The dry-planet-dwelling Ekhemasu had no nautical tradition of giving ships names. Not being a swabby, I was untroubled by any superstitions about bad luck arising from the lack.
A fat lot I knew.
At any rate, our unnamed ship naturally followed the day/night cycle of Khemava. So once again Chloe and I had to establish our own schedule, which had nothing to do with that of our hosts. At least we could set the lights in our cabins so as to simulate the twenty-four-hour period for which we had evolved. This was easier on our metabolisms, but didn't always facilitate interaction with Khorat.
For example, we woke up one morning (as defined by us) to discover that we had slept through the ship's departure from the Khemava system.
"We saw no point in awakening you," Khorat explained when we sought him out in the observation lounge. The semicircular screen was set for view-aft, and the stars were streaming past us and receding at the impossible rate we remembered from our voyage to Antyova. For all the rock-steady artificial gravity, I had to fight a momentary impulse to grab on to something.
"But why the rush?" Chloe asked. "I didn't think we were scheduled for departure for another twenty-four hours at least. What happened?"
Khorat turned to face us, and his aspect quieted us. He seemed shaken to the core. "Circumstances have altered. A ship arrived at Khemava bearing new information from our Tonkuztra sources in the Osak gevroth, who in turn had obtained it through their infiltration of their Tosava rivals." The old Ekhemar trailed to a halt, and I realized it wasn't just a pause for dramatic effect. He was, quite simply preoccupied . . . and, I began to suspect, even more shaken than I'd thought.
"And . . . ?" I prompted.
Khorat pulled himself together. "It seems we badly underestimated Novak and her confederates. We thought they would still be in the organizational stage. In fact, their time ship is approaching readiness, sooner than we ever dreamed possible. They must have begun preparing the ship itself, in all respects other than the actual time-displacement apparatus, in anticipation of success in obtaining that apparatus. It is the kind of total commitment possible only to the true fanatic."
"So," I demanded, "where does this leave us?"
"Our strategy of infiltration, using the two of you, is almost certainly no longer viable. Novak must already have her personnel in place. So, however much it runs counter to our natural instincts, we will probably have to resort to brute force methods and disable Novak's ship before it commences its temporal displacement."
Chloe's newly gray-green eyes were round. "Are you saying that this ship is armed?" I didn't feel as shocked as she sounded—blame it on my background—but even I could guess at the magnitude of the illegality involved.
"Not heavily armed," Khorat said hastily. "That would be quite impossible for a ship this size. The weapons of space warfare are, of necessity, massive—or so I'm told. It isn't exactly my subject."
"Yeah," I nodded. The Project had learned something about the way war was waged among the stars. "That's why capital ships are generally designed as close as they can get to the fifty-thousand-ton upper limit imposed by the interstellar drive. Laser weapons, no matter how advanced, can't get away from one hard fact: all other things being equal, the greater the diameter of the focusing optics, the greater the effective range. And as for missiles, field drives—even ones designed to burn themselves out in a single suicide run—can be miniaturized by only so much. So missiles that can catch faster-than-light ships have to be big, which means a ship has to be damned big to carry a useful number of them."
"You put me to shame with your knowledge of these matters," said Khorat graciously. "You will understand, then, why we were only able to equip this ship with a single small laser weapon—not intended for an antishipping role at all, but rather for short-range defense. Nevertheless, within its limited range it should be capable of inflicting disabling damage on a space vessel."
"Unless that vessel blows us into dust bunnies first," I commented gloomily.
"Remember, Novak will not have a purpose-built warship either. In fact, our assessment is that it won't be armed at all. Why should it be? Its destination is a time and place where no other space vehicles exist. Ship-to-ship weapons would have no targets!"
I considered this. It seemed to hold up . . . except for one little problem Khorat had overlooked. The peewee laser cannon the Medjavar had welded onto their ship would be manned—well, you know what I mean—by beings evolution had neglected to equip with a killer instinct. That hadn't occurred to Khorat for the simple reason that he himself was one of those beings.
"So, Khorat," asked Chloe, "if the original plan—the one involving us—has gone by the boards, then what are we doing here?"
"Complete with our new bodies," I added.
Khorat showed the signs I'd learned to read as reflecting discomfort. "It is true that Nafayum's work has probably gone for naught. But, as I have indicated, this news forced an urgent revision of our plans, leaving no time to send the two of you back to Khemava. Besides . . . are you sure you would have wanted to be left behind, to wonder whether we had succeeded?"
"Now that you mention it, no," I admitted.
"One other question." Chloe spoke with an intensity which, like so much about her these days, I didn't understand. "You're noted for your contingency plans, Khorat. What's the fallback position if we're not in time to catch Novak's ship 'before it commences its temporal displacement,' as I believe you put it?"
"In that event," said the old Ekhemar slowly, "we will have no alternative but to set out in pursuit."
For a heartbeat or two, I genuinely didn't get it. Maybe it was because I was staring at Chloe, who had closed her eyes and was nodding repeatedly as though at the unsurprising confirmation of a suspicion. But then, for some reason, I remembered Khorat's slip of the tongue when we'd first come aboard: something about the modifications to this ship, and the fact that some of them might not be illegal, strictly speaking. . . .
"Khorat," my mouth said for me before my mind had really come to grips with the notion, "are you, by any chance, implying that this is a time ship?"
"We truly believed that the capability would not be necessary. We still hope that it will not. But we had to face the possibility. We began fitting this ship with it at the same time we began installing the laser weapon."
"But Novak stole the data! And you told me the Medjavar don't believe in making copies."
"In this case, we made an exception. The potential consequences of a theft of this knowledge—not that we ever really believed in the possibility—were such that we had to reserve to ourselves the capability of countering it. Indeed, we extended Imhaermekh's theoretical work. We discovered . . . Well, remember the analogy I drew between time travel and falling? And my remark that there are dimensions in which one can 'fall' faster than in others?" Khorat paused, and I sensed his irritated frustration with the need to express these concepts in baby talk lest the translator simply shut down. English was as about as well-suited to this discussion as Mycenaean Greek would have been to teaching a class in TV repair. "At any rate, we have knowledge that Novak did not steal. Using that knowledge, we have equipped this ship to access those 'faster' dimensions."
"So," I asked, "you think you can catch her if she doesn't get too much of a head start?"
Khorat gave the small backward jerk of the head that was his race's equivalent of a human's wince, and I tried to imagine how my question came across in translation. "That is, I suppose, one way to put it. But, to repeat, we have every hope of arriving before it becomes necessary to use this capability. So with any luck the whole matter will prove academic."
"Luck is like government," I philosophized. "Everybody needs a little of it, but only a fool relies on it."
The voyage to the Solar System took about as long as our previous journey to the Antyova system had. It just didn't seem as long.
I spent the time getting checked out on the laser weapon. I'd never had a chance to observe galactic-level shipboard weaponry. The Project had produced a few such weapons, at staggering expense. But they were just for show, as part of the deception. Otherwise, there was no point. We didn't have a prayer in hell of actually going toe-to-toe with any of the starfaring powers.
What I saw confirmed what I'd read. In theory, greater ranges could have been obtained by designing focusing optics that unfolded repeatedly to vast diameters until the ship itself was like a small spider in the center of a large web. But in practice, such an array would have been hopelessly vulnerable—not just to enemy action and space junk, but also to Murphy's Law. As always with military hardware, rugged reliability counted for more than any number of fancy-pants refinements. This weapon, like all of its kind, was almost entirely contained in the ship's hull, into which it was normally faired. Only when it was time for action did it exude a small focusing array resembling your idea of a radar dish. It was not a serious weapon for space warfare as the great Delkasu empires waged it. In human naval terms, it was like the popgun carried by a Coast Guard cutter. But for what Khorat had in mind, it ought to serve, just as a Coast Guard cutter could stop a smuggler's cabin cruiser.
The fundamental principle wasn't unfamiliar to me, inasmuch as the Project had arranged for the laser to be "invented" in 1959. Of course, the superconductor-loop "capacitors" stored energy at a density Earth's mainstream science denied was even theoretically possible, and there were a lot of other engineering details that smacked of Clarke's Law. But I could handle the basic concepts, rather like a Renaissance person looking at an automobile; the electrical systems would have been a mystery, and the internal combustion engine would have seemed fantastic (although I'll bet Leonardo would have picked up on it in no time), but the wheels and gears would have presented no problem.
The time machine was another matter.
I persisted in thinking of it as that, since the translator's "temporal displacement field generator" had too many syllables. It was a small thing, and as Khorat had explained it didn't draw much power. And yet, staring at it, I was like my imaginary Renaissance man studying an X-ray machine. I soon gave up.
Instead, I occupied myself with dry runs on the laser cannon. The controls took some getting used to. This was even more true of the handheld weapons in a locker that the Ekemasu mostly avoided with visible distaste. I pestered Thramoz, who was the equivalent of a human ship's master-at-arms, until he let me try the things out. They, too, were based on the laser principle; galactic-level energy storage technology made this practical for a weapon I could lift with no more difficulty than, say, a BAR. Designed by and for Ekhemasu, it was awkward as hell for a human to hold and fire, but the total lack of recoil would help make up for that.
I anticipated an argument when I suggested to Chloe that she also familiarize herself with the weaponry. She surprised me by falling in with the idea at once. The bulk and weight of the portables were more of a problem for her than for me, but she actually adapted better to handling the Ekhemasu-style grips and firing mechanisms, not having my burden of drilled-in habits to unlearn.
As we went through these sessions, I continued to observe her, trying to understand the change in her. She was still quite obviously concealing something behind shutters of superficial normalcy. But there was a subtle change in what that something was. Before, it had been appalled fear and uncertainty, whose origin was a mystery to me. Now, I sensed, all that had been replaced by a deep certainty, and an irrevocable decision based on that certainty—a certainty, and a decision, which I could not be allowed to share. And that still hurt.
So matters stood as we approached the Solar system.
It came as no surprise that our ship had a state-of-the-art stealth suite, and was not announcing its presence through regular channels to the Project's faux governmental authorities. Nevertheless, it came to a halt somewhere outside the Oort Cloud, where the Sun was still just another zero-magnitude star.
Chloe and I had no idea what was going on, for Khorat was inaccessible, deliberately or otherwise. So, with nothing better to do, we took ourselves to the observation lounge. We arrived just in time to see a small vessel enter the viewscreen's pickup as it rendezvoused with us. From the size of it and other indications, the stranger was a ship designed by and for Delkasu.
There was no physical contact between the two ships. The new arrival merely held position off our starboard side for a time, during which we assumed radio communications were being exchanged. After a while, the other ship swung away and disappeared. Almost immediately, the alarm sounded and our ship went back into field drive—but rather slowly, judging from the apparent motion of the stars.
Shortly thereafter, Khorat entered—he must have had a pretty good idea where we'd be. By this time, we'd been among the Ekhemasu long enough to recognize a bearer of bad tidings.
"That ship belonged to the Osak gevroth," he began, earning my gratitude by not going through the motions of pretending he didn't know we had been watching. "Their sources of information indicate that Novak is even closer to departure than we thought."
"Then why are we dawdling?" I demanded, waving my arm at the viewscreen.
"Security reasons," said Khorat succinctly.
"Security? You mean you're afraid Novak will find out we're coming? And what has that got to do with our speed?"
"Not her. We don't know what galactic ships are currently in this system. If there are any, and they have the proper sensors, a field drive operating at transluminal velocities is easy to detect—indeed, difficult to miss. Remember, the Medjavar's possession of this ship is not generally known. We could be badly compromised."
My mouth was half-open to inquire just exactly what difference that would make, given what he himself had told us about the consequences of Novak getting away into the past. But then I thought better of it. What was the use? I knew from experience how security procedures could take on a life of their own, like religious rituals that had lost their meaning. And what about a habit of concealment that dated back thousands of years?
"All right." I sighed. "So we're proceeding at less than lightspeed, despite the news you've just gotten. Does this mean we're going to have to travel into the past after all?"
"It appears increasingly likely," Khorat admitted, "that we will indeed have to pursue Novak and destroy her ship while in temporal transit."
"Well," I said . . . and found myself at a loss for anything further to say.
Chloe spoke up hesitantly. "Khorat, don't get me wrong: I don't in any way condone what Renata has done. But you talk like destroying her ship is the only option. Couldn't we at least try to . . . well, apprehend her and bring her back to the present day?"
Khorat turned his huge, somehow melancholy eyes on her, and spoke after a long pause. The voice in my earpiece was so expressionless it was barely recognizable as Khorat's.
"Oh, no. That's quite out of the question. Traveling forward in time is a theoretical possibility—indeed, Imhaermekh succeeded in sending subatomic particles a few microseconds into the future—but as a practical matter the energy curve involved rises swiftly to infinity."
For a moment, we sat in a silence of bewilderment . . . or, perhaps, of unwillingness or inability to credit what we'd just heard. Chloe finally broke it. "Khorat, I'm not talking about traveling into the future. I'm talking about returning to the time you set out from in the first place."
"That's not the way it works." Had a hint of compassion crept into the artificial voice? "There is no such thing as the future or the past. There is only time on one side or the other of the constantly advancing wave front we call the present. It is analogous to the relativity theories your civilization has already evolved: a time traveler's 'native' point in time has no 'privileged position.' Or, to put it another way, once one goes backwards in time, one's original point of departure becomes part of 'the future.' The unattainable future."
"But . . ." I shook my head and tried again. "But in that case how do you get back to where . . . I mean when you came from?"
"You don't." Khorat's bluntness was merciless. "It is strictly a one-way trip."
It is possible for anger to reach such a level that it defeats itself, leaving you strangely calm. Staring at Khorat, I found I had entered into that state of emotional overload.
On the fringes of my consciousness, I heard Chloe's quiet voice. "Does Novak know this?"
"She must. She has all the relevant data at her disposal." Khorat turned brisk. "And now I must consult with my colleagues, as we will be nearing your sun shortly." He departed hastily.
For a moment, I stared at the hatch through which he had disappeared. I discovered that the eerie calmness I'd felt was like the eye of the hurricane: a deceptive pause in the storm. Without a word I strode out of the lounge and toward my cabin. I could hear Chloe following me.
As soon as the hatch closed behind us, I smashed my fist hammer-style into a bulkhead. The pain broke my inhibitions. "That lying cocksucker!" I roared, indifferent to whether or not the cabin was bugged. "That motherfucking son of a bitch! He never told us!"
You have to understand: I was born in 1936, to middle-class American parents. In the world I came from, men were about as foul-mouthed among themselves as they would be in later times—this always seems to come as a shocking surprise to my juniors—but you simply didn't use obscenities in the presence of a lady . . . unless, that is, you were so enraged as to be past caring about such things. And I had never been so furious in my life. I raved on until I ran out of breath.
"Well," Chloe ventured, "he never actually claimed it was possible to return from a temporal displacement into the past."
"No, he just kept quiet and let us take it for granted!" I grasped her by the shoulders. "Chloe, if we arrive in Earth orbit and find that Novak's ship is no longer there, you and I are going to have to stop Khorat."
"Stop him? How?"
"Take over the ship!"
"Take over the ship?" she echoed. "The two of us? But there are . . . how many Ekhemasu aboard?"
"It doesn't matter. We know where that small-arms locker is—and I can get into it."
"But . . . what if some of the crew have already drawn hand weapons by then? I'll bet Thramoz, at least, will have."
"So what? Chloe, the Ekhemasu are descended from a million generations of herbivorous herd animals. I've seen it, even in Thramoz: put them in a combat situation, and their chromosomes will tell them to run—or, if there's no place to run, freeze up in the hope that if they hold still the predators won't notice them."
"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked quietly.
"Damned right I'm serious! Khorat has gone 'round the bend. He's ready to charge off into interdimensional chaos even though he knows he can't get back. It's up to us! Are you with me?"
Chloe stared at me, and at first I saw the same thing I'd seen in her since the day we'd met in the passageway and seen each other's new faces: a drawing of shutters, behind which her thoughts seemed to be racing furiously. But then, abruptly, all that was gone and, despite everything Nafayum had done, the old Chloe was back. All my fire and fury drowned in her smile.
"Yes, Bob. Yes. I'm with you. But first . . ." Her arms went around my waist and drew me close, with more strength than I'd known she possessed. "Bob, I can't wait any longer. I need you, Bob, and we may not have another chance. Please take me!"
To say I was stunned would be an understatement. "Chloe," I said weakly, "we've talked about this for God knows how long . . . and the same arguments still apply—"
"I know, my love. And I don't care anymore!" Before I knew what was happening, her left arm snaked around my neck and drew my head down, and she kissed me with a fierce hunger.
There is, I truly believe, nothing so overwhelming as instant, unanticipated eroticism. Everything else was forgotten as I responded to her kiss.
We finally broke apart to catch our breath. She backed off a step, smiled roguishly, and drew me by the hands. "Come."
I let her lead me to her cabin through the empty passageway—the Ekhemasu were otherwise occupied. As soon as we were inside, she poured us drinks of the Ekhemasu attempt at gin.
I didn't need alcohol at that point. But I was willing to abide by whatever rituals she wanted to impose. I tossed off the drink, then took her in my arms.
I had never known what lovemaking could be, before experiencing her.
I awoke with a horrible combination of headache and nausea, not unlike a migraine. But it wasn't a migraine, because it began to recede as soon as I managed to swing my legs out of the bed and get shakily to my feet.
Chloe was gone. The cabin was empty.
I got back into my clothes, stumbled to the hatch and, with gradually increasing steadiness, made my way aft to the observation lounge. It, too, was empty. So I started forward, toward a hatch I had never entered, nor been invited to enter.
I'd seen the Ekhemasu open it by placing one of their three-digited hands on a pad on the bulkhead beside it. I assumed it was coded for those alone—and, even among them, probably for authorized personnel only. But, for lack of anything else to try, I pressed the pad. To my surprise, the hatch slid silently open. I stepped through into the control room.
It was dimly lit by the glow of instrument panels, and by the stars and the cloud-swirled blue globe that shone in the hemispherical viewscreen that enclosed the forward end. Two figures were silhouetted against that cosmic panorama. One was an Ekhemar who, as I approached closer, I recognized as Khorat. The other was easier to identify—effortless, in fact, as there was only one other human aboard.
"So we're already entering Earth orbit," I said, for I knew that blue globe.
Khorat turned to face me. "Ah, you are awake. Yes, we have arrived. And Novak has departed—barely ahead of us. We are positioning ourselves to proceed on the same temporal . . . vector."
I wasn't really listening to him, for Chloe had also turned, and our eyes met. We stared at each other wordlessly, and her face reflected more conflicting emotions than I'd thought a human soul could contain.
There were so many things I could have said . . . but I said nothing. For among all the storm of thoughts in my head, one rose like a whitecap above a raging sea: the Mickey she'd put in my drink must have been prepared beforehand. It was easy, looking back clear-eyed, to see how she'd slipped it in—her back had been to me as she'd poured—but it had to have been already there.
"Prepare for temporal displacement," Khorat said quietly.
Something happened to the universe in the viewscreen. It was difficult for the mind to grasp just what that something was. But then it was over, and the stars went out. But in an indescribable way it was as though they had never been, or were anticipated in the future, for we had entered a realm in which time had a different meaning.
We were committed.
\\
o