close, actually,” the CO said. “Any idea what difference that 2,500 years will make?”

  “According to Commander Hobbs’ initial report on his meeting with the administrator, war here ended 2,100 years ago. It is likely we were supposed to arrive b
efore that happened.”

  “That makes sense. Can we jump another 2,500 years?”

  “Not without a power source, the likes of which we haven’t seen yet.”

  “Damn,” the CO said. He squared his shoulders. “I guess we continue on this course of action, then, at least for the time being.” He chuckled at his inadvertent pun, then turned to Steropes. “Are we getting any activity from the planet?

  “I don’t see any signs of activity in space,” Steropes noted. “I am, however, showing signs of life on the planet where we were told the T’Chillen cities are located.”

  “Launch the shuttles,” Captain Sheppard ordered. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can be on our way.”

  * * *

  Cargo Bay, Shuttle 01, Valex

  “Go! Go! Go!” Master Chief yelled as the shuttle touched down, and the troopers of the Space Force rushed out in a combat deployment.

  “Gluck ab!” the soldiers yelled as they deployed.

  The second shuttle landed next to Calvin’s, and he could hear the leader of the Ground Force, Gunnery Sergeant Jerry ‘Wolf’ Stasik, yelling at the troopers under him as Calvin exited the shuttle with Farhome alongside him. It had been easier to allow the Aesir to come; otherwise, he would’ve probably knocked out one of Calvin’s troopers and taken his—or her—place. Either was equally possible with Farhome.

  Within seconds, both shuttles were empty, and they lifted off again to provide overwatch with their weapons. Two of the Viper fighters were also nearby for close air support, should they be needed.

  Calvin checked the map in his implants; the shuttles had dropped them off exactly where they were supposed to—a half-mile from the entrance to Trissek, the capital city of the T’Chillen. Close enough to be seen landing but far enough out to not provoke an immediate response. Hopefully.

  “Dantone, you and Weinert take the lead,” Master Chief ordered.

  “Sure, put the cyborgs in front to draw the fire,” Dantone grumbled good-naturedly. “I see how you are.” While he’d had some issues initially adjusting to his new status as a cyborg, Dantone had come to accept it and the capabilities it gave the unit. Calvin had breathed a huge sigh of relief when Dantone had found acceptance; having a crazy cyborg in the unit was not good for the overall health and success of the group.