Back | Next
Contents

chapter four

Providence Station

Transverse, non-congruent


“Klaus, a moment of your time,” Shigeki said softly on their way out of the room. “Preferably in private.”

“Sure.” Klaus-Wilhelm pointed a thumb over his shoulder. The conference room was situated along the upper lip of CHRONO Operations near his office. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours will do.” Shigeki caught his son’s eye. “Jonas, are you free to join us?”

“Sorry. I’d love to, but I need to rush back to Argus. I’m already late for a meeting with Vesna,” Jonas replied, referring to Commissioner Vesna Tyrel of Themis Division.

“The officer exchange program?” Shigeki asked.

“Yep. Their six-month evaluation is due, and we’re conducting the interviews in person. It’s more of a formality at this point, given how well those two have performed, but”—his expression darkened for a moment before he masked it behind a quick smile—“I’ll take any bright spot I can these days.”

“Okay then,” said the senior Shigeki. “Safe travels.”

Jonas gave his father a quick wave and then hustled down the stairs.

“I should be off as well, Commissioner.” Raibert bobbed his head toward the main Operations exit. “With your permission?”

“Dismissed. And good luck out there.”

“You too, Nox,” Shigeki told the big security synthoid shadowing him. “We’ll talk later.”

“Director.” The synthoid acknowledged him with a nod and left down the stairs.

Klaus-Wilhelm led the way around the circumference of CHRONO Operations until he came to his office. He palmed the lock, the door split open, and he stepped inside. The room wasn’t fully furnished yet, but he’d found time to bring over a few personal effects, the most prominent of which was a Smith & Wesson Model 29 pistol framed on the wall beside a gun belt loaded with .44 Magnum cartridges.

The gun drew Shigeki’s eye like a magnet.

The last time Klaus-Wilhelm had discharged the weapon was into the guts of the DTI synthoid who’d killed his wife and three little girls. He didn’t know which synthoid because the operative’s mind had been loaded into one of their combat frames, which lacked clear identifying traits. Their scant records of the battle—most of them coming from Raibert’s synthoid—hadn’t provided enough clues for either side to identify the individual, and given the twisting of timelines and universes during the Gordian Knot, the man or woman Klaus-Wilhelm had shot dead was probably alive and still working at the DTI.

Concern spread across Shigeki’s face, but only for a moment before he turned away from the gun. He knew better than perhaps anyone else in the Admin what the gun meant—and how deeply Klaus-Wilhelm’s emotional scars ran.

But Shigeki had nothing to worry about. Not with the gun where it was.

It was only if the Commissioner found reason to take the gun off the wall that people needed to start sweating!

Klaus-Wilhelm rounded the polished wooden desk and sank into the chair behind it. The chair’s prog-foam adjusted for maximum support and comfort, and Shigeki took the guest seat that formed out of the floor.

“Something to drink?” Klaus-Wilhelm set two empty glasses on the desk. “Coffee? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“I’ll stick to coffee, mildly sweetened. I could use a jolt after that meeting.”

“Coffee it is.” Klaus-Wilhelm slotted the glasses into the food printer built into his desk. He took them out when finished and set them down.

“Thank you.” Shigeki took a sip. “Mmm.”

“What’s on your mind, Csaba?”

Shigeki glanced at the framed medal on the wall opposite the gun. It was the Star of the Shield, the highest civilian honor in the Admin, which the Chief Executor had personally awarded Klaus-Wilhelm after he and Shigeki had led the decisive fleet action that ended the Dynasty threat.

“A lot,” Shigeki said. “Things were so much clearer during the Dynasty Crisis. Not that I’m remembering it fondly or anything, but at least we knew who we were up against and where to find them. This latest business with someone in SysGov helping terrorists is . . . messy.”

“It was the same way for me back in Ukraine. The Great Eastern War was a terrible ordeal that consumed men and equipment with a voracious hunger. And then we won. The war ended, and the Soviet uniforms came off, but the hearts underneath didn’t change. Not all of them, at least.”

“I remember reading about that when I was profiling you.” Shigeki flashed a sly grin. “You put down your fair share of communist partisans, if I’m not mistaken.”

“The attacks grew less frequent with time. And not just because my men were damned good at their jobs, though there was certainly that.”

“What else tamped down the attacks?”

“We showed people life was better for most under the ‘new management.’” Klaus-Wilhelm took a sip of his coffee. “And it was. It absolutely was. Not perfect, mind you. Nowhere close. But we made life better for a lot of people, and that by itself was enough to begin changing hearts.” He snorted and shook his head. “Without perforating those hearts with bullets.”

“I wish it were that easy for us.” Shigeki stared into his cup, then raised his eyes. “Let me be honest with you, Klaus. Things are tense back home.”

“How bad is it?”

“In a word, volatile. The temperature of the political discourse is hotter than I’ve ever seen it, and there’s only so much the Department of Public Relations can do to control the narrative. The Chief Executor is getting pounded daily from all sides over his Million Handshake Initiative and his rush to build a cross-universe economy.”

“I thought the Initiative was viewed as a success.”

“It was until we started finding SysGov tech in the hands of terrorists. We tried to keep a lid on that, tried to restrict the matter to high levels of our government, but the truth leaked, and now we have an even bigger mess on our hands.”

Shigeki took another swig of coffee before continuing.

“I know you’re no fan of Muntero’s. Neither am I, for that matter, but she’s not the problem. Isolationist voices are growing louder, and they’re gaining traction. People are beginning to question if we’ve moved too far too fast, and they view these attacks as proof positive we have. The Chief Executor wants the flow of weapons to stop, and Muntero’s trying to carry out his priorities as best she can.”

“I thought we almost got through to her with your son’s idea.”

“I did, too.” Shigeki let out a weary sigh. “But there’s not much I can do once she’s made up her mind. The Chief Executor’s put me on a short leash, and Muntero’s holding the other end. And, honestly, maybe we are moving too fast. There’s plenty of good SysGov and the Admin can share with one another, but we also run the risk of inheriting each other’s problems.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Peng.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Shigeki chuckled, but then his mirth vanished. “You didn’t hear this from me, but the Chief Executor has begun saying the same thing. Publicly, he’s still pushing the Initiative. But privately, he’s shared his doubts with me. And let’s not forget several aspects of SysGov society terrify people back home, especially where AIs and self-replicators are concerned. Tie those fears to terrorists who quite literally want to destroy our way of life, and you’ve got a recipe for a major policy shift. Maybe even to the point where he yanks our support from Providence.”

“We need to make sure it doesn’t come to that,” Klaus-Wilhelm said. “Now, what can the two of us do about this mess?”

“With or without being fired?” Shigeki stared off in thought, swirling his coffee.

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?”

“I tell you what.” Shigeki set his cup down. “Let me talk to Muntero in private. I bet I can convince her to section off a few chronoports to scout universes near our outer wall. The Local 15 at least.”

“You really think she’ll go in for that?”

“She will if I tell her the terrorists might be using them as bases. And if we happen to stumble across a newly branched timeline during our search”—he shrugged—“that’ll be a nice bonus.”

“Either way, it helps me. Any universe the DTI can scout is one we can skip.”

“Which will allow you to work through the rest of the list faster,” Shigeki finished. “It’s not much, but . . . ”

“It’s better than nothing.” Klaus-Wilhelm leaned back, and his chair sighed. “I’ll take it. Meanwhile, let me talk to Andover-Chen about shifting the construction schedule. If we can get Providence’s array working early, that’ll give us a much better tool to monitor the Admin’s outer wall.”

“Which would give me an excuse to free up more chronoports.” Shigeki nodded. “I like where you’re heading with this.” He stood up and finished his coffee in one long gulp, then set the glass down and met his counterpart’s gaze. “Thank you for the drink, Klaus. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to see if Muntero has cooled off yet.”

“Don’t get yourself fired.”

“I’ll try my best,” he replied with a wry grin.

* * *

Special Agent James Noxon palmed the door open and stepped into Hinnerkopf’s office, but then froze with one foot still outside.

“I’m sorry. The Commissioner wants us to do what?!” Hinnerkopf asked, her back to Nox. The Under-Director of Technology was a short, compact woman with short, black hair.

“Shift the array calibration forward by a whole month,” Andover-Chen replied. Gordian Division’s lead scientist wore a slightly bemused smile and almost seemed to be on the edge of shaking his head. His synthoid featured black, glassy skin with bluish equations dancing beneath the surface.

“But it’s still under construction! Uh!” Hinnerkopf sat down on a couch and buried her face in her hands. “We’re missing half the array segments! The suppliers are behind printing the rest, and the segments we do have are completely out of alignment! What are we supposed to do with a half-finished, cross-eyed array?”

“What we usually do. Work the miracles no one else can.”

“God help us.” Hinnerkopf let her head droop between her hands.

“It’s not that bad. He only asked if it was possible.”

Sure, he did.” Hinnerkopf sat back in the couch and looked up. “But you know as well as I do that he won’t take no for an answer, and he’ll have Director Shigeki’s support as well. Those two are thick as thieves these days.”

“You might want to steer clear of that phrase,” Andover-Chen replied, his bemused expression still there. “At least until we know who stole that ship.”

“Point taken.” She glanced over at the entrance, then hurriedly fixed her posture. “Oh, Nox. Sorry, I didn’t hear you step in.”

“Have I come at a bad time?” Nox asked.

“Not really.” Hinnerkopf bit into her lower lip and stared off with a look of deep contemplation. “Just trying to figure out how to do the impossible.”

“We’ll think of something,” Andover-Chen said.

“Maybe . . . ” Hinnerkopf leaned forward and wagged a finger at Andover-Chen. “You know, we might be able to squeeze some use out of what we’ve got right now.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking we don’t actually need the whole array. We only need a small piece of it calibrated.”

“Which would limit us to a narrow, conical view.”

“Not if we rig some sort of rotating mechanism to the array. Have it sweep around for a more complete picture.”

“Ah!” Andover-Chen’s eyes widened. “I see where you’re going with this. Essentially treat the working part of the array like a dish instead.”

“We’re used to doing more with less in the Admin, and there’s no way we can expedite the missing segments; they require too much exotic matter. So instead, we work around the limitation and find a temporary, if imperfect, fix. All those industrial ships outside shouldn’t have much trouble whipping up the hardware.”

“I like it!” Andover-Chen beamed. “I’ll head up to the array chamber and scope out which segments we can work with. Want to come along?”

“Um.” Her eyes met Nox’s for a brief moment and then flicked back to Andover-Chen. “In a bit.”

“Catch up when you can.” Andover-Chen left the office, and the door closed behind him.

“Sorry, Katja,” Nox said.

“Oh, don’t be.” Hinnerkopf patted the couch. “Come here, you big lug.”

Nox walked over and sat next to her. She looped her arm through his, closed her eyes, and leaned against his shoulder.

“You all right?” she asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine. Schröder’s request caught me off guard, is all. Andover-Chen and I’ll work through it.” She craned her neck, head still resting on his arm, and looked up at him. “And you?”

“Tense.”

“You’re always tense.”

“Tense-er. These attacks have me worried. It’s been over a century since I’ve seen it this bad, and my gut tells me it’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“We’ll work through this bad spell, same as all the others.”

“Something tells me this one is different.”

“Don’t be so gloomy.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

She knitted her fingers through his, and a pair of engagement sigils appeared over the backs of their hands. The sigil featured a wild flowering vine wrapped around a sturdy pillar of stone.

Hinnerkopf had proposed a month ago, and Nox had admitted he hadn’t been that shocked in a long, long time. He had voluntarily given up his flesh over two hundred years ago to be reborn as a living weapon, an instrument through which the madness of unfettered technology could be kept in check. Could be “restricted” so that humanity would never again stand at the precipice of mass techno-suicide.

He’d served faithfully under that banner for hundreds of years and, over slightly less time, under the auspices of the Shigeki family. To him, in his current synthetic form, that service had been enough to fulfill his sense of purpose.

He’d never considered what he might be missing.

But when the warmth of human companionship came within his grasp from a woman he deeply respected and—now that he’d had time to reflect upon his own feelings—grown to love without even realizing it, he’d discovered how easy it had been to say “yes.”

“When do you want to tell the others?” Hinnerkopf asked after the long silence.

“When things calm down.”

She chuckled against his shoulder.

“What?” He glanced down at her. “Did I say something funny?”

She looked at him with mischief in her eyes. “If we wait that long, we’ll never share the news.”

“Well . . . ” Nox frowned and considered the problem. She was right, of course. She normally was. “How about we wait until we’re clear of this current crisis?”

“It’s a deal.”

He put his arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled up to him.



Back | Next
Framed