Inside this bubble time ran as near to normal as it was possible to measure. The word ‘bubble’ was not as precise as Roidon would’ve liked: The zero point field had extended not to some exact cut-off point, but rather only faded into the ‘penumbra’ of decelerated time. So far only the hanger was isolated. A video feed of the view outside did not give much away; at a glance the stars were static, the shadows – drawn in harsh contrast from craters – always seemed as fixed and sympathetically lifeless. Only telemetry told him that the deceleration effect was now encompassing almost the entire moon, the peak differential was currently 250 to 1. Harvo told him it was maximum safest, beyond which the AI claimed a potential catastrophe with a highest probability of a singularity expansion – essentially a black hole. It meant eight months within the field would be only a day on the outside. And how many days did they have left of Earth time with no slow-down field for protection? Another question he asked of Harvo, who had analysed all the astronomical data. The answer: ‘At the current observed temporal distortion rate, 174 hrs, or about two weeks, give or take – and there was certainly room for correction to what was just a provisional projection. Two weeks, and the people of Earth seemed oblivious to their fate, unable to comprehend what it meant to be wiped out from time, to no longer exist, to never – essentially – have existed at all. But did he really comprehend what that truly meant? If he did there would be no longer any need for philosophical inquiry; a knowledge of non-existence – the immutable contradiction in terms. We merely cling to our senses, in the end, he thought.
His attention was caught by an image on one of the video feeds, the gradual movement of a mechanical figure – Torbin Lyndau making his glacially slow way along the corridor connecting the hanger. He was clearly running, though, Roidon trusted Raiya had passed on the crucial info. He imagined Torbin would have his own fixed and ill-considered opinion on this experiment, and as one field faded to another Torbin’s rate of movement increased to this time frame.
Torbin buzzed the door comm. At least the man knew not to barge in.
Roidon silently admonished himself for still feeling a visceral anxiety at Torbin's presence, he had to remind himself that within that two metre high chromium armoured exoskeleton was still a human, albeit one that could rip any man to pieces in the time it took to say: ‘Have mercy on me’.
Torbin, thankfully, didn’t waste any time for insincere pleasantries. His first words: ‘A dual generated field ... interesting ... and incredibly dangerous. Had you factored in the likely consequence of when it interacts with the temporal eradication field?’ He now had a small mind-voice transcription device attached to his tritanium head.
‘Torbin, I hope we can work together on this,’ Roidon said in his mildest tone. ‘I don't claim to have all the answers, only the certainty that it is our best chance of stopping our erasure from history.’
‘Then really you have no idea of the dangers. Do you even know the likely dynamics of the TE field when it meets---?’
‘Of course, simulations have been run based on Zorandi Entola’s data. It shows a sixty-three per cent chance that my counter field – based on its current configuration – will slow the TE’s temporal spread by an exponentially increased factor... that is, from our perspective.’
‘I would be hoping for better odds than that,’ Torbin said.
‘I’m working on it. But I need someone to calibrate the graviton oscillator ... someone who doesn't have flesh and bones susceptible to being crushed.’
‘Looks like you’ll be needing me after all.’
*
Raiya’s comm-tab buzzed, telling her of a relayed message from Earth. It was Leonard Heigener. The signal from where she now sat in the moon-base lounge was too weak and with the effect of Roidon’s experiment the data burst was too quick for the device to convert a call to recognisable speech. Having made a point of keeping up with Roidon’s progress she knew that to be able to speak to Heigener she’d have to get beyond orbital range of the Moon.
She checked the feed of the hanger. Roidon was flitting about like some comical character from a speeded up old movie. And there was Torbin, equally animated. It was encouraging to see them so engaged in work together.
The last thing Roidon needed was to be disturbed. But this call request was constantly being repeated, although she understood that what to her seemed like minutes could easily be hours or days to Leonard. He’d probably be wondering why she had seemingly disappeared for what could have been weeks. By now she imagined he’d be actively searching for her, and likely with hired help. Raiya’s discovered car with her missing must have surely been the catalyst for an extensive investigation. Somehow, there would be evidence leading to here, in spite of Roidon’s assurances, more like his over-confidence. No, the best thing now was leave this place. Only now had it dawned on her what a liability she must be to the security of this location.
There were two vehicles parked in a crater converted into an enclosed bay but with a projected holo-field, making it seem like a normal crater.
She perused both of the craft but the only one she could use was Roidon’s, given that she had a sample of his DNA; there had certainly been plenty of opportunities to obtain a sample, before each shower (they had seemed to demonstrate the truth in the effect of living in dangerous times). Roidon could have increased the security level so there’d be need of hand-print and iris scan, but again – such was his confidence that no one would find this place. For a moment she felt like she was betraying a trust, until a more rational overview once more held sway.
Roidon’s craft, however, was having problems accepting her control. It needed another DNA sample (something it would normally scan subdermally from a finger using a laser plate) before it would comply. She was sure if this craft had been been designed for a human pilot – rather than handed over, as it seemed, in a hurried way from his alien friend – it would be scanning her in a far more extensive way.
After the fifth attempt at scanning Roidon’s DNA sample it took off from the crater – in what she was sure was a begrudging way, as if the AI was more than just the gamma level that all but a very few vehicles have.
It was certainly quick; in less than a minute the moon had shrunk to a grapefruit size within the viewscreen, which meant she was beyond the range of Roidon's distortion field, but as a precaution she kept the ship moving further into space. By now the last call had gone to message, so she called Heigener back.
He answered within a few seconds. ‘Raiya, it is so good to hear from you again. Where have you been?’ Genuine concern, it seemed.
‘Len ... it’s complicated. I cannot explain right now.’
‘Raiya. There is something I have to tell you.’
She waited a few seconds. ‘Go on, Len. What is it?’
‘I am sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Sorry that it has come to this. For what is about to happen.’ His voice was faltering.
‘I don't understand.’
‘Raiya, I hope you will forgive me one day ... if...’ He either hung up or was cut off.
It was then she noticed the red symbols on the viewscreen. The ship, in its androgynous voice, spoke. ‘Please beware another vessel is approaching at eight hundred thousand kilometres per hour.’
This was trouble. ‘Can we avoid it?’ she asked.
‘Enabling evasive manoeuvre. Approaching craft accelerating at eleven gees. Do you wish to continue to escape its advance?’
‘Yes. As fast as you can.’
‘Then be prepared. You may be rendered temporarily unconscious.’
But before it engaged, the ship gave an unnerving jolt.
‘System damage,’ it warned. ‘Cannot engage full thrust until repairs---’
Another hit. ‘Can you get me away?’ she said almost hysterically.
‘Engine damage too extensive. Shields ineffective. Sending distress beacon to base.’
The approaching vessel was now visible, moving so rapidly it seemed as if it would crash into her craft. But then it stopped with an abruptness that made her jump. It then moved slowly closer.
‘Approaching vessel has now docked, and connected a passage this craft,’ the computer informed her, helpfully.
‘Can you stop whoever it is from boarding?’
‘I will maintain the hatch lock.’
There then followed a deadly silence, except the sound of her thundering heartbeat. Heigener knew, he is working for them. How could he?
‘Lock compromised.’
‘You must stop them,’ she pleaded.
No answer.
The deck door swished open. The man standing there she recognised.
‘Hello, Raiya,’ he said. ‘It seems you have some explaining to do.’
*
Torbin, in spite of his tritanium-alloy body, felt the increasing repulsion force as he got nearer the ‘slow-down’ field generator – an egg-timer shaped device from which jutted hundreds of rounded off silver cones and a network of cables and plastic pipes. It was difficult – even with his enhanced visual aid – to perceive it as a fixed object, but instead it blurred in an intense vibrational state. Trying to reach it was like pushing against an oncoming tsunami, minus the sound of rushing water. This was essentially anti-gravity; the generator was throwing out a field so powerful it would simply have fried a human brain long before reaching its core, if it were even possible to get so close. Roidon had until now relied on nanobots to make the refinements, but someone needed to attach a tertiary extraction pipe, and now there was no question of simply switching the device off. To refer to it as a machine was about the equivalent of referring to himself as such. It could quite reasonably be described as sentient, in some ways intelligent beyond any human life.
Torbin, with the extraction pipe still clasped to his side, stared into the vibrating core. He could just make out a darker section dividing the top of the cone. Through a translucent portion he was sure he saw a brain. Still, it was possible the extreme forces were inducing hallucinations. Have to focus, he told himself, removing the pipe from his side belt. Even with his preternatural strength it took every ounce of effort to force the pipe into its slot at the base section. The relief as it clicked into place made him let go of his footing; just an easing of tension. And in that moment he was flung back at a speed too fast for his velocity meter to calculate. It must have taken less than a tenth of a second to hit the side wall of the hanger.
He blacked out. For how long he didn’t know, but there were warning signals flashing in his HUD view. There was also information about damage to various parts of his shell, and the ongoing repair sequence to each of those. When he tried to get up, more information came up about the restrictions to his capacity. Strength: 40%, mobility: 24% – and so on.
I am a fucking robot. The poignancy of that was only offset by the thought of what this generator was becoming: too powerful to control – the greater monster than he. It didn’t even gladden Torbin that Roidon would now depend on him for this device’s maintenance if not control, or that the Roidon’s creation was reckless beyond anything the B'tari might approve of – a rather misguided notion of fighting fire with fire.
Torbin finally got to his feet. He walked with machine stiffness along the perimeter towards the exit. The door was a conventional swing type (the main slide doors were firmly locked into place). Now he noticed the effort to open it against the increasing force; he figured no human could enter any more.
Roidon was just on the other side. Torbin, still fired up from his experience said to Roidon, ‘The primary field is spreading much faster than your projection data. It won't stop unless you – I disable the collector.’
‘Not a chance. It will do what it has to do. We’ll leave it for now. There’s another matter of concern.’
‘More important than this?’
‘She’s gone.’
Torbin was struck by the way Roidon had said those words. With such dramatic force. He had no words in answer for a reply.
‘She’s taken my craft. I can’t track it from this area. I’ll have to take to take your vehicle.’
Of course, he wasn’t worried so much about Raiya as his precious B’tari craft. Torbin said, ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No, you are needed here, just in case things get out of control.’
‘Things are already out of control. Besides, Harvo can monitor levels and at least try to adjust the input, which is about as much I can do now.’ He knew it was pointless to even bother mentioning that Roidon might just be unable to pilot the craft himself.
‘Fine, if you insist. I know you do care for her so.’
‘As much as you care for your B’tari craft.’
‘Indeed, that much!’
Neither had any idea just how long ago Raiya had left; time was skewed for at least the orbital distance of the Moon, the penumbra of dilation fading to some indefinable point. From their perspective – in the primary field bubble – her departure would have happened in normal time, and then dilated as she entered the penumbra, but unfortunately they would do the same. The only hope was that within the expanding primary bubble they could get some decent acceleration.
There was one further problem. Torbin didn’t claim to understand how the craft’s navigation system worked – it had simply got him to the base, already programmed. He tried: ‘give me navigational control.’ There was no response.
‘Don’t tell me: you have no idea how to use Elusiver technology,’ Roidon said, in his uniquely condescending way.
‘And you do?’
‘If your Elusiver friend won’t come back and help us, then – given that ninety-plus percent of you is made from their technology – I suggest you link up with the nav system.’
How would you even know that was the case? Torbin thought.
And yet, when he positioned himself on the pilot’s seat and simply requested a link-up, it complied. He then gave it the ID of Roidon’s craft and it set about navigating along the trace emissions.
Roidon said, ‘I find it curious, how similar this craft is to my vessel, how it so readily identified mine – the B’tari’s.’
Torbin, although hooked in with with the ship’s HUD and being fed an array of incomprehensible data, had no problem with understanding Roidon. He said, ‘You’re telling me you doubt I was ever helped by a Elusiver. Then who? A B’tari in disguise.’
‘I’m not questioning whether you were saved from oblivion in deep space by a Elusiver. But here – a Elusiver roaming about, a traitor in a world that’s been monitored and targeted.’
‘But what do we understand about their methods or motivations? They’re more alien than anything we could imagine.’ Torbin understood that Roidon would find it difficult to accept that he was in any way being helped by the very Elusiver who had originally sent the warning.
‘No,’ said Roidon, ‘but I understand logic for the purpose of survival.’
‘But surely it would be just as risky for a b’tari.’
‘The B’tari are rather good at disguises, and at not allowing you to think that they are helping … or, influencing outcomes.’
‘So it could be a new low profile?’ Torbin wondered. ‘I’m not convinced.’ But now he was seriously beginning to have his doubts.
The craft was now heading back to Earth.....
***