The Lord of the Sands of Time (9 page)

“I will. There’s a surveillance network already being put into place. But I didn’t expect they’d time their arrival with such accuracy. I thought we’d have up to twenty years before they got here. I let down my guard.”

“All Wasps deployed for airborne mining surveys are redirected to Kunu. The surveillance net should be in place within eight hours.” This was the sword.

“It’s too late,” said the Messenger. “We have to abandon this area. Miyo, get ready to retreat before dawn. We have to establish a defensive line with fortifications in that ravine we passed through today. The refugees we can gather by morning should be sent to Yamatai. The rest will have to fend for themselves. And runners must be sent to the capital. Every available soldier should be called up.”

“Is it…is it really that urgent?” said Miyo.

“The first refugees came more than ten days ago. I don’t know how many fighters Kunu has left. But against the ET, at the breakout stage in their life cycle? They’re probably already dead.”

Miyo gasped. The Messenger looked away and whispered bitterly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve blundered.”

“Not the first time?”

“I arrived before them, but I didn’t prepare soon enough. I was routed.”

Defeat was the shadow hanging over this man. Remorse for everyone he had failed to save during his years of struggle. Before Miyo had a chance to respond, the Messenger took his helmet and stood up.

“I have to check the front line. I leave the rest to you. Cutty, we have a critical. Send backup, and from the other side of the planet if you have to.”

“Confirm—no, stand by. I’m getting criticals from other stations now.”

The Messenger stared at the sword. It spoke again. “The Kingdom of Aksum in East Africa: a Messenger in cryostasis has been attacked and destroyed. Consequently Giza Station is no more. Friendly forces are being urgently wakened from cryostasis on Mounts Athos and Tahat, in Qal’at Jarmo and all Middle Eastern stations. Nearby stations are earmarked for backup.”

“Damn it!”

The Messenger kicked violently at a nearby crate and stomped off.

E
ARTH A.D.
2119

Making contact with the people of the twenty-second century and convincing them that the Messengers came from the future went easily enough. The peoples of Earth took one look at the space fleet of several hundred units, carrying Messengers fluent in all of Earth’s languages, and welcomed them as brothers. The politicians were wary and the scientists more than skeptical, but once they received background information on the Messengers’ deployment—with explanations concerning the theory and practice of temporal upstreaming—they agreed to cooperate.

Yet everything from that point on had been fraught with difficulty. There was no Earth organization in the twenty-second century with the capacity to set a course for humanity. The United Nations was potentially the nucleus of such an endeavor, but it remained weaker than its sovereign members. The governments of Earth had grave reservations about taking collective action—military action—at the suggestion of an entirely unknown entity against yet another unknown entity. Still, this sort of resistance had been anticipated, which is why the Messengers were dispatched to the past in human form.

What helped the Messengers was the discovery of several enemy colonies already on Earth. One was found in the European city of Köln, another in the Chinese coal center of Fushun. The intruders were probably a vanguard of reconnaissance rather than a full-scale invasion. Eradicating these colonies required most of the military resources of the respective states, and the threat of mass invasion caused the General Assembly to pass their resolution. Finally, the governments of Earth understood that the ET represented a new and unknown challenge, along with the epidemics, famines, ethnic conflicts, and environmental devastation that continued to bedevil humanity. But even then, some leaders suggested that the Messengers themselves might be responsible for the two colonies, planting them in order to profit from the resulting conflict.

Regardless, a structure for cooperation was established to meet the threat. In accordance with the UN resolution, Earth began strengthening its air defense and surface combat capabilities. The Messengers were responsible for space-based defense. At least that was the plan.

Cutty was in despair. Even her most urgent task, a planet-wide screening for ET spores, was blocked at the outset. She was only authorized to conduct fragmentary searches, country by country, as each individually gave—and then sometimes withdrew—permission. Earth never seemed to understand that even one missed spore could replicate into a huge horde. Nevertheless, Cutty was completely overloaded. Along with her screening work, she dispatched a fleet of more than a hundred vessels to Venus on a major search and destroy mission.

In the twenty-sixth century, the enemy had used Venus as a seed bed. Now, Cutty carried out a thorough search for underground bases or colonies hidden beneath the thick atmosphere that shrouded this world. Sure enough, several large colonies were discovered. One after another they were wiped out with thermonuclear warheads—for the Messengers were no more than weapons of medium power. After the strikes, thorough mop-up operations were carried out to ensure that not a single spore had escaped.

The forces allocated to the Messengers amounted to everything that humanity in the twenty-sixth century could assemble, but those forces were still hard-pressed to cover two planets as well as the countless small bodies orbiting the Sun. Their main energy source was antimatter brought from the future, but supplies were not inexhaustible. A long-term conflict would mean building antimatter production plants. The twenty-second century lacked the facilities necessary to support the operations of the fleet, which forced the Messengers to rely on local help. To give up on humanity—that is, to conduct operations without them—was not a realistic option.

“We blew the Hamersley Range mining deal?” Orville was on a break. As part of the Messengers’ call for assistance from Earth, they had even gotten involved in deal-making, offering technology in exchange for access to resources. Orville’s colleague in Sydney replied:

“The cabinet members were rolling their eyes during the entire meeting. I explained that if we leveled the mountains, they’d be able to access several times as much ore as they do now, but they couldn’t stomach the loss of wildlife habitat and tribal homelands. The whole group walked out in a huff before I was even finished. What’s more important to them, the history of their country or the future of humanity?”

“History’s just an idea. The urge to sacrifice yourself for it isn’t something they can develop overnight,” said Orville. Then he paused; his own use of the word “history” troubled him. The word usually refers to the past. Did it make sense to use
history
to refer to things that have not yet occurred? The future seemed weightier than the past.

“Completion rate of negotiations with major corporations is now 45 percent of target.” Cutty’s expressionless voice cut in. She was capable of communicating with all Messengers simultaneously, but right now she didn’t seem to have the processor cycles available to add expressive color to her voice. To Orville she sounded weary.

“The corporations are as bad as their governments. They’re completely intractable. The ignorance and delusions of their executives are beyond belief. Even the few corporations with an AI on their management team are obstructing and misrepresenting information. And only 2 percent of corporations have AIs.”

“There’s not much we can do if they haven’t achieved data presence,” said Orville. The Messengers’ world had full data presence—any public information could be searched from any location, limited only by the speed of light. Except for minor anomalies like Sayaka’s Supply Department, it was virtually impossible to suppress, conceal, or be beyond reach of information. If agreement on something was reached in New York, it was taken for granted that Beijing and Mumbai would fall in line within seconds. If a corporation on Mars was found to have cooked its books, its sister companies on Saturn and Uranus would be targets for punishment after a comm lag of only a few hours. Orville was painfully aware of the ignorance and suspicion caused by not having the required information at one’s fingertips at all times: endless meetings, deliberations and consultations, inconceivable misunderstanding and hostility.

The voice of the human transport chief at Moon Polar Base North came back in a flat monotone. “Orders from headquarters. If you have a complaint, direct it to them.”

“Haven’t you heard about the UN resolution? Bases and industrial installations are to render all possible assistance to Century XXVI Upstreamer Forces. I’ve got to have your cooperation,” said Orville.

“We’re aware of the resolution, but our government hasn’t passed the domestic legislation. We’re working to transition our manufacturing processes in time for passage of the new laws. This will require a bit more time.”

“We don’t have time, the ET could attack at any moment,” shouted Orville.

“We’re a commercial enterprise. We can’t take our facilities offline without compensation.”

“You—” Orville cut the comm link and smashed his fist against the wall of the cockpit. “Pig-headed fool!” he muttered.

The four Messengers sitting behind him shrugged or smiled distantly. The voice of Cutty Sark reached their shuttle docked at the terminal adjacent to Polar Base North.

“Still won’t budge?” asked Cutty.

“It’s no use. Looks like they don’t plan to get moving till their butts go up in flames. What about other bases?” said Orville.

“The same everywhere. National governments, big corporations, and private organizations and facilities. I’m meeting resistance at every level. Conflicting ideas, poor communication, key people nowhere to be found or even mentally absent. Demands for kickbacks. Meddling from protestors and skeptics. I’ve simply no idea how long these delays are going to continue.”

“Total gridlock. Unbelievable.” The jubilation that had greeted their arrival in this timestream seemed to have evaporated.

“What do we do?” Alexandr asked Orville.

Orville was silent, deep in thought.

“Do we sit tight and wait? These delays aren’t going to last forever. If we’re going to wait, there’s something I’d like to work on,” said Alexandr.

“What?”

“I’m writing a book.”

Orville turned to see that Alexandr was writing by hand in a notebook. “What’s all that about?”

“I’m sending it to Triton in a capsule with a beacon. If I drop it off in the vicinity, someone will pick it up in a century or two,” said Alexandr.

“Addressed to Shumina?”

“She said I have a talent for words.”

“What’s your book about?” Orville asked without much interest.

“It’s about a bug.”

Orville suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at Alexandr’s earnest expression. “A bug?” he repeated.

“Yes. A little bug, born on the leaf of a big tree. He has this nice life, just eating leaves, but one day he notices he’s in danger. Something is trying to suck the life out of his tree. So, to avert the danger, he has to travel from his branch to the big tree trunk.”

“What’s the danger? The ET?” asked Orville.

“Don’t say that!” said Alexandr. “If the theme is that obvious, you lose the whole mood. This is children’s literature. But who should be the villain? Bees and spiders are so passé.” The rough-hewn Messenger was dead serious. Orville watched him write for a while, then stood up.

“If the book’s for children, why don’t you make the villain a bear? I’m heading out.”

“Oh? Going to try negotiating in person?”

“I’m going to put a gun to their heads. Cutty? Hack the base mainframe and cook me up a system status message. Something like ‘all systems nominal.’ I don’t want any company headquarters or governments involved.”

“Even if I can fool them at first, they’ll notice soon enough,” answered Cutty. “If they discover we used force, it will only make things difficult later. I’d very much prefer that you dropped the idea.”

“Can’t do it. If the ET come down on us it’s too late. I need you to print me up a weapon too. A low-powered firearm. No, a sword is better. Projectile weapons are too everyday in this era. Make it as scary-looking as you can.”

“Perhaps a uniforge carbon-titanium blade? With electrodischarge semiconductors embedded in the surface to cut, say, stainless steel?”

“I knew you’d like it,” said Orville.

The onboard molecular printer was capable of laminar fabrication of anything from food to weapons. The device gave off a faint smell as it whirred into activity. Orville and his team pored over a schematic of the moon base while the sword printed out. Finally, it was ready.

Orville suited up for the walk outside and hefted the sword. It was longer than his arm, with a shimmering, milk-white blade. Alexandr grinned.

“Perfect. The galactic hero. Pure retrofuture.”

“Put it in your story,” said Orville. “All right. I’ll take the lead. The rest of you follow me and do what you need to do.” The Messengers left the shuttle and began walking toward the base. The sun on the horizon cast long shadows across the surface.

Orville wondered if he should write something too. A letter? If he sent a capsule now, before a fork in the timestreams, it would travel to all subsequent streams—to those destined to be changed by his journey as well as to those that would remain untouched. Except that he had nothing to say. It would be senseless to write only “I miss you.” He envied Alexandr, who had something to share with his beloved. Orville put it out of his mind.