Chronicles of the Aeons War, page 86
part #3 of The Omniverse Series
♦♦♦
Zaiola was asleep beside him. In the late hours, Jack Benedict got out of bed, relishing in the momentary waft of sex and sweat that followed him. He dressed in the El-Ahur equivalent of a track suit, loose fitting linen pants and a long shirt overtop, with the Ouroboros’ snake-eating-its-tail logo embroidered over his heart. Pomeroy had told him she was already used to his late-night wanderings, not to think twice about getting up in the middle of the night to go for a walk.
She also strongly suggested he might enjoy it much more if he chose to wake her, instead.
But after the marathon she’d put him through tonight, exposing him at last to the real benefits of his Queen-augmented physiology, Benedict honestly wasn’t interested in more sex tonight. He left the bedroom for the main room; the lights came on dimly as he moved to a low, long couch. Benedict sat there a long moment, lost in a contemplation of nothing…random thoughts, memories and emotions passed through him as he sat in the gloom.
He leaned back, breaking the dreamy chain of thought, his mind crisp and focused. The walls of the room felt stifling; Benedict decided to leave Zaiola’s quarters. At this hour the Atrium and nearby public concourse were essentially deserted. And so he walked, contemplating the first part of the message from his future self – the basic introduction to the plan. He still had no idea what the golden rune-key was for, or how exactly to go about cheating the fate that his six predecessors had failed to avoid. Or had they? He had no way of knowing for certain, Benedict realized, because they would just have likely ended up in another reality where, relative to history, the Grandmaster had not died. His head hurt before he could finish contemplating the implications that he might exist in a universe changed by his “future” self in which he survived death…whether that meant there was another one of him out there even now, or if he was in a universe where, relative to them, the Grandmaster had died.
Times like these were especially trying…so many old friends long gone…so many people who he could have had the conversation he wanted to have right now…even Allison, long gone and gone mad besides, so everyone whispered when they thought he wasn’t listening. Even Zaiola was careful about what she told him…and she was part of this new world…this wasn’t his world; he’d scarcely felt at home on Midian thirteen hundred years ago (By their calendar) when his only goal was to return to the Hub…There was no one who could truly relate to his plight.
Except… Benedict knew there was somewhere else he needed to be. He stopped by his own quarters for the data module; the blue crystal shot through with thin strands of gold fit discreetly in the satchel he wore with him as he crossed from the residential area of Bloom’s Point and into the Harbour. He was greeted by and returned several hand-on-heart salutes as he moved along the concourse to the Ouroboros’ slip.
It took twenty minutes to get from the docks to the Ouroboros’ main gangway.
“Late training again tonight, Sir?” the duty officer at the security desk asked when Benedict passed the biometric gate.
“I’ve never been one to sleep,” he answered, heading down the long tunnel and into his ship.
Flight Bay 31 was deserted but for a handful of mechanics and deckhands working the usual Gamma Shift duty of inventory, resupply and cleaning. A couple of the greener Macronaut pilots were in the training racks, a control operator wearily talking them through the same basic manoeuvres over and over again.
Benedict found his rack and powered up his HAM unit. A few moments later and he was once more face to face with his future self.
♦♦♦
“It took you long enough to figure out that one,” his future projection admonished. Within the HAM unit’s immersive environment, it was just him and the scarred, older projection of his future self.
“I’ve had other things on my mind…like every battle I’ve fought so far.”
“I know; I uploaded the HAM’s combat history logs to get a better idea of where you are.”
“How did you do that?”
“I’m you, remember? At least, a detailed simulation of your future self. That means I have all the brain-scans necessary to fool my way into any system connected to your HAM.”
“So, getting back to my question: How could I figure out if you survived, Number Six? And whether or not I’m in a reality where you are, or even whether or not if your survival means me, and at least some version of you are together, in the same universe?” Benedict asked his future self.
“I started working on that one a lot later than you with Five’s Ghost; there’s hope for you, yet.”
“Ghost?”
“That’s what…I guess we…call ourselves. Digital ghosts of an analog Mind. Anyway, It hadn’t occurred to Five, but it was a fascinating possibility. Any change to the timeline’s a hopeful one…even something as small as a thought, or when you have it. The truth is, there’s just no way to tell. I left before the end of the Aeons War, travelling to the past. That’s when me and Number Five parted ways, because that was as far as his experience, and therefore my experience as Number Six could take us.”
“Okay, but presuming that you – Six – survived, would it be possible to model whether or not I would be in the same universe – or at least a version of that same universe where you – he – ended up?”
“I’d relay the question to the Sentinel, if I were you. My access only goes as far as your maintenance terminal.”
“I don’t think I want too many people knowing I have you, just yet.”
“Surely the Queen suspects what this crystal is.”
“She’s…indisposed. At this point in time she’s connected with a Zohor device we took in Operation Metatron.”
“Familiar with that one; I fought in it myself. I remember Her sleep. Okay, so I’m your secret, for now.”
“Do you remember any of our conversations, relative to you and…Five?”
“It’s weird…there’s an overlap. I can remember being you, having this conversation with…me…I remember being Six talking to Five, but because of our…parallel temporal proximity I remember being you talking to Six, too. It’s a side effect, I think, of our looping timeline and the atomic latticework of the crystal matrix that holds my Ghost.”
“So your memory of my present and past aren’t necessarily all that different, even if it’s just by a fraction of a fraction of a percent. So what can you tell me about my future? How do we beat this?”
His future self smiled, “We’re well on the way. The part of me that’s an augmented computer’s already worked out the equations we need to solve to find out if you can tell if I survived, relative to you. You’ll need a computer a lot more powerful than the onboard HAM systems to run the calculations, though. Likewise, I’ve got the last five sets of run calculations stored here with me for you to give the Sentinel. He’s part of the key, Jack. He wants to pull this off. So does the Queen. And when She wakes, she’s going to be hell-bent on putting down the Zohor, so get this running as soon as you can. Put everything on a dataslip if you don’t want to trust the Sentinel with me; I’ll upload them to the maintenance terminal.”
“Roger that,” Benedict said, “Here’s hoping that we pull it off.”
His future ghost chuckled, “Here’s hoping that I did.”
♦♦♦
He had only to call the Sentinel for him to appear in Zaiola’s main room. She was still asleep, and conscious of this, the Sentinel spoke while projecting his voice directly into Benedict’s ear. It was strange…like wearing phantom earbuds.
“You don’t have to speak above a whisper,” the Sentinel said, “Even with the bedroom door closed the silence will be disturbed by too loud a sound.”
“Thanks,” Benedict murmured, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good idea,”
Benedict showed the dataslip to the Sentinel.
“Can you pick things up? Handle things?”
“I can change the density of the necessary parts of my anatomy, yes.”
“And if I hand you this, can you read it?”
“Automatically.”
“Have a look at these equations, the first one needs to be run; note that the second equation is an in-progress work: you’ll find a set of six previous versions of the second equation and the calculated outcomes; I need to know if any of them will work, why the ones that don’t work didn’t, and if any of them can be fixed.”
“These are incredible!” The Sentinel exclaimed, “And I recognize my…fingerprint on many of these calculations! You’re not only trying to see if your progenitor survived, but whether that means he’s here in some fashion, now! I’d never have conceived of the possibility! Well, perhaps I did if there’s already been six known attempts…I will have conceived of it, certainly…I’ll begin running these equations immediately after I devote the necessary run-time…done.”
“You have an answer already?”
“No; I’m just done routing the necessary processor run-time to the to run the first equation’s numbers. It required I reroute millions of subroutines. Now I can run the calculation; verifying and making corrections and re-running the proof will take me three, perhaps four days before I can predict whether Benedict Six survived or not, or what outcome this universe exists relative to. Simultaneously I’m going to re-run each previous iteration of the equation to compare against the resultant calculation from the previous instances of myself. I’m going to need…seven days to resolve the numbers satisfactorily.
“And even then, Voyager, you have to keep in mind that if we find a successful path for you through time, you will need to follow a specific set of manoeuvres and actions to ensure your likelihood of survival is increased. That’s all this second equation can do: improve your statistical likelihood of survival. It’s an incremental calculation; eventually you will survive each episode precedent to your previous death. We have no way of knowing how long it will take, or whether an irrational number like Pi fits into the equation or calculations in a specific way…I’m losing you, sorry…once you finally do survive, and presuming you, yourself do, you must report immediately to me, in order to ensure you do not interfere with the outcome of releasing your past self from stasis aboard the derelict Esperanza. I would keep your potential future self isolated and in stasis until your future self has gone back in time, then, after the end of the Aeons War, reawaken him. Assuming we’ve won. Assuming we’ve lost, I’d like your thoughts on what you would wish to have done to you.”
“Holy shit are you overthinking this!” Benedict said, “Well, actually, I suppose you’re not. But, if Six survived, you’d have ordered him to come back here. Couldn’t you just tell me if that was the case?”
“Your timeline is already affected by the knowledge that your precedent future self is for all intents and purposes dead. To learn otherwise would only further destabilize the timestream. I wouldn’t be able to tell you either way without risking detrimental effects for us all.”
“Can you at least tell me the odds?”
“Yes, of course…I’m actually quite good at forecasting outcomes. But these equations are by far the most sophisticated…complex work I’ve ever seen…care to reveal your source?”
Benedict smiled, “Not just yet.”
“I can track your activities to your HAM, where you loaded this drive…presumably you’re in communication with someone, though I detect no signals leaving the bay at that time…You had a secure pouch with you from the moment you came aboard…unscannable. A courier’s pouch. Presumably someone on station’s providing you with very sophisticated information. Someone from the station? Tracking your movements since the Ouroboros has returned – always assuming your source didn’t contact you aboard ship and out of port – would not be difficult, but not necessarily conclusive. There are zones of legal privacy you pass through daily.”
“Leave that all be…for the timeline’s sake.” Benedict said, “Say I have my own copy of Tom Riddle’s diary and leave it at that. Just work on the equations, if you could, please.”
The Sentinel seemed surprised, “I understand that reference! The complete works of J.K. Rowling were in the Old Ship’s database! Though she was better known for the historical erotica she wrote much later in life. So…a message from your future self, then? It would be my honour to work on these equations! These are things of mathematical beauty!”
The Sentinel vanished, in his excitement not handing the dataslip back to Benedict. He reached out and caught it, overbalanced and went crashing over the low table.
“Not exactly how I wanted to be woken up, lover,” A very tired-looking Pomeroy Zaiola said, still very much the Cinnamon Girl in her pose in the doorframe, “But since I’m up, why don’t you get back in here?”
Benedict was still assessing injuries. Nothing broken…good bruise on his right kidney but no muscle spasms, thank God…He was sure his shin was scraped, but nothing that spray skin wouldn’t fix.
“Well, are you coming, or should I take matters in my own hands?”
“Why not both?” Benedict asked, trying to not get to his feet too clumsily.
“Naughty,” Zaiola purred.
♦♦♦
Heihachi relied on his El-Ahur discipline to keep his expression neutral when he climbed onto the Bridge to find Aqualina at the Systems and Operations Station. Baxter gripped his shoulder and gestured to the conning chair, choosing to stand at the overlook railing at the crew pits below and the observation dome around them.
“Systems, Conn: my team is reporting ready to shakedown new portside thrusters.” Roshenko said.
“Very good,” the Commodore said, “Tactical?”
Hartman Ambika replied, “All refitted weapons systems ready for Proving Grounds, Commodore.”
“Unless anyone has anything better to do today,” Baxter Vincent said, “Ouroboros, Harbourmaster: requesting departure clearance for registered flight plan to the Grounds,”
“Harbourmaster, Ouroboros: Stand by, you are third in line for departure clearance.”
Baxter Vincent thumbed Heihachi to the Commander’s Station to the immediate right of the Conn, and took his chair, “If I’m going to wait, I’ll damn well do it sitting down.” The Commodore said.
“As you say, Sir.” Heihachi said, activating his terminal. He tried not to look towards the Sys/Ops station; in case he found her looking at him. He concentrated on his duties, checking in with departments as statuses were reported and orders were issued. He kept his manner calm and professional when speaking with Roshenko…he performed his duties well, relying on El-Ahur training to control the torrent of emotions that might have otherwise made his performance suffer, at best.
It wasn’t long until they were clearing Bloom’s Point and heading to the Proving Grounds. Drones had already been deployed by the Sentinel to test the targeting and synchronizing of the new weapons arrays, and a beacon course had been plotted out to give the new thrusters and drivers a proper shakedown.
The Commodore threw in several emergency drills throughout, to ensure the entire crew was kept on their toes. Of course, anyone who had served any length of time with Commodore Baxter Vincent knew there was no such thing as “just a shakedown cruise”. They staged emergency drills almost daily when assigned to regular patrols. The only time there were no drills was when they were in combat: everything that could go wrong already would and drills would be a foolish waste of time.
The shakedown exercises finished twenty-five hours after they began. The crew were still performing as nominally as the Commodore’s ship. The jump back to Bloom’s Point where the Queen’s Fleet was now gathering heralded the end of their day.
As the Ouroboros entered the Harbour Facility and began making its slow way through the denser than usual inbound ship traffic, Baxter Vincent left the Bridge for his office on the Command Deck. A moment later, Heihachi got a page to join the Commodore in the office. As he rose so did Roshenko. They stared at each other a moment, as the Bridge rode back towards the ramp. It was habit born out of all their years together to psychically flash-communicate as the Bridge docked; they both asked and answered the same question: The Commodore had summoned them both.
