The Seeds of Time (29 page)

“No paradoxes,” he sneered. “What if we burn up on reentry? What if we land in the Hudson River? No paradoxes? You’re out of your bloody mind.”

She looked him in the eye, dead on. “OK, there’s danger. But we’re all dead anyway—us, Earth, everybody, right? Time’s up, Shaw, don’t you get it?”

He yanked her arm, swinging her around, bringing her close to his face. “You’re a danger, Clio Finn. A danger to this ship and your country, even your planet.”

“Release her, Commander, or I’ll fire.”

He turned, still gripping Clio’s arm, face quickly draining. Russo stood there, a pistol aimed at his chest. He released Clio, staring hard at the gun.

“You forget the captain always keeps a gun?” Her voice was calm and flat. “Now I’m going to tell you what’s coming down. Drop the pipe, Commander.” He did so, scowling. Russo looked at Clio, looked at her cold. “So you want to Dive the ship back a few days, sneak in before the shit hits the fan, eh? Cast your seeds before Vanda sanitizes the whole load?” Russo hadn’t moved. Gun still pointed at Shaw. That was a good sign, so far, Clio thought, in what little mind remained at her command.

“Tell you this much, Finn. I’ve been thinking it over the last twenty-four hours. And what I decided is, you might be right. But I just couldn’t do it. My career may be over, but I’m no criminal.”

Shaw nodded, started to move to the pilot chair.

Russo swung the pistol to match his movement. “Stay where you are, Shaw.”

He looked at her, his mouth frozen half-open. Backed up.

“That was my decision. Was. Until now. Tell you why, if you care.” Clio and Shaw both stared hard at her.

The radio crackled with an incoming. Russo backed up a pace, hit the radio receiver switch, killing the transmission. She leaned against the console, short arms crossed in front of her, gun drooping slightly toward the deck.

“Twenty years with Biotime. Nearly a quarter of a century. That’s how long I’ve been in service. That’s worth
something, by God. Now they send this … welcome-home committee. Think I don’t know what a Class M warship looks like?” She caught the reaction on Shaw’s face. “Oh yes, Commander, a warship, the
Eisenhower
. Heading straight in on an intersect trajectory. And not a word from Vanda, not a peep. So we’re the target. The warship’s going to take on the
Starhawk
mess, and going to take care of us at the same time.

“Why? That’s what I’ve been thinking on all night. Why? But the way I figure it, it’s cleaner this way. Think of the investigation. The bad publicity for Recon. Biotime screws up royally. Everybody looks bad. And that right there is the crux: looking bad. Because, as we learned from Hillis’ tape, Recon’s a bust. Never worked so far, never will. You think the Bureau doesn’t know that? You think Zee’s the only one ever cracked the Future Ceiling?” She shook her head, smiled crookedly at Clio. “He’s good, honey, but he’s not
that
good. The government, the Bureau, Biotime—they all know we’re headed for disaster. And not a goddamn thing they can do about it. Except give the common folk a pat on the head, keep them quiet while the ship goes down. Keep the top brass in power a few years longer. Maybe the agreement is, the government pretends the problem can be solved, and companies like Biotime pretend they’re on the verge of solving it. Meanwhile, it’s business as usual. The bureaucrats keep their privileges, Biotime gets fat, and the masses stay quiet. Everybody’s comfortable.”

The lights dimmed overhead, then winked out.

Shaw threw himself into Russo, and Clio heard the gun skidding down the deck. Clio dove for Shaw, but got a boot in her face. The lights pulsed once, twice. Clio saw the pistol against the hatchway door. Shaw saw it too. They scrambled for it. Shaw reached it a split second sooner, turned it on Clio. A shadow behind him. The crack of metal against bone, and he was pitching forward. Shaw moaned into the deck.

“Find a lamp, Lieutenant,” Russo said.

Clio fumbled along the bulkhead panels until she found
the storage locker. Groped inside, found a lamp, and snapped it on. Shaw was leaning against the console, head in hands. Russo stood poised in the middle of the flight deck, commanding the bridge with fifteen inches of steel tubing.

“Find the gun, Clio.”

Clio washed the deck with light. Found the pistol.

“You and Zee load up
Babyhawk
. Depending on how close they get before they strike, we might not have much time. I’ll give these boys a call and act my part.”

Clio hesitated. “About the paradoxes, Captain …”

Russo waved her hand. “We calibrate for a couple days only. Land in the jungle. Amazon, I figure.”

“But it’s still a risk. Nobody’s ever tried a Dive this close to local space. I just want to say that.”

“So noted.”

“And the
Eisenhower …”

“We’ll blip out on their screens. Just blip out. And at this distance the event ripple will nudge them a bit, but won’t scratch the paint job. Not that I wouldn’t mind giving them a little bounce.”

Clio smiled. Felt like her face cracking open. Felt good. “Thank you, sir.”

“Cut the ‘sir,’ Clio. That stuff’s over now.” Russo nodded quickly. “Run now, we’ve got work to do.”

Clio ran.

Zee cranked open
Babyhawk
’s main hatchway entrance, releasing a sigh from the interior, like a ghost escaping. He plunged on through, arms loaded with seed boxes.

Clio was behind him, cradling a botany tray in her arms. First thing she saw was the blood on the deck. Dried stains of blood. Estevan’s, or Meng’s. She remembered both of them moaning, lying on the deck, no time to strap in. Clio crying so hard she could hardly fly, Zee by her side, coaching her on, reminding her how to pilot, convincing her she could make it, they were counting on her. Hillis was dead, no going back.
Five minutes ago, he was alive, but no going back
.

Clio secured the botany tray in the stowage bin. “How about you finish loading,” she said to Zee. “ ’Cause I better get Dive started, up on the flight deck.”

He took her arm. “Clio. You better let me calibrate the Dive.”

“I can do it.”

Zee frowned. “Maybe, but you’ve got to trade off time accuracy versus place accuracy. We need to be sure it’s a very short dive, and still be sure we don’t end up in Vanda’s lap. Can’t program both aspects accurately. The Vandarthanan Uncertainty Principle.”

Clio raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Professor.”

“But Clio …”

She gently pulled her arm away. “It’s gonna be uncertain. One way or the other.”

“I’m not saying you can’t handle it. I’m just worried about you. What if you pass out during Dive?”

“I took an extra hit of my medicine,” she said, and walked to the hatchway, where she turned back to him. “We’ll do the best we can, Zee. It’s gotta be good enough.” She saw him sigh. Perhaps letting go of math, of certainty.

Finally he nodded. “I love you Clio.”

“Right,” she said. Slipped out of the hatchway and jammed through the launch bay to crew deck. In the galley, she grabbed a tube of meat paste and a tortilla, made herself squeeze the meat out, roll the tortilla.
Gotta eat, or I
will
pass out. Don’t want to die in your sleep, girl
. She stormed up the hatchway ladder to flight deck, chewing on the damn thing.

Russo saw her, nodded quickly, turned back to the console. Countdown had started.

Clio’s stomach lurched. Countdown started, and she wasn’t even strapped in.

Russo had tied Shaw into the copilot’s chair.

Clio gestured at him. “What’s the deal?”

“He’s staying. I invited him to join us, but he’s staying with the ship. Acting like an officer, I guess. Problem is, once we take the lander, he needs to be free to pilot the ship. So, when you’re out of Dive, you loosen those bonds just a bit so he can work his way out of them. Then you get down to
Babyhawk
, double time.”

“Yessir.” Corrected herself: “Right.” She slipped into the chair next to Shaw. Gagged, he still could muster a pretty good glare.

Clio strapped in, chewing on the tortilla, which tasted like boot polish in a sock. Ship was accelerating fast, heading for Dive. She wiped her hands on her flight suit, trying to bring some blood into them. Shivered.

“Going to make it, Clio?”

Clio looked into Russo’s well-lined face. “I figure.”

The captain smiled. “Then let’s get this operation under way.”

Console showed three minutes to Dive.

Russo noted Clio’s look. “We’re programmed for a forty-eight-hour Dive. We’ll see where we end up.”

“Cut it kind of close, didn’t you?”

“Had to. The
Eisenhower
isn’t talking to me. Figure they’re busy lining up one of those missiles. Got our name on it.” She patted Clio on the shoulder. “We’re punched up to transition speed. Let’s get the hell out of here.” She disappeared down the hatchway.

Clio grabbed her headset, switched on the receiver, scanning the channels. Nothing. Cleared her throat, switched over to Send. “This is
Starhawk
, over.” Paused just long enough.
“Eisenhower
, we are not receiving you. We are sending on all channels,
Eisenhower
. We have a top-priority message for Ellison Brisher.
Eisenhower
,
Starhawk
’s condition has completely stabilized, and we must report our situation to Mr. Brisher as planned.”

Just get them confused
. Clio saw the blip on her screen. The Class M shape unmistakable, ultrafast and equipped with smart missiles that could take them out even at this distance, even with evasive maneuvers.

“Situation has played out as ordered,
Eisenhower,”
she said. “This top-priority message to Ellison Brisher, as follows, stand by to patch through to Vanda Station.”

Fifteen seconds to Dive, her stomach registering the passage of seconds. At six seconds, Clio said: “Sayonara, Brish, you freeping Nazi. I quit.”

The last three seconds took a long, long time to count off, with Clio wondering if ship could even pull off a Dive with the computers disintegrating like snow in the rain.

Then the VDT blurred and stretched in front of her, the lights of flight deck pulling out like taffy, across the minutes, the hours. Clio pressed her head into the headrest, clenched her fists. This was going to be a short ride, damn short, but maybe no easier for that.

Clio’s stomach felt like it was climbing up her throat. She twisted in her chair, ended up facing Shaw. His eyes were open.

Open?

Her startle reflex almost threw her out of her chair. Shaw was looking straight at her, eyes twitching like a fish flopping on sand. Clio staggered back from her chair, heard
herself saying, “No, no …,” felt herself slam into the console behind her.

He turned his chair slightly to watch her, managing the maneuver by lurching his body against the pilot’s chair.

She was losing it this time for real, hallucinating.
Never look at people’s faces when you Dive, they don’t look good, you know that
. She’d never even looked in a mirror during Dive, much less looked into anyone else’s open eyes—especially somebody like Shaw. Shaw was struggling to get his gag off, working his jaw to loosen it, when the deck shuddered, throwing Clio against the captain’s chair. They had come up out of Dive.

Shaw passed out. Clio regained her balance, stared back at him. Somewhere, somewhere, Clio had seen that look before, that crazed, hyped look in Shaw’s eyes. Then she remembered. Christ. Just like Teeg. Just like Teeg when she’d given him her meds in the jungle, that was Shaw, without a doubt. He’d found her pills. But for a non-Diver, he must have taken a shitload to get through Dive. Might have killed himself with that dose; might have. Just like she’d been doing all these years.

Klaxon was blaring on flight deck, all over the ship, echoing through the hull. Ship’s warning voice was saying something. She struggled to bring her mind together. Remembered she was supposed to be somewhere. Where was the captain?

Then ship’s voice: “ELECTRICAL FAILURE, ALL DECKS, BACKUP SYSTEM FAILING, DON PORTABLE LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEMS. SIX MINUTES TO SYSTEMS FAILURE. ALL DECKS …”

Clio jerked her head up, noticed Shaw tied to the pilot’s chair, remembered, then: supposed to run for the lander, supposed to untie Shaw, supposed to meet Zee at the lander. She hauled herself to her feet. The ship lurched, and she fell again, as a great shudder passed through
Starhawk
. “EQUIPMENT BAY BREACH, EQUIPMENT BAY BREACH, SEALING ALL HATCHES IN NINETY SECONDS. DON PORTABLE LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEMS
AND PREPARE TO ABANDON SHIP. DON PORTABLE LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEMS.”

Clio’s mind clicked into gear.
Sealing all hatches, oh Jesus
. She scrambled over to Shaw, untied him. Spun around and headed for the hatchway, feeling like she was in slow motion, swinging down the ladder, feet hitting the deck in the galley. Horns screaming, and ship trembling like it faced death, and feared it. Pulled herself up the ladder to crew deck, cranked on the closed hatchway. Nothing.
God! Got to have more time, got to open, got to open
. She cranked harder. Ship’s voice blaring, “SEALING ALL HATCHES IN SIXTY SECONDS, FIFTY NINE …”