Torbin received a call on the official B’tari comm-link. It was from their chief astronomer, Zorandi Entola.
On his quarter’s HDU display the b’tari appeared impeccably human but too young given his seniority. Torbin wondered why they didn’t just appear in their true form (though some had undergone genetic re-sequencing to be more compatible with Earth’s environment).
‘Mr Lyndau, how are you progressing with that wormhole stabilisation?’
Torbin was surprised at the enquiry; the b’tari, he was sure, already had that capability. ‘There are still problems with it,’ he replied. ‘My supervisor can update you with details on my progress.’
‘Your supervisor would tell me nothing I could not already discover for myself.’
‘Why do you need me at all? You have the tech, the knowledge---’
‘But I, personally, do not have the access. Nor would I have the approval of the council: The Temporal Directive is highly restrictive regarding the development and use of wormhole technology.’
‘You still adhere to that doctrine … even unofficially?’
‘I have to admit to you, Torbin, I have been somewhat out of the loop since the time of my ... encounter with the wave. Whether or not any b’tari possesses fully operational trans-space tech is not withstanding the fact that it will never be available to me.’
‘They don’t trust you either? Welcome to the club.’
‘Yet they trust you enough to provide you with the means to develop a stable wormhole.’
‘I think they are merely humouring me, Mr Entola.’
‘Nevertheless, what you are doing is exploiting a loophole in the Directive. I’d be surprised if it’s not eventually sanctioned by the council.’
‘A wormhole that exploits a loophole. That does sound ingenious.’
‘Your wormhole is what may save the lives of that stranded ship’s crew.’
Torbin had seen the news reports like most, how it had been spun as some technical problem: the over-ambitious engineers over-juicing their FTL engines. The location was never revealed. He knew one of the passengers. That man, Scott, had been targeted like himself by the Elusivers. His ship, its technology, was what had drawn the Elusivers to the human potential for resistance to their eradication wave. How convenient that he and his ship were taken out of the picture.
‘So, that ship is way out of easy reach,’ Torbin said, ‘even for your superior FTL tech.’
‘About four thousand light years out.’
‘Woaw, that’s gotta be, what, at least seven times farther than any humans have ever travelled.’
‘A recon team can get to that ship, but by then the passengers will likely be dead.’
‘So you’re asking me to develop a wormhole to reach that ship – in what time?’
‘As soon as you possibly can. It’s a big ask, I know. But you’re the one with access to the right tech. And I can help you make it work.’
‘Of course. After all, you are a b’tari.’
‘We need to make a start now. I will send you the astronomical data.’
‘But I won’t try running before I can even walk.’
‘Excuse me.’
‘I will do everything possible to develop that wormhole.’
‘Good. Then as soon as you succeed use the contact protocol I will send you, and I will be ready to go through.’
But as the astronomer signed off an unwelcome thought popped up from the recess of his mind, something he should really have mentioned. Everything he did was under the close scrutiny of the Elusivers, he was sure. As if they would ever allow him to reach that ship. And the knowledge of their objection made him all the more determined.
No time to waste, no time to think; he had to act immediately in the hope that the Elusivers were not right on his case at this moment.
Torbin ran to an adjoining lab. It was a large warehouse type room containing every conceivable piece of technology for manipulating exotic matter, negative energy. A two metre diameter dull-silver focus ring positioned horizontally over the floor and the generator. This was the place where he had so far created a breach in space that had extended for fifty light years, and was stable for an entire two point eight picoseconds.
His most successful attempt had been worse than the best result on Mars over a century ago, with the restrictions – the lack of funds at the time. But it wasn’t merely a matter of resources, or even the technical variables. Not just the science.
No, there was something not quite so definable. Torbin was reluctant to call it an art. But in that rarefied and precious time on Mars somehow he knew just when to increase the right variable, even when the data gave no clue.
He knew that even this laboratory, with its magnetic and sub-phase particle shielding, would not prevent the Elusivers from entering. Yet they had never approached him or created any disruptive effects here. Here was where he felt safest. The clinically bright illumination was also reassuring; they seemed to prefer dark environments.
Of course, his b’tari supervisor had this lab closely monitored. But at least the finer variables would not cause any concern. One thing they allowed him, that freedom to experiment.
Torbin increased the power-input level to its max, fully aware of how dangerous this unprecedented action must be. His supervisor was bound to observe closer. He had also given the astronomer access to the monitor feed. If the Elusivers were keeping tabs (and he was sure they were) this would be their time to intervene. But he rather liked the idea of them responding, drawing them out from the shadows into the observed arena.
Nonetheless he had to admit there was a certain recklessness here. Even though the variables had been tried hundreds of times, this was the first time the new data had been factored in.
A siren warning told him to get into the control room. The excitement gripped him. It felt like the beginning of a virtuoso performance, with an august audience aware of the risk and in awe of his boldness in making this one big attempt.
In the above control room an array of fixed, curiously antiquated display screens were giving the various intermix ratios, projected stability levels coupled with the power requirements for sustaining negative energy. The negative mass string modulator was primed. He allowed the singularity to form a loop – albeit with a micron sized diameter.
He activated the questing matter director: a channel of the negatively induced particles were then dimensionally shifted and focused on the data-acquired destination point.
Pushing an even more antiquated-style lever, Torbin ramped up the power to the magnetic flux epicentre.
He didn’t need to be told of the dangers. He was giving everything its full juice. If he didn’t go for broke then he doubted there’d be another chance to do this; the Elusivers would see to that.
This time an audio warning. ‘You are attempting to induce a maximum feed input to the magnetic relay generators,’ a rather stern-sounding woman’s voice said. ‘Please be warned: A risk of overload is considerable.’
‘A risk worth taking,’ Torbin answered. But if it wasn’t for that astronomer requesting … No, he was doing this for those people on that ship. They too were victims of the Elusivers.
Already, before the power generation had reached its peak, Torbin could see the first signs of the breach in space. A rippling effect inside the event ring, becoming like a whirlpool. It had no colour, just the bending of the surrounding light.
At this point he knew his supervisor would be making his way to the control room, wondering if this pushing-the-limits experiment was the result of another bout of mental instability. The only thing likely to be unstable, he thought to himself, was the wormhole.
Torbin now in-putted the astronomical data. The AI would factor in the previous attempts at calculating how much power to channel to project the negative energy. Not that it meant a precise projection could be made. Not that it meant that anything passing through had any chance of surviving.
At this point the logical thing to do was to send a probe, but since time was so limited he instead made the call to Zorandi Entola.
On the control room’s comm Zorandi told him, ‘I am just outside. Open the door.’
The astronomer entered the control room in a metallic suit, all copper plating and concertina joints like something deep-sea divers used to wear in a previous millennium. He’d obviously been nearby the whole time, preparing.
Torbin asked him, ‘You are actually ready to go through?’
‘I am ready,’ came his speaker-relayed voice.
‘You know of the temporal uncertainties, and the possibility of total collapse.’
‘I am aware of those uncertainties. My suit has its own graviton shielding for such an event. At the worst outcome I will be adrift in space.’
‘Okay. I accept you’re prepared. But I don’t know how you will be able to enter the portal zone without flooding the entire lab with magnetic energy, and thus destroying every device in this compound.’
‘This suit can alter its matter and mine. I will pass through---’
‘Then you’d better do so now. The wormhole should very soon be connected to those coordinates.’
Zorandi clumped towards a large section of diamond glass. His copper coloured suit appeared to ripple as if it had the fluidity of mercury. He passed through, but it seemed to take some effort. There were no fluctuations in the control room’s EM level, however. Zorandi nearly toppled over, though, when he’d got into the portal zone.
The wormhole hadn’t quite connected with it’s destination, at least according to the AI, which told him that the negative energy levels were not sufficiently stable to create a connecting channel. It may only happen for a fraction of a second. How would Zorandi be able to jump in time?
But Zorandi approached the ring regardless. He then just lifted off under the power of his suit and hovered over the event ring.
‘Get your AI to tell me when optimum connection is established, and my suit will respond.’
‘OK’ He instructed it so.
It seemed as if Zorandi had prepared for this for some time, yet it was only two hours ago that he’d made the request. The B’tari never failed to amaze him. Torbin allowed himself the thought that perhaps there really was some hope of defeating the Elusivers.
The stern-sounding woman warned that a full systems overload was possible before reaching optimization. There was no going back now, though.
Torbin saw Zorandi disappear into the ring before he got the report that optimization had been achieved. One thing he had no idea about was how long to maintain power.
‘Systems overload imminent,’ came the voice.
The wormhole collapsed after an unprecedented two and a half minutes – for a remote connection. In his time frame Zorandi may have already passed through.
Immediately following, every electrical system cut out. He expected something even more dramatic like sparks flying. Pushing the envelope to breaking point. But no, this was B’tari technology.
Torbin noticed his supervisor standing next to him. ‘Now do you recognise our belief in you?’
***