Pathfinder (24 page)

“You should leave it in place,” he protested. “The DiastimBot engineer said the license owner and parent ship had been ‘burned in,’ so we hope to get response from loyalty or ownership subroutines.”

“Those subroutines didn’t help us earlier,” Matt said.

“At the time, you didn’t know the bot was receiving other commands,” Novak said. “We’d like to experiment with command sequences, but we think it’s best if those commands come from its owner and parent ship.”

“Well . . .” Matt was mollified; the chance to actively support the research overwhelmed his outrage and embarrassment,
temporarily
. But, from the set of his jaw, Ariane knew he wouldn’t be leaving G-145 without that bot.

Dr. Lowry had let Dr. Novak take the lead regarding the bot. Now she took over the briefing, tapping commands to display images of symbols on the buoy.

“The translator hasn’t helped us very much with these.” Lowry stopped in an area that had a diagram of lines and dots, with symbols arranged around it. “We think this is a star diagram, so we’re doing pattern matching against the stars as they look from the buoy’s position. The symbols near this diagram have roughly translated to ‘biological temple,’ which is puzzling.”

“Have you verified the buoy is anchored in N-space?” Ariane asked.

“It reads like any N-space connection would, from a gravity generator or buoy.” Lowry shrugged. “Since it’s fixed in real-space with no obvious means of station-keeping, which only Minoan time buoys can do—we’re assuming it’s anchored. What else can we do, given our level of technology?”

This, of course, was the gift the Minoans had given humankind: a way to have controlled entry and exit from N-space. Some considered it a yoke rather than a gift, because humans were still dependent upon Minoan-made buoys. Having conquered the creation of a Penrose Fold to transition into N-space, humans still needed references and a way to return from N-space at a specific
when
and
where
, in real-space. This
anchoring
, between real-space and N-space, still had to be provided by the Minoans. It was a bit humiliating, considering that humans had figured out how to use N-space for both dumping and building gee, as well as for signal transmission. As a result, humans built gravity generators as well as FTL data exchange relays—but still couldn’t create their own buoys.

“Have you been able to determine what’s inside?” Ariane asked Lowry.

“It’s too well shielded. We’ve got some density readings.” Dr. Lowry displayed a diagram, which showed them no more than they’d been able to get from Minoan-made buoys.

“Does it give off a lock signal?”

“Sure, it transmits several organized signals at specific frequencies.” To supplement her answer, Lowry showed the spectral graph of electromagnetic transmissions. “And here’s where we hit the wall.”

And a big, thick wall it was. Ariane looked at the graph as she rubbed her chin, contemplating. Just knowing an organized signal transmitted on a specific frequency, was a long way from understanding the encoding, much less the data. This could take years, or decades, to understand.

“We’re hoping that if the buoy was able to hijack your bot, it’ll be willing to communicate with us through it.” Dr. Novak sounded eager, but Dr. Lowry frowned at him.

“You’re anthropomorphizing again, Oran,” she warned.

“We could compare its interaction with the Minoan system buoy. After all, we have two—” Ariane stopped.
We have two buoys in this system
. She remembered Frank’s earnest face, saying that Abram’s men may have encountered the Builders’ technology before.

“Yes?” Dr. Lowry looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“The temporal-distortion wave would have destroyed both buoys . . .” Oops, she was muttering out loud. She clamped her jaw shut as she thought about Overlord Six’s mysterious involvement with Abram. Financing Abram’s attempt would get rid of any connection to the Builders—possibly permanently, if the sun went nova, or putting it twenty-plus years away, if the sun survived. An aggressive Overlord such as Six, if he already had a Builders’ buoy, might want to shut down the competition.

Dr. Lowry didn’t notice that Ariane had stuttered into silence. “The Minoan buoys can’t be destroyed, although they can be ‘severed.’ I suppose—”

“Destroyer of Worlds is correct.” Contractor Director stood in the doorway to the outer lab. Its soulless voice, sounding neither male nor female, cut Lowry off. “The Criminal Isolationists could have severed both time buoys.”

Today we watched Garnet Tachawee and Sabina Cavanaugh, co-wives of SP Isrid Parmet. They described the execution of AFCAW Colonel Dokos and identified the executioners—one’s now lost in N-space, and good riddance, I say. Another point: Who’s dressing Terran women nowadays? They still have deplorable fashion sense.

—
Dr. Net-head Stavros
, 2106.057.14.30 UT, indexed by
Heraclitus 6
under Conflict Imperative

 

 

 

C
ontractor Director startled everyone inside the small lab. Matt and Ariane recovered quickly, being familiar with the Minoan ability to move silently. Dr. Novak, however, had probably never encountered a Minoan this close and personal. His face paled and he dropped his slate. His foot caught on his stool and his arms flailed for support, pushing on lab equipment with shiny metal tubes sprouting from it. Dr. Lowry and Matt were nearest. Lowry jumped to save the lab equipment while Matt kept the cosmologist from getting a concussion on a lab bench.

Ariane was too far away to help. Distracted by the sudden use of that incriminating title, she turned to Contractor Director. “I prefer the title
Explorer of Solar Systems
,” she said quietly, so the others didn’t hear.

“We know,” Contractor Director said. The Minoan stepped past her and a guardian followed, as she stood transfixed by the short and condescending answer.

“I could use some help here!” Dr. Lowry grunted as equipment began to tip. Ariane leapt to assist her, and they wrestled the equipment back onto the lab bench while Matt straightened out Dr. Novak.

“Sorry. Late.” David Ray, gasping and puffing, appeared in the doorway. “Just notified of cha—change. Ha—had to run through two rings.”

They all looked at the Minoan emissary.

Contractor Director dipped its horns. “I changed the meeting time and place. Dr. Novak has signed the Hellas Nautikos cooperative research agreements, and he will have need of this information.”

This didn’t seem to reassure Dr. Novak. Matt guided him to a stool, while everyone settled and the guardian moved to the hatch, ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed. As Ariane picked a stool to sit upon, she was reminded of her college science labs, except there had been a graduate student standing at the end of the two benches preparing to lecture, rather than a Minoan emissary. She leaned on her right forearm, which rested on the smooth and cool countertop made of synthetic soapstone.

David Ray sat down across the bench from her. Having caught his breath, he leaned over and whispered, “They have a good sense for drama, don’t they?”

She nodded. By now, humankind assumed the Minoans
chose
to mimic a bygone civilization on ancient Earth. However, they didn’t have to wear horned headdresses with cascading jewels, or flowing robes. Perhaps the cold air that moved their clothing was necessary, but they could just as easily walk about with tanks. That wouldn’t make the same impression, would it?

“You may record this, since this information will be verified in the Builders’ records on Priamos. This is not privileged information.” Contractor Director allowed them to switch on recorders in their slates.

“We began observing the culture you call the Builders approximately sixty thousand UT years ago, when—”

David Ray’s arm shot up for a question, and Ariane felt her life regress to secondary school. The familiarity deepened when Contractor Director sternly said, “Questions will be entertained later, General Counsel for Aether Exploration.” David Ray lowered his arm with chagrin, as the Minoan began again.

“We waited about thirty-two thousand years to make contact with them and to forestall further questions, we will provide
exact
timelines to your xenologists below.”

She watched David Ray, with a twist of anguish on his face, make notes on his slate. He probably wanted to explore each statement in depth. There was much more to ask the Minoans, now that they could
compare humankind’s progress with another sentient species
. The ramifications, to net-think and popular culture, were both horrifying and exhilarating. This generated more questions: How long had the Minoans existed? How many species had they seen evolve to sentience? How had the Minoans managed to survive, over such a long time? After all, the universe was a very dangerous place.

“Mistakes were made with the Builders,” the Minoan continued. David Ray was vibrating in his seat. “Over thousands of years, the Builders became hostile and what you define as ‘xenophobic.’ We watched their decline begin thirteen thousand years ago. They eventually withdrew from their outposts, such as this one here in G- 145, to their home world systems. In an attempt to cut off contact with us and other possible spacefaring species, the Builders damaged the fabric of space and time.”

“Meaning what?” David Ray couldn’t stand it any longer.

Contractor Director’s head turned to observe Ariane and David Ray. She shifted uncomfortably under the Minoan’s silent scrutiny as previously unrelated facts crashed together in her brain.

“Temporal distortion,” she whispered, her mouth dry. “They pushed temporal-distortion waves into N-space.”

“They destroyed their own buoys?” David Ray sounded incredulous.

“No.” She cleared her throat, staring at Contractor Director. “They damaged nous-space itself. That’s why
you
can’t travel to their worlds anymore.”

The shock in the room was palpable. After a quiet pause, Contractor Director dipped its horns toward her.

“Correct,” the Minoan said. “We could not survive the nous-transit, but
you
could, with the enhancements we provide.”

 

“Do you seriously believe his death was due to ‘natural causes’?” Joyce demanded.

Benjamin Pilgrimage, or at least his image in the view port, looked uncomfortable. “Our medical examiners can’t identify the reason Dr. Rouxe’s heart stopped. The Tribunal members are satisfied with the results.”

“The Tribunal is satisfied that an effort was made, nothing more.” Joyce was sweating, which he hoped Benjamin couldn’t see. He’d increased the interval between his pain meds and he was paying for it. The right side of his torso screamed with every breath he took.

“I’m getting pressure to close the case. It’s quite possible that Rouxe died from natural causes.”

“We all know your medical staff isn’t well trained in forensics. Nor are they up on the sophisticated multicomponent poisons used today.”

Benjamin’s face tightened. “What else would you suggest we do?”

“Send the body to Hellas Prime for examination by our people,” Joyce answered promptly.

“We can’t do that. Pilgrimage sovereignty—”

“Might have been what got us into this problem.” Joyce’s response was savage. “But I have an answer that can save your pride. Your offices on Hellas Prime enjoy extraterritorial status, so send the body there. It stays on sovereign soil and from there, you can ask for any experts you’d like.”

“Dr. Rouxe was a Terran League citizen and the Terrans are asking for his body. They’ll resist sending him to Hellas Prime.”

“So ask them to provide their own forensics expert, who can observe and consult, under embassy jurisdiction.”

Benjamin looked sour. “It would have been easier if your advisors had suggested this a couple days ago. What happened to all that promised help from your Directorate, anyway?”

“Sorry, those advisors were pulled into something more important,” Joyce lied coolly.

He wasn’t so calm and collected after he concluded the call. With shaking fingers, he adjusted the medication dosage from his implant back to the default programmed by the medics.
I was an idiot to assume I could get along without the pain meds so soon
.

The medication coursed into his blood, giving him immediate relief as well as sleepiness. He had to fight that. After speaking with Lieutenant Oleander, he’d looked into how the
Pilgrimage
staff had handled their recent cases. It was a travesty of investigative procedure and he wondered whether
Terran
advice had encouraged the absurdity.

Likewise, the investigation into the explosives had stuttered to a stop.
Pilgrimage
security decided they couldn’t find the person who programmed the bot that had threatened
Aether’s Touch
, and they realized their explosive sniffers weren’t sensitive enough for the amounts used against Major Kedros, himself, and the intern who had the misfortune to trip the trap for David Ray. They told him the
Pilgrimage
would be retrofitted with better sniffers that were used for Autonomous security systems. That was good enough, right? Anyway, there hadn’t been any more incidents and Benjamin had resisted buying portable EOD equipment. When Joyce had suggested renting Terran canines, which were still the best detectors around, he’d run up against crèche-get principles, sensibilities, and myths. They believed that dogs carried dust and dander and they smelled bad. . . .

Joyce’s eyelids drooped. The damage might already be done, unfortunately. They hadn’t stepped up background checks on incoming contractors. Since they were worried about the personnel shortage, they’d let more than a hundred Gaia-b’damned Terrans with spotty histories depart for the Priamos, Sophia, and Laomedon facilities. Joyce was less worried about Autonomist contractors, considering that it was almost impossible to work and live in the Consortium without leaving a ComNet trail.