 
# Monument

### Published by Philip Bosshardt at Smashwords

### Copyright 2020 Philip Bosshardt

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

Helios Station

In Parker Orbit around the Sun

Solix 6.3.3155 CE

It was Aditi Surat who first noticed that the Sun was acting strangely. The young Indian astronomer was standing the late watch aboard SunWatch's Helios Station when she heard a chime coming from her console.

Night time never came to Helios Station. Not when you're approaching perihelion at over six-hundred thousand kilometers an hour. Helios Station was in a modified Parker orbit around the Sun, a great ellipse varying in distance from eighty million kilometers down to a hair-raising plunge through the Sun's outer corona, inside six million kilometers.

Surat was pulling the late shift today...tonight...whatever the hell it was. Tending the huge instruments of the Main Pyrheliometer Array, a key node in the Sunwatch System that scanned the Sun like an unblinking eye for anything out of the ordinary.

Surat had taken one last look out the nearest porthole, studying the well-filtered blemish of multiple sunspots on the huge disk, when her console beeped again.

What the hell....

Aditi Surat looked over her boards, controlling the position of the great scopes at the far end of the station's main truss, the heliometers and photometers and bolometers that kept a close watch on anything happening on the Sun's surface. She quickly pinpointed the source of the beeping: Nodes 20 through 24...the portside lateral array of the MPA...was picking up some anomaly.

She massaged the controls and tried to focus the array, to get better resolution on the target. Sunwatch didn't beep without reason. Somewhere in its nearly infinite memory were luminosity and illuminance data on nearly every burp and hiccup the Sun had displayed for the last few hundred years. Like an overprotective mother, Sunwatch knew where every sunspot and spicule and prominence and magnetic field line was supposed to be, right down to the nearest centimeter.

Sunwatch only beeped and chirped when something was out of whack.

A quick perusal made the black hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The system was showing a high-rate drop in overall luminosity of the solar disk, far below baseline values. The Indian astronomer swallowed hard. In her two years, ten months and fourteen days since being assigned to Helios Station, she had never seen anything like this before.

Straight away, her watch partner Carlos Tromelin came back from the canteen with some drinks and snacks. His eyes widened at the chaos now unfolding.

Tromelin was a heavy-set bear of a man, who appreciated the one-third Earth gravity of Helios Station more than most. He had thick eyebrows and a perpetual scowl.

"What gives? Sunwatch's sending out anomaly alerts like crazy. What's on the board?" Tromelin sat down at a console next to Surat and began tapping at his own keyboard.

Surat shrugged. "MPA's showing intrinsic luminosity below baseline but that doesn't make any sense. We haven't had any more swarm drops or seeding runs in months...everything's been right on schedule...unless Sunboost has pulled a quick one on us."

"Won't be the first time that's happened," Tromelin muttered. "Aren't they due to start Phase Four pretty soon?"

"Not for another week, according to the schedule I have. By now, luminosity's supposed to be up over one percent. Didn't Apollo Station just report the first measurable increase in neutrino flux lines?"

Tromelin shrugged, frowning at his board. "I think so. That plus the positron lines and gamma ray flux. The whole purpose of Sunboost is supposed to be improving the fusion process. If Sunwatch is right, if MPA's seeing something real, the reverse is happening. That can't be...check your instruments. Run diagnostics...a full set."

Surat did that. The results from the Main Pyrheliometer Array came back unchanged.

Somehow, some way, the intrinsic luminosity of the Sun had fallen off and the rate of decrease seemed to be accelerating.

"We'd better get Sunboost on the line right away," Tromelin decided.

The telecom spanned several hundred million kilometers in a three-way hookup: _Lagrange Sentry_ Observatory patched in with the Sunboost center at Caloris Basin, Mercury and Helios Station.

Kaoru Nakamura was the Caloris Basin chief of Sunboost operations. He was emphatic on the screen, as he scrolled through Helios' data.

"People, you're sure of these numbers? I mean, I know the data's good...but believe me, we've got no seeding runs or swarm drops going on."

_Lagrange Sentry_ , in high orbit around the Earth, was represented by a sleepy, rather morose Max Lane, the assistant Director-General.

"Any evidence of instrument failure? Have you corroborated with Apollo and Amun-Re Stations?"

Aditi Surat was emphatic. "There's nothing in the data. All stations are showing the same anomaly. We ran diagnostics until we were blue in the face. It's not the instruments. The data is real. The question is—"

"—what's causing this," completed Max Lane. The blond engineer was a borderline anomaly herself, IQ almost beyond measure, enhanced with too many uploads to count. She stared back at all of them like a mother hen about to corral her wayward chicks. "Can't be Sunboost, people. We thought through every scenario. Every seeding run has been simulated and examined from every possible angle. Every variable has been analyzed. The swarms we seed the Sun with accelerate the fusion process and make it more efficient. It's been proven too many times to be an issue here."

Tromelin sniffed. "As long as your nanobots work right, Director. Was bot failure ever simulated?"

Lane just shook her head. "More times than you can count, Carlos. The whole process is quad-redundant. There are fail-safes for the fail-safes. Error modes have been followed to the last detail and probabilities calculated to the level of one chance in a quintillion. I'm telling you that whatever your sensors think they're seeing, it's not Sunboost. Maybe that big ball of flaming gas is just throwing you guys a curve. Nature does that sometimes."

Nakamura wasn't quite so quick to dismiss the findings. "Helios' sensors are telling us something. Max, your own scenarios list all the indications we should be seeing: neutrino flux increases, gamma ray increases in the sectors you've doped, luminosity flares right after the seeding runs, magnetic field lines twisted a certain way...and we _have_ seen some of that. But I think we have to entertain the possibility that there's some kind of unexpected phenomenon going on with your bot swarms. Maybe a second or third-order effect you didn't calculate. Some kind of weird interaction, maybe."

Lane shook her head. "Not possible, I'm telling you. Sunboost is on schedule."

"Then what's causing this luminosity drop? It's way beyond anything we've ever seen. This can't be normal variation. Historical data doesn't show this...unless it's a really long-range cycle we've never seen before."

But Lane wasn't buying any of the explanations. "Natural variation, Kaoru. It can't be anything else. Our seeding bots are essentially foolproof."

Nakamura winced at that. When you were head of operations for something as big as Sunboost, you couldn't afford to ignore anything. Dealing with something as complicated as controlled seeding of the Sun to carefully raise its energy output required more than a little humility, something Max Lane didn't have. He took a deep breath.

"Okay, Max, I do appreciate your unbridled enthusiasm and optimism for the program, but we need to accept that the Sun's trying to tell us something. We need to suspend any further seeding runs and investigate this anomaly." To Surat and Tromelin, he went on. "I want Helios to fab and send out a small fleet of Sundiver probes into the Sun, just like we've done in the past. Program them to drop through the corona and into the convective zone, to take measurements and determine what's going on. Send at least three probes. Once we have data from Sundiver, we should have a better handle on what's going on."

Lane interjected, "Just be sure they don't interfere with my swarms. The seeding depends on controlled replication to a certain level. Anything that interferes with that..." she held up her hands, "it's out of my pay grade."

Nakamura added, "Keep Sundiver on a tight leash, Helios. But we need that data as soon as you can get it."

"Will do," Tromelin looked over at Surat. Their eyes met and both knew they wouldn't be getting much sleep for the next few days.

As directed, Helios Station fabricated, programmed and launched three Sundiver probes. The tiny craft departed the station on a descending trajectory that would take them deep into the convective zone of the Sun, blasting through its million-degree corona and dropping through the chromosphere and photosphere layers until they leveled off below two-hundred thousand kilometers, inside the three-thousand degree region of gas cells bigger than Earth, an inferno of seething, blazing turbulence where much of the visible light of the Sun was created.

As Sundiver data came streaming back, there were frowns and head shakes and dark mutterings aboard Helios Station, for what the data showed could no longer be so easily discounted as normal variation in solar output.

For reasons not yet fully understood, the Sun's fusion process had become measurably less efficient and her energy output was dropping—fast. Though no one was yet willing to point fingers at the Sunboost Project—an effort to cautiously expand the Sun's warmth deeper into the solar system, warming the growing horde of settlements around Mars, the Main Belt and Jupiter by doping and seeding the Sun with swarms of nanobots to boost the fusion reactions—there were more than a few comments across Solnet that somehow the seeding process had gone haywire and the nanobots were to blame.

Sundiver provided indirect evidence that at least some swarms of bots were no longer boosting the fusion process but actively banking it, interfering with the joining of hydrogen atoms to create a helium atom and giving off energy, neutrinos and gamma rays as a result, a process that had been going on for well over four billion years.

As the data flowed in to Sunboost centers at Caloris Basin, _Lagrange Sentry_ , Farside on the Moon and UNISPACE Headquarters in Paris, a swelling volume of rumblings could be heard that the nanobot configuration controllers had somehow failed. Instead of making the fusion more efficient, the bots were now busily engaged in obstructing the process and preventing the very reaction that was the engine of the Sun, destroying the hydrogen nuclei that the Sun needed to continue fusion.

When Sunboost was finally forced to admit that, yes, there were some anomalies in the seeding operation but that a fix was well understood, the simulations had been run and no show-stoppers found and soon, very soon, new seeding runs would be initiated and the Sun doped with corrective botswarms, there came a chorus of loud and vigorous opposition to any further fiddling with the mother star of the solar system.

By nearly unanimous consent in joint council at Copernicus City on the Moon, the Inner Federation (InFed) and the Concordance issued a stay injunction against Sunboost, forbidding the Commission from any further seeding operations until further notice.

The Sun now seemed to be on an accelerated aging track.

Accordingly, UNISPACE was forced to declare a Class 1 Emergency.

Chaos City

Europa

Solix 8.1.3155

Over a time span of two solices, an emergency contingency plan had been worked out through multiple sessions of the Concordance Ultrarchy. On paper, the plan was simple enough to explain. An extensive network of electrically conductive cable would be orbited around Saturn, in effect wrapping the planet in a vast electric motor. Wrap the planet in a spool of electric cable, pump current into it and speed up the rotation to once an hour. The Ringed Planet would unravel at the equator like a ball of thread.

That, at least, was the theory. Once the unspooling was underway, the stream of material would be siphoned off and sent in collimated streams off to Jupiter, to bulk up that planet. Concordance scientists and engineers believed that if enough material could be deposited onto Jupiter, the King of Planets could be 'ignited' to begin fusion and become a second sun.

Called Sol Secundas, the controversial plan had unknown and perhaps unknowable effects and was widely and firmly condemned by the hundreds of settlements in and around Jupiter space that would have to relocate.

But the possibility of the Sun declining and possibly going dark to a glowing ember or a white dwarf was seen as an existential threat and the Ultrarch of the Concordance overrode all objections to get the project started.

The famous architect and visionary developer of worlds Pieter Delano was offered the job of heading up the project, for it was felt that having such a well-known name at the head of Sol Secundas would quiet much of the concern over the feasibility of such an audacious undertaking.

After much discussion, cajoling, bribes and threats, Delano agreed to take the commission, viewing the project as his grandest effort to date, a legacy project that would leave a lasting name for future generations to revere and admire. Delano admired architects of the past, from the pyramid builders of ancient Egypt to his own illustrious ancestor Philippe Dugay, creator of the terreta concept, which enabled widespread settlement of the solar system, beginning initially in the 23rd century.

But as plans were being developed and scoopships assembled around Saturn to begin the Project, Delano received disconcerting news from a Concordance station in high Jupiter orbit, in fact on Europa. The news: Jupiter was in trouble too. It was shrinking, losing mass somehow.

Astronomical observations and atmospheric probes confirmed a suspicion: there seemed to be a sink or a wormhole at the core of the planet. Somehow, it was losing mass into this sink. How did the sink develop? Historical research on Jupiter's past revealed multiple episodes of this cyclic loss of mass occurring in recent centuries.

It all seemed to start around the year 2249 CE.

Delano had come to Chaos City at the invitation of the Sol Secundas Council to look over the latest data and make some hard decisions.

He never went anywhere without a critical architect's eye

Chaos City, located on and just below the ice surface of Europa's Connemara Chaos region, hadn't always been called Chaos City, though no one remembered or cared about the early history of the settlement.

He strolled across the main promenade of the Ice Plaza, the domed surface level of CC, as the city was known to the locals. Situated nearly dead center in the floor of a crater, the Plaza was the topmost level of a cylindrical structure buried in ice, some eleven levels deep, and anchored nearly four hundred meters below the surface. From orbit, CC appeared to be a winking eye set among the central peaks of a steep ravine. Inside the dome, with its spectacular views of Mount Rathmore to the west and Mount Prospect to the east, the funiculars arrowing off toward the peaks like spiderwebs, the shopping district known as the Blocks sloped down to the Galileo Fountains, and was jammed with throngs of gawkers and sightseers surging forward against the barriers toward the gaiety swirling about the Fountains and pool.

Delano wrinkled his nose. _Too much symmetry_ , he told himself. _No sense of texture. No sense of how to blend in with the environment._ He granted that the Europan surface was a harsh world, with hard radiation and shifting ice floes. But, still--

The Galileo Fountains were a sunken pit in the center of the Plaza. Stepped all around were the Blocks, the Voyager Terraces—meant, he supposed, to reflect the slopes of the ice mountains outside, though poorly executed—and a bevy of circular streets and paths, like Linea Street, that encoiled the Plaza like a snake squeezing its prey. East and West Observatories and scenic overlook platforms hung like chins below the attach points of the dome, right at the ice surface level outside.

_It just doesn't flow_ , Delano muttered, shaking his head as he meandered off the lifts and around the shores of Lake Dundee, looking for his contact from the Council. _Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication_...Delano smiled at da Vinci's words from fifteen hundred years ago. They tried too hard to reflect Europa's icy terrain in man-made shapes and forms. Better to have brought the ice itself inside the dome and build from that. That notion had long been one of Delano's key principles of design. Hadn't someone at Ganymede/Jove Designs said the same thing?

On Europa, there was only ice...to the naked eye. Ice cliffs and ice valleys. Ice ravines and ice canyons. Ice bergs, buttes, badlands. Ice continents. Above the ice was the vacuum of space. Below the ice was a vast ocean, black as night. Normally, the two didn't mix.

And in its current design, Chaos City would never fit in with the cracked billiard ball of a world that was Europa. It was just a blister on a once-pristine surface, an open wound that would never heal.

Delano was an outworlder native of CC and like any native, he had long had a love-hate relationship with his former home.

Shoving his way through thickening crowds gathering around the Fountains, he soon spied a pair of waving arms.

His contact. Kaiser Izmit V9, Prime Councilor of the Sol Secundas Council. Delano and Izmit closed the distance between them and embraced firmly below the baleful gaze of Galileo.

Izmit was bald, short, with a gnome-like, ghostly pale face, a face of soft, doughy features, except for a white pencil of a moustache (looking incongruous on an otherwise bland, almost featureless countenance). V9 meant Izmit had already completed his ninth upload, quite an accomplishment for the old buzzard.

"So glad you made it," Izmit beamed, holding Delano out at arm's length. "The Council's waiting down below. You had a good trip, I trust? You look fatigued. I heard you were moving down-sun. Tell me that's not true."

Delano shrugged, preferring not to elaborate on any rumors. "You know how it is. Heraklion Station to Callisto, then boost up here. I'll live." He spun around taking in the spectacle of the Ice Plaza. "I see nothing's changed around here."

Izmit chuckled. "What can I say? It's CC. Nothing changes without the Ultrarch's approval. And what do machines know of art and beauty anyway? Come, come...let's go down."

The two of them went to the lifts and descended into the bowels of the City, to Level 3. A few twists and turns through an unending labyrinth of corridors and gardens brought them to the Council chambers.

The chambers were vaguely oblong, with a longish oval table in the middle. The walls were a poor simulacrum of CC's ice valley outside, ice-textured, complete with funiculars creeping up and down their courses to the summits of Mount Rathmore and Mount Prospect.

A scattering of members gathered around the table. Most were present in the flesh, though several were avatars, piped in from places far away.

Izmit introduced Delano and greetings and pleasantries were exchanged.

"Pieter's here," Izmit went on, "to look at all our plans and schematics for the project. He's accepted the commission. The Ultrarch has—" here, Izmit waved at the blinking eye of a nearby terminal, the Ultrarch's terminal, scanning and studying everything done and said in chamber –"--approved his contract and we're meeting today to go over final details before we get started."

A beefy councilor named Bashir waved at Delano. "Maybe our guest would like to see the latest vid from Saturn. Just came in. _Brasilia's_ making another trial run tomorrow. By end of next week, we should have a tenth of the cable network laid down."

Delano sat himself down, availed himself of a drink from a servbot that trundled up. "I would like to see the run. I've been studying all the elements of the project since I accepted your commission. There are a few things I'd like to change—"

Bashir snorted. "A true architect...always fiddling. Here, watch this—" He pressed a button and instantly a 3-d globe materialized over the table and they were all cruising in the upper atmosphere of Saturn, as if the entire council chamber had been transported up-sun hundreds of millions of kilometers in a second....embedded in the small fleet of test ships....

The entire fleet had settled into orbit half a million kilometers above the cloud tops. By now, the planet filled nearly a third of the sky and hundreds of frothing spicules and cells of gas swept by beneath them. Faint partial arcs of the rings hovered over them like torn curtains. The speed of its rotation flattened Saturn at the poles and widened it to a bulge at the equator. Ferocious winds resulted and they smeared the columns of gas into all sorts of grotesque and beautiful shapes. Delano found himself transfixed by the ever-shifting palette of colors and shapes. He could well imagine the planet's visible face as a giant's palette, where Nature worked as the artist to create an ever-changing panorama of colors, forms and brush strokes.

The cableships set to work laying down the grid that would feed current directly into the conducting layers of the atmosphere. With their billowing shroud lines and enormous dirigible bags full of heated hydrogen, they were ungainly craft. Cablers were not without propulsion, but engines were almost worthless in the maelstroms of Saturn. Each one had a crush depth of five thousand kilometers below the topmost cloud layers and the tension in _Brasilia's_ command center increased to an unbearable silence as the ships found and settled into their cruising altitudes.

Jenkins, the pilot, rubbed his bald head and muttered, "This is going to be tricky. Any lower and those ships'll crumple like paper."

"I just hope the winds don't stress the pressure skin too greatly," his chief engineer replied. They looked at each other, saying nothing. Jenkins studied the monitors from each ship, finding the views much the same. He picked one and switched it to the big viewer behind them.

The cabler had reached its operating altitude and for the moment was cruising in the clear. Resolution wasn't sharp at this depth; instead of everything being bathed in a pale yellow-white, the dominant colors tended toward a deeper reddish-brown. There were no lazy twisting columns of gas here either. Winds were stronger, more directional. For several hours, they drifted through cataracts of blood-red, until the ship found its position.

Abruptly, the scene shifted to another view, looking aft. At first, nothing seemed different. The same sinuous filaments of clouds streamed behind, undulating tubes of red, brown, orange and scarlet. An occasional wispy patch floated by the imager. Then, something foreign inched its way into the picture, starting at the bottom.

It was the cable. Long, thin, copper-gold in the dim light, it snaked its way from the bottom of the picture slowly toward the center, whipping leisurely from one side to the other as it receded into the distance and was soon lost. To a casual observer, it seemed as though the imager had grown a tail and was dragging it across the cloudscape. The winds twisted the cable about and set up standing waves. Delano watched the oscillations carefully.

By the end of the third day, the operation was substantially complete. Minor mishaps had occurred, such as when a cabler had veered too close to a small cyclone and had been sucked into the vortex before the cable could be severed. The boiling oval of wind and ammonia rain had given the crew quite a thrilling ride before they managed to pull loose. Beyond that, the expedition had been fortunate. The trickiest part was over and no lives had been lost.

Bashir collapsed the vid and the globe twinkled into nothing and vanished.

Delano was impressed. People liked to see things grow, come to fruition. Whether a plant or a flower, a city or an atmosphere for the Moon, a new planet or even a failed continent like Athalonia back on Earth, people were always thrilled at the sight of something new being built. Man, the toolmaker, triumphs again, bringing order and beauty to an ignorant cosmos. It was a spiritual thing, this feeling, a sense of pride that men could still mold the elements to their wills. They felt it when fire was tamed, when the first huts were strung up—it was sheer ego. Men were vain. What they built with their tools were reflections of themselves. Tools were simply different kinds of arms, only now they were more powerful, now they could shape worlds. And there would come a time when they would make stars too.

Delano had a million questions. "Your prospectus indicates the technical side of the Project has been simulated many times. You have results?"

Bashir pointed to a screen set in the desk, right before Delano. "It's all there. All we've done is take what your ancestor, Philippe Dugay, did nine hundred years ago and improve on it. Unspooling is well understood. That's the easy part. Streaming material off Saturn, collimating it into a controlled stream and sending it off to bulk up Jupiter enough to ignite fusion, that's trickier."

Heads nodded and murmurs circled the chamber.

Over the next hour, point by technical point, Delano went over the details of the Sol Secundas project.

There were three phases:

Unspooling—unwrapping some of Saturn's atmosphere gases by the Dugay technique

Transfer – guiding the gases into collimated supply 'beams'; and focusing the beams to send the materials along a trajectory to Jupiter

Deposition – depositing the unspooled gases from the supply beams into the atmosphere of Jupiter.

Phase 1 required the laydown of the cable around the outer atmosphere of Saturn, whose atmosphere was 96% hydrogen and 3% helium. Once the cable was laid and electric current beamed in (from power plants in orbit), gases would begin to stream off. A fleet of scoopships would gather the initial stream of gases and ferry them to focusing stations in Saturn orbit. Here, the supply beams would be initiated and loaded with gases. Later, the unspooling would focus the removed gases directly onto supply streams with only minimal help from scoopships, whose main purpose was to 'prime' the supply beams.

Phase 2 involved the formation of a continuous belt, called a _supply beam_ or supply stream, leading from focusing stations in Saturn orbit, across trans-Jovian space and into high orbit around Jupiter. This effort would require dozens of focusing and controlling stations all along the trajectory. The process was complicated by the fact that source and target were independent worlds moving around the Sun at different speeds. Thus, the work of the focusing stations and their guidance systems would be ongoing. Also important was that the Phase 1 supply beams did not cross or interfere with normal commerce supply beams or passenger ships and cyclers plying the spacelanes between the two planets. Obviously, strictly controlled paths had to be maintained to avoid disaster. There would be dozens of such focusing and control stations.

Phase 3 involved receiving the supply beam of unspooled Saturnian gases, shaping and focusing the materials for deposit into the atmosphere of Jupiter and the actual seeding and laydown of said gases into Jupiter's atmosphere. This had to be carefully controlled and monitored, especially in its latter stages. The whole purpose of Phase 3 (and indeed the whole project) was to achieve stellar ignition...which was crucially dependent on mass, gravity and having the right conditions and proportions.

Nothing like this had ever been done before and Delano knew that Sol Secundas engineers and scientists had to understand intimately what happens during the birth of a star. Moreover, they must not make the same mistakes made in the SunBoost project.

There were several other considerations involved.

Human settlements around Jupiter and its moons had to relocate. They had to relocate far enough away from Jupiter to avoid being incinerated or irradiated when second sun went live and ignited. This was controversial and contentious and both InFed and the Concordance had their hands full solving this problem. There was a lot of sustained opposition...there had been numerous rallies and protests even in Chaos City lately. Delano had seen them.

Timing was crucial. Sol Secundas engineers had to have enough knowledge to know when to shut down their own stations and facilities and evacuate the area. The plan was to start a carefully controlled ignition nanobotically using swarms of boosterbots, which would take trace elements in the atmosphere, transmute them into hydrogen and helium and give Jupiter a final 'kick' toward Ignition. The engineers had to be able to control this process with exquisite timing.

Monitoring and observation of Second Sun was crucial in its early years, to determine if it was stable, if its internal fusion processes were working properly and if it would endure for a sufficient period of time to allow normal development and evolution of human communities to proceed, in the outer solar system. This would take years of observations and quite possibly some nanobotic boosterbot tweaking, which (after SunBoost), understandably made many people nervous. They asked: Can we initiate the process? Can we control the process? How well do we understand the process? To Delano's mind, these were all excellent questions. But with the first Sun clearly dying and seemingly not amenable to further modification (the solar boosterbots having escaped configuration control and mutating into something that didn't seem to be manageable), Sol Secundas had to succeed.

Most heliophysicists believed that First Sun, with its growing horde of boosterbots out of control, would eventually run out of hydrogen fuel, then it would expand to become a red giant, puff off its outer layers, and settle down as a compact white dwarf star, slowly cooling down for trillions of years. Clearly, the SunBoost Commission wished to alter this evolutionary path somewhat, by short-circuiting the red giant phase...otherwise much of the inner system would be destroyed.

Thus, Sol Secundas and SunBoost had complementary mandates: to bulk up Jupiter and ignite it into a second sun for Mankind and to manage the inevitable decline of first sun so that it didn't become a threat to Earth or the inner system. SunBoost had always been predominantly managed for and by InFed interests. Sol Secundas had a Concordance heritage. InFed and the Concordance would have to put aside their centuries-old differences and work together to keep Mankind from becoming extinct when its original star died.

This was proving even harder than igniting Jupiter into a second star.

Kaiser Izmit leveled an even gaze at Delano. "There's just one problem in all this."

"What kind of problem?"

Izmit cleared his throat, gestured for another vid to be racked up. A new spherical image formed in mid-air. "We can't explain this mass loss phenomenon we're seeing at Jupiter. There are dozens of theories...some kind of strange sink at the planet's core...maybe even a wormhole...."

Bashir interjected. "There are processes we don't understand. Until we get to the bottom of this problem, Sol Secundas can't begin. If Jupiter's losing mass through some kind of natural process we haven't seen before, any material we stream in from Saturn will just disappear, like water down a drain."

Izmit agreed. "Pieter, frankly our scientists are stumped."

Delano studied the data, graphs and imagery. "You're saying you can trace this mass loss back in time?"

"All the way to around 2249 or 2250, in the old time-keeping system."

Delano's face darkened visibly. The date had been burned into his memory for years. He sat down heavily in a nearby chair.

Izmit was concerned. "Pieter, you don't look so good. Are you ill? Can I get you anything?"

Delano waved it off. "Nothing. It's just that date. It's my family...we have long memories—"

Izmit's face was a question. Then: "Ah, I understand now. That was the year your ancestor—Philippe Dugay—began the Outer Ring project, wasn't it? The unspooling of Jupiter to gain material for another ring of settlements. Perhaps this is just a coincidence."

"I wish I could believe that. It's odd, isn't it, that you've been able to trace episodes of this mass loss all the way back to that time, and other times afterward. Let's just say the data makes me suspicious."

Bashir interjected. "What you're implying is nonsense. A logical fallacy. Dugay's project is _history_. It's already been done. Jupiter didn't lose that much mass anyway...it's well documented."

Delano just shook his head. "Yet your own data shows continuing episodes of mass loss. If the Outer Ring project is history, how can this be?"

Izmit shrugged. "Some other phenomenon. It has to be that."

Bashir had an idea. "Unless something has happened to the time line."

The councilors looked at each other for a long moment. Izmit cleared his throat, then said what others were thinking. "Maybe we'd better get someone from Time Guard in here to explain things."

Her name was Jump Lieutenant Evelyn Kasongo and she was an officer in the Concordance Time Guard. Kasongo was an ebony-black Cameroonian woman of striking beauty, with fierce warrior eyes and bristly conical hair, adorned by an ivory and bone hairpiece that rattled when she turned her head. Her black and gold uniform accented her black hair perfectly.

Kaiser Izmit explained what the Council had been discussing. "We believe the initial data on mass loss at Jupiter can be explained in historical terms, as a result of Dugay's unspooling of the upper Jovian atmosphere during the Outer Ring project."

Bashir added, "We are talking about the 2249-50 time frame, in the old time-keeping system."

Izmit went on. "However, our data shows continuing episodes of a cyclic mass loss. Our scientists think there's some kind of strange sink inside Jupiter—maybe even a mini-black hole—that is consuming material from within the planet. But Mr. Delano here believes something else."

Kasongo listened gravely to all sides, then thought for a moment. "It's not impossible that something has happened to the main time line. At the Academy, they taught us about Novikov waves. Weird stuff but apparently real."

Izmit shook his head. "Never heard of it."

Kasongo smiled faintly. "That doesn't surprise me. They're also called inconsistency waves, or sometimes causality wrinkles."

"How does that fit in?"

Kasongo warmed to her explanation. "The main cause of Novikov waves is a sudden, extreme mass loss. You all know that mass affects space-time directly, right? If what I'm hearing is correct, this Dugay character may have inadvertently set off Novikov waves when he was borrowing material from Jupiter's atmosphere."

"But how does that affect us? That unspooling occurred nine hundred years ago. It stopped nine hundred years ago."

Kasongo explained, "True enough, in one time line. But Novikov waves can carry causality information across time lines, literally across worldlines which branch off the main time line. That's why they're nicknamed inconsistency waves. In the main time line, this project was completed nine hundred years ago. But if causality information from that time line was impressed on a series of Novikov waves, the same information could be part of many, perhaps very many, other worldlines."

Delano saw her point. "And the project—the unspooling of Jupiter—could still be going on...in other time lines. Could that affect us, in this time?"

Kasongo shrugged and smiled. "In theory, no. Novikov himself wrote of closed timeline curves and how they gave some solutions to general relativity. But later modifications to his theory say such 'crossover' could only happen under extreme conditions."

Izmit seemed resigned. "Sol Secundas needs Jupiter. We need the planet to have a stable mass. If Jupiter's mass isn't stable, we'll never be able to stream enough material to achieve ignition."

Delano's face brightened. "Commander, is this repairable? Can these Novikov waves be stopped or blocked or diverted?"

Kasongo looked puzzled. She gave the question some thought, fiddling with one of her hairpieces. "In theory, the only way to do what you're suggesting is to jump the time stream, all the way back to the source, and stop the process there. If the original process could be stopped, the Novikov waves would cease to exist."

"And Jupiter would stop shrinking," said Bashir. "Sol Secundas could go forward."

Izmit said, "Commander, I know Time Guard does missions like this. If the Council approves, I'd like to request that such a mission be done."

Delano interjected, "Wait a minute, just hold on a minute. The process we're talking about stopping is Philippe Dugay's Outer Ring project...the original unspooling of Jupiter. I think I should be part of any such mission. He was my ancestor. He may need some—" Delano grasped for a word, --"—persuasion."

Izmit agreed. "Pieter may have a point. A family member, even from the distant future, might have more influence."

Kasongo held up a hand, her wrist bracelets clinking. "Whoa, whoa, slow down. There's a lot involved here. The Guard'll have to review what's possible, set up mission parameters, outfit a jumpship, measure worldlines and convergence angles, before any mission can be undertaken."

Izmit polled the Council. "I move that the Council put the idea of a mission to the time of the Outer Ring project, to stop or alter the events of that time, before the Ultrarch immediately. Sol Secundas can't go forward while Jupiter's losing mass like this. If what Philippe Dugay did in 2249 has somehow caused this, it's got to be stopped. Otherwise, we'll never be able to bulk up Jupiter, ignite it and create a second sun. All in favor--?"

There were no dissenting voices. Izmit's motion was approved. Later that day, Izmit himself submitted the proposal to the Ultrarch.

Most of Izmit's career had been spent in service to the Ultrarchy; he was in every way a career bureaucrat. These jobs ranged from financial planning in the Finance Module, to trade negotiator and enforcer in the Trade and Industry Module and just before Sol Secundas, chief data analytic, Science and Research Module, working directly for the Master Core at Chaos City. His work had always been considered exemplary, as were his social credit scores and personal behavior matrices (all the boxes were checked off) and thus he was well known to the Ultrarch (ranked as a Class I, Carbon-based functionary and proud of it). The governing AI considered Kaiser Izmit a perfect public 'face' for Sol Secundas, able to convey the wishes and commands of the Ultrarch regarding Second Sun to all its many audiences, stakeholders and constituencies.

The Master Core was the heart of the Ultrarchy and was physically located in an ice cavern beneath Chaos City, Europa. There were thousands of modules and sub-modules under the Master Core. Every community that considered itself part of the Concordance hosted a Master Core terminal which was the link back to the Master Core at Chaos City. Given the distances that signals had to travel across Concordance space, decisions and commands sometimes took several hours. The Master Core network served as the 'government' of the Concordance, but in reality, many decisions were made locally and the farther a community was from Europa, the lighter the yoke of the Ultrarch. The local Terminal supported all the repeaters, switches, hubs, bridges and routers that comprised the Ultrarchy infrastructure at that location.

All officials, technicians, programmers and others who served the Master Core and carried out its edicts and directives (they were generally referred to as _servers_ ) were implanted with a _halo_ (or _neurolific_ ), a neural implant that linked them with the Terminal and ultimately, with the Master Core itself. It was not quite a collective or hive mind, but a real network through which the Ultrarch exercised command and control over many aspects of the lives of Concordance citizens and residents.

After crunching all the data, from Helios Station and its Sundiver probes, from stations orbiting Jupiter measuring its accelerating mass loss, from operational and planning data that Time Guard posted, the Ultrarch made its decision.

A two-person time jump was authorized to be made in a Time Guard jumpship. The crew would consist of Jump Lieutenant Evelyn Kasongo and Pieter Delano. The target time frame was 2249 CE, solix 2.1.2249...February 1 of that year.

Mission parameters were evaluated and analyzed and ultimately reduced to one: stop Philippe Dugay's unspooling of Jupiter, originally designed to support the Inner Federation's Outer Ring Project.

Pieter Delano had never been aboard a jumpship before. From outside, jumpship _Gemini_ resembled a fat, slightly shortened watermelon, with stubby wings and control surfaces spotted around its bulbous hull.

"Flowvaters," Kasongo explained. She helped Delano into the tiny ship. "Allows me to adjust our jump when we're in the time stream."

Under her direction, Delano strapped himself in. "What is this going to feel like, jumping down a time stream?"

Kasongo chuckled lightly. "Like the craziest carnival ride you ever took. Just don't touch anything. Leave the piloting to me...and ISAAC."

"ISAAC?"

"Ship's main controller and computer. All set?"

Delano closed his eyes, forcing his fists to unclench and relax. _Maybe I should have just written a memo_ , he told himself quietly. _Architects should be at their design screens, not flitting around space-time like deranged clowns._ "All set."

After a few final details, Kasongo pronounced everything in readiness.

When ISAAC reported the ship ready at launch commit, Kasongo took a deep breath, flexing her fingers like a pianist. Delano saw the gesture out of the corner of his eyes and just shook his head. _This is truly insane!_

Kasongo strapped in and checked her board. All green, all copacetic and no flags. Perched on Time Guard's jump pedestal on a small icy plateau several kilometers away from Chaos City, _Gemini_ had been powered up several hours before, her MHD power plant ticking over, humming, now sending a slight shudder through her hull. Overhead, Delano caught a glimpse of the swollen belly of Jupiter filling half the sky, her banded stripes seething and snarling at him from millions of kilometers away.

"Ready all systems...stand by for final check and all-call."

One by one, ISAAC reported system status calls back.

"Ready, TT1."

"Search is go!"

"DPS...yo and go!"

"Propulsors on line...ease her forward one quarter, ISAAC."

_Gemini_ lurched as her MHD jets opened up to one-quarter throttle and she came about, to sniff along the path ISAAC had already laid in, a path defined only by the faintest ripples in spacetime.

"Answering one-quarter, handling nicely, ISAAC. Feels like we're fighting cross-currents."

The ship's AI answered back. _"I have all sensors tuned to the exact frequency of vacuum field fluctuations, Lieutenant. On course now. We are centered in the cylinder of displacement to within twelve point five zepto-arcseconds of nominal course. Adjusting now...."_

Kasongo just shook her head. "This is like driving an icecat off a cliff."

The voidtime boundary came up much faster than she expected.

"I'm opening up the throttle now," Kasongo said. "Increasing to redline. Hang on and buckle up!"

_Gemini_ shuddered slightly, as her power plant stroked higher and she nosed into the outer edge effects of the voidtime channel.

Just then, _Gemini_ lurched one last time in the growing turbulence and punched straight through the barrier, straight out of voidtime into...where?

In an instant, they were yanked out of voidtime, spinning, yawing, and rolling like a top. For Delano, the first impulse seemed insane, like being shaken to death in some dog's mouth...or maybe it was the ship itself that seemed to be coming apart. It was hard to tell. Now they were both whirling and spinning, dizzy, round and round, he could feel the force of the spin against his head, pressing, crushing him....

He had a fleeting glimpse of Kasongo—he thought it was the Lieutenant, he couldn't really tell and he nearly vomited at the sight. It was all wrong...the image was wrong and his mind refused to accept it—there was Kasongo, with two heads, now three, now four, now eight heads, popping out of her shoulders like geraniums in a fast motion video, Evelyn Kasongo with her head missing, distorted in a cracked mirror, and he closed his eyes, couldn't look at it anymore— It was all wrong...the image was wrong and his mind refused to accept it, even though he had been told to expect such things in the briefing.

... and then it came. An image of geometric forms—icosahedrons, polygons, trapezoids—all compressed into that same tunnel, a long curving corridor and he found himself hurtling at breakneck speed down this corridor, until—

They were in. Somewhere in time stream T-001.

And _Gemini_ found herself caught in the backwash of worldlines unraveling like threads off a spool.
Chapter 2

_Patagonia_ (Philippe Dugay's terreta)

In Heliocentric Orbit around the Sun

January 2, 2249 EUT (Earth Universal Time) (nine hundred years earlier)

He brought the palomino to a skidding halt on the stone of the Mansion's courtyard and left it in the hands of a faceless cybermate. The gallop across the plains of his estate had left him exhilarated and breathless. Philippe Dugay enjoyed the classes he taught at the Institute ( _my Institute_ , he told himself— _they come from all over the System_ ) and sometimes wondered how things would have turned out had he taken such training. Pointless fantasy; his glory days were behind him and he knew it.

Dugay wandered inside, through the rotunda of the house. He'd modeled it on a Florentine _palazzo_ , with apologies to Brunelleschi. A marvelous copy, too, but he'd come to despise it. He despised a lot these days; ten years' time had dulled him to the beauty of the place. If he had another chance—but what was the point? Architects were born to create and for the last decade, he had managed to create only misery for himself.

A female cybermate popped out of nowhere and handed him his usual stiff of gin. He started to tipple, then stopped. The mate hadn't droned off on another chore, like she was programmed to. A raised eyebrow got him an answer.

"You have a visitor, Monsieur Dugay," she said, in an overly lush, recorded Parisian lilt.

"Where, dear?"

"Your penthouse study. That's where you always go after your bath and rubdown."

Was that a smirk he detected? "I'll pass on the lust and depravity for now. Who is it?"

The cybermate replied coldly, "His name is Octavio Patron."

Dugay was already half into the lift when the name stopped him. "Octavio Patron? _The_ Patron? Hmmm." He waved the mate off and took the lift up to his study.

It was Octavio all right, never a doubt about that. Patron ran the asteroid metropolis of _Zanzibar_ , one of the most popular vegas attractions in the entire System, with every diversion and sin an ore driver or scoop pilot could want. The bald orb had already made himself comfortable, so Dugay dispensed with formalities.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Wickedly," Patron replied. He cocked his head and squinted as Dugay found a seat behind his desk. "Quite a cottage you've got here. They don't make terretas like this anymore."

"Never did," said Dugay. "It's an original."

"Along with a few thousand others. How'd you happen on the name terreta anyway?"

"'Small Earth.' We light up the night with orbiting mirrors and they call those _solettas_ or _lunettas_. So—terretas. A city in a bottle. Clever, no?"

"Clever, yes. Terretas made the Inner Ring possible. Civilization in space without them? Fah, who could imagine it? No room for luxuries in a makeshift fuel tank, which is what my great-grandfather called home out there. You opened space to the masses, Dugay. Every time they turn out another terreta, it's got your name on it."

"Along with Shepard and Kangyo's. So, how's business?"

Patron smiled as Dugay polished off the drink and poured them both another. "Booming. You ought to pay a visit. I hear you never leave this place anymore."

Dugay handed him a goblet. You had to be wary of Patron. The man was wired like a machine and spent hours plugged into _Zanzibar_ through implanted tabs. The tales had it that he was so sensitive to the subtle electrical fields of that city that he could pick up the micro-currents of another man's nervous system and decipher his impulses before they ever reached his brain.

"I live in the past," he admitted. "I've done enough for one man. Besides, there's the Institute. The kids'll take terraforming farther than ever." He hoped that sounded sincere enough.

"They'll have to go some to beat your act. Giving the moon an atmosphere was quite a stunt."

"It was no stunt," said Dugay. "Within a year after I'd crossed Tranquility in a sailboat, Selenopolis had doubled in population and the Amber Shores resort was almost finished. I turned the Moon into real estate."

Patron tried to smother a smile at the success of his own tactic. "And Venus. Mars. Delambre too. All the terretas. Any one of them would make you a name to reckon with in this pantheon of greats, right up there with Wren, Sullivan, Wright, Le Corbusier."

"All right, so I like to be flattered."

Patron turned serious for a moment. "I can do more than that, Philippe. I need you and I'm offering the biggest commission you've ever heard of."

"A commission? Now?" Dugay forced a laugh that wasn't as contemptuous as he intended. "I've been out of circulation for ten years. Techniques have changed. Styles are different."

"You run an academy for the terraforming arts. And who says genius is ever obsolete? Your name and reputation are powerful magic anywhere in the System. Just listen for a minute."

"I'm all ears."

"I'm a sunpower man, pure and simple. My business is ninety per cent the _Sunpower Group_ and their families. Now, I'm into asteroids. With InFed and the Concordance states competing against each other, it won't be long before all the asteroids are picked clean. We're running into limits but there's still a lot of momentum behind our expansion. That kind of squeeze makes things expensive, so we have to look outward."

"The gas giants."

"Exactly. The biggest terraforming project there is. I've got the backing of a lot of investors from Canto del Aria to Rock City. We're going after the big worlds. And we want you in charge."

"What have you got in mind?"

Patron didn't blink. "Dismantling Jupiter."

"And?"

"And constructing another Ring of terretas, just beyond the Belt. An Outer Ring, financed by this consortium I've put together. With ready-made worlds of your design, the Ring would attract hordes of new settlers."

Dugay took a deep breath. "You got any idea how long it would take to dismantle Jupiter?"

"Eight years, one hundred and ten days and a handful of hours, by my calculations. Wrap the planet in a spool of electric cable, pump current into it and speed up the rotation to once an hour. The King of Planets would unravel at the equator like a ball of thread."

"It's an intriguing plan," said Dugay. "I'm highly impressed. I'm also old and tired, with too many responsibilities." He flinched reaching for his gin. "I can't even go a day without a massage. What about my students?"

"Bring 'em with you. They couldn't have a better education."

"I don't know—"

"Think of it this way: everywhere you go around InFed, Philippe, you see nothing but structures you've designed and built. Monuments with your name on them. Isn't that discouraging? Out beyond the Belt is virgin space, unbuilt, just waiting for the distinctive imprint of a genius. You could be that genius. Unless you're afraid of the challenge."

Dugay stiffened at that. "I'm not in the habit of refusing commissions. What if I asked for enough material to construct a small planet of my own, purely for aesthetic purposes?"

"Done," said Patron. "Whatever you want. I was able to attract so many investors because I offered them Philippe Dugay. Don't make me swallow my promises. Do we have an agreement?"

There was a brief knock on the door and it burst open before Dugay could open his mouth. Jean Dugay walked in, heedless of his father's privacy and, seeing Patron, introduced himself. He was a lanky fellow, _like his mother Semarilyn, poor dear_ , with a shock of dark brown hair and the haughty face of a Dugay. _My prize pupil,_ Dugay thought. _But no favorites in the classroom, not in the Dugay Institute for Terraforming Arts. A steady hand molds the talent._

"Jean, we _were_ having a conversation."

"I know, Father, but there's news you should hear. Kate Lind is making another tour of InFed and she's stopping here at Patagonia tomorrow. I thought you'd like to know."

"Kate? Coming here?" Dugay glanced at Patron, who wore a frown. How many years had it been?

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Jean asked. "She's making a special trip."

Patron snorted. "I'm thrilled to death. That woman's got more tentacles than a jellyfish. And a sting to match."

"She's not coming to see you," Jean said.

"Just as—"

"Never mind that," Dugay interrupted. He lurched up out of his seat and draped an arm around Jean's shoulder. "Go down to the commissary and tell Helga to think up something original. Kate likes seafood, as I recall; maybe a sole _Venus_."

Jean left and Patron muttered, "The Linds aren't worth flattering. Give her a fillet of barnacle."

"The Dugays and the Linds go back two hundred years," said Dugay. "We have this little sport of trying to outdo each other. Harmless displays of extravagance."

"The arrogance of power. You know Katerine Lind well?"

Dugay nodded ruefully. "A little too well. I still remember the silly games we played at Balmoral. She always chased me at jet-tag. I guess nothing ever changes."

"This commission is yours," said Patron. "We won't consider anyone else."

Dugay stopped beside the desk and picked up a scale model of Patagonia. He turned the cylinder end for end, admiring the proportions. "Kate's coming back," he said, almost to himself. _And one love is enough_. He thought of the Institute and what it meant to him. Fifty years of work, reshaping the Solar System and now a brood of bright-eyed kids, absorbing every word like a biblical truth. _Lord, don't the memories cling_? She still had the power to shatter a lifetime of atonement. How else do you bury the faces a terraformer's mistake can conjure? "No," he said, a little more forcefully than he wanted. "I'll make a decision in a few days."

Patron didn't like it. He'd seen what Jean's words had done. "Influence like that is a poison. You won't reconsider and say yes now?"

Dugay shook his head. "I need time."

Patron rose to leave. "Brother, you need more than that. Take a trip to the Belt, if you like. Ask around. Get away from that all-seeing eye of the Linds. You're welcome to anything _Zanzibar_ has to offer."

"Thanks." They shook hands and Dugay escorted Patron down to the front terrace of the Mansion. "I may do that. If I can."

"You can," said Patron. "And my offer stands. You're needed out there, Philippe. Your vision's worth all the ore in the Belt any day. Don't live in the past. You've still got some genius left in that old body and you're the only custodian that matters. Save the goods for the right customer and give me a call when you're ready, okay?"

"Promise," said Dugay. He thanked Patron for a few kind lies and saw him away in the flyer. The machine sped for _Patagonia's_ port and was only a black dot when he went back inside.

Maybe it was time to make a little call. Dugay went to his office.

The trouble was that everything had been done. For ten years, Dugay had lived in seclusion at _Patagonia_ , content to believe his reputation was secure, hoping that History would judge his errors kindly. What the public didn't know was that his own conscience wasn't so sympathetic.

Strict ordinances forbade new buildings on Earth. With the advent of biological architecture, cultivating structures like plants, new buildings were not only unnecessary, they were a menace. There were no architects on Earth anymore, only gardeners.

The inner planets had long since been terraformed into habitable worlds for Man and already the settlements there had passed immigration laws, less than half a century after the first real estate agents had swooped in and made teeming suburbs out of his work.

Even the Moon was settled now and Dugay took great pride in that achievement. It was so simple an idea that people laughed when it was explained to them, even today. Bake out the oxygen in the soil for a few years with a couple dozen solar concentrators to get the atmosphere and then slam a few iceberg asteroids into it to provide some volatiles—carbon, nitrogen, water and the like. The design was easy. The execution wasn't but then you never could get decent help. He had managed anyway and then sailed the lunar seas for promotion.

Even that had grown old after a while. Living space was soon at a premium so he had collaborated with several other designers—Kurt Klamath being the most notable-- to create a mass-producible artificial habitat, the most ubiquitous architectural form of the modern era. Terretas they were called—a stunning example of simple utility that rivaled the Pyramids, the cathedrals and the skyscrapers in the impact it had. For a while, that took the pressure off, as Man's numbers swelled to fill the new worlds.

Expanding population, competition for the rich lodes of the Asteroid Belt, shipping monopolies, it all added up to one thing, one inevitable result where men were concerned. Dugay's father had gained fame as a diplomat in the Ice Wars and maybe he should be thankful for that. Fame was a sort of power. Yet the resulting cleavage of the inhabited System into two grand bickering alliances, plus a few score stragglers, was not something to be proud of. Dugay knew his father had dreamed of uniting all solar space someday but it was only a dream. The Dugays were good at that.

Now there were two, the Inner Federation and the Concordance. For his efforts, the elder Dugay had been awarded a high position in the government of InFed and money sufficient to build the family estate, the terreta _Patagonia_. Here, he had raised Philippe and taught him the value of ambition. His mother, Janice Holberg, dead now almost sixty years from the time of the sabotage-disaster of the _Olympian Empress,_ had taught him the value of beauty. Ever since, he had fought skirmishes with his own nature, split as it was between the ancient Gallic arrogance of his father and the pragmatism of his mother. All his life, Philippe had served three masters: France, America and himself.

After the lunar atmosphere and the terretas, came the grandest project at all, the chance every architect dreamed of.

InFed wanted a capital city. They were in competition with the cities of the Concordance, not only for resources but for prestige. At stake were the outer planets—Jupiter to Pluto—and the iceballs further out, and the infinity of wealth each of these giants represented. Hydrogen, helium, carbon, silicon and aluminum, enough to power civilization for centuries.

It was to be a grand city, worthy of the magnificent capitals of the past. Money was no object and time was plentiful. What was lacking was imagination, the inspiration to do something never done before. They called on Philippe Dugay.

It was finished in twenty-two years and was known as Delambre. It was almost beyond description, not because it was beautiful—some called it an abomination—but because of its scale. A small planetary core was fused from fragments scooped in the Belt. The worldlet supported a grid of smaller fused cores, connected by cylinders, sprouting globes, spinning wheels and cones, every imaginable geometric shape was employed at least once and the eye could not encompass it all, even at a considerable distance. It stretched five thousand kilometers in any direction and was home to thirty million people. At a quarter million kilometers away, it resembled an unearthly spider web.

The acclaim that followed hadn't been seen in generations. Not since Wren had rebuilt London after the Great Fire of 1666 and Sullivan had transformed Chicago with the first skyscraper, had one man put his imprint so firmly on a single city.

The name Dugay came to rival that of Lind and Patron, the solar-power families who had dominated inner System commerce for two centuries. The words were spoken with equal reverence in the Chamber of Deputies at Delambre. Philippe was granted privileges of council, even though he was not a member. And his private terreta, _Patagonia_ , was redone into the kind of home from which legends were made.

But it was not enough. No one had granted him the ability to forget. All the acclaim in the System couldn't erase the memory of his very first commission and Kate Lind knew that. It was a memory called Athalonia.

Arthur Lind had given him the idea and the money. It was the sort of plan men of great wealth thought up—bold, extravagant, symbolic, foolish and a hundred other things. Nothing like it had ever been done or even attempted before. But he'd accepted because you didn't refuse a man like Lind. Not when you were fresh out of design school and eager for a place in the history of man usually reserved for saints, saviors and empire-builders.

Lind invited him to the family estate in the terreta Balmoral and showed him a map of Earth. He pointed to the Atlantic Ocean.

"See that gap there between Europe and the Americas?" he asked. "That's where Plato put Atlantis. The trouble with Earth is that every continent's already accounted for, politically affiliated. They need a new continent down there, a place where misfits and malcontents can roam without laws. A place like no other—tropical, prairie, mountains, everything a pioneer could want. I want to make a gift to the groundlanders, for letting me sell them the Sun." He took Dugay by the shoulder. "Your father Raymonde's a good man, so I know you can do it, Philippe. Build me a new continent, right there in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

Why not?

How it came to be called Athalonia, Dugay could not recall. Every other continent save one began with an A. But no matter. He had a chance to make his mark and, with Lind backing, quite a mark it would be. A passport to history.

All you had to do was juice up the mid-Atlantic rift. The open seam that split the ocean basin was always bubbling up new matter from deep inside the Earth's crust. Ready-made building materials. He studied tectonics, volcanology and geomorphology and went to work.

But the problem was that no one really understood how the rift worked. The floor of the ocean kept spreading apart but the mechanism wasn't fully understood. This didn't overly bother Dugay; it was enough that it worked at all.

Then disaster struck. Athalonia was an intruder, built up too quickly for the ocean to compensate. By the time the first scattered island peaks had emerged south of the Azores, floods and tidal waves had wrecked America's East Coast, from Maine to Miami. For months, hundreds, then thousands died as a new archipelago appeared where once the Sargasso Sea had been. Havoc spread around the Atlantic basin. London and Lisbon, Rio and Lagos, every coastal city was hit and devastated. Governments fell and anger swelled. Commissions were formed to investigate and when it was learned that Arthur Lind was behind the idea, the fury couldn't be contained. How, the people asked, could something like this be permitted, when no one knew just how the rift worked? They screamed for a scapegoat.

That's when Philippe Dugay left Earth for good, disguised as a French immigrant to the Inner Federation.

Arthur Lind wasn't a vindictive man, just puzzled. People were such ingrates; they never understood why men of wealth gave gifts. He was magnanimous too, sympathetic to Dugay's plight.

"Not to worry, old chum. You'll be safe from the mobs. I've seen to it that another man, a fellow named Preston Sawyer, takes the blame. No one will ever know you were associated with Athalonia."

Dugay was both relieved and ashamed. "That isn't really fair. I just want to explain some things—"

"Tut, tut. I'll hear no more of it. We can't have Dugays locked up like criminals, now can we? What would your father think of me? No, Arthur Lind is a generous man. We'll save your reputation for something else. You're young, plenty of time to make your own blunders."

He met Katerine shortly thereafter.

It took years for the furor over Athalonia to die down. Dugay spent them hiding at Balmoral, brooding. Long walks through the estate's re-created historical scenes could not take his mind off the disaster. Even a few days spent as Lord Wellington in the Waterloo memory drama didn't help. He made occasional trips back to _Patagonia_ , once for the sad duty of burying his father. But for the most part, he thought it wiser to conceal himself in the vast bosom of the Lind empire, at least until he was sure it was safe.

Katerine was a small woman, of alabaster skin, almost delicate, with remarkable bearing for her young age. She seemed frail and vulnerable at times, but Dugay soon found out differently. She was outwardly a woman and, though she would take it as a compliment, she was that in name only. As a child of the Lind name, she was purely a creature of power, naturally at ease in the center of the webs of intrigue her family had been spinning since the first sunsat beamed its microwaves at the Earth two centuries ago.

Kate wasn't a spoiled child, not in the usual sense of too much love or attention. Dugay learned quickly enough the kind of upbringing she would have: exhausting years at the family college, Lindhall, at Balmoral; long years as the manager of a lonely solsat inside Mercury's orbit, when the Inner Grid was being established. She had learned about men there. When she returned to Balmoral after Arthur Lind's fatal airpolo accident, she wasn't the same person Dugay had first known. She was hardened, toughened, cynical and ruthless. Very much in the Lind tradition. She had clawed her way to the Delambrian Plutarchy in no time.

She developed an intense fascination for Dugay. She admired ambition and because he was built of ambition and pride and a thirst for adventure, she indulged him. By the time of her own mother's death, Kate had been effectively running Balmoral for years. The huge Lind combine was her toy and she used it to finance every dream Philippe could think of. She enjoyed his success and as the Dugay star climbed in the firmament, she basked in the light of his fame.

At first, Dugay was cautious in her company. She was the oldest of the surviving Linds and she alone knew the truth about Athalonia. He was careful to avoid the subject, though guilt wracked him relentlessly, and Kate seldom brought it up. She was by turns affectionate and cunning, sensitive and cold. He respected her at first, wary of the power she had over him, the weapon she wielded by her knowledge. But she did nothing, seemingly content to nourish his career with transfusions of Lind money.

Making up for Athalonia became the most important thing in his life. He accepted her designs on him because the commissions she offered made it possible. Each project was grander than the last, another brick in the wall he tried to build around his own memory. He founded an institute of terraforming arts, to give back what he'd learned and ensure that the professions would be free of charlatans; mistakes were too costly with whole worlds at stake. The institute became a passion as Dugay labored to perfect the field he had nearly destroyed.

He and Kate lived together at Balmoral until Delambre was finished. By normal standards, it wasn't love that kept them together. It started as respect, then slowly graduated to fond courtesy, with occasional excursions into admiration and sympathy and once, fleetingly, a frightening descent into tenderness. But never love.

They sometimes shared a bed but it was more common for them to live apart, sometimes in different mansions, since Balmoral had seven. Kate insisted on it, saying that she liked to imagine she was seeing him for the first time, every morning, when they often strolled through the lush foliage of the terreta's garden districts. When the demands of the Plutarchy became too great and required her to spend weeks on end away from Balmoral, he began to miss her and felt silly when he realized it.

Feeling neglected, he eventually returned to _Patagonia_.

Years passed before she paid a visit and even then, it was some official excursion through InFed that brought her. They never kissed at these infrequent reunions. Just a smile, a cocked head, a few words. The intimacy of conspirators, Dugay imagined it. When she was away and silent, he drifted on a sea of anxiety, never knowing for sure what she was up to. When she was around Patagonia, it was different, the weapon was sheathed. He never knew whether he had liked her because he had to or because he wanted to.

But time has a way of wasting people and distance wore thin the feelings that once existed. Dugay knew that he had been used by the Linds. A simple rule had governed his career: work for the Linds, build whatever they ask and in return, get lifelong immunity from the jaws of Athalonia. A fair exchange, Kate had termed it. Your talent for our silence. _Quid pro quo_. In the comfortable and familiar luxuries of _Patagonia_ , he had learned to hate himself.

The liaison with Kate had finally lapsed into dust and Dugay spent a decade in seclusion, steeped in all the honor and adulation an amazed solar system would bestow. The name was legend and eager students flocked to DITA to stare agog and soak up the wisdom of the man who had suburbanized space. He married, had a son, lost a wife, and almost managed to forget that out there beyond _Patagonia's_ well-tended fields of wheat and grass and poppies, lurked another name.

Almost.

Dugay had told Patron that many in the Concordance and elsewhere would object to dismantling the largest planet for a new development. Patron dismissed that as brainless nativist talk.

"You can't stop progress...especially when I'm funding it. Think of your legacy. Think of an Outer Ring, built from what was once Jupiter, as a monument to your greatness."

Ego thus properly massaged, Dugay knew he couldn't say no. When Patron offered to take Dugay on an exploratory trip inside Jupiter's high atmosphere to witness a pilot streaming operation, Dugay agreed. Then he hated himself for that.

Patron left and Dugay spent the next few days getting his affairs in order for the lengthy trip. Patron had promised to send his personal cruiser _Bolivar_ by in about two weeks.

In that time, Dugay reviewed the details of the Patron proposal, fought with his headstrong son over their legacy and studied the InFed contract.

Sometimes he even went to the holovid and visited architects of the past.
Chapter 3

Aboard _Cable Five_

Inside the upper atmosphere of Jupiter

Jovian Longitude 118 degrees, Latitude 65 degrees

February 1, 2249 EUT

Onboard _Cable Five_ , ship commander Oscar Iquitos had spent days overseeing the early phases of the project. Days plying the upper atmosphere of Jupiter to unravel a stream of material from Jupiter's atmosphere and guiding it to receiver ships in higher orbit, where the materials would be transmuted, mined and prepped for re-direction to a new habitat development further out, orbiting between Jupiter and Saturn. The transmuted materials would become structural elements for a new cluster of _terretas_ to be called the Outer Ring.

Iquitos studied the schedule he had to meet and sniffed. To no one in particular, he muttered, "The trouble with architects is they never get out in the field. It's one thing to say 'build this,' and hand me the plans. It's another thing altogether to actually have to build the damned thing."

Iquitos' musings were interrupted by his chief engineer Morales.

"Cable at max deployment, Commander. Sixteen kilometers."

Iquitos studied the monitors, watching the long thin copper gold line snaking and undulating aft of _Cable Five_ until it disappeared off into the ammonia fog that surrounded them _._ He became increasingly concerned with the standing waves rolling up and down the cable as winds twisted and corkscrewed the line.

"Better increase tension, Marco and see if we can dampen those oscillations."

Morales gritted his teeth, his fingers playing over a keyboard. Green and red lights winked and flashed. Cautions and warnings popped up, were cleared, then replaced by others.

"This wind's a bitch. It's tricky, gusting and blowing from every direction. I was really worried when we went through that methane layer. There were ice crystals on the cable, really tugging at the anchors."

Iquitos sucked in his lips. "This place is not for sissies, Marco, that's for sure." He went over to another panel, put a hand on Francesca's shoulders. "That storm front still ahead of us?"

Francesca shrugged, twirled strands of her auburn hair in one hand while massaging the weatherscope with the other.

"Just off to starboard, say about twenty kilometers. We may just skirt it but I'm worried about the lightning. The polarity of that water layer's enough to light off some pretty big bolts."

Iquitos nodded, checked his laydown map again. "I've got to stay between these cloud decks, Frannie. That's what the book says. Ammonium hydrosulfide is still the best conductor in these belts. If we don't get sucked into one of those zonal jets, then—"

Iquitos' words were cut off as a ferocious gust slammed _Cable Five_ sideways, the ship weathervaning into the fierce gust as her stabilizers tried to counteract the force of the wind and trim out any oscillations. A second later, a terrific screech—something metal being tortured-- sounded through the hull and the cabin jerked sideways and down.

Morales' stomach went up into his mouth. "Cable mount, Commander! She just gave way!"

"Which one?"

"Portside aft, number two. Anchor's pulled clean out. If we don't get it back—"

Iquitos waved them all silent, slung himself back into his seat and fought the controls for a few seconds, trying to keep them from yawing too far. "I know, _I know_! _Jesu Cristo--!_ I can't bring her around! Too much force on the remaining anchors...she's pulling right—"

Morales was already scrambling out of his seat, heading aft down the gangway. "Got to get that cable re-anchored—"

"Marco! Marco, don't be stupid...you can't go out there in this!"

But the engineer had already disappeared. Down on F deck, _Cable Five_ had its own airlock, with assorted tools, pressure suits, maneuvering packs. Before Iquitos could get there, Morales had already cycled outside, attached by tether to keep from being blown off by five-hundred kilometer an hour wind gusts.

Angrily, Iquitos retreated to the command deck.

On the external monitors, they could all see Morales inching his way aft, buffeted and whipped by gusts, clinging for dear life, toward the buckled anchor mount.

His voice crackled with static on the comm.

"...think...see what caused the break..."

Iquitos got on the comm. "Make sure your tether's secure, Marco."

"It's double-locked."

Francesca was able to clean up the signal and Morales' voice became much clearer.

Iquitos strained to see through the ammonia sleet and fog. "Is it fixable?"

Lightning flashed and Morales' voice became garbage for a moment. " _Skreeeeahh_...-thing back further aft—"

"Marco, you're breaking up. Say again."

"I said, there's something further aft...I can just barely see it...I'm headed that way, if the tether will let me—"

For a few long moments, they all saw the engineer gingerly winching himself down the length of the tether. A large dark mass materialized in the gloom.

"It's some kind of capsule...like a craft. Egg-shaped, maybe five or six meters long, four to five across...it tangled up in the cable...I think I can reach it—"

Morales worked his way further down the tether, timing his movements to the gusts that slammed the ship, working hurriedly against increasing oscillations of the cable itself.

Iquitos and Francesca studied the monitors carefully, trying to discern what the object could be.

"Meteor?" Francesca asked.

"We'll see soon enough."

Morales reached the object and hung on tightly as wild crosswinds flung him first away from the cable, then slammed him against it. He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach bounce up to his mouth.

"It _is_ a ship...I see faces inside the porthole. Control, stream me another tether. I need to get them out of there and knock that craft off the cable. The impact must have yanked the cable out of the B mount."

Convinced this was a really bad idea, Iquitos went aft to the airlock deck and manipulated controls to release and stream another tether out toward Morales. Just getting the end of the tether to a point where the engineer could grab it was dicey. Winds blasted him and lightning flashed and boomed all around. After a few terrifying moments, when Iquitos was certain his engineer had been blown off the cable, Morales was able to snag the end and secure it to his own harness. With some effort, he was able to locate and force the tiny hatch. He peered inside.

Two crewmembers were inside, one male and one female, both motionless.

"I'm not sure what happened. Must have been one hell of an impact, to break that cable mount."

"Come on, Marco, come on. Stop sight-seeing."

Morales maneuvered and tugged and strained and swore until he got the winch tether attached to the female. With a little pushing and pulling, he was able to guide her prostrate body through the hatch and out into the slipstream, where she immediately took flight and bobbed around the outside of the capsule like a balloon, until Iquitos took up some slack. Then, the Commander winched her back up the cable and into the airlock.

The process was repeated for the male. While that was going on, Morales went to work replacing the cable's B mount and re-anchoring the cable to the ship's hull. When the work was done, he scurried inside the airlock and cycled through.

On F deck, the two crewmembers had been brought back to semi-consciousness and were nursing something hot and steaming from mugs in their hands. Iquitos, Francesca and several others surrounded them.

Morales shimmied out of his suit and stowed it.

"Say hello to our guests," Iquitos announced.

The male spoke in the midst of a coughing spasm. "Name's Delano... _arrgghhh_...Pieter Delano." He indicated the female, still lolling vacant-eyed and groggy, leaning on his shoulder. "This is Evelyn Kasongo."

Iquitos had already taken them for rogue scoopers or gas pirates—Jupiter had plenty of them—come down into the planet's upper atmosphere to help themselves to a load of ammonia and methane. There was enough money to be made selling such stuff to ore ships and the like to make the risk worth taking.

"I'm turning you over to the Concordance. They'll know what to do with scum like you." Iquitos indicated the capsule they had left, still hung up outside, entangled in the cable. "And we'll be sending you the bill for repairs and lost time. This is an InFed project you're interfering with."

Delano coughed, while Kasongo stirred and sipped from her mug. The man was short and stocky, with a sad face and even sadder blue eyes. Some kind of port protruded from the back of his neck.

"It's not what you think, sir. We—" but his words were lost in another coughing fit that wouldn't stop.

Francesca said, "Commander, let's get these two up to sick bay. They need warm liquids and maybe boosterbots. Shot of respirocytes will do 'em both good too."

An hour later, Delano and Kasongo had recovered enough strength to tell their story. It was an incredible tale, which no one aboard _Cable Five_ believed for a moment.

Iquitos was openly amused. "Time travelers from the 32nd century...sure. I've heard a lot of tales from scoopers and gas pirates, but that one, I haven't heard before."

"It's the truth," Kasongo insisted. She shifted around in her bed, bumped up against the nano barrier and lay back down frustrated. "I'm a jump commander in Time Guard. Our 'capsule', as you call it, is a jumpship. We came back to—"

Here, Delano intervened. "Sir, I know what's going on here. I know what you're doing here...peeling off layers of Jupiter to make more habitats. You have to stop this. Immediately."

Iquitos sniffed. "Oh, this is your personal planet, is it? I don't think you're in any position to make demands. And when I turn you over to the Concordance authorities, you'll wish you never came here. Concordance isn't too friendly to gas pirates."

"We're not gas pirates." Delano started to get up from his bed but when the bot barrier buzzed and flashed, he cursed, winced and sank back into the sheets. "Just listen to me, will you? I'll tell you the whole story."

"Tell it to my navigator," Iquitos said, indicating Francesca. "I've got a ship to run." He ducked out of the tiny sick bay and went up the gangway to the command deck, muttering to himself.

With assistance from Morales and ISAAC, the ship's AI, _Cable Five_ got permission from Operations to break off from her latest cable run and head to orbit. At Iquitos' command, ISAAC plotted a course to Europa.

The trip would take four days.

_Then we'll see who pays for this little stunt_ , Iquitos said to himself. _The Project Office won't be happy we had to interrupt laydown for a pair of dirtbag scoopers. The lawyers will surely have a big time with this one._

The story Delano told them was beyond belief. For good measure, Iquitos directed that every word of it be recorded and turned over to the authorities. Iquitos knew full well that the Concordance was already miffed at the audacity of InFed's project to mine the King of Planets for material to make an Outer Ring of habitats. But the Treaty said InFed had the right; no one nation or alliance had sovereignty over any planet or celestial body.

Iquitos smiled at the way words could be twisted and massaged and manipulated to mean anything. Just because you couldn't own a celestial body didn't mean you couldn't set up operations to mine said body and use the materials for your own purposes.

The lawyers and diplomats and negotiators had been fighting over _that_ for decades.

"Only one thing still bothers me," Iquitos admitted to Morales, as _Cable Five_ settled into standard orbit two hundred kilometers above the cracked-billiard ball of a world that was Europa. Beyond their portholes, Jupiter loomed overhead, a swollen baleful curtain of salmon and ocher, banded and roiled by ceaseless storms and turbulence, fully covering half the sky.

"What, that we had to break off laydown ops to deliver a couple of brainless scoopers to the Concordance," said Morales.

"Well, yeah, that too. But it's their story that gets me."

"You don't believe that half-baked crap, do you?"

Iquitos let ISAAC finish their final maneuvers and auto-communicate with Europa Traffic Control. A small shuttle from Connemara Chaos Station would be arriving and docking with Cable Five in two hours.

"Not all of it. But it is pretty damned specific...you have to admit that. Very detailed. And it seems consistent."

"What...gas pirates can't have imaginations? The guy probably got that from some comic-vid as a child. I mean, come on...time travelers from the 32nd century...bulking up Jupiter to ignite it as a second sun...existential threat...the Sun going dark in a few generations? Sounds like a few too many Jovian brandies to me."

Iquitos was thoughtful. "Or Ganymede schnapps, maybe. Jesus, that stuff tastes like kerosene. Well, it's out of our hands now. I'm sure the Concordance authorities down there will get something they can use out of our guests. Me, I'd just as soon be flying through an ammonia blizzard inside Jupiter as face that."

With little fanfare, Pieter Delano and Evelyn Kasongo were transferred to the shuttle. To their surprise, there was no one else aboard. The shuttle was completely automated. A soft feminine voice—Kasongo labeled her Madelyn, for some reason—gave them instructions...and piloted the little ship.

"PLEASE BE SEATED AND SECURE YOUR HARNESSES. PHASING MANEUVERS BEGIN IN ONE MINUTE...."

They both did as ordered and settled back. According to Madelyn, the trip would take most of a day and they would be putting down at a place called Connemara Chaos Station.

Delano glanced over at Kasongo. "Your navigation did give us a time reference when we came through?"

Kasongo nodded. "ChronoNav said we came out of voidtime at the commanded coordinates...right around 2249 EUT, right smack in the middle of time stream T-001. It's the correct worldline and we seem to be where we planned to be."

Delano took a deep breath and glanced out the porthole, studying the every-changing palette of colors circulating across the face of Jupiter. "Connemara Chaos Station, they called it. I'll wager this station was the beginnings of what will eventually become Chaos City. We left Europa in our time and came down to this time, right back where we started."

Kasongo just shook her head. "Only nine hundred years earlier. You're probably right, Mr. Delano."

"Hey, call me Pieter."

For several hours, the shuttle coursed through the Jovian skies in a steeply inclined orbit, skirting the shoals and reefs of her radiation belts, until at last they found the first of several holes in the sheath of charged particles. _Madelyn_ passed the word to her unwilling passengers and the shuttle dropped to a lower orbit through the first of these holes, like navigating a minefield in a wartime harbor.

The little ship settled into orbit half a million kilometers above the cloud tops. By now, the planet filled nearly a third of the sky and hundreds of frothing spicules and cells of gas swept by beneath them.

"A beautiful place, Evelyn. I'll hate to see it go when they try to ignite her, back in our own time."

"You're an architect, aren't you, Pieter? I've heard a lot about you. You've done projects all over the System."

Delano shrugged. "I've left a few marks, that's true."

Kasongo was busying herself with unwrapping some kind of meal from the small canteen cabinet nearby. "How'd you wind up as an architect, anyway?"

Delano chuckled at that. "Long story, for sure. One of my earliest memories was of my first trip to the surface of Europa, aboard a vehicle called a europacat, a sort of hopper/crawler/burrower that could travel across the icescape, or hop over or burrow under. On this trip—I was about four years hold-- a europacat named _Eternal_ _Harmony_ was damaged in an iceslide and buried for time under tons of rock. Her treads and borer were inoperable and she was stuck for several days near the crater Pwyll. Air, water and food ran low and we had to await rescue, from below, as borers tunneled into the slide and rescued us all. I remembered being on short rations and all the songs--like "The Rains of Rhadamanthys"-- and stories the crew told themselves as we passed time waiting for rescue. It was a pretty memorable experience for a four-year old."

Kasongo listened to the ship's maneuvering for a moment. "We're getting ready for something."

As if to punctuate her words, _Madelyn_ announced, "INITIATING POWERED DESCENT NOW."

The little ship pitched backward and her engines started firing. They began a long, curving descent toward the icy surface of Europa.

"How'd you wind up as an architect?" Kasongo asked.

Delano closed his eyes. "Ah, now that's a really long story. After mustering out of SATRANS at age twenty—my apprenticeship period over—I entered a new apprenticeship with a small design firm based at Ganymede--called Ganymede/Jove Designs or G+J Designs--that specialized in designs for terretas, inter-satellite ships for SATRANS and standalone habitats and settlements for all the satellites in the Jupiter system. G+J hoped to expand further into other Concordance territory around Saturn and the Outer Ring, which was by now pushing beyond Uranus into trans-Neptunian space.

"I was always an outworlder and a child of the Concordance. It was around then that two things caught my attention. One was a new commission for G+J from the Concordance itself, from the Ultrarch, to build and staff out a starship base in orbit around Neptune. They were calling it _Ultima Culmine_ \--that's Latin for Ultimate Summit-- the base was planned to be the first and largest base for designing, assembling, testing and launching ships to travel to the newly discovered worlds in the Proxima and Alpha Centauri systems. I soon became deeply involved in this project, initially as an apprentice structural designer."

Kasongo was chewing on some kind of protein bar as she listened. "There was something else--?"

"Oh, yes. There was this fellow designer in Structures. Her name was Cas--for Cassiopeia--Landry. Two years after signing on with G+J at their Ganymede Studios, we fell deeply in love. We got married in 3122."

"And you lived happily ever after."

Delano sniffed. "Not exactly. As a married couple, we lived in a townhouse at G+J's studio complex in a high-orbit terreta called _Sunnymede,_ orbiting way out from Jupiter. By '24, Cas had our first child...my daughter Presley. Two years later, in '26, our boy was born. His name was Dirk, after my father.

"So married life agreed with you."

"Yeah, for about ten years. But after my V2 upload, in '33—I was 33 years old at the time, our marriage began to unravel."

"What happened?"

The memory still hurt; Kasongo could see that.

"I think it was around '30, G+J undertook a new commission at Saturn. The project was called _Hibernia_. In this project, G+J would use a modified atmosphere scooping process, first pioneered by my ancestor Philippe Dugay back in the 2200s, to build additional terretas in orbit around Saturn, on some of her larger moons and even to develop a research base on the ice surface of Enceladus. The Concordance Ultrarchy had approved _Hibernia_ as a way of consolidating Concordance control over the resources of Saturn and preventing InFed's Outer Ring from encroaching 'inward' or sunward from beyond Saturn orbit. Cas and I were both re-located to a station in high Saturn orbit called _Serendib_ _Station_ \--it orbited around Enceladus-- for several years while _Hibernia_ was designed and laid out. _Hibernia_ would have the effect of providing a new ring for Saturn, called the H Ring, composed entirely of habitable terretas of every conceivable size and shape."

"You don't have to go into the details, Pieter, really—"

"No," Delano's face became firm. "No, I need to get this out. It was a generally happy time for the two of us and the kids. But when _Hibernia_ was over, and we returned to Chaos City in '33, I applied for my V2 upload and was approved. Our marriage began to fall apart after that and we filed for divorce with the Magistrate's Module in '34. The reason was upload incompatibility. Cas wanted me to incorporate some of her own and her family's memories in my V2, but I wanted to maintain my versions as pure Delano memories. Cas took custody of Presley and Dirk Jr and later moved to a terreta orbiting Ganymede, called _Ninevah Spires_. She also left G+J in '35." Delano's face darkened with the memory. "The Magistrate's Module allowed me only limited contact with her after that, save for court-approved child visitations, twice a solix."

Kasongo was sympathetic. "I'm sorry. For both of you—"

Moments later, the shuttle settled down to a rattling landing. _Madelyn_ gave them instructions for preparing to disembark.

Delano, anxious to change the subject, peered out the portholes. "Looks familiar...there's Mount Rathmore...Mount Prospect."

Kasongo joined him at the porthole. "Minus the funiculars. And the Ice Slides."

They both felt a slight jostle as a europacat snuggled up to the shuttle's airlock. Following instructions, Kasongo and Delano stepped into the little crawler and off it went down the crawlerway to the domes of Chaos Station at the far end of the valley.

Kasongo mused about the changes that going back nine hundred years revealed. "It'll be interesting to see how they lived back then...back now, I guess."

The convoy of cats rolled into the North Locks complex and came to a halt.

As Delano and Kasongo emerged, they saw a formation of dignitaries gathered stiffly around the convoy.

"Looks like we've got a little welcoming ceremony," Kasongo observed.

A florid man with white hair and a big smile came forward, extending a calloused hand.

"Christopher Rudd...I'm chairman of Chaos Station. On behalf of all Europans everywhere, welcome."

Delano grasped his hand and they shook. "We had a bit of an adventure on the way here, sir...but we made it, thanks to your cabler crews."

Rudd and Kasongo exchanged greetings.

"I heard about that...thank God, you were pulled out of that cable. Your arrival did set our schedule back a few days, though."

Rudd made introductions all around. The assembled officials came from every department at Chaos Station: Public Security, Maps and Surveys, Finance, even a part time judge from Chaos Court, a burly African man named Kavai who also worked day shift at Top Ward maintenance.

One man stood slightly apart from the rest. He was slightly built, with outsized hands and squinting eyes, magnified by omnifocals.

"And this here is Duncan...Price—" Rudd was saying, practically dragging them down the line of dignitaries. "Dunc's a spy from UNISPACE. Frontier Corps, actually. He's our resident Sherlock Holmes. Over here is—"

But Delano lingered behind, as Rudd moved on. He introduced himself to the detective.

"Pieter Delano."

"Duncan Price. Glad to meet you. I heard you had a rough ride down...you guys are okay?"

Delano nodded. "We survived. But I think they want to look us over at the infirmary."

Price indicated Rudd. "As soon as the old windbag has finished his speeches and we've pressed enough flesh, they'll take you to the clinic. My office is on Face Cut Street, lower ward. We can talk there."

"I'll be there," Delano told him. He moved on to catch up with Kasongo.

After all the speeches and ceremonies, the pair were steered off into the city. Arrangements had been made to do a complete medical exam at the infirmary. The clinic turned out to be a small brick building on Boundary Street, near the south airlock and lifts.

After being poked and prodded for several hours, Delano and Kasongo were given ID bracelets and told not to take them off.

The duty nurse was a big-boned blonde named Winters. "It seems you two are celebrities around here. You're clean health-wise but Public Security is providing an escort. They'll see you get to wherever you need to go."

Kasongo snorted. "And keep us away from where we're not supposed to be."

Gathering their meager belongings, Delano and Kasongo watched news surrounding their sudden, somewhat dramatic arrival in time stream 2249. The news and vids available to them through Solnet at the clinic informed them of some of the details of the Jupiter project and provided a bio of its principal developer—one Philippe Dugay. Delano told Kasongo that he believed himself to be a distant descendant of Dugay.

Kasongo was both amazed and suspicious. "No way. You're kidding."

Delano then informed Kasongo that they had to leave the hospital and somehow find their way to meet Dugay.

"He used to have offices at Mariner City, Mars. Or maybe we can get a ride to his terreta _Patagonia_. Last I checked, it was in the Inner Ring, just beyond Mars."

The Frontier Corps local office was located in a small red-brick bungalow on Face Cut Street, a block away from Canyon Head Park and its vast Perspex dome overlooking the Bay of Night, as the locals called the ice ravine outside.

Price greeted both of them. "You've done the walking tour of the city, I presume?"

"We came straight from the clinic, Detective," Delano told him. He indicated a small mobile bot they had nicknamed _Harry_ hovering behind them. "Along with our friend from PubSec."

"Ah, yes, I see. One of Benoit's little gizmos. Well, come along—" Price led them outside. "You can't be on Europa without seeing this." The portly detective guided them across the street to Canyon Head Park. They made their way through picnic areas, pavilions, gazebos and swing sets to the very edge of a scenic overlook by the dome.

Delano's jaw dropped. "Wow...it's the whole valley—before all the--"

Kasongo let her eyes sweep over the panorama of the rugged Rhadamanthus chasm. Ice devils swirled in pairs on the valley floor, churning up deep shadows in the fading sunlight. Deeper black shadows had already crept halfway down steep escarpments along the canyon walls. Overhead, the swollen disk of Jupiter hung like a vast lantern against the black curtain of sky.

Kasongo mused to herself: _I don't remember any of this from the history vids._

"Jove-set _is_ a magical time here," Price admitted.

Several families had silently gathered behind and beside them; the children played tag and hide and seek among the picnic tables. One young couple had draped an old blanket over themselves and sat pensively at the edge of the dome, sipping something from a flask they passed back and forth.

In moments, they were surrounded by a silent throng of people, watching Jupiter drop below the horizon, quietly appreciating how the canyon walls changed color, from ocher and tan to a deep black, all over and done within seconds.

"Quite a show," Delano admitted. "This must have been a tradition back...uh, here...people just showed up at the right moment."

Price nodded, breathing in the spectacle himself. "We call it 'Night Hands.' The kids think the shadows are like fingers creeping down the canyon walls. Sometimes, there are concerts here...even a funeral or two."

Delano said, "Inspector, I need to meet with someone in charge of the Outer Ring project. Anybody like that around here?"

Price sat down, stopped a vendor's cart rolling nearby, and bought cones for all of them. He sucked thoughtfully on a peach ice.

"I'm not sure...maybe Nygren's shop. He's the main project engineer for the Ring around here. Why?"

Delano wasn't sure how much to confide to Price, or how much he would really believe. "I'm actually an architect myself. Worked on—" but he stopped himself, seeing Kasongo's warning glance. He realized he couldn't very well talk of things that wouldn't happen for nine hundred years. And Kasongo had warned him about causality violations. "—let's just say I've worked on similar projects. There are some concerns I have...I really need to discuss this with the Project Office here. I'm not sure how to get started."

Price considered that. "I can probably set you up with someone on the Chaos Council. In fact, they're meeting tonight. Where was it you said you're from?"

Delano played it cool. "A long way from here, Inspector. I doubt you would have heard of it."

The meeting was set for 2200 hours that night, at the Chaos Council chambers on Central Street. Delano and Kasongo arrived early, along with the ever-present _Harry_ , and Duncan Price. They nodded to Christopher Rudd who was button-holing several council members in one corner of the chamber room.

"He's always working some angle," Price told them. "Like everybody's favorite uncle, Rudd always has something in his pockets to hand out. By the way, that's Benoit over there—" he indicated a tall man with a gaunt face and a hawk nose, which supported a pair of ancient-looking glass spectacles. "Head of PubSec."

"What's with the specs?" Kasongo asked. "He looks like Ben Franklin."

"That's Benoit. It's an image thing...who knows: wisdom, sagacity, integrity...you name it. The man's a predator. Some people think he's actually got X-ray vision and he doesn't discourage that kind of speculation. He's a nosy, pretentious bastard. PubSec and Frontier Corps have never gotten along well here."

"So I gathered," Delano said.

Within minutes, Rudd had flicked the lights on and off and gaveled the session to order. The assembled dignitaries bustled about taking their seats.

"I called this session to give Duncan and our visitors from Jupiter an opportunity to explain who they are and why they're here in our great city." Rudd was speaking from some prepared notes. "Greg here...our Ring Project rep, tells me the cable laydown has been suspended indefinitely, due to what happened with _Cable Five_. It seems our guests have caused quite a ruckus at the Project Office." They've working out a plan now for re-starting the laydown...we don't want to get too far behind schedule...." Price glanced at Nygren, the young blond engineer "...and having our people laid off."

Pierre Benoit scowled through spectacles at the end of his nose, at Price and the time travelers, barely disguising his contempt. "Chris—" he directed his words toward Rudd, this year's chairman of council, "we could be dealing with sabotage here...you know how the Concordance is...we really don't need any help from outsiders on this. PubSec can take care of it."

"PubSec thinks every hiccup is sabotage," Price retorted. He glanced over at Delano and Kasongo. "I don't think our visitors are saboteurs from the Concordance."

Benoit shook his head. "I don't like it. You people at Frontier Corps never give us a chance, Duncan. Come on—you know what happens when you let outsiders meddle in our stuff. You could have at least come by."

Rudd held up a hand. "That's enough of that." He smiled apologetically at Delano and Kasongo. "We'll continue this line of discussion off-line. For now, Mr. Delano, what's the real reason for your...uh, dramatic appearance in the skies of Jupiter?"

Delano had wrestled for days over how much to reveal. He decided a half-truth was better than nothing. "Mr. Price is right. We're not saboteurs. In fact, we want the Project to succeed. But Jupiter's not the best source of material. There are—" he groped for the right words, "let's just say, there are problems with using Jupiter for material to build a Ring. I can prove that Saturn is a better source. In fact, I'd like to discuss this very point with your chief architect, Philippe Dugay."

The chamber exploded with incredulity. " _Saturn_! Come on—"

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Not possible...do you realize--?"

"We don't have the technology—"

Rudd banged repeatedly on the table for quiet. " _Order_! Let's have order here." To Delano, he said, "You mind explaining why all the money and all the engineers across InFed feel otherwise. Jupiter's the best source—" he looked around for support, "that's what the developers all tell me, anyway."

Shouts and threats erupted around the chamber and it was all Rudd could do to maintain order. A hasty adjournment was ordered. Rudd and Price met with Delano and Kasongo out in the hallway.

Rudd's face was florid with anger. "What are you two trying to pull? Don't you realize how big the Ring project is around here?" He looked around, drew them closer and into a nearby corner, effectively shielding them from interruption. "Look, maybe I'd better explain something. Here at Chaos Station, we're kind of on the edge of things. Europa's like a frontier town. We've got InFed pulling us in one direction, the Concordance in another. So far, we've been able to stay independent. But half our people work on the Ring."

Delano could see where he was going. "You're trying to serve two masters at the same time, is that it?"

Rudd was grateful that Delano seemed to understand. "And not get eaten at the same time. It's ticklish. InFed wants the Ring. Concordance doesn't. Both of them are contending for influence around the Jovian system. Chaos Station—and other Europan settlements—are like strands in the rope in a big tug-of-war. So far, we've managed to hold ourselves together. But for how long--?" Rudd shrugged. "What you're suggesting is going to make that rope break."

Delano glanced over at Kasongo. Her face warned him off giving out too many details. He knew perfectly well how this conflict between the two grand alliances across the System would eventually play out. In his own time, the Concordance had won that conflict and achieved near-total dominance in the outer system. But the SunBoost project had changed everything and Rudd could never be made aware of that. Too many causality violations.

"Mr. Rudd, this is difficult to explain. Trust me, there are critical reasons why Jupiter should be left alone. I know that's not your decision. But I— _we_ —really need your help, making that point to the right people. Perhaps you could help us meet with Mr. Dugay, and the Ring project office...that's the direction we need to go."

Rudd ran his hand through sweat-stained white hair. Perspiration made his forehead shine under the lights. "If I make any decision that affects Ring jobs here at Chaos, I'll be kicked out faster than an ice slide on Mount Rathmore." Then an idea came to him, lighting up his face. "But if I could get you out of my hair, kick you upstairs to the Big People, my problems would be over...at least for the time being. I believe it used to be called 'kicking the can down the road.'"

With that, Rudd adjourned the Council meeting for the night and instructed _Harry_ to escort Delano and Kasongo back to their quarters.

"Let me make some phone calls. Just lie low for the evening. Watch a vid. You want a drink and dinner... _Harry_ can show you some good spots. But don't say anything to anyone. Let me pull some strings, call in a few favors."

They did as he asked. The bot guard made several suggestions for dining establishments and it was Kasongo who chose a faux-Moroccan dive near the crawlerway terminals, upper level.

"In our time, this is all Ice Plaza," she marveled as they rode the lifts up. "Regio Promenade. Voyager Street and the Terraces. The Slope Houses and Linea Street. It's amazing what time can do to a place."

Delano ordered a mint tea from the servbot that trundled up. "Time and a good designer. I could tell you exactly how our own Chaos City evolves from this crude camp, if you'd like."

They both placed their orders, while Delano went on.

"It was Ganymede/Jove Designs that came up with the original concept. See, if you take the old Roman idea of a capstone and combine it with how ice flows and how the light from Jupiter shines down here, you—"

Kasongo held up a hand in mock surrender. "Pieter, Pieter, do we have to talk shop at dinner? Please—"

Delano apologized. "Sorry. Design just fascinates me. It's a family trait, I guess."

Moments later, two servbots whirred up and laid out their lamb kebobs, with _kofta_ and _seffa_ dishes on the side. Both of them ate hungrily and were well into their _harira_ soup when they were interrupted by a trio of visitors who suddenly appeared and hovered at their table.

Two were men, dark tunics, shadespecs, well-tailored trousers. Both had suspicious bulges under their coats.

The third was a woman, with long, flowing blond tresses and an olive complexion accenting her long sharp cheeks. She was a few centimeters taller than her male companions.

"Pieter Delano?" she inquired. Her voice had a ring of authority about it.

"Yes?"

"I think we have something to discuss. There's a small salon in the back. Why don't you come with us?"

Kasongo was instantly alert, for although kidnappings were rare on the Jovian worlds, they weren't unknown.

Pieter was about to object and insist they should stay right there, in sight of other people. "And who are you exactly?"

The woman offered a faint smile. "Chris Rudd called me, when he found out I was in town. I'm Semarilyn Paris."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite—"

Paris offered her hand. "I'm the Prime Councilor of the Concordance. I think I can help you with your little...problem."
Interregnum

Florence, Italy

'October 20, 1442'

( _From the holovid-journal of Philippe Dugay_ )...

Filippo Brunelleschi wiped sweat from his forehead as he clung precariously to the ladder. The steep flanks of the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore dropped off steeply to the ground some three hundred and fifty feet below.

Philippe Dugay screened his eyes from the sun, watching as the greatest architect of the Italian Renaissance clung precariously to the scaffolding, swaying in the wind.

"I don't want this," Dugay muttered. "I want to be further along in the narrative...where we can talk. I've got about a million questions."

He studied the scene for a moment, admiring the still-skeletal structure of the great dome with its visible ribs or _eperoni_ converging nicely to a five-pointed curvature.

"Computer, advance program by eight minutes—" he told the holovid controller.

In a blur, everything shifted. Dugay had learned to close his eyes when advancing or backing up a program. When he opened his eyes, Brunelleschi was on the ground now, having descended gingerly on the hoist, the _montecarichi_ , and stepping off to inspect his brickyard. Dugay hustled after the architect.

" _Maestro_... _signore_...a word, please--?"

Brunelleschi carefully inspected the mixing pits and the kilns, poking into the slushy mix of mortar with a stick. He nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied.

" _Signore_...."

Brunelleschi turned. A smile broke out on his face.

"Ah, _Signore_ Dugay. What brings you to my construction site today?"

Dugay caught his breath. "A few questions, _Maestro._ About the project."

"Ah, _si, si_...come, let's walk. I've got a meal waiting for me over there." He pointed to a table beyond the donkeys, which were even now turning the hoist spindle to lift more bricks up to the scaffolding over their heads.

They strolled for a few moments, with Brunelleschi's keen eye observing even the tiniest details, barking out orders, signing papers, waving and ordering workers about. "Donatello, more heat, more heat, _amico_." The architect chuckled, rubbed his chin, sighed heavily. "Poor Donatello...he runs our bellows. Keeps the fire going in the kiln, no? Blind as a brick. But diligent to the end. I must bring him some bread. See how thin he's become? He doesn't even know what time it is. We think he stays alive through sheer willpower."

Dugay and Brunelleschi came to a small rickety table, set up on the side of the street. Covered with a red cloth, it bore baskets of sausages, _mortadella_ salami and several casks of wine. Before they sat down, Brunelleschi ordered more for his men up top.

"I don't let them come down to gather bricks...or to eat," he explained. "It takes too much time. My men are more productive if they stay up there, laying brick and building the dome."

Dugay sat down, munching on a salami. "It will surely be a magnificent addition to Florence, _Maestro_. What gave you the idea of an inner and outer dome, with the ribs and no timberwork?"

Brunelleschi pondered that as he poured a measure of red wine into a cup and sipped. "Probably some worm I saw on the river banks. I had long noticed how their skins have concentric rings. It gives them great flexibility, you see. The idea just popped into my head."

"Your dome is a series of concentric self-supporting rings. Marvelous."

Brunelleschi closed his eyes, swirling wine in his mouth, before swallowing. He seemed pale to Dugay; perhaps the program narrative was further advanced than he realized.

" _Si_. We lay the brick and stone courses in a herringbone pattern on inclined surfaces converging to a single center point. Obvious, I would think."

Dugay conceded the point. "Perhaps not obvious to those who have not thought deeply enough."

"It gives a very light, ribbed structure with the appearance of great solidity. Harmonizing with the environment around us."

Dugay leaned on the table on his elbows, studied the great master. His eyes seem weak today. "Maestro, in my architectural work, I'm sometimes faced with resistance to new ideas. Resistance to new approaches. How did you overcome resistance to this project?"

"Ah—" this made Brunelleschi close his eyes and lean back in his chair, which nearly tipped over. He munched for a moment on a sausage. "this is always a problem, no? People have habits in what they see, what they think and feel." Brunelleschi's rheumy eyes popped open, noticeably brighter. "Many years ago, I developed an idea which changed how people see things. Mathematical perspective—you see it in paintings all over Italy now—some call it linear perspective. Now, with this idea of a vanishing point, I could change the way people look at things. People see things with new eyes, they see the old and familiar in a new way. In the same manner, overcoming resistance is a matter of changing how people see things. For instance, with this dome, we honor Santa Maria del Fiore and harmonize with the other buildings and countenance of Firenze, no? The dome is a new thing, but people see it as adding to their lives."

Dugay considered that. "In my project, I have to take away something that many people have become used to. Dismantle or at least alter the appearance of a familiar object. This I must do to create something even greater. There is great resistance to changing what is familiar." Thinking of the siphoning effort at Jupiter, Dugay sniffed. Great resistance was an understatement. There were people around the System who would gladly die to prevent material from Jupiter being used to create an Outer Ring.

Brunelleschi leveled an even gaze at Dugay, bringing his chair back to a thump. "Philippe, an architect must convince his public, and especially his sponsor, his benefactor, to see his design in a new way. Teach them that harmony and proportion and majesty come from changing their perspective and seeing your design with new eyes, as my studies have shown. I have taught people about vanishing points and foreshortening and how scale changes with angle and now they can view my works with new appreciation they didn't have before."

That gave Dugay something to think about. What was the Outer Ring about, really? More living space. More homes and cities and factories. Increased living space. _Home_. The very word resonated with Dugay. The Outer Ring was all about bringing the virtues of home and hearth—family, warmth, security, stability, shelter, protection and closeness—to more people. Space itself was empty. A vacuum. Nothingness. And Jupiter? A source of raw materials. Brunelleschi's Florentine neighbors didn't begrudge the _Maestro_ his excavation of dirt and clay to make bricks. The dirt and clay were unformed matter. Bricks, properly assembled, could lift a great edifice to the sky, honor Santa Maria del Fiore and grace the skyline of a city.

Perspective was the key. Seeing things in a new way. He would follow Brunelleschi's advice the next time he met with Octavio Patron and his sponsors in the InFed Council.

" _Maestro_ , how do you deal with wealthy patrons who insist that they too are designers...who want to interfere in your design?"

Brunelleschi, never one to dawdle, wiped his mouth and groaned and wobbled up to a standing position. "Come, I'll show you." He led Dugay to a small tent on the other side of the construction site. Inside, several stone friezes lay across sawhorses. Two masons chiseled a curving design diligently out of the stone, chips and dust flying everywhere.

"This is an entablature for one of the church's doors. The lintel, with its supporting frieze and cornice, will grace a small door in the back. My benefactors, the Medici, love to involve themselves in the details of design. To keep their interference to a minimum, I have given them responsibility for designing this small entablature. I've even given them a tent, some materials and several masons of their own. Cosimo himself comes once a week to oversee their work—" he chuckled at the miniscule job involved—"to give orders, change the design—this is his third change in the last month—and feel as if he is contributing to a great cause, though the frieze is only a very minor design element, as you can see. I doubt few will ever notice the work." Brunelleschi smiled mischievously. "In this way, I keep my sponsors out of my hair, which unfortunately, grows more and more sparse every year."

Dugay nodded with understanding. He had his own issues with Octavio Patron, always offering unsolicited ideas for the terretas of the Outer Ring, for 'better' ways to siphon material from Jupiter, for more efficient ways to transmute gaseous hydrogen and helium and ammonia and methane to structural components. Always meddling and you couldn't very well say, " _Butt out_ ," could you? The man _was_ paying most of the bills.

Dugay shared a few knowing laughs with Brunelleschi. "Perhaps, that is the key. For my project, I am building many new homes for people. Building them in a new place, which no one occupies at the moment. My patron would love to contribute ideas to the design of these homes."

Brunelleschi nodded wisely. "Let him design doors...or windows. Give him a small role and you'll see they dive right in and are happily engaged. In the meantime, you proceed with the larger design and you'll find they won't bother you as much. Your vision will be safe."

_It's a little more than a few doors and windows, Maestro_ , Dugay thought to himself. Whole terretas—cities in space—were communities built from scratch. Everything was designed—life support, buildings, grounds, plants and trees, soil, climate, everything. Still, if he relegated Patron and his lackeys to overseeing minor details, the rest could be left to him, and to those who knew what they were doing.

As long as the Jupiter-worshippers could be handled.

"You've been most helpful, Maestro."

Brunelleschi was already limping his way back to the hoist, scratching the ears of one of the donkeys, which brayed appreciatively. "Be firm in your convictions, Philippe. An architect's work requires vision. Too many visions, though, can become blurred. You are the designer. Do what you must to make them see your vision. Did not God himself sit back on the seventh day and say to all this: " _it is good_?"

"He did," admitted Dugay. "And He had no patron to interfere with His work."

They both laughed at that. Brunelleschi bent to help load one of the hoist buckets with more bricks, ignoring Dugay to complete this task.

"Thank you for your insights, _Maestro_. We must talk again."

Brunelleschi grunted with the effort. "When the dome is done, Philippe. When I'm done, come again, and we'll celebrate how a vision becomes solid and real."

Dugay wandered about the construction site for a few more minutes, admiring the efficiency and industry the _Maestro_ had brought to this job.

_What a pity he won't live to see the lantern at the top erected_ , Dugay said to himself. _Of course, I could change that part of the narrative and see what happens._

He picked up a loose brick and admired its finely chiseled and beveled edge. _Marvelous workmanship. The terretas of the Outer Ring must have this same attention to detail_.

Dugay looked up at the skeletal frame of the great dome, squinting in the sun. _Soon, it will be real._

"Computer, end program."

And the Renaissance city of Florence, Italy winked out and was gone.

Chapter 4

Mariner City

Mars

Solix 11.20.3155 EUT

Leo Kamenas had been an engineer with InFed's Department of Public Works for nearly ten years and, in that time, he had never once found any reason to enjoy being summoned to Mariner City and the InFed Council to make a presentation.

The Council building was located in Mariner City's Dome's Edge district, near the Canyon Head Park and just off the Boulevard Candor Chasma. The building and complex itself was a 5-story tower of a unique flower petal design. Locals called it 'The Big Bladder.'

In all the years he had been an engineer, Leo Kamenas had never enjoyed a single moment of his time in the Council chambers and, as he climbed out of the taxi at the front entrance to go to his briefing on the fifth floor, he knew why. It was like being some kind of specimen on a slide under a microscope. Too many curious eyes peering down at you studying, picking and probing, slicing off pieces of your ass...only bad things happened to microscope specimens.

Better to be out in the field and taking your chances with natural predators. The worst thing they could do was eat you. The ones at Headquarters were worse. They made you suffer through briefings.

The chamber itself was built around a large oblong table. There were four present. The InFed Plutarch himself would preside over the gathering in the form of one Jude Ossem, his avatar hovering over the table like a disembodied ghost. Kaiser Izmit, head of the Sol Secundas project was also present in avatar; his own embodiment drifted in and out of like a shadow. In person were General Narendra Chekwarthy, Commander-in-Chief of UNISPACE and John Kratos, head of MarsFed. Kratos sat with arms crossed over a beefy chest, his florid face well framed by a halo of white hair.

The avatars were actually pseudos, local versions able to act and react quickly. Kamenas had no idea where the real Ossem and Izmit were. He knew only that Solar System distances precluded direct control of avatars across millions of miles of space. Every day, the pseudos would be synched up with their master files.

Ossem's avatar settled into one of the seats and gaveled the meeting to order.

"Leo, so good of you to come. We have one main order of business today and you're a key part of it. General—"

Chekwarthy was a swarthy Bengali. He cleared his throat, read from a slate. "Mr. Kamenas, you've heard of the Salvation Project?"

Kamenas wracked his brain. "Vaguely. Just rumors. Bits and pieces...something about the Sun, I believe."

"Exactly. It's common knowledge that the Sun is shrinking from unchecked nanobotic activity in its core. Sunboost failed and we have Mr. Izmit here, from Sol Secundas, to describe the second sun effort. We'll get to that later."

Now Ossem joined in, never one to concede attention, and proceeded to take over the briefing. "The problem is that the Sun, First Sun if you will, is still operating, although at a reduced rate. InFed wants to find a way to safely 'power down' the Sun so it won't pose a threat to Humanity, specifically to InFed."

Chekwarthy scowled at the Plutarch for a second. "Obviously this effort, which we're calling Salvation, must work in concert with Sol Secundas' effort to work with Jupiter and create a Second Sun. The two efforts have to mesh perfectly. Salvation safely powers down First Sun and Sol Secundas gives us a Second Sun from a bulked-up Jupiter."

Now Izmit chimed in, his avatar brightening at the prospect of extolling the virtues of his own project. "The idea behind Salvation is controversial—"

"I'll say," John Kratos piped up. "Meddling with the Sun in the past didn't work out too well, did it? That's how we got in this mess in the first place."

"Exactly," Izmit agreed. "Sol Secundas has a mission to give the whole System a brand-new Sun...and one better placed to extend warmth and light throughout human space, I might add. In fact, we're working on a whole new ad campaign—"

The Plutarch cut them all off with a wave. "Gentlemen, that's enough. Mr. Kamenas, as an engineer, you're here for an important reason. I want you to head up the engineering side of Salvation. You can pick your own team. And you have some time. General Chekwarthy's people at UNISPACE have recently discovered a problem with Jupiter. General--?"

Chekwarthy called up a 3-d image of the King of Planets. The banded sphere, a real-time vid, rotated majestically over the table.

"Jupiter seems to be losing mass. We don't know why this is happening, although there are theories. Analysis of old records indicates this mass loss has been going on for some time and there's even evidence of it becoming measurable some nine hundred years ago. Back then, astronomers thought this was just some unknown long-term cycle. Now, we're not so sure. In fact, the Concordance has even authorized a Time Guard trip back to that time to try and investigate the cause. No results on that trip yet."

The Plutarch's avatar drifted over next to Kamenas. "Leo, write us up a project plan. Assemble a team. We've been in touch with contacts at Caloris on Mercury...that would be a great place for an ops center and headquarters."

Kamenas felt his blood pressure rising. "I wouldn't know where to start, Plutarch. I haven't studied the—"

Izmit held up a hand. "We're way ahead of you, Kamenas. Look at it like this: our own tech people at Sol Secundas have proposed two possible scenarios and we're offering them to the Plutarch here for a very good price."

The Plutarch sniffed. "Concordance people can smell a profit a billion miles away."

Izmit ignored him. Kamenas was vaguely amused at the prospect of the two avatars duking it out.

"What ideas have you got?" the engineer asked.

Izmit was warming to the task. "The first is one we call Sun Ring. Here, I'll show you a vid we made."

The 3-d image of Jupiter dissolved, to be replaced by a large, partially completed spherical structure, hovering in space, enclosing the Sun like a wrap-around translucent blanket.

The voice-over came up with appropriately dramatic music.

" _The Sun Ring...a proposal to the Inner Federation. The purpose of the Sun Ring is two-fold: (a) to obstruct sunlight reaching human settlements, including old Earth, and hasten the changes required by the Sol Secundas program._

" _The Sun Ring looks something like this:_ " The 3-d image brightened. _"It's called a ring but it's really a sphere._

" _The Sun Ring is primarily constructed from materials (feedstock) excavated and processed on Mercury at the Caloris Basin facility, then catapulted by mass driver into position around the Sun. The Ring orbits the Sun at approximately the position of Mercury._

" _Physically, the Ring is intended to be an enormous spherical structure composed primarily of nanobots, with some unprocessed materials interspersed. The bots are linked like a mesh. Their purpose is to intercept photons of light from the Sun and convert this light into other forms of electromagnetic energy, which is then transmitted for storage to Caloris Basin. The operational concept is totally different from human solar / photovoltaic cells. The Ring is much more than a sphere of solar cells. The individual elements are robotic in nature, thus programmable, configurable, etc._

" _The main purpose of the Caloris Basin facility is to provide feedstock for the Sun Ring, control positioning, configuration, operations, and maintenance, and handle energy conversion and storage from the output of the Ring. Thus, the Sun Ring and Caloris Basin base are mutually supporting facilities and critical to preparing the solar system for the birth of a new Sun....a Second Sun._

" _Clearly, construction and initialization of the Sun Ring must be coordinated with the Sol Secundas program. Light and energy from the Sun is already diminishing rapidly and efforts are now underway to manage this decline so that the thousands of settlements of the Inner Federation and the Concordance are minimally affected. Energy from the deteriorating Sun will be captured by the Sun Ring and converted at Caloris Basin to beamed power for many InFed settlements. This will help mitigate the worst effects of a declining Sun, as the Sol Secundas effort ramps up._

" _Getting an early start on the Sun Ring will help in accomplishing this switchover."_

The 3-d imagery dissolved and Kamenas blinked at the audacity of the idea. "This is the best proposal? You realize such a structure would be a massive and time-consuming effort."

The Plutarch didn't disagree and gazed with a faux-grandfatherly look on the engineer. "Yes, Leo, we're fully aware of that. And yes, we think this is the best proposal."

"But not the only one," Izmit said.

Kamenas was almost afraid to ask. When the bureaucrats and politicians started proposing big projects, Kamenas' own experience had taught him it was usually best to hide and seek shelter.

"What else?"

Izmit brought up yet another 3-d vid. "This one's from Strangways. He's a heliophysicist at Caloris..."

With increasing skepticism, Kamenas watched and listened to a truly dreadful idea. Strangways was proposing nothing less than additional doping of the Sun with what he called 'stabilizer bots,' designed to manage the hydrogen fusion reactions and partially interfere with the Sunboost effort that was already sucking the life out of the Sun. The purpose of the stabilizer bots, according to Strangways, was to slow down the death of the Sun, and control its aging process as well as possible.

No one at the meeting thought this was even remotely a good idea.

The Plutarch said, "Leo, you've got a good record as a civil servant in Public Works. We all feel the Sun Ring is the way to go. I've worked out with your departmental manager to get you loaned to Salvation for the duration of the project. All we really need now is a project plan, estimated costs, a technical team and plans for your operating site at Caloris. Oh, and also a timetable of critical events and times for our planning."

Kamenas knew enough not to argue with the Plutarch. With his new assignment, he was summarily dismissed and caught a shuttle back to his home office at Delambre, a week-long trip.

There, ensconced in his own office, barely hearing his wife's words as he ruminated on what Fate and the InFed Council had dropped into his lap, he made plans to take an InFed escort ship down-sun to Mercury and inspect the Caloris site in person. Consulting with the local leadership was always a good idea. He knew he had the Plutarch's imprimatur to do whatever was necessary but it was always best to involve the locals in any decisions.

There would be fewer headaches that way.

One way or another, Mercury would have a prime seat for Salvation.
Chapter 5

Connemara Chaos Station

Europa

March 5, 2249 EUT

Semarilyn Paris was Prime Councilor of the Concordance, essentially a shadow position, as the Ultrarchy actually ran things. Paris was the human 'face' of the AI known as the Ultrarch that essentially ran the Concordance. As such, she was really little more than an attendant, sort of a privy councilor, serving the needs of the Ultrarch. The Ultrarch was literally everywhere across the Concordance, but its central core was physically based in a server farm located at Chaos Station, Europa, in a labyrinth of ice caverns just below the surface. Paris had her office complex in the City itself.

Paris was one of only a few who were allowed into the Chambers of the Ultrarch, below Chaos Station. She maintained a halo, a neurolific inserted into her brain, that allowed her to communicate directly with the Ultrarch. It also allowed the Ultrarch to control and direct her.

People regarded Semarilyn Paris as a cold, distant person...the 'face' of the Ultrarchy. As such, she had few real friends and so when Pieter Delano showed up, his fame, notoriety and exotic origins naturally intrigued her. Starved as she was for human companionship, she was drawn to Delano to satisfy urges that the Ultrarch couldn't satisfy.

Paris was a Europan native. Her father was Delegate Councilor Lucian Paris, assassinated in the Rhadamanthys Uprising--the Ice Miners' Revolt back in '27. Her mother was Lizia Porcello Paris, now an engineer with the Ultrarchy Diplomatic Module, assigned to chaperone and closely watch any dignitaries who visited the City, especially any from InFed. Paris was an only child, born at Europa MedCentral, two floors below where they stood now.

She crossed her arms with expectation. "Pieter Delano, you've become something of a celebrity around here. Let's use the salon...it's more private."

Delano looked at Kasongo. Neither had any inclination to object, not with Paris' two goons hovering nearby. They adjourned to a private dining room in the back. Doors were shut and shutters drawn over windows.

Delano looked up at Paris. "We _were_ enjoying a nice dinner."

Paris snapped her fingers. Instantly, her escorts disappeared, returning a moment later with the entire table containing their dinners. Delano and Kasongo then proceeded to dig into their _kofta_ hungrily.

Paris sat down across the table. A servbot appeared, allowed in by a guard, with a tray of drinks. She chose a mint tea and sipped at the drink, her eyes never leaving Delano.

"Who are you, Mr. Delano?"

Delano wiped bits of lamb from the corner of his mouth. "An architect, actually. I'm here on a...a kind of job."

"Really? And where exactly are you from?"

Delano and Kasongo exchanged glances. "Truth is I'm from right here. Chaos City."

Paris squinted at him. Her eyes were sad and droopy, punctuated by a smirk at the corners of her lips. " _City?_ You mean this place...Chaos Station?"

Delano swallowed his food. "In my time, it's a big city, much bigger than this. Eleven levels below the ice. Funiculars to the mountains on either side of the ravine. Very popular resorts, I might add. From the top of Mount Rathmore, you can see for kilometers...all the way to the crater Pwyll."

Paris didn't know whether to laugh or just glare at him. "In your time...what are you, some kind of joker? I know an InFed spy when I see one. What are you doing here?"

Delano sought some kind of silent assurance from Kasongo. She nodded slightly.

"My time is not your time, Councilor. Both of us here—" he indicated Kasongo—" are from your future. Nine hundred years into your future."

"The future," Paris said drily. "I'm guessing that's not mint tea in your glass."

Kasongo now said, "Jump Lieutenant Evelyn Kasongo, Concordance Time Guard...at your service."

Now it was Paris' turn to lift her eyebrows. "Concordance Time---I'm supposed to take this seriously?"

"Oh, it's quite serious," Delano insisted. "We've come back to—" but he stopped, not sure how far to go.

Paris patted the table, sipped at her own drink. "Like I said, I know an InFed spy when I see one. You're either here for no good or you're a rogue scooper or a gas pirate. And the Ultrarch knows what to do with people like that."

"Actually," Delano said, "we came back for a different reason."

"Really? Okay, I'll bite. Why'd you fly through time to be here...sabotage the Ultrarch, maybe? Blow up Chaos Station...hijack a ship? I heard about that craft you were found in. What the hell was _that_? Some new kind of privateer?"

"Actually, it's a Time Guard jumpship," Kasongo told her.

"A Time Guard jump—" she stopped, finished her tea. "Okay, I'll play along. You said you were an architect. What do you build?"

Delano was matter-of-fact. "Right now, I have a commission to turn Jupiter into a second sun."

Paris wasn't sure she had heard correctly. But the mention of Jupiter got her attention. "You know about the little spat between InFed and the Concordance, I'm guessing. What are you really planning with our little King of Planets?"

With that, Delano decided to lay out the whole reason for his visit. Initially, incredulous, even derisive, Paris found herself more and more intrigued by the bizarre tale he was telling. Something about Pieter Delano really intrigued her—maybe it was the bald head, maybe it was the sad eyes that had seen more than he could ever say, or that stupid jack in the back of his head...what the hell was _that,_ some kind of ornament?-- and she resolved to get to know this odd man better.

Delano added, "Jupiter's losing mass in our time. Maybe it's a long-cycle phenomenon and we just haven't seen it before. We came here—Evelyn and I—to see why the records show this mass loss started in your time."

Semarilyn Paris could always smell bad data. She could sniff out a lie as if it were spoiled milk. It was part of her, like her sad eyes or her nose that was too big. That's how she wound up as Privy Councilor to the Ultrarch. The appointment came in 2244, the result of a long series of unlikely events. She had come into Ultrarchy service through the efforts of her father Lucian, in 2223, working as an Investigative Auxiliary in the Law Enforcement Module, both at Europa and Ganymede Station. Straight away, the Ultrarch LEM supervisors noticed how dedicated she was, how all her cases were well supplied with relevant data analytics, how she was meticulous in gathering and submitting case data to the Judicial Auxiliaries, so it could be formatted for a decision by the Ultrarch. Because of these skills and attributes, she eventually found herself working directly for the Judicial Auxiliary at Chaos Station, a transhuman named Patricia Luongo. Paris worked for Luongo from '28 to '33.

In late '33, she had been promoted directly into Ultrarchy Master Core Support. In this position, just below the Privy Council, she had functioned as a data gatherer, analytic and formatter, also known as a data "cook," shaping data to be fed into the Core for final analysis, decisions, and commands...a sort of human server.

It wasn't long before her skills as a data cook were noticed and, in '39, she was brought directly into the Privy Council, a small body of analytics and advisors, who dealt directly with the Master Core, human servants to the AI itself.

"Delano, I know why Jupiter's losing mass. It's the Outer Ring. It's Philippe Dugay. The project is siphoning off material from the planet's upper atmosphere to transmute into structural materials."

Delano turned pale. "Now it makes sense. And Dugay's an ancestor of mine. Forty generations separate us. I'm from a long line of architects. I studied his works and designs and theories at the Academy...right here at Chaos City."

"The Concordance opposes the Outer Ring project. It's typical InFed meddling in places they shouldn't be." She explained how architect Philippe Dugay, sponsored by Octavio Patron and numerous InFed interests, had been slowly but steadily streaming off atmosphere from Jupiter to provide base materials for an Outer Ring of terreta-style settlements.

Delano turned visibly pale. "This is it. This explains the mass loss. My own ancestor is causing Jupiter to shrink. Councilor, in my time, Sol Secundas is an existential imperative. Jupiter has to be bulked up, not reduced. Philippe Dugay has to be stopped...now."

For a brief moment, Paris and Delano just stared at each other. Delano's own project and that of his ancestor Philippe Dugay were in direct conflict, with solar system power politics, territorial ambitions and even the ultimate survival of Humanity at stake.

Paris now regarded Delano with more than just curiosity. Maybe it was something about that bald head. Without thinking, she reached across the table and took his hands in hers. They were strong hands. She needed strong hands. The Concordance needed strong hands.

"Mr. Delano...may I call you Pieter?"

"Please."

"The Concordance needs you. I need you. Join us. You're a celebrity now. Millions know about you and how you showed up entangled in one of Dugay's cables...it's a great story. You're a public figure. You could be a great spokesperson and public advocate for our opposition efforts. Did you know children are fabbing dolls with your likeness...no, really...it's true. Even right here on Europa...they're already playing with them now at Linea Park."

Delano shook his head. "I'm just an architect, Councilor."

"You're a visible face of opposition to the Outer Ring. We have the same interests. And, if what you're saying is true, you're even related to Philippe Dugay."

He shrugged. "That much I can prove."

Now she kneaded his fingers with hers, so that they had become interlocked. "I...I mean, _we_ , the Concordance want to resist what Patron and Dugay are trying to do. InFed has no right to steal what belongs to the outworlders. We want to defeat the Outer Ring and preserve our worlds for future generations, not just re-make the solar system with abandon, with no thought as to the consequences. We fought this battle on Earth several centuries ago. Now we're fighting the same fight on an even bigger stage, with greater consequences." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Help us. Help us stop this."

Carefully, Dugay extracted his fingers. It took some effort, for Paris was a strong and determined woman.

It was now clear to him that he and Semarilyn Paris had similar goals.

"You believe what I'm telling you now?"

Paris gave that some thought. "I don't know about the time travel part. I suppose you have your own reasons. But I can't deny what's happened. Your celebrity, your public face, gives us a weapon to use against Patron and Dugay. We have other weapons. And we'll use them. But having you, Pieter...that gives us a great advantage. You're quite valuable to us now, Pieter Delano. And the Concordance protects what it values."

Delano took a deep breath. He studied Kasongo's face, which gave him no clue as to how to respond. Architects were supposed to have vision, weren't they? Which didn't mean they could foresee the future...or the past. Maybe it was actually instinct. Sometimes you could just _feel_ a design was right, like your fingers could feel the beveled edge of a composite block and know it was right. But people and relationships...that was different.

Going on instinct and what felt right, Delano agreed to help Paris out in developing and fronting opposition to the Outer Ring project.

"Lieutenant Kasongo here always warns me about causality violations...trying not to interfere with a time stream or causing a worldline to branch off." He studiously avoided Kasongo's accusing eyes. "But I know this is right. I have to do this. But, Councilor, I must be clear about this."

"I'm an analytic from way back, Pieter. In fact, clarity is essential for the Ultrarch to function. Name it."

"I need to meet Philippe Dugay. I need to talk with him. I'm sure I can convince him to stop fiddling around with Jupiter." Delano was sure of no such thing. But architects often had to put up a determined face to their sponsors...Dugay would understand that.

That gave Paris an idea. "I'll introduce you first to someone who can help put meat on the bones of this opposition. Lorenzo Jenkins. He's already invited top opposition leaders to come to Big-Venice-in-the-Belt."

"Big-Venice--?"

"His casino/terreta in the inner Belt. We should go there first, meet the others. Lorenzo can help you get an audience with Dugay; he's got the pull to make it happen, because he's given Dugay so many commissions in the past...at least before Patron."

After some finagling and smoothing over of local ruffled feathers, Paris got Delano and Kasongo released from MedCentral into her custody. A day later, they would head for Jenkins' terreta Big-Venice-in-the-Belt in her private cruiser.

Leaving the Moroccan dive, Semarilyn Paris gestured for her guards to escort Delano and Kasongo to her own quarters on the other side of Chaos Station, a small apartment at the top of the Voyager Terraces. Delano was amused at the sight of the Terraces, knowing as he did what they would evolve to in a few hundred years.

As they walked down Linea Street toward the Terraces, Paris lagged behind and got on her wristpad comm to converse with someone else.

No one was nearby to hear what she said. Three words were uttered.

" _Execute Objective K."_

Then she killed the comm and hustled to catch up with the others.

Aboard InFed cruise ship _Kalahari_

Docked at Zanzibar Station, Slip Five

March 8, 2249 EUT

Eric Richter V5 was the secretive transhuman head of the Guardians (of Jove), an apocalyptic organization dedicated to preserving the solar system the way it was. Richter V5 lived clandestinely in many places but spent most of his time at Chaos Station, Europa and aboard a small cruiser-habitat called _Veiled Order_ that orbited between the Belt and Jupiter, but could and did show up throughout the inner system in InFed space quite often.

Richter V5 was born Eric Richter, third child of Lucius and Jacinda Richter, of Settlement Seven, in the Chryse Planitia region of Mars. S7, as it was known back then, was a rebel community of outlaws and ne'er-do-wells, most of whom were exiled from other communities on Mars, a sort of Tombstone or Dodge City on the Red Planet. Eric came by his rebellious nature and upbringing honestly, as his parents and neighbors were all exiled for one reason or another. S7 was sometimes known among Martians and others as a kind of hornets' nest ("doesn't take much to stir 'em up") or a cesspool of intrigue. Indeed, a stylized bee was the formal logo of the S7 community (and later of the Guardians). They were not affiliated with any other association on or around Mars; they were fiercely independent and prided themselves on their self-sufficiency.

Richter V5 left S7 at the age of 18 years (Earth years) and made his way outworld (up-sun) to the terreta Bird's Beak, in high orbit around Jupiter. It was here that he found himself caught up in Assimilationist intrigues and a resistance movement that would eventually evolve into the Guardians. The Bird's Beak movement was known originally as Fist of Jove (or Jove's Fist) and sought to prevent human beings from doing to Jupiter and her moons and trans-Jovian space what had already happened to the Terran Moon and to Mars...overdevelopment.

_Execute Objective K_.

First Councilor Paris' words rang in his ears like a bell tolling, over and over again. Now, with cruise ship _Kalahari_ firmly docked to Zanzibar's slip five, and her hundreds of passengers scurrying all around the casino world in search of fun and games, Richter V5 knew it was time to set things in motion. He reached into his jacket and felt the reassuring heft of the nanobot capsule. In just a few hours....

Zanzibar was an architect's nightmare. The settlement (you could hardly call it a city) clung to a small potato of an asteroid like an ugly parasite. From just above the landing fields, buried in a crater basin at the "south pole," Philippe Dugay could take in the surface layout of the complex, which wasn't much. Most of the fun lay burrowed deep inside, as much as three kilometers underground, indeed all the way to the core. Underneath the dusty gray badlands, Zanzibar had been tunneled out until it looked like a rat's maze to the novice visitor. Up on top, cargo tubes sneaked up from the south, looking a great deal like some silvery-white moss had taken root and spread its stems around the asteroid.

Inside though, Zanzibar was a scooper's heaven. The place was laid out so that a casual stroll was impossible. The unwary visitor was bedeviled at every turn in the plunging, vertiginous corridors of the asteroid. There were cathouses and tinglerooms, bars and saloons, dingy holes and well-lighted pubs. Games and chases and fights spilled out into the passageways and time after time, Dugay was dragged into dark caverns which could change in an instant from cabarets to stadiums to brothels and back again. Left alone to wander through the resort while Patron made arrangements, he made tedious progress toward the center of the world, sucked along by a tide of revelry that wouldn't quit.

The heart was the casino, an eerie, half-lit realm of low-gravity where hordes of leaden-eyed bettors followed the trajectories of slowly spinning dice from one cyber-croupier to the next. Dugay squeezed through a miasma of foul breath and hallucinogenic smoke and wandered back and forth, looking for Patron. The click of dice and the slow pirouette of roulette balls in their three-dimensional tumble cubes were all that animated the room. Everything else seemed hypnotized, or dead.

An arm reached out and held him fast. He turned and saw a cyber-guard, its synthflesh face smeared into a permanent half-smile. With painful force, the unit directed him toward a room above the ceiling, behind a row of TRICKSTER panels. An oval of dim red light shown down from above. At the guard's urging, Dugay pulled himself up a pole.

He poked through the oval and found himself in a chamber full of floating spheres. The room itself was round and quite large, though deceptive. Other globes studded the walls and ceiling, some drifting freely, each one a telemonitor showing several perspectives of every niche and hole in the city. In among the scenes of vice and corruption was yet another globe, this one the smiling, now laughing form of Octavio Patron, drifting like a weightless Buddha.

"Come in, come in, welcome to my office. Sit anywhere." He swept his arms in a wide circle. "A drink, perhaps? No? Ah, well, then perhaps we can chat. Excuse me." Patron's eye shifted quickly to a globe on his right, where a white dot was flashing in the lower left-hand corner. He stared for a moment and the light blipped out. "A customer who thought he could beat the house. No problem. I jammed his gizmo for good. Now, let's talk about bribing you to stay on."

"I'm nearly incorruptible," Dugay told him. "Has Kate arrived yet?"

"You're the first," Patron replied. "She's on her way, I'm told. There was a little delay. Care to meet some Belt-side delegates?"

"Who's represented?"

"Anybody with money. Lustre-of-Gold, Corsica, Eden Gardens, Pittsburgh, you name it, they're all here. I could score a lot of points by showing you off."

"Maybe so but your number one prize thoroughbred genius is tired. Kindly have one of your lovely cybermates escort me to my suite. And send up a cyber-masseur while you're at it. My back needs major surgery."

Patron put up his guest in the Plutarch's Suite, on the house. He had a fine view of the landing fields, where he hoped to spy on the arrival of Kate's ship, but the rubdown made him drowsy and the wine and soy-veal put him to sleep. He had vague recollections of nude dancers in the room and an embarrassing dream about taking part in _estredo_ , a fertility ballet for which Zanzibar was famous. But no ships came and the dream soon vanished into oblivion.

Dugay was still groggy when the trilling of the message alarm aroused him. He groaned and punched it on, blinking furiously at the round shape on the screen.

Patron's voice cut through the fog. "There's been an accident, Philippe. The _Kalahari's_ in trouble. We picked up an auto-distress signal a few minutes ago."

Dugay rubbed sleep from his eyes. "What's that whistling sound I hear outside?"

Patron was grim, the nanoderm patches on his face red and inflamed. "Primary hull breach at Slip Five...the hull's compromised. Stay in your quarters. I'm sending someone for you. Don't go outside, Philippe. Too dangerous—" the feed was cut off and the screen went blank.

He listened for a moment. Heavy things were clanging and banging against the door and the walls. Dugay got dressed and despite Patron's warning, cycled open the door to the suite.

There was a tornado blowing outside, through the corridors. Chairs, tables, shelves, shoes, racks of something, a woman's bra, all were flying through the air, all entrained in a deafening blast of air roaring past the door. Clinging desperately to the door, Dugay managed to keep from being sucked out. Ice crystals had already formed on chandeliers swaying over his head. One tore loose, shattered into a million shards and showered everything in sight with glass. He felt his ears pop. Pressure was rapidly falling.

Zanzibar had suffered some kind of decomp catastrophe. Emergency air blowers flooded every hall, every compartment, with an overflow of oxygen and that combined with the roaring river of debris made maneuvering through the corridors and tunnels dicey, possibly suicidal. Dugay decided to duck back inside. With effort, he got the door shut. Emergency seals sucked the door tight and he could feel the blowers blasting away over his head.

From instinct long burned into the memory of every InFed citizen, he rummaged in the closets and found the mandatory customer pressure suit and assorted gear and hastily donned the garment.

Checking out seals and connections and quick disconnects in a gilt-edged mirror, he shook his head ruefully. _Doesn't do a thing for my figure_. Then he heard the door crack and slam open.

It was Octavio Morales Patron, suited up but helmet off. Three other men, assistants he presumed, hovered behind.

"Get your gear!" Patron yelled. " _Bolivar's_ coming back...she shoved off to make a run out to New Texas...load of prime beef for the casino...when the seals failed at Slip Five. We're taking an escape pod."

"What happened?" Dugay asked, rapidly lowering and sealing his helmet. One of Patron's assistants helped him, buddy-checked all connections and seals.

Patron yanked him into the maelstrom of the hall. "Pressure hull breach at Slip Five. There's bug residue on the seals...nanobotic residue. Something, or someone off _Kalahari_ , sabotaged the docking ring. Bugs ate through and compromised the collar, then the hull around the slip. Wasn't long before we had a major breach. God knows how many casualties... _come on_!"

They scurried and crawled and dodged their way through a labyrinth of corridors and tunnels, up, then down, then up, then laterally. Hall after hall, corridor after corridor, one wrecked compartment after another and they ignored everything they ran into, even the floating bodies, arms and legs all entangled. Dugay knew he would never have found his way through the roaring sleet of debris and he clung to the arms of Patron's assistants desperately to keep from being blown into side corridors.

Patron's voice cut through the fog. "I didn't tell you something else, Philippe...there's been another accident. The Delambrian ship, Kate Lind's ship, is in trouble. She was coming here to see you. We picked up an auto-distress signal a few minutes ago."

"Auto-distress..." Dugay mumbled. "Kate—is she...okay...?"

"I don't know. Evidently, there was an explosion on board. We're scanning a cloud of debris about twenty million klicks from here now. Could be an ore driver's slag dump; we'll know for sure in a few hours. Our orbit'll take us within ten million klicks."

Dugay was now fully awake and frowning. "Do you have the ship at all? What kind of vehicle was it?"

"Scan shows nothing but debris, however that's not necessarily bad news. There are several rockbodies in the vicinity they could have gotten to. It was a Nomad II, New Texas make, registered to the Delambrian Chamber of Deputies, according to the signal we received. Bearing an official delegation too—parts of the message were encoded. I'm afraid it's them all right."

Dugay felt hollow. _I shouldn't have left Patagonia. It's my fault._ "We have to do something, Patron. You said there were rockbodies in the vicinity."

"A few dozen. Mostly garbage dumps, or mined-out asteroids. None over ten klicks in diameter. But first, we have to get you...and me off this slagheap." Patron weighed his next words carefully. "We've only got one certified recovery ship and it's over at Sierra being renovated." He shrugged sheepishly. "We don't invest much in ships around here. No point in it with so many ore drivers and shippers around."

"What about your ship? _Bolivar?_ You said she's coming back."

Patron shook his head, checked with an assistant and silently agreed with him. "We can't wait. Zanzibar's coming apart. We've got to get off now."

Dugay was finagling with some hoses on his suit. "Any scoopers or trucks nearby?"

Patron shook his head. "We're off track for the next few weeks. Tycho Industries is working an iceberg with a whole fleet of scoops though."

"How close?"

"Two weeks behind us, I'm afraid. There's nobody else."

"Then it's got to be us. We've got to find Kate."

"With what? We've got to save ourselves first. We're still ten days from closet approach. If anybody's made it to those rockbodies, they'd be dead by the time we got there."

"You're a fountain of optimism, Patron. If there's one thing I've learned in my life, anything is possible when you're determined enough. You got jumpships?"

"Three but you'll never—"

"Never say never. Meet me up top, at the landing field. Better yet, send a cybermate to show me the way. A body could get lost around here."

With help from one of Patron's assistants, he made it to the one port of Zanzibar not yet wrecked by stuffing himself inside a supply pod and shooting through the cargo tubes, avoiding the gauntlet of diversions the cybermates were programmed to steer him toward. Patron was already there, fidgeting like a puppy. They spent ten minutes rigging out a jumpship with supplies and extra gas.

"It only holds two people," Patron said. "What if you do find someone alive?"

"Those supply pods are pressurized, aren't they? They'd have to be since the transit tubes are open to space. We'll fill a few of them with food and water and tow 'em along behind us. They'll do very nicely as rescue spheres."

"I shouldn't have asked."

The jumpship was pretty much a big metal egg, with a wraparound canopy on top, a couple of body slings inside in place of seats and a small rocket at the bottom. Manipulator arms were tucked against the side like a bird's wings; jumpers were little more than tugs, sometimes used to help a scooper nestle his craft safely into Zanzibar's cradles.

Dugay stowed emergency supplies inside, made sure the supply/rescue pods were securely lashed to the davits and finished suiting up.

"Come on, Patron. The fresh air will do you good."

Patron eyed him dubiously. "Me in that thing? You have a marvelous sense of humor. I'm bigger than it is."

Dugay picked a suit size labeled XXX-LARGE off the rack and threw it at him. "Wiggle into that. You won't weigh a thing once we leave."

Patron swore but didn't resist as a trio of cybermates pulled off his safety suit and stretched the new garment over him. He snorted impatiently until he was packed inside nice and snug.

"I can't breathe in this straitjacket."

Dugay helped him in through the hatch. "We have oxygen on board. You can breathe later."

They settled into the cramped cockpit and settled down. Jumpships were spring-launched since the asteroid had a low escape velocity. The coils gave them a strong kick and soon afterward, Zanzibar was no more than a medium-sized gray boulder, dwindling rapidly behind, enveloped in a swelling cloud of debris and rubble. A few hours later, it was a mere dust mote, nearly invisible against the star field.

Patron studied the imagery grimly, shook his head sadly. "I spent my whole life building that place...now—"

Dugay agreed. "I just hope InFed's got ships headed there to pick up survivors."

"If there are any."

For a day, they blasted out maydays and urgent rescue signals to any ship that could detect them. They also tracked the auto-distress signal from Kate's ship and passed the time taking turns trying to spot the source. It was emanating from somewhere among a batch of oblong rockbodies; the enhanced view showed hundreds of separate fragments, all of them potentially big enough to shelter survivors. Dugay used the motor sparingly. He knew he would have to conserve enough fuel to make a good search and save some for more searching if needed.

The supply pods dangled behind them like balloons. They could only hope that they'd brought enough food, water and oxygen to go around. The pods could hold one person comfortably, two in a pinch. But if there were more than four or five survivors, it could be nasty.

After a two-day ride that seemed like a year, the jumper passed the first of the smaller asteroids and, as they had suspected, it was a dump. Even without the scopes, they could see the low hills of slag and junked equipment, glittering like a gold vein in the sunlight. Someday, Dugay thought, archaeologists will fight each other over the right to sift through all that trash. They'll write learned dissertations on the meaning of it all.

They drifted through a small constellation of half-lit rock clumps, too small to worry about. They were tumbling rapidly, probably the ejections of some ore truck's slag jet. The signal weakened during the passage, scattered by the debris, so Dugay nudged them above it and resumed tracking.

They found the first piece of wreckage drifting silently behind a larger asteroid, a blackened, fused orb of twisted metal that still scanned hot.

"Looks like an explosion of some kind," said Dugay. His heart sank at the thought. The chances for survivors were narrowing. "That's an engine thrust chamber, by the shape of it."

More wreckage followed: sheared-off beams, a portion of a dish antenna, a chair still intact, a mangled mess of tubing, a ruptured spherical vessel. The scraps were too closely bunched to be anything but a recent catastrophe.

"Let's plot the trajectories of the biggest pieces and get an average. Maybe we can extrapolate where it happened."

Dugay fed the computer what it wanted and it soon gave them a course to follow. He put the jumper into an intersecting orbit and dreaded what they would find.

_Kate—I love you wherever you are._ He tried the words out in his mind. It wasn't fair, not having the chance to use them. _She's a tough old bitch—she just can't be gone now. Not now._

"There it is!" Patron cried out. He grunted trying to maneuver himself for a better view. "Allah be damned—will you look at that."

Dugay did and it was sickening. Nomad class cruisers were supposed to look like big bread loaves, tapered at both ends with a girdle of radiation panels amidships to bleed heat into space from their pulse engines. The Delambrian vessel looked like a celery stick.

The engine pods had been wracked by a terrific explosion. That end of the cruiser looked like a giant hand had squeezed it too hard. It was crumpled, bunched and twisted, and still surrounded by a hail of spinning junk. There should have been an intense sheath of radiation in the area but measurements proved otherwise. Dugay was puzzled.

"It's almost like it imploded. The radiation is confined very neatly to a small band around the back of the ship. It looks deliberate."

"Sabotage? The same people that hit Zanzibar?"

"I don't know. But I don't see how anyone could have survived that. What's happened to the signal?"

"It was stronger than ever until we closed with the cruiser. Then it just stopped."

"What? Are you sure?"

"See for yourself."

It was true. Dugay backed off and the signal resumed. It had to be nearby. The auto-distress transmitter was contained in a little capsule that could either be ejected from a ship in trouble or taken off by the crew to mark their location. A steady pulse filled the cockpit.

"It's coming from that rock over there," said Patron. "The big one."

Dugay approached the asteroid—it looked like a barbell, tumbling slowly about its long axis. He ventured as close as he dared, while Patron trained the scope on it. The crust was fissured at several points and peppered with craters of all sizes. Plenty of places to ride out an emergency.

"Anything?" Dugay asked.

"I don't believe it."

"What—"

"Take a look."

Dugay grabbed the instrument and swung it into position. He peered in.

The terrain was a forbidding chaos of cracks, craters and caves. A fine patina of gray-brown dust dulled what little light there was. He panned the scope a bit and saw it: a blinking light...red/white, red/white. The computer confirmed it. The light was the source of the signal.

Dugay let out a whoop of joy, then told the computer to amplify the ambient light, filtering out the beacon. He wanted a better look at the camp.

The scene was incredible. Three parallel rows of portahuts lay off to one side of the beacon. The camp had been set up with obvious care and lacked any resemblance to emergency shelter at all. A solar cell array had been erected on a hill above the plateau where the huts were situated. It could have been a prospectors' camp, hunting for valuable ores, except for the wreckage of the cruiser above them. Dugay didn't know what to make of it.

He knew they were being baited but he moved the jumper as near to the asteroid as he could. Its gravity was weak but measurable, so he had to settle for an orbit about two kilometers above the surface. Too far to jump.

"How are you going to get us down there?" Patron asked. "We didn't bring any scooter packs."

Dugay thought for a moment. "Maybe I can ride one of those supply pods down. Those tow lines are about a kilometer long, aren't they?"

"About that, yes."

"Suppose we do this: I button up my suit and hang onto the pod, while you give us just enough thrust to approach the rock at a steady rate. When you get about a kilometer or so from the surface, stop thrusting and hold where you are. If I'm right, inertia will rotate the pod right on down to the ground, or at least close enough for me to jump."

"That's the craziest stunt I ever heard of."

"At least I'm resourceful. Just make sure you don't go any closer than a kilometer. I don't want to be smashed by the pod when I hit the ground."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"I don't but that never stopped me before. Did I ever tell you that Athalonia was all my fault?"

"No and I don't want to hear about it. Take it easy out there."

Dugay exited the cabin and pulled himself hand over hand to the end of the tow line. He found a good purchase on top of the pod, where the line fastened to a ring. Patron started his descent.

It worked so well that Dugay almost laughed out loud. When the jumper halted and stabilized itself a kilometer above a deep canyon, Dugay got himself ready to fly. For a terrifying moment, he was certain that the arc of the pod's swing would throw him right into the far wall of the canyon. But Patron saw the problem in time and lifted the jumper a few hundred meters with a brief spurt on the rockets. He cleared the gorge and saw a patch of open plain.

Then, he jumped.

The free fall took several minutes so he had plenty of time to gauge his point of impact. The craters made for pleasant scenery but Dugay had other ideas. That little wedge of ground between them would do very nicely.

He was surprised at the give of the rock. It was porous and crumbled easily when he struck the ground and bounced up a few meters from the squat. That explained why the asteroid had been passed by. No minerals here—just a big dirt clod.

The bright and regular flash of the beacon showed him the way to go. Dugay took off, loping like a kangaroo over hill and crater, sometimes thirty meters to a bound. He leaped to the plateau in a single motion and stopped.

_This is quite a little settlement,_ he realized. Somebody came prepared for a long stay. It seemed like a silly place for a resort, unless Patron had expansion plans of some kind. Dugay studied the huts for a moment. Each one was a short, fat hexagon, rounded on top to deflect meteoric dust. Very much like the shacks he'd used on the Moon in the latter stages of the atmosphere project. Almost a bungalow. He and Kate had stayed in one at Tranquility Beach once.

He was mystified and searched out the entrance hatch. It was right where it should be and he covered the distance in two giant strides.

He rapped on the metal and it opened a few minutes later. A suited figure with a dark helmet visor greeted him. Dugay hand signaled his radio frequency but got no response. Instead, his host closed the hatch behind them and pressurized the airlock. There was something familiar about the way he was standing.

An audible hiss told them it was safe. Dugay hurriedly removed his helmet and waited for his host to do likewise. But he didn't. He shoved open the door and motioned Dugay to step through.

A half a dozen people were inside the hut, lounging around tables and sofas, all quite comfortable. The furnishings were Delambrian without a doubt—right down to the glitterglobes hovering in mid-air. Several women watched him with scarcely concealed grins. In spite of himself, Dugay smiled back at them; it seemed like the thing to do. They were the strangest bunch of castaways he'd ever encountered.

His host started to remove his own helmet but had trouble with a latch. Dugay turned around and offered to help but he backed away, insisting on doing it himself. With a clumsy yank and a loud oath, the helmet came off.

Dugay's mouth dropped open.

It was Kate Lind. And it wasn't Kate Lind. But it was—Dugay blinked and stared and squinted all at once. It _was_ Kate Lind. Only she'd changed her appearance.

"What in the name of Odin happened to you?" He grabbed her shoulders and hugged her, then stepped back for a better look. "What have you done?"

Kate laughed and handed him the balky helmet. She whirled around for him. "Do you like it? I'm surprised you even recognized me. The doctors worked for months on the alteration."

Dugay gaped at the changes. She'd lost thirty years in her face. Her eyes were larger, further apart, giving her a less mischievous, less elfin look. Her nose was flatter, cheeks higher, making her face an oval with a keen edge for a chin. She seemed taller, even stronger. No more the sly pretense of vulnerability. She'd have to wear her new bearing with more dignity.

"I don't understand," Dugay said.

"That doesn't surprise me," Kate scolded him. She wriggled out of her suit and Dugay saw even more changes. Her entire body was new—leaner, firmer. She was naked and he approved. She let herself be held and he realized her skin was more supple and textured than ever, it was a tight, glistening new coat, darker than before. He questioned her with his eyebrows. "It's called regenerative surgery. Plus, some new nanoderm. The best possible disguise."

"Disguise? Why?"

She poked him in the ribs. "To be with you, stupid." She took him by the arm and led him through a hatch and into another chamber. There was a hammock suspended from the ceiling. The bed swayed with the air currents. "You don't think I could get away with abdicating otherwise, do you?"

"Abdicating? You?"

She started undressing him. "Sure. Oh, Philippe, I couldn't. I mean—" She helped him out of the suit and tossed the undergarments to a girl by the hatch. "—I would have. You hurt me, you know. Badly. I wanted to kill you for the things you said at Patagonia that day. I couldn't make you see at all. You can't know what it's like at Delambre. It's a prison—I'm expected to be strong and impartial and resolute, because of my name. But I'm not." She fastened his arms around her waist. "I can't be my father anymore. I need to be held, like a woman. Both of us are victims, in a way. We've both got to shed our old skins and live as different people now."

The girl at the hatch coughed quietly and said, "Anything else, ma'am?"

Kate said, "No, Deela. That's all for now. Oh, would you turn off the beacon and the distress signal? We don't need it anymore." She grinned at him, as Deela pulled the door to.

"A trick?"

Her grin broadened. "Sort of. Don't you get it? I could never _appear_ to abdicate the Plutarchy. That would never do for a Lind; there would have been chaos. My brothers and sisters would have been murdered in a week. If I'd just quit the job and left, we'd have Ice Wars all over again, with each state trying to command the volatiles trade in the Inner Ring. Nobody could control that bunch of hotheads."

"So, you staged an accident."

"You're so clever, Philippe. The Chamber has procedures to deal with the death of the Plutarch. Grief guarantees a fairly orderly transition. My sister Kinelly will succeed me, in all likelihood, and she can use my 'tragic demise' as a test of loyalty. So far as they know, Kate Lind and her entire court perished in a cruiser explosion in the Belt. My ties are cut and, for the first time in my life, I'm free."

"That explains the surgery."

"And the silence. I was all ready to tell the System about you, Philippe. Our little secret would have turned Delambre inside out." She pulled out of his arms and went to the hatch, where she brushed aside a curtain over the porthole. She watched Deela and the others for a moment. "But I couldn't, damn it. I just couldn't. I needed you too much."

"Kate, you—"

"No," she said. "I want to say this. I _have_ to say it. I went through all this subterfuge because I'm selfish. I can't help what I am. I wanted to preserve my family's name and influence in the Chamber but I wanted to have you too. That's why I came back to Patagonia after all those years—to try again. I'm not sure why—I just had to. I think the Linds and the Dugays are just meant for each other. Fate and history binds us together."

Dugay came over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. They didn't touch.

"I've forgotten how to love, Kate. If I ever knew. I was afraid of you when I lived at Balmoral, afraid of what you knew and what you could do. And when you came to Patagonia and threatened me with—well, hell, I was just plain scared. All I'd done, you could have undone."

"Yet you went ahead?"

Dugay nodded and coaxed her back into his arms. "Like you, I had to. I had to see if I still had the touch. I _needed_ to know, Kate—it was important for me to get away and see just once if I could do something without you supporting me."

"Male pride...did you learn what you wanted?"

"More than I wanted," he admitted. "I was restive and impatient at Patagonia those years I did no work. I thought it was because the gas worlds were still undeveloped. But it wasn't. There was something else I hadn't done."

They surveyed each other for a second, then tumbled lazily down to the floor in each other's arms, laughing. Kate mussed his hair.

"You're impossible. Really. I don't know if I believe a word you say."

Dugay clasped her tightly, scratching her back. "You jealous witch. Why should I care what happens to you?"

She slapped him playfully and the impact sent him sprawling through the air. "Because you love me, you dolt. Now get into that bed."

Dugay sprang up. "Wait a minute. I forgot about Patron. He's out there in a jumpship full of emergency supplies." There was an exterior porthole just above the bed and Dugay bounded up to it. He looked out. "Kate, come here. You should see this."

She leaped into the hammock and joined him, kneeling on the edge. Dugay moved aside and pushed her up to the glass.

Outside, a glittering river of lights sparkled by the asteroid, speeding by overhead and then disappearing below the hills behind the camp. Each droplet seemed to shimmer like a meteor.

"What are they?"

"Ironballs from Jupiter," Dugay told her. "Heading for factory terretas in the Belt. Sunlight makes them glint like that. With any luck, the Outer Ring will soon be showering the skies around here with ironballs just like those."

"They're beautiful," Kate murmured. "A monument to your genius. Let's make a wish."

"All right, but you asked for it." He thought for a moment. "What about this: I wish I knew the design for the most perfect love there is."

Kate beamed at him and pulled the shade down over the porthole. "Now there's a wish I think I can grant."

Dugay hugged her tightly. "We really do need to get Patron down here and then see about getting rescued. You heard about Zanzibar, I suppose?"

Kate beamed at him. "I did...terrible tragedy, isn't it? But what's the hurry? After all, there can't be too many survivors, can there? InFed'll have dozens of ships scanning space all around us in a few days. Let's enjoy this...while we can."

They disappeared into each other's arms, pointedly ignoring an insistent beep from Patron's pod, still in orbit.
Chapter 6

Aboard InFed Escort Corvette _Michelangelo_

On Heliocentric Approach to Mercury

Solix 2.9.3156

Onboard _Michelangelo_ , UNISPACE commander Ivan Magadan was engaged in a full-scale ship emergency, just three days out from Mercury orbit and his mission of putting Leo Kamenas on the ground at Caloris City. A full-scale nanobotic swarm assault had breached part of _Michelangelo_ 's pressure hull and the entire crew had taken refuge in several lifeboats and escape pods.

Leo Kamenas wasn't the only one left to wonder if they were doomed to re-live the Zanzibar catastrophe from nine hundred years before. Someone once said history doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes.

The whole screwed-up mess had started several weeks before....

Ivan Magadan snorted at the words on the tablet screen in front of him. "Sun Ring, my ass," he muttered, then finished off his last finger of vodka and set the cup down with a firm thump.

Swanson Vogt did likewise with his beer, but waved at Marshall Bob, the erstwhile Old West robotender running the bar at Gateway's canteen. "Another round...right here."

Marshall Bob trundled over to retrieve the mug and moments later, had replaced it with a new frosty container, its sudsy head already spilling out onto the table.

"Hey, don't get your nose out of joint, Ivan. It gives the peasants something to do."

"Yeah, while we make like a big taxi and put this joker down at Mercury. Then build a spider web in space called a Sun Ring. I'm telling you...it's a dog and pony show, pure theater and that's all it is."

"Maybe so," Vogt said, licking foam from the mug. "But we've still got a job to do. You didn't sign up with the Corps to lie on a beach somewhere. At least, you're off cycler duty. What a brainfreeze that was, Earth to Mars to Venus and back again, like an old bus."

The two corvette captains, Magadan of the IFS _Michelangelo_ and Vogt of the IFS _Pegasus,_ stared morosely out the cupola window of the canteen, watching dock workers and yardbots swarm all over their two ships.

Vogt took a deep draft and belched, turning heads across the canteen. "Your crew ready, Ivan? There are only about a million things that can go wrong with this stunt."

"Ready as we can be," Magadan replied. "We didn't finish all our quals but Fleet says do it later, after we're underway. That's what I love about this whole operation...the Sun's going belly-up, so let's just throw the book out the window and wing it all the way. That's how you get people killed."

Vogt shrugged. "At least it'll be a good show. And they can always blame any failures on the poor crews and captains of _Pegasus_ and _Michelangelo_. Makes sense to me. We do have an awful lot of rookies onboard. Hey, I saw that new engineering officer of yours yesterday. What's her name?"

"You mean Lieutenant Commander Polansky? Yeah, she's our new angel...and that's one practice the Corps has maintained for about three decades too long. Whose idea was it anyway that execs and engineering chiefs should be angels? Here we are fighting a cloud of robo-bugs eating up the Sun and what do we do: we use the same damn bugs to man our ships. Pure genius, if you ask me."

Through the cupola window, the two captains watched dockhands scurrying around _Michelangelo_ , checking last minute fittings and upgrades to her structure.

"Still looks like a big kebab skewer to me," Vogt said. "And all the hab spaces are like onions and potatoes."

"She does have quite a kick, though," Magadan said. "New plasma torch engines. Once we launch, we can be on site at Mercury-Sun L1 in less than twelve weeks."

"What say we make like captains and take a tour?"

"You're on." Magadan slammed back the rest of his sake.

The two of them left the canteen and made their way through tunnels and compartments to Gateway's outer docks.

In loose orbit around Earth's L2 equilibrium point, Gateway Station was an oddball assortment of cylinders and spheres, hung on trusswork-like structure like grapes on a trellis. A few hundred meters away, _Michelangelo_ floated serenely oblivious to the fantastic vista around her, tethered by telescoping work tubes to the station.

At the dock hatch, Vogt studied the venerable old ship through the nav scope. "She still looks like a kebab skewer."

Magadan beamed. "True, she ain't much for the eyes. But she did yeoman duty as a cycler for five years, 'til _Ptolemy_ and _Voltaire_ and the newer ships came along. Venus, Earth and Mars, around and around. Not the most exciting duty I ever pulled but she was a good ship and we had a good crew. Swan, you remember Marcel Goodwin?"

"Old Goody? I do indeed. Worked with him building the station here. I guess he was off flight duty then. Gruff old bird but he had some stories that would curdle your nose hairs."

"Yep, that was Goodwin. Best captain I ever worked with. When you're cycling, time passes pretty slowly. It's boring duty. But I have to hand it to Old Goody. We seldom had a boring day. Only C/O I ever served under who could make casualty drills into a contest and get you motivated to pull doubles every week and like it."

Vogt and Magadan cycled through the dock lockout and rode a small shuttle on curving tracks along the worktube to the ship. The once-mothballed cycler was designed with a long central mast off of which hung cylinders and spheres, a quad of propellant tanks stuck on the aft end above radiation shielding and her plasma torch engine bay.

"She's the only thing around here that could make the trip out to our first deployment site in less than three months. We don't have a lot of suitable ships in the vicinity."

Ivan Magadan had developed a lot of respect for Frontier Corps people over the years. When word came out from CINCSPACE that _Big Mike_ was to be saved from the scrapyard and converted for deployment ops and courier duty in the Inner System, he thought the schedule Paris had sent up was insane and that was being kind. But converting _Big Mike_ and her sister ships was priority number one at Gateway Station and the engineers and techs and roughnecks of Frontier Corps had gone to work with pluck and determination you didn't often see back Earthside.

Which was just as well since CINCSPACE had decreed that _Michelangelo_ would launch not later than two weeks...fourteen days...from today, come what may.

Magadan figured the techs would still be nailing parts on the old warhorse even as she lit off her plasma torch engines and headed out.

"Let's check out the bridge first," Magadan offered. He and Vogt drifted through the main hatch, skirting tubes, ducts and wireways stuffed through the opening as dockhands scurried about, then made their way along the main gangway forward to A deck, the command center.

They made their way down an access tunnel and into the airlock, where Magadan encountered a young electrician with a tablet. Magadan scanned the work logs, then signed off. The electrician disappeared back into the worktube. Magadan grabbed his gear and bags and pitched them in his bunk compartment three levels down, then drifted back up to A Level to find Vikram Singh, Gateway's chief engineer, dressing down a few young techs for something they'd done or not done. After haranguing the poor saps for five minutes, Singh kicked them out of his office and blinked hard, realizing it was Ivan Magadan and Swanson Vogt hanging at the door.

"Either I've had a few beers too many or that's the legendary Magadan-san gracing my doorway...I heard you were running _Big Mike_."

They shook hands, then embraced roughly, slapping each other on the back. Magadan introduced Vogt.

"Yeah, Vik...it's me. And I'm supposed to be driving that old crate you guys are sprucing up. I'm taking Swan here on a little tour. How's it going?"

Singh was partially balding with a fringe of gray hair like a halo around the top of his head. He swept his hand toward the view outside the porthole. "That 'old crate' you're referring to will soon be able to run circles around all the other cyclers, once we get through with her. Complete re-do on all decks and everything aft of the propellant quad is brand new...the engine bay's got higher temperature chambers, high-capacity plates and shielding. Plus a new reactor core, right out of the box. Take a look—"

Singh pressed a few keys on his desk keyboard and the swarm box on his desk came alive, a faint sparkling fog issuing out of its head like a smoking chimney. In seconds, the swarm formed itself into a scale model likeness of the _Michelangelo_ , floating in space between the two men.

Vogt marveled at the detail. Right down to the seams on her hab spaces and the stores and supplies pods hung off the main struts, the nanobotic model was a faithful reproduction of the very ship they were in, complete down to the most minute details.

"CINCSPACE was right...it _does_ look like a kebab skewer. Those pods could be the onions."

Singh snorted. "Those pods you call onions are A, B, and C decks. That's where you're going to spend the next six months, Captain."

"I want to see for myself, Vik."

Singh smiled. "First, you meet my assistant...Viktor." Singh pressed another button and the swarm box issued more glowing fog. This time, a para-human angel entity formed up, hovering over them like something out of a dream. The bot stream swirled and shifted, drifting and coalescing into the likeness of a face and shoulders...a passable sim of a bearded, squint-eyed sage with a double-chin...a suitable resemblance to Buddha himself.

Magadan was duly impressed. "Hello, Viktor...what exactly do you do around this place anyway?"

The Viktor angel swirled and brightened as the bots built structure and stabilized the image.

***I assist Dr. Singh in any way possible. I take notes and images, manage assignments, handle correspondence and perform many other essential functions for this project***

Magadan understood. "You're a glorified secretary." The swarm brightened and roiled like a time-lapse storm front at Magadan's words.

"You're not hurting his feelings by calling him a secretary," Singh said. "Viktor's very proud of what he does. I couldn't manage this mess without him."

_***And I have the greatest respect and admiration for Dr. Singh and what he has been able to accomplish in renovating_ Michelangelo _, with limited time and resources***_

"A secretary _and_ a cheerleader...Vik, anytime I need an ego boost, I know where to come. Now how about a little trip to show off _Big Mike_? Swan here swears his own _Pegasus_ can run circles around this crate."

"When pigs fly, Captain. Gentlemen, just follow me."

Singh, Magadan and Vogt made their way down the ship's central gangway to an airlock at the end of C Deck. They cycled through and found themselves aboard _Big Mike's_ Service and Support deck, the bottom onion on the kebab skewer.

"Let's go forward...to the command deck. If I'm right, your new engineering officer's already aboard."

"Polansky? I didn't know she had arrived."

Singh smiled. "Captain, there's a lot you don't know about what goes on around here."

The three men made their way forward through the ship's central tunnel, past wire and cable bundles, exposed ventilation ductwork and workbots drifting from deck to deck, carrying tools, supplies, lunch buckets and everything else crews needed. Finishing _Big Mike_ was priority number one at Gateway Station and every able-bodied man and bot had been drafted for the work, which had proceeded around the clock for the last few weeks.

A Deck was command and control center for the ship. Magadan and Vogt followed Singh through the hatch and settled onto a landing just outside the main control station. They entered the space and found the compartment jammed with electricians, workbots and floating clumps of terminal boards and junction boxes.

A woman sat at the commander's station, checking off switch positions against a tablet strapped to her knee. She had short jet-black hair and high, angular cheeks, giving her a haughty, almost arrogant look to her vaguely central European face. Her uniform said UNISPACE and Hawley instantly recognized Lieutenant Commander Jana Polansky from the back.

"Attention on deck!" he snapped, partly in jest, just to see what would happen.

Polansky's head snapped around and she was already springing out of the seat when she realized Magadan's joke. She stood up, clinging to a nearby stanchion and the tablet banged against the seat.

"Captain Magadan...I heard the shuttle dock awhile ago...didn't know you were aboard her. Er...welcome to _Michelangelo_...I was just checking settings on the main panel—"

"At ease, Commander...don't stop what you're doing. I just wanted to see things for myself. It's been a few years since I served on a cycler. And I wanted to show Captain Vogt here how a real ship is run. Vogt's skippering the _Pegasus."_

"Yes, sir...she's coming along nicely...all the controls are powered up...we're just running continuity checks today, sir. You know how the schedule is, sir."

"Insane as usual. Glad to have you on the crew. By the way, have you seen the crew manifest for our little jaunt into the void?"

"Briefly, sir. Lieutenant Kohl will be our navigation officer. He's the only one I know personally. Him plus our illustrious passenger Mr. Kamenas."

Magadan pulled a commandpad from his pocket and called up the duty roster. "Check out our new Engineering Officer, Swan."

Vogt studied the names, reading aloud as he went down the list. "UNISPACE's latest fad. Now, we're just like Quantum Corps. I see your engineering officer is a swarm angel. A cloud of bugs."

Polansky stared back at both them, swallowing her irritation. Clearly, Magadan knew what she was. She didn't feel the need to hit people over the head with it, but _really_... who wasn't nowadays?

"Oh, yes...we have swarm entities now serving as line officers...on actual ships...while they're underway."

Vogt just shook his head. "Get ready for it, Captain. Further adventures in outer space...that's what I call it. I can't wait till we muster our crew for the first time."

Vikram Singh cleared his throat. "Perhaps, we should continue our tour of the ship, Captain...I can show you some of the new stuff we've installed on _Big Mike_."

With that, Magadan, Vogt and Singh headed aft through _Michelangelo's_ main gangway. Jana Polansky was left alone on the command deck, with her blueprints and wiring bundles, wondering.

She decided to get to work. There was a mission to perform and it had to be done before _Michelangelo_ shoved off in two days.

Aboard the _Michelangelo_ (IFS-230)

Sun Ring Deployment Trajectory S-2

Post-Boost + 8 days

2245 hours

Dietrick Vogel finished off his beer in the ship's galley and belched. He stared out the porthole nearby, not that there was anything to see millions of miles from nowhere. Black space. The Great Beyond. He might as well have been inside the closet of his bunk compartment on B Deck, for all there was to look at. He glared back at Roy Favors, who was nibbling up scraps of his sandwich and eyeing the clock on the bulkhead. They were both due at their duty stations in less than ten minutes.

"I'm telling you, Roy, that Commander Polansky's different, somehow. I can't put my finger on it, but she's just plain weird. You spend time on A Deck...you telling me you ain't seen that?"

"She's an officer...what do you expect? They're all different...like a different species."

Vogel eyed the clock, decided he'd better get down to B deck, where his shift as a Systems Tech 1 was set to start in less than ten minutes. "I dunno...this whole mission's messed up. Details all hush-hush...crew cobbled together from every vacuumhead who can lift a wrench...headed to places nobody in his right mind would go...laying down some kind of glorified spider web in space...too close to the Sun...it's nuts, if you ask me."

Favors just stared morosely into his drink. "Nobody made you sign up...we're all volunteers here. Why'd you come aboard?"

"Money, same as you. Cripes, I got debts...got that big wagon back on Earth. Plus, a neat little sailer for the ocean...somebody's got to pay for all that crap. And my oldest...Rico...you know he's headed off to college. All that Ed-Net stuff and nobody can afford those stimplants anymore. So, he's got to get his fat butt into class and on-line."

Vogel left for B Deck and Favors just sat there wondering. _Big Mike_ was only a week plus out of Gateway Station, on a speed run to Sun-Mercury L1, bearing components critical to the Sun Ring and a very hush-hush passenger named Kamenas and already the gripes and the whining had started. Maybe Dietrick was right. The whole mission was cursed. You didn't have to prowl _Big Mike's_ gangways, corridors and decks for long to get a strong whiff of foreboding, a sense of unease among the crew. Some said the whole thing was a hunt for ghosts, a fool's errand, cobbled together at the last minute, doomed to fail. Having a weird bird like Commander Polansky onboard didn't make matters any better.

Captain Magadan's EO was a known hardass, even allowing for the great legs, the high cheekbones and exotic eyes. She was a looker but like Vogel said, she was serious bad news and she didn't belong on an old cycler heading off to the Great Beyond. She was greener than fresh puke and meaner than a snake. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but most of the crew had taken an instant dislike to her. Crews were like that. They could sniff out phonies and ass-kissers in no time and Jana Polansky gave everybody the creeps.

Favors had to admit he was one of them. There was an aloofness, a kind of regal distance to the way she comported herself, like she didn't belong and she knew it but she wasn't going to lower her guard to acknowledge the obvious. Frontier Corps officers were strange beings from another dimension...everybody already knew that.

Jana Polansky was the strangest being he'd ever seen in twenty-four years with the Corps.

One deck forward of _Michelangelo's_ wardroom, Lieutenant Commander Jana Polansky and Captain Ivan Magadan were up in the command center on A deck, methodically going over mission orders. Command was empty except for the two officers. A phasing burn was coming up in a few minutes, a burn which would put _Michelangelo_ on a gravity-assist course toward her initial deployment position at Sun-Mercury L1. Once the burn was made, _Big Mike_ was committed to deep space. She wouldn't be able to turn about and come home for weeks once her trajectory was shifted. The physics of orbital mechanics would make sure of that.

Magadan wasn't too sure he liked Frontier Corps cramming a new and untested officer down his throat as engineering officer, even though he knew perfectly well that she came with the highest ratings and fitness reports.

He'd spent the last night before shove-off at the Mariner Bar, at Gateway Station, knocking back a few cold ones with other officers. The question of using angels, para-human nanobotic swarm entities, as serving line officers surfaced some strong opinions. Magadan was one of them.

"Look, guys, I'm an old cycler captain. I'm used to spinning around the Sun in a nice easy stable orbit...not too much excitement, nothing to see, nothing to do. I'm for anything that makes my life easier. The Corps started integrating swarm para-human 'crewmen' into our normal rotations about fifteen years ago. Call it efficiency. Cost savings. Latest technology upgrade. Politics. Call it whatever you want. Just don't give me something that makes my life harder. Cycler captains like routine. We don't like surprises. And so far—"Magadan shrugged, worked his beer for a moment, "—it's worked like a charm. Commander Polansky has been a most able crewman and engineering officer. Does everything I ask. Doesn't get the rest of the crew riled up...anymore. We had some issues in the beginning...I'm sure you know the scuttlebutt. You know...dinosaurs, troglodytes who can't accept change. Everybody has those types. But Polansky's worked out pretty well."

The bar discussion had gone on for awhile and Magadan remembered there never had been a consensus on whether the angels made good officers or not. Pretty much true for Frontier Corps as well, he thought. Angels had been serving as crewmen for decades, although none had ever captained a ship, even a bus like this old cycler ship, which most considered pretty boring duty. He'd never had any reason to doubt Polansky's fitness, but all the same...you couldn't help but wonder.

"Commander, all systems ready for the phasing burn?"

Jana Polansky scanned a tablet from her right-hand seat, double-checked something from the main console and nodded in the affirmative.

"Yes, sir, Captain. All departments report ready. Plasma engines on line, voltages steady, reactors at full mil power. Central mast rigidizing complete. Tanks at flight pressure. The ship is ready for the phasing burn, sir."

"Very well, Commander. Give me the count."

Polansky checked the ship's clock. "Five minutes on the mark, sir. Maneuver Two is enabled and ISAAC flags no anomalies or contingencies at this time. Waiting to proceed."

Magadan checked the board himself. The whole thing was fully automated but Frontier Corps captains like to feel the wind on their faces, so he checked anyway. ISAAC was the ship's master computer and ISAAC was never wrong.

"Proceed."

Polansky punched a few buttons and ISAAC counted down the last few minutes to the burn.

It was a gentle acceleration, less than five meters per second, but the result of the burn would be to put Big Mike on a tangential approach trajectory to L1. The entire burn lasted less than a minute and when the ship's engines cut off, _Michelangelo_ was on course, right in the center of the corridor, essentially zero rates in all axes, for L1 approach two months from now.

"Well done, Commander. I'm heading aft to grab a bite. You have the bridge." He hoisted himself out of his seat and turned toward the hatch to the central gangway.

"Thank you, sir. It is always a pleasure to see all systems perform so well. Scanning no anomalies at this time, sir. Systems functioning at ninety-seven point-six percent design capacity."

Something in the way she said it caught Magadan's attention. He sat back down. "You say that a lot, Commander. All ship systems functioning at capacity. How do you figure that?"

Polansky turned slightly in her seat. She was attractive in an exotic way, with her high cheek bones and oval eyes, partially hidden behind dataspecs. The specs glowed and winked red and green as she accessed data from ISAAC and studied parameters from ship systems.

"It's an algorithm, Captain. You are aware of this, I'm sure. All ship systems report status regularly to ISAAC, which formats the data and reports to me. I have a real time picture of how well all systems are performing. A good engineering officer always has this data at their command, for decisions by the captain."

_Quoted right out of the Frontier Corps manual of command_ , Magadan knew. Verbatim. "Do you ever sleep, Polansky? I mean, we all have duty shifts. I know Command is never really off duty, but you must take some downtime eventually. Even angels need some kind of maintenance, don't they?"

Polansky smiled faintly and Magadan thought he detected just the slightest flaw in her expression...very subtle, but it was like her lips weren't attached to her face just right. _What the hell was that?_ Then he remembered something from her personnel file...Jana Polansky was enhanced, loaded with bots and whizbang configs to rev up her respiration, her mind, her muscles, everything. She could swap files with ISAAC like kids swapped lies on the playground.

_Probably some kind of weird closet Assimilationist_ , he decided.

"Sir, as you know, I..." she seemed at a loss for words. "...I require less rest than most of the crew. Maintenance periods are a part of my routine. I don't rest the same way you do, sir. Or the rest of the crew."

Magadan sniffed. "So I noticed. And that neuro-boost you went through several years ago...what does that tell you about our crew? How are they performing, five weeks into the mission?"

Polansky gave that some thought. Magadan saw her specs winking on and off furiously. No doubt checking with ISAAC, dredging up all kinds of files. Angels could eat bits and bytes like kids ate candy.

"The crew is performing at a composite rate of greater than ninety-five percent efficiency, according to the percentage of tasks completed on time. Department ratings range from ninety-one percent to ninety nine percent in Engineering. The median value is—"

Magadan held up a hand. "Okay, okay, I give up. You've got all the data. But I'm hearing talk, scuttlebutt really, about this mission. Some of the crew is uneasy. Some of the crew thinks the mission is cobbled together, that it's not well thought out, that it's all politics to show people back home we're doing something about the Sun. What does your data say about that, Commander?"

Polansky seemed to be checking some kind of reading on her specs. Her eyes narrowed. "I have no such data, Captain. As engineering officer, you know I have the highest enthusiasm for our mission. Operation _Sun Ring_ is an important mission, critical to preventing the Sun from adversely affecting the inner worlds of InFed. Any concerns and discontents among the crew have not been reflected in the departmental ratings or performance data."

Magadan figured he ought to be glad for that. "Polansky, you sound like a marketing brochure. Give me the residuals for the burn and let's go over the rest of the mission time line. We've got L1 Encounter in less than a month. I want daily drills in every department. On a mission like this, we've got to do everything we can to stay sharp."

"Captain, the next waypoint is S-6, less than five days away. May I recommend—"But Jana Polansky never finished her sentence. At that exact moment, an event timer in her central processor had reached zero. The little surprise she had been ordered to plant in _Michelangelo's_ Supplies and Stores deck commenced its programmed sequence. It was time to start.

Barely an hour before the master alarm sounded, Detrick Vogel had decided that he just couldn't stay in his cramped bunk compartment a second longer. It was hot, stuffy, noisy and _what the hell was that smell, anyway_? Better to slip out and head for the galley. A sandwich and a beer...or what passed for beer aboard _Big Mike_...that ought to do the trick.

But before he could exit the crews' berth on B deck into the gangway tunnel, a shadow had drifted by the hatch opening. Instinctively, he held back to let whoever it was pass by.

It turned out to be Commander Polansky, the swarm angel EO, moving quickly aft.

If he had been asked about the incident later, Systems Tech Vogel could have never given a convincing reason for why he decided to follow the angel to wherever it was going. Instinct, maybe. Suspicion, for sure. Curiosity. All these could have been suggested as motives for what he had done.

Regardless, Vogel waited for a full five-second count, then slipped out into the gangway. Down at the end of the tunnel that ran through the center of _Michelangelo_ , giving access to all decks and compartments, he saw the back of Polansky's head. She turned and slipped into the hatch for C deck.

_Why's she going that way_ , Vogel wondered? C deck was for Service and Support. It contained the lockout chamber for crewmen to enter and leave the ship while she was underway. Vogel instinctively headed down the gangway in the same direction. C deck also provided access to _Big Mike's_ tail mast, and a narrow tunnel aft where equipment and controls were housed for propellant tanks, her reactors and the plasma torch engines.

Vogel crept down the gangway with a growing sense of unease. He could feel the ship settling in for cruise after the phasing burn. Vibration was steady and she was settling on to her trajectory for the run down to L1. Vogel didn't want to think too much about that. The truth was there were already a million things that could go wrong before they ever got there.

And he had a feeling the first one might be about to happen—

At C deck hatch, Vogel peered cautiously into the deck compartment. At first, he didn't see anything, didn't see Commander Polansky, didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He wasn't even sure Systems personnel were allowed down here. He certainly wasn't familiar with any of the gear or systems on C deck.

Vogel slipped through the hatch.

That's when Systems Tech Vogel spotted Commander Jana Polansky. Behind some starboard rack-mounted shelving, Polansky...or whatever the hell she was...had lost a bit of structure, so that the swarm was no longer quite so human-like, more like a slightly misshapen funhouse mirror distortion of a human. The swarm had gathered around some gear mounted on the hull itself.

With a start, Vogel soon realized the gear which had attracted Polansky's attention and efforts was a hull valve, part of the logistics airlock system. The valve assembly allowed air in and out of _Big Mike's_ pressure equalizing tanks. The hull valves helped _Michelangelo_ ship supplies and gear from space without having to de-pressurize the whole deck.

From his memory of a distant briefing before they had left Gateway Station, Vogel recalled that the hull valves were fully exposed to the vacuum of space. It was a critical system. The hull valves had to work. If they failed closed, _Michelangelo_ couldn't expel air from the airlock and the outer hatch couldn't be opened. If they failed open, the entire interior pressure hull, all spaces, could be exposed to vacuum. A catastrophic de-pressurization casualty could result...Captain Magadan had been quite clear about that.

_What the hell is she doing_? Vogel wondered. He eased into the deck compartment and then it hit him.

Jana Polansky was letting some of her swarm bots infest the hull valve.

His heart went into his mouth. He had to do something. He had to stop her.

Dietrick Vogel felt for the alarm panel by the hatch and stabbed the Master Alarm button. Instantly, a warning klaxon sounded throughout _Michelangelo_ , screeching and warbling through all decks.

Polansky turned around and spotted him. He saw that her hand was gone...or more accurately, had broken down into a cloud of bots. A steady stream was flowing off the stump at the end of her arm into the hull valve assembly.

There was only one thing he could do. All the HERF and mag weapons were locked in the armory on A deck, three levels away.

Vogel closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, then lunged at the Jana Polansky swarm with every ounce of force he could muster.

The only sure way to kill a swarm was with another swarm. He'd learned that on day one in _nog_ school tactical class. But he didn't have a swarm. He didn't have a HERF gun. Not even a wrench or a hammer.

All he had was his own mass and momentum. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Vogel was dimly aware that his chances were, to put it mildly, remote. It would have been easier to cold-cock a cloud of smoke. But he realized as he lunged forward that he really didn't care.

It was high time to kick the bejeezus out of this scumbag swarm.

Ivan Magadan was scrolling through some notes on ship systems in his stateroom when the master alarm sounded through the ship. Instantly, he sprang up and headed out into _Michelangelo's_ central gangway. As he headed aft toward the sound of the klaxon, he collided with Lieutenant Dean Kohl, the ship's propulsion systems officer, coming down from A deck.

"What the hell's going on?"

Kohl was grim. Right behind the officer was Sergeant Roy Favors, ship's machinist mate, just coming off shift.

"It's coming from C deck...there are vital systems down there. Come on—" Magadan pushed past both of them and pulled himself along the gangway rails. When he got to the hatch, he slipped inside and came up short.

Half the compartment was enveloped in some kind of bot swarm. And what was left of Dietrick Vogel lay writhing in a swirling cloud of pulp on the deck, a chewed-up mass of half-disassembled tissue and blood, rapidly disintegrating into atom fluff.

Magadan saw the problem right away. The hull valve was fully enveloped in a swarm. And already a thin stream of air was squealing toward the valve, now partially open to space. Dust, debris, papers, tools and anything else not locked down was flying through the air, now fully entrained in the escaping airstream. A cold fog had formed in the sudden pressure drop and Magadan felt his eardrums close to bursting.

"Kohl...get to the armory...get some HERF weapons! And get Sergeant Favors in here right away!"

Kohl was already on the move toward the ship's central gangway. "What about you, Skipper?"

Magadan was reaching for a small control panel near the hatch. "I'm hitting EOS...got to flood this compartment with air and secure that hatch! Get moving--!"

Kohl vanished in the growing hailstorm, his ears already popping in the falling pressure. As he fell out into the gangway, he saw Favors sliding down from B Deck.

"What's happened?"

Kohl quickly filled him in. "Get in there...Captain needs help fast! It's a swarm...the EO, Commander Polansky...it's trying to breach the hull at the airlock—" Kohl squeezed by and headed up to B deck. Just outside the captain's stateroom, a locked cabinet contained the ship's hand weapons: HERF rifles and mag pulsers. He had to get up there, grab a few guns and get back fast, before Magadan secured the C deck hatch permanently.

"I was in the shop when I heard the master alarm...I think ISAAC's running the ship now...I saw pressure sensors going off down here—" Favors slipped by Kohl as he headed up. The machinist squeezed through the deck hatch, already swinging shut, and immediately saw what was left of Jana Polansky now fully enveloping the airlock and hull valve assembly. Tendrils of bots streamed off her arms and were fast approaching Magadan, who waved his hands and arms, even as he fought to stay upright in the falling pressure, pelted by a rain of debris swirling around the airlock.

Favors plowed through the hailstorm toward Polansky, or what was left of Polansky, for by now the Commander had almost fully dematerialized into a cloud of bots, filling one corner of C deck with a flashing, pulsating fog.

Magadan lunged instinctively toward his engineering officer, then stopped, realizing that the angel was probably their only chance to stop a catastrophic hull breach. For a moment, the two looked at each other. Magadan knew the situation was grave and getting worse.

Favors' voice was firm. "Get everybody off this deck, Captain. Right now. Once that hatch is shut and I empty the air flasks, you won't be able to get out. If that hull valve or the bulkhead goes, you'll all be killed."

"I've got to get control of Big Mike, before we lose everything!"

Favors bodily shoved Magadan through the hatch and into the central gangway. "If I don't stop that swarm right here and now, Captain, nothing else will matter!" It was the least he could do after what had happened to Dietrick Vogel.

Magadan shrugged and nodded grimly, then disappeared up the gangway. Once he was clear, Favors dogged the hatch shut and made it fast. Then he turned to the Jana Polansky swarm.

The entire far wall of the compartment was now thick with bots, the swarm replicating at max rate, now that it no longer needed to maintain structure.

Favors knew there was only one thing to do. Magadan's initial instincts had been right. The best way to fight a swarm was with another swarm. As he extracted a tiny capsule from his pocket—the thing had somehow made it through Security and even his best friend Vogel didn't know anything about it—he cycled the capsule's port controls to discharge a formation of bots. Favors took one last look at what Commander Jana Polansky had now become.

The angel still had not fully dematerialized. From its head down to its waist, all human structure was gone, replaced by a fuzzy, pulsating blob of bots, like a tree enveloped in fog. Below the waist, most of Polansky's trunk and legs were still faintly visible, in shadowy outline, as the swarm changed config and assumed its natural state. The effect was something half-human, half-swarm, a hybrid thing, steadily breaking down into its smallest elements.

Favors thumbed a control stud on the side of the capsule, giving commands to the tiny swarm now emerging from containment. "Time to get small!" he yelled over the shriek. He grabbed a nearby stanchion to stay upright as _Michelangelo_ lurched again. Up on A deck, he knew Magadan would be fighting to keep the ship under control. "Now going loose...enabling Config Delta seven seven—"

Through it all, the master alarm klaxon continued shrieking.

Outside in the gangway, Dean Kohl knew what the last lurch meant...a huge bubble of air had just been explosively expelled from C deck. The blast acted like a thruster, careening _Michelangelo_ on her side. Kohl was thrown head first against a nearby stanchion, gashing his forehead. Blood spurted out but he didn't fall to the deck. Instead, his head was quickly enveloped in a cold, bloody froth as the bulkhead began to collapse.

He staggered to the nearest 1MC circuit and punched _TALK_.

"Hull breach!" Kohl said. "Pressure drop on C deck... now the flight shielding...shielding's gone. Rad levels rising rapidly—"

Magadan was already up on the command deck. His voice was ragged.

" _Get a message off_...I'm ejecting the emergency beacon...we've got to let UNISPACE know what's out here!"

Alarms sounded and lights flashed on _Big Mike's_ command deck. Auto sequences were engaged and ISAAC, still functioning albeit at reduced capacity, shutdown the plasma torch engines as a precaution against explosion...or worse.

ISAAC's automated voice sounded throughout the ship. " _ALL HANDS ABANDON SHIP. ALL HANDS, MAN LIFE PODS AND EMERGENCY CAPSULES...ALL HANDS_ —"

But no one responded on the command deck any longer. No one responded on B or C decks either.

Explosive decompression had already started and in the final seconds of the swirling gale that engulfed the C deck, Lieutenant Dean Kohl had one remaining thought before falling down the great black tunnel of unconsciousness.

The Old Ones aren't seven billion kilometers away at all. They're right here. The buggers have been here all along.

Then the swarm that had once been Jana Polansky enveloped _Michelangelo_ completely and began catastrophic disassembly of all remaining structures.

Over the squeal, then the roar of escaping air, the plaintive sounds of ISAAC bleated out emergency warnings over and over again.

" _Level One Emergency...level one emergency...hull breach all decks and sections...all personnel, man the escape pods, man escape pods immediately...all personnel—"_

Nothing was ever heard from UNISPACE corvette UNS-230 again. Exactly two of the escape pods had launched. One contained Leo Kamenas and ship's electrician's mate Abdul Sudan. The other pod was empty, for her intended occupants had never made it off _Michelangelo_.

And out of the rapidly expanding bubble of debris that had once been _Michelangelo_ , a small wisp of nanobots drifted away from the wreckage. Once known as Jana Polansky, over the course of several days, the small swarm would gather itself together into a tight configuration of bots and power up its picowatt propulsors. The nearly invisible swarm would then re-orient itself toward Mercury and Caloris City and set off.

There was still another mission to perform. The programming driving this new mission had originally been done by none other than Eric Richter himself, nine hundred years before, and preserved in archives by the Guardians for all that time.

The trip would take several more weeks but in time the de-materialized essence of Jana Polansky would reach its target and begin drifting down to the sun-blasted surface of Mercury like the meteoric dust it was designed to resemble.

Leo Kamenas and Abdul Sudan drifted for two days after Escape Pod A's maneuvering propellant had been exhausted.

Kamenas had stripped down to his underwear, as had Sudan, for the pod's life support system had never been designed to shield its occupants from the Sun for more than a few hours.,

Sudan wiped sweat from his forehead. "Well, sir, that's it. No more fuel. We're in Sir Isaac Newton's hands now."

Kamenas peered out a nearby porthole. The cratered face of Mercury loomed larger by the minute. "We can't stop our fall, can we?"

Sudan shook his head, licked sweat from his upper lips. "We delayed it a few hours. Now—" he shrugged. "And I'm still getting nothing on A or B band. Our beacon gave out two hours ago. Maybe somebody heard us...the Corps does have ships around here. But—" he shrugged again, "hard to say."

Kamenas swallowed hard. "When--?"

Sudan checked the panel. "Maybe ninety-three or four minutes from now. Looks like we'll be coming down a few hundred kilometers south of Caloris City. At least, they won't have far to go to find the wreckage."

For long minutes, nothing was said. Kamenas could just make out the faint tracing of lights below them indicating Caloris City, like some child had drawn a big white "x" for a bulls-eye.

"I suppose this was the work of the Guardians," he said to no one in particular.

Sudan had already sunk into a daze in his seat, idling twisting some wiring he'd pulled from below the panel. "What the hell is their beef anyway, attacking ships like Big Mike? Don't they realize what we're doing?"

Kamenas shrugged, picked through what was left of their canteen locker and found some nutrition bars. He chewed on one. "Before we left, UNISPACE got all kinds of threats and indications the Guardians were up to something. You ever read the bio on this dirtbag Richter, the guy who founded Jove's Fist?"

"Can't say I have."

"I did." Kamenas offered half the bar to Sudan and they munched together. "The Guardians started out as something called Jove's Fist. Luddite nazis, all of them. Remember the _Kalahari_ disaster...and Zanzibar?"

"Vaguely."

"That was Richter. The Guardians' whole philosophy is that the solar system is perfect as it is and shouldn't be tinkered with. They intend to prevent any further changes or modifications to the solar system in the future, by any means necessary. They particularly view the Sun as the source of all life and energy and purpose and much of the Guardians' philosophy is a sort of sun worship cult."

"But now the Sun's going dark. And there's Sol Secundas. Don't they realize what's at stake?"

Kamenas chuckled. "They do...and they don't care. Any time someone tries to build something new...a pyramid, a cathedral, a skyscraper, a new belt of terretas, someone'll be opposed. It's human nature. Change is bad. Leave things alone. So, yeah, Sunboost messed up the Sun but there's a plan to manage that and make a new sun. It's just a bigger pyramid, that's all. Richter and the Guardians can't see that."

At that moment, a proximity alarm went off. Pod A's failing sensors still had enough juice to detect an object approaching.

Sudan peered out and laughed out loud. " _Look_! Look at that—finally, Frontier Corps to the rescue."

Still ten kilometers out but closing on an intercept course, the Frontier Corps corvette _Herschel_ was already hailing them.

Half a day later, Leo Kamenas and Abdul Sudan were being loudly welcomed into the outstretched arms of their rescuers, as _Herschel's_ shuttle made a pinpoint landing at Caloris City's north landing pad.

For the better part of two days, Kamenas and Sudan—the only surviving members of _Michelangelo's_ crew—met with investigators and inspectors to be debriefed and to understand what had happened. After the briefing was over, medical exams were complete and meals were taken in a small commissary, Kamenas was escorted to a small, dingy cinder block building near the edge of the dome that was Caloris City. The fading sign outside read ADMIN-OPS.

Inside, Kamenas was introduced to Paolo Salvini, CC's director-general and Marta Jurgens, the chief of Public Security. Jurgens showed Kamenas the results of the investigation.

"We've been working with Frontier Corps," she said, racking up a 3-d display that mushroomed out of the pedestal on Salvini's desk. Reams of imagery and graphs materialized out of thin air. "Oh, it's the Guardians, all right. Their signature's all over this, from the debris we analyzed, all the signals and intercepts the Corps furnished. Guardians haven't officially claimed responsibility, but we figure that's just a matter of time. You and Sudan were lucky...damned lucky."

Salvini added, "Solnet's been flooded with bot messages and all sorts of muck criticizing Salvation and Sol Secundas. Nothing new but the volume's up several times."

Kamenas admitted, "Salvation's why I'm here. You read the materials on the Sun Ring?"

Salvini nodded. "We did. We both have some questions...more of a technical nature, mind you...but the security side of this is front and center right now."

Jurgens said, "Mr. Kamenas—"

"Leo, please...."

"Okay...uh, Leo.... Look, we kind of live right on the edge here at CC. No frills here. Nothing fancy. And nothing stays secret for long on Mercury. When the Sun burps or belches, we feel it right here before anyone else. So, people here have a kind of familiarity...maybe even affection is a better word... for that big ball of gas up there. It's kind of their livelihood. It's why a lot of us are here, it's why InFed pays us and protects us."

Salvini took up the explanation. "All this talk about powering down the Sun—I guess the correct term now is First Sun—makes people nervous. They're anxious...afraid they'll become surplus. You know...like out of a job. Sunboost was a boost for CC and her people too. Times were good. Pay was good. We were no longer a backwater in the System, like so many people think. Salvation and Sol Secundas...those words are fighting words in some parts of CC. To be honest, the Sun Ring and what InFed wants to do is controversial around here. The Guardians have a lot of sympathizers around here. Not bad people. Just scared. They don't like all this interfering with the Sun and taking measures to prepare Jupiter for new life as a second sun. Some of them look on your Sun Ring as kind of shoving the problem into a closet."

Kamenas had run into this attitude before. "Surely they realize this is an existential threat to all Humanity. As O'Neill pointed out to his Princeton physics classes back in the 20th century, any planet-bound settlement is at a disadvantage and not only gravitationally. The surface of Mars, the larger asteroids, even the Earth's Moon, and free flying colonies inside of Earth's orbit, where maneuvering against the Sun's gravity is so energetically costly, were always at a competitive disadvantage against the smaller "outworld" settlements."

Salvini said, "Yes, yes, we understand that the space inside one AU has evolved into a stagnant backwater, valuable only as a source of raw mineral stock and inhabited by have-nots. We're used to being abused. You know, they call us the G-lands...sometimes even the Bottomlands, as in the bottom of the gravity well...a space of high-gravity, rocky planets and difficult maneuvering, deep in the Sun's gravity well."

Jurgens agreed. "To a lot of people, the only thing useful in the G-lands is the Sun. So, when InFed sends people here to mess with the Sun..." she smiled humorlessly, "it does make people uneasy."

The three of them talked for another hour but in the end, both Salvini and Jurgens realized that Kamenas came to CC armed with the full authority of InFed. Sun Ring and Salvation would proceed, despite local misgivings. An operations base would be erected on the other side of Caloris Basin from the City and initial test elements built and tested there. And, Caloris City would support the project with all necessary people and resources...InFed's dictates had been quite clear about that.

But stirrings of unease continued to bubble under the surface at Caloris City. The local cell of the Guardians would not be complacent in permitting the Sun Ring project to go forward. Even as Leo Kamenas and Caloris City techs labored to construct an operating base in the harsh glare of Mercury's surface, Guardians agents and sympathizers found ever more ingenious ways to subvert the effort.

In the end, against strenuous objections from Salvini and Jurgens, Kamenas found it wise to place another call to InFed and Frontier Corps.

A little more muscle would now be needed to finish the job and make Sun Ring ready.
Chapter 7

NeuroNet/Omnivision Video Post

@anne.thielen.neuronetworldview

Solix 3.28.3156

1200 hours U.T.

NEURONET _Special Report_ :

Living and Dying on the Ice

NeuroNet Reporter Anne Thielen reports from a refugee camp along the Eastern Ice Shield, Manhattan Region...

"From the four-thousand-meter altitude of our lifter, the great Eastern Ice Shield seems a featureless blue-white, a frozen ocean trapped in time. Glaciation like this hasn't been seen this far south since the Laurentide Ice Sheet covered this area some two hundred and thirty-thousand solices ago. This reporter has an appointment with several refugee families in a small camp situated on the edge of what is known as the Manhattan Ice District. _There_ , up ahead...perhaps you can see them...those spires are what's left of the skyscrapers that populated this region over twelve hundred years ago...some eighteen thousand solices."

The lifter descends and the camera reveals a scattering of tents and habs dotted over rolling, wrinkled crevasses of ice.

Thielen disembarks and a dronecam lifts into the sky, hovering three meters over her head. It follows her like an obedient puppy as she waddles in her fur-lined parka toward the tiny camp.

" _Wide angle shot, pan across, then tight on me as I approach the camp."_

Thielen walks toward a smattering of tents and cabins, perched on a narrow ledge overlooking a deep crevasse. Winds howl across the ice. Children are playing with dogs, while one man is outside, skinning the carcass of a large animal.

Thielen approaches.

"Excuse me, sir...Hi...I'm Anne Thielen. NeuroNet _Special Report_. Could I have a minute?"

The man is sunburned, squints up at her and frowns. He sits back on his haunches, sheathes his beam cutter and groans, standing up. He's dressed in a ratty parka and cap, animal blood all over his trousers.

"Yeah...I guess. Sure. What do you want, missy?"

"Just to ask a few questions, if I may. For our viewers." _Cam, zoom in on his face and hold for three seconds, then cut back to me..._

The man scowls at the dronecam and swats at it diffidently. "Reporter, huh?"

Thielen asks, "What's your name, sir?"

The man shrugs. "Velazquez. Rico."

"You live in this camp? Here among all these—" she struggles for the right word. "These buildings...buried like this."

"Sure. It's home. I'm Brooklyn born, native son. Ain't goin' anywhere else."

Thielen directs the dronecam to capture stock footage of the crude camp. _Pan and shoot, high-level, then back here_. The cam takes off like a bird, swooping and diving. Moments later, it hurries back to hover over them, waiting for further orders.

"Many New Yorkers have gone south. When the ice came, they packed up and left."

"Not us," Velazquez affirms. He sweeps his arms around. "This here's home. _Mi casa es su casa_ , right?"

"Uh, yes, sir. What do you...or did you do, before the ice?"

Velazquez puffs out his chest. "Journeyman air driver. For Weatherbot."

Thielen speaks softly into her lapel mic. _Weatherbot—add details—the weather modification company._ To Velazquez: "The ice has changed our climate forever."

"No shit. We're all out of jobs now. With the sun getting dimmer every year, won't be long before it's night all day long. Then we may have to move...but I dunno where."

"Senor Velazquez, how do you and your family live out here...on the ice?"

Velazquez rubs his days-old stubble, motions a female to come over. She is short, petite, face sagging with windburned wrinkles, but she has a fetching smile. She drags a satchel over, bumping along the ice.

" _Mi esposa_...Eliza, yes? She goes into the towers around here. Salvages stuff. With other women. Show her—from yesterday."

Eliza pulls the satchel's draw string, withdraws out a small figurine. It's a man dressed in a pinstripe suit.

Rico takes the figurine and waves his hand over its face. Instantly, a small jerky cloud of projected images materializes in the air. It's followed by other small clouds...data blocks, bar charts, graphs and loose documents, all dancing over their heads like so many swarms of mosquitos.

Thielen is puzzled. "What is it? You salvaged this from inside a building?"

" _Si_. Probably belonged to a wolf. You know...a quant. Broker. Wall Street and all."

"What do you use it for?"

Rico is proud. "Keeps the _ninos_ occupied. While Eliza works the towers. Me, we go on hunts out past the towers. Way out. Got caribou around here, even moose. Got me a polar bear yesterday...good eatin'." He waved at the carcass stretched out at his feet. "Couple families have meat for a month, with this."

Thielen wants to bring the conversation back on topic. "Senor Velazquez, you've heard of Sol Secundas, I'm sure. The Sun's growing dimmer every year. What do you...what do your neighbors...think about Sol Secundas...having another sun in the sky?"

Velazquez' face scrunches up at the question, as if it hurts to think. He shrugs. "Won't change much. Ice is here to stay. Might melt some of it. But that happened before, didn't it? Greenhouse and stuff. Sea rose up, flooded everything. Then, the Sun went—" he looks up at the pale daub of light hiding behind clouds, shrugs again. "We messed around with stuff, got burned. Fire does that."

"And the Salvation Project? Even now, there are efforts underway to save the Sun, gather as much energy as we can."

Now Eliza pulls over several kids and enfolds them in her parka and wraps. Velazquez gives them names, pointing out grimy faces half hidden in Eliza's coat. "That's Eva. That's Jaime." He comes to a third face, a shy face with only two brown eyes peering out from behind the folds of a jacket. "That's...we don't actually know his name...he hangs around...belongs to somebody around here."

Thielen bends down. "Quién eres tú?"

Shy Face sticks a finger in his mouth. "Teddy—"

Eliza holds up the figurine, now quiet and projecting nothing, and speaks, her soft voice barely audible over the wind. Thielen bends to her lapel mic, new orders for dronecam: _Descend to two meters, amplify and close up...cut to me in five seconds—_

" _Estos personas..._ they have a different god, no? Algos...no good. Algos killed the Sun. No more—"

It's clear from Thielen's puzzled face that she doesn't understand. But Eva, the little girl, blurts out, "It's _Algorithm_...His name is Algorithm."

Rico is proud of what she has learned, pats her dirty face softly. "We have teachers here." He points to a tall man fixing something on his tent, maybe fifty meters distant. "Profesor. He teaches the _ninos_."

Thielen is visibly shivering in the cold, blustery gusts that fling ice chips everywhere. "Senor Velazquez, our viewers want to know if you...and the people here...does this village have a name?"

Eliza speaks up. "Parque Central." She points to an open field of ice well beyond the nearer towers. "It was there. Now... _aqui."_

"Yes, Central Park. Perhaps it was down there, under all the ice. But here's my question: do any of you believe Sol Secundas—Second Sun—will work? Will it improve your lives here?"

Rico and Eliza look at each other. Then Rico scrutinizes Thielen like she has two heads. He shrugs, fingers the edges of his beam cutter. "We live for a day. Then another day. Then another one. The Sun...he's like the weather, no? I'm an old air driver. Once we controlled weather. Now it controls us. Same with the Sun." With that, he stoops down and resumes butchering the carcass.

Thielen thanks the Velazquezes profusely, shakes hands, grips Jaime's hand especially firmly, which makes him smile.

"Dronecam, follow. Establishing shots only...three seconds, pan left, then right. We'll walk to the other side of the village." _Then, I'm getting the hell out of this icebox._

After gathering enough footage, and a few comments from other villagers, Thielen hustles back to the warmth of the lifter cabin. With her, kneeling at her feet, the dronecam whirs and powers down, but not before transferring all its footage to her wristpad.

The lifter takes off, banks hard left and heads south for dry ground...and what little warmth the dying sun can offer. Thielen gathers her thoughts, sips at a mug of hot cocoa and does her voiceover, first draft.

"The small village of 'Central Park' is pretty typical for this part of the Ice Shield. They live spartan, even rugged lives. Not much to eat but caribou and the occasional polar bear. Buried under hundreds of meters of ice are what's left of the towers of New York City. The tops of the buildings poke above the ice, like totems and the villagers make forays into these towers to salvage what they can. They seem grateful for what they have and don't spend a lot of time wondering about Salvation or Second Sun. The original Sun is failing them now. This reporter believes the people of 'Central Park' have a deep and abiding mistrust of technology. One villager, Rico Velazquez, was once an air driver. Weather control and modification. But that technology doesn't work anymore. Like their ancestors a thousand, even ten thousand solices ago, they live at the mercy of natural and other forces they don't understand." Thielen considers her next words carefully.

"The people of 'Central Park' live for each day and take that day as it comes. They try to get the most from each day and are satisfied with simple pleasures and achievements...a skinned polar bear, a repaired tent, a new cabin for a hospital, built from busted-up tower stone and brick. What happens beyond their little village doesn't seem to concern them, as they recognize they have no control over it anyway."

"Perhaps, therein lies a lesson for all of us. This is Anne Thielen, reporting for NeuroNet _Special Report_ , flying somewhere over the Great Eastern Ice Shield of North America...signing off."

Thielen stabs a button on her wristpad and recording stops. She settles back in her seat, finishes her cocoa and shivers in spite of the hot air blasting around the cabin. Down below, she sees a pack of caribou, a long dark line in trail, trudging over what her lifter pilot tells her is the old Jersey shoreline.

Absent-mindedly, she strokes the housing of the dronecam. It's whirring sounds like a cat's purr. She closes her eyes and thinks of trolling her freezing feet in the warm waves of Vastitas Borealis, her favorite place on Mars. A cabin by the shores of the sea. Gentle breezes. Light and warmth from a second sun blazing down on her forehead.

Home.

NEURONET _Special Report_ Ends

Operation _Mercury Hammer_

Mercury orbit

Solix 3.29.3156

Ten days after the Jana Polansky swarm found its way to the surface of Mercury, an expedition known as _Mercury Hammer_ was launched, on a speed trajectory to the inner solar system. Two months later, Colonel Nguyen Thanh stared out the observer's cupola on his corvette command ship, IFS _Meiji_ , at the forbidding terrain of Mercury as the ground slid by beneath them. _Meiji_ and her sister ship IFS _Khayyam_ had dropped into orbit after an uneventful trip to the inner solar system and now the bell was about to ring for the big show.

Frontier Corps had built Operation _Solar Strike_ on three prongs. The first was to protect the operation of Salvation Project in and around Mercury. The second was to protect the streaming operation at Saturn and see that nothing interfered with Sol Secundas' effort to make Jupiter into a second sun.

The third prong was simpler: hunt down the dirtbag Guardians, especially their leadership, and break the back of the organization once and for all.

He didn't know if they were ready but the time had come to find out. He only hoped that the rest of _Mercury Hammer_ would fare as well. It was well past time to scrape the Bottomland scum that called themselves the Guardians from the surface of the planet and make the place safe for the Sun Ring project. Once the Ring was up and operating, only then could Sol Secundas proceed, assuming the astros could figure out what the hell was wrong with Jupiter.

Thanh shook his head at his own reflection in the cupola. It was always one damn thing after another....

The expedition had been divided into two parts, a Mercury squadron, which had been given the innocuous sounding name of Detachment Bravo, and a Sun Ring squadron, known as Detachment Alpha. _Meiji_ and _Khayyam_ were part of Detachment Bravo. The Sun Ring task force also consisted of two Frontier Corps corvettes, IFS _Tycho_ and IFS _Aristotle,_ both re-purposed from cycler duty on the Venus-Earth-Mars bus run.

Two thousand, one hundred men and women and a shelf full of containment capsules crammed with ANAD systems of every conceivable configuration made up the expedition. That and each ship's complement of HERF, magnetic loop and coilgun batteries and the two squadrons sported enough firepower to reduce a small planet to rubble.

_Mercury was a small planet,_ Thanh told himself, but early sensor indications were that she would be a particularly hard nut to crack. As he watched the cratered, sun-blasted landscape roll by below, he saw the first rugged walls of Caloris Basin sliding into view from the horizon. _A bulls-eye hit by some big asteroid,_ he figured, as he watched the grid of lights of Caloris City winking at him like a baleful eye from a hundred kilometers beneath them. The whole basin was nearly fifteen hundred kilometers wide, with walls two kilometers high all around. And there in the middle, snugged up against some low hills, was their primary target...the Guardians encampment that Intel had warned them about.

"Standard orbit, Colonel." The voice startled him out of his reverie. It came from Captain Gabriel Lynx, _Khayyam's_ skipper and Thanh's exec. Long-standing practice aboard Frontier Corps ships was to assign an angel, a para-human swarm entity, to the executive officer spot, but CINCSPACE had nixed that. Nobody trusted the ANAD descendants in such close proximity to the Guardians. They could be turned or bollixed up too easily to risk that.

"Anything more on that barrier?" Thanh asked. _Khayyam_ 's sensor suite had detected a nanobotic barrier draped over half the planet, centered on the Caloris Basin facility.

Lynx shrugged. He was nominally ship's captain, second only to the Detachment commander. Bald and scarred from a run-in with a rogue swarm on a mission long ago, Lynx said, "We're studying it now. It's made out of bots, we know that much, but we can't get a lot of structure on them. Sensors don't have the resolution...they've got multi-lobed bodies, probably effectors out the wazoo, but we need a closer look."

"You think we can punch a hole when we drop _Hawk_ and _Griffin_? I've got two assault teams I need to put on the ground. Plus, we've got the hoppers."

"Only one way to find out, sir."

Thanh gave the order. "Commence drop preparations."

Aft of _Khayyam's_ command deck, CSO Sergeant George Namibe squeezed past LP Corporal Sanjay Viyawanda and parked his butt in a web seat along one wall of _Hawk's_ rear troop compartment.

"Hey, Sanjay, can't you make these seats any more comfortable? This thing feels like I'm sitting on a head that hasn't been sanitized in about ten years. You prang this crate on some mountaintop while we're landing and it'll take me a day to get out of this."

"The head's right where you belong, Nimbo," retorted Viyawanda. "At least you know what the hell you're doing in there."

Namibe settled himself in as best he could and checked the action on his HERF carbine for about the millionth time. He was buttoned up tight in a glorified straitjacket that the engineers called an X-suit...all armored and servo-ed to the heavens, and the damned thing felt wrong, too tight here, scraping something sensitive there... _OUCH!_ _that hurt_... and he wanted to scream and claw his way out of this madness but he didn't. He'd done enough drops to earn another stripe but they never felt right and he often dreamed of better things.

Riding _Hawk_ down to any kind of gravity surface was like falling down a lift shaft without a helmet. When it was all over, you couldn't even count up all the things that hurt.

Assault Team One— _the Bug Smashers!—_ consisted of five troopers: Lieutenant Moncke, the CC1 and a quartet of assorted lowlifes. Sergeant Sly was HERF1. Sergeant Berkowitz was MAG1. Namibe was CSO1...that meant Combat Swarm Operator. And the LP, lander pilot, was Corporal Sanjay Viyawanda. A finer team could not be found anywhere inside the Corps this side of Mercury or anywhere else in the Inner System and the Bug Smashers had the awards to prove it.

Both assault teams boarded their landers at Captain Lynx's orders. In less than an hour, assuming the Captain and the Exec could figure out how to breach that orbiting barrier, _Hawk_ and her sister lander _Griffon_ would be descending like angry bees toward a combat landing somewhere inside Caloris Basin.

Several minutes later, the landing detail of Assault One was aboard _Hawk_ and the lander was signaling _Khayyam_ that she was ready to depart.

Randy Sly and Rod Berkowitz were strapped into their seats in the back, George Namibe between them. Viyawanda, the lander pilot and Lieutenant Ty Moncke were up front, in command.

Sly smacked his chewing gum loudly, a nervous habit that made everybody roll their eyes. "This bugger reminds me of a stack of pancakes, folks."

"Yeah," said Berkowitz. "With legs and three sausages on top. Does everything remind you of food, Sly?"

"Knock it off back there," Lieutenant Moncke ordered. "Okay, _Khayyam_...we're secure and ready. Give me the count...."

A few minutes after everybody was through bitching and moaning and had gotten themselves secured and strapped in, pilot Viyawanda punched up the departure program on the ship's computer and counted down the last seconds before separation.

"Five...four...three...two...one... _bingo_!"

There was brief shudder and lurch as _Hawk's_ thrusters fired to make a positive separation.

" _Hawk_ away..." he announced. Moncke and Viyawanda watched through the forward windscreen as the gaping mouth of _Khayyam's_ side-mast docking ring receded into the distance. From two kilometers off, when Viyawanda had stopped their motion and re-oriented _Hawk_ for de-orbit, the great cycler ship looked like a massive bird soaring off into the heavens.

Moncke counted down the last moments to the initial burn that would start _Hawk_ on her long curving descent to the surface of Mercury. The limb of the dark reddish world could barely be seen through the portholes, dim and shadowy.  
"Ten seconds to PDI," Viyawanda announced. He checked over his console: track, engine status, attitude...everything seemed ready. "Get ready for a major kick in the ass—"

The burn, when it came, made _Hawk_ shake and shudder like a wet dog. Randy Sly felt the acceleration build up rapidly. After months of microgravity, the ship's descent felt like an elephant had planted its posterior right on his chest. He forced a sideways glance at Namibe in the next seat.

The trooper was exhaling out in quick, forced breaths, as they had been trained. He met Sly's eyes and grunted back.

"Randy...remind me to...put in...for a...transfer...when we get back...."

Even as _Hawk_ was already descending, _Khayyam_ and her sister ship _Meiji_ had moved off to punch holes in the bot barrier that hovered over their target LZ like a faintly shimmering veil. If all went well, both ships would pump a few gazillion joules of mag gun and HERF rounds into the barrier, opening up holes for _Hawk_ and _Griffon_ to slip through, like trolling through a minefield in a wartime harbor.

Viyawanda and Moncke watched the trajectory plot on the board carefully as _Hawk_ began her initial pitchover and slowed noticeably. The plot showed several lines, indicating nominal and actual course, all converging on an actual window in space, the entry point called _High Gate,_ where the lander would begin firing her descent engines continuously, maneuvering and navigating across Mercury's tortured and battered surface as they fell toward the LZ in the middle of Cone Crater...so named by Randy Sly because the formation reminded him of a big ice cream cone. The crater was officially known as Landing Site Hawk, some ten kilometers northwest of the Guardians camp and inside Caloris Basin.

The descent and landing took half an hour. No bot barrier disturbed their descent, or _Griffon's_. The mother ships had done their job, though already they could see in the sky above the shimmering veil of the barrier closing up again.

"Open sesame," muttered Berkowitz nervously as they slipped below the barrier.

"Touchdown...good job, Skipper," said George Namibe. _Hawk_ settled with a bump onto a mostly level plain pocked with craters and strange blood-red hillocks. More hills surrounded them. "Right in the crosshairs."

"Okay, boys and girls, let's get moving," Moncke unstrapped himself and headed for the lockout in the aft compartment.

The assault plan called for AT-1 to make tracks, mostly by suit boost, from landing site Hawk along a northwest to southeast bearing, closing on the Guardians base from over a low hill and digging in on top of that hill--designated Witches Tit by common agreement—while AT-2 moved from landing site Griffon from the southeast. Terrain favored both assault teams but the aurora-like bot barrier over their heads made everybody nervous.

"Stick together," Lieutenant Moncke ordered. "Boost on low...let's go—"

The troopers of Assault Team One lifted on rooster-tails of dust as one and soared ten meters over the crater-pocked landscape, as they settled onto the proper heading for approach. Ahead of them, Witches Tit and other low-rise hummocks loomed like crumpled bed sheets of rock.

Thirty-three kilometers southeast of their position, Assault Team Two was also on the move. Soon enough, Mercury's short horizon dropped Landing Site Griffon far behind them.

The two Assault Teams closed rapidly on the camp. Ten kilometers away, though, the _Bug Smashers_ ran head on into another nanobotic barrier.

Lieutenant Moncke called a halt to their advance and all troopers de-boosted down to the ground. Towering before them was a faintly visible, glowing throbbing wall of flickering light, shimmering and popping even in the strong sunglare.

Moncke got on the crewnet. "CSO, get up here. Bring your bot pack."

Namibe came up with his mobile containment pack and studied the barrier.

"Can we boost over it?" Moncke asked.

Namibe was skeptical. "I doubt it, sir...I'm guessing it's semi-sentient...it can detect us and shift to block any moves we make. See how it reacts as we move about." He demonstrated by making a short lunge toward the barrier. Immediately, the wall flared in front of him and extended tendrils of bots, which Namibe batted away as he retreated. "Best bet is to hose it down with HERF and mag, then let me config something—maybe C-77, the _porcupine_ I call that—and engage directly."

Moncke didn't need any more convincing. "Berkowitz, Sly, get up here. Set your weapons on max. Fire when I give the word."

The two troopers hustled forward, taking up firing positions to either side of the CC1.

"HERF primed and enabled," said Sly.

"Ditto mags," reported Berkowitz. "You want original recipe or extra crispy, Skipper?"

"Just smash the Bugs good and open a path," Moncke ordered. "Nimbo, get that config going and tell me when you're ready."

It only took a few minutes for Namibe to hack out a configuration and launch his ANAD combat swarm. The containment pod on his backpack frame flared into brilliance as it discharged the bot master. It was like watching a slow-motion thunderstorm emerge from Namibe's back. The faint mist formation coiled and drifted forward, stopping less than a meter from the barrier.

"Swarm up and running, sir."

"Very well. MAG and HERF, let 'em have it!"

The troopers opened fire at the same time. Round after round of rf pulses and magnetic loops pummeled the bots of the enemy barrier. The barrier glow faded and fought back, throbbing and pulsating at it absorbed and tried to deflect the energy of the blast.

That's when Namibe sent his combat ANAD swarm into battle.

The line of engagement was easily visible as a jagged crack of light whipping in front of them like a snake on fire. Inside the melee, trillions of bots collided and discharged their bond disrupters. The effect was of two storm fronts colliding overhead, throwing lightning and popping flares bright enough to momentarily wash out the sunglow.

Shadows writhed on the ground and the troopers of Assault One backed away from the barrier to let the swarms duke it out.

"Another blast!" Moncke ordered.

Berkowitz and Sly hosed down the barrier, now weakened from battle with ANAD, with everything they had. Soon a visible hole in the wall opened up, then as if dissolving in translucent flame, the barrier began shrinking right in front of them. After a few more rounds, a ten-meter gap in the barrier was pried open by ANAD.

"Open sesame," muttered lander pilot Viyawanda. "I just hope it stays open—"

Moncke had the same concern. "Nimbo, make configs to hold that opening. The rest of you, come with me."

Moncke was first through. Sly, Berkowitz and Viyawanda followed, eyeing the thrashing edges of the barrier cautiously.

"ANAD's kicking butt," Sly muttered. "Just don't let the door shut behind us."

Inside the barrier, Assault One advanced another half a kilometer, bounded down into a shallow ravine still on the ground and came upon a row of strange blood-red hillocks spotting the ground, a line of low mounds spaced several meters from each other, extending to the horizon in every direction. The space between the hillocks seemed agitated, disturbed, as dust and pops of light crackled and swirled like miniature tornadoes close to the ground.

"What the hell are those?" asked Viyawanda. "Are they natural formations? More bots, maybe?"

"Looks like a pile of crap to me," Sly decided. "With flies buzzing around."

"Let's try boosting over," Moncke said. As one, the troopers lit off their suit boost and rose quickly ten meters above the line of hillocks. But as soon as they jetted forward, the hillocks erupted in dust clouds and they found themselves enveloped in dust and light.

"Hey—what the--!"

"I'm spinning...out of control—"

"Jeez...what the fuck--!"

The dust and light that had enveloped them now tore them from that exact moment of time and flung them backwards, through a spinning kaleidoscoping tunnel of crazy, spinning, whirling things and they hurtled at breakneck speed down the tunnel, dodging polygons and cubes and tetrahedrals and things they couldn't describe until at last, they came to hard, bumpy, bone-rattling landing right on their butts.

The Guardians had saved this little surprise for just the right moment. Assault One had just taken an unexpected trip in space and time right back to the _Hawk_ lander.

Moncke was lying on his side when he came to.

What the hell....?

A shadow passed overhead and he looked up. A black shape passed between the troop, now scattered across the ground, and the Sun. Moncke squinted at the thing, then realized it was a lifter, from Caloris City. The locals had sent help.

"AT-1, fall back... _fall back_! The cavalry's arrived...give 'em some room!"

One by one, the troopers of Assault One staggered to their feet and took cover. Overhead, the lifter from CC wheeled about and made a guns pass over the field of hillocks. A flash of light erupted from the lifter, as the pilot hosed down the hillocks and tried to sanitize the area for further advance by the troopers.

Intense energy caused the mounds to disperse in a slow-motion explosion of bots and regolith. Each mound erupted in a faint cloud that quickly dispersed under the beams.

Two kilometers north of the main compound, the troopers of Assault One whooped with joy.

"Holy crap...look at that!"

"Zap! Somebody burned those friggin' Bugs!"

"Hey, keep back, keep back...I don't know what the hell that is!" Lieutenant Moncke waved his troops away from the slow-motion eruption of the hillocks.

Directly above each hillock, the background wavered and shimmered like a highway on a hot summer day. Then electrostatic forces dispersed the nanobots that comprised each mound and the path was clear.

Moncke scooped up some regolith with his gloved hand and flung it in the direction of the nearest mound. It sprayed out and fell to the ground with no obvious effect.

"Okay, I think it's clear. I don't know who the hell that lifter was. Maybe Caloris City brass was feeling guilty. _Hawk_ troop, move out in squad order!"

Assault One continued its advance south across a cratered plain, cautiously edging past the mounds. Twenty-two kilometers to their southeast, Assault Two resumed their advance as well.

A kilometer from the closest buildings, Moncke could see a faint haze shrouding the base.

"Nimbo, what is that crap? Dust? Or some kind of bot cloud?"

Namibe scanned the compound. "Reading high thermals, well above ambient, sir. High electromagnetics too...lots of atom smashing going on down there. I'd say what we're seeing is a swarm or swarms of some type. For rebel types, these Guardians are awfully well equipped."

From their distance, the base didn't seem like much...a series of low domes, some cabling and smaller structures, and that eerie-looking haze.

"Okay," Moncke decided, "this is as far as we go. Tactical plan says we hose down the place with coordinated HERF and mag fire first, then approach with suppressing fire and destroy or otherwise render inoperable each structure." He tapped a button on his wristpad, called up Lieutenant Lyon, Assault Two commander. "Griffon, this is Hawk One...in position...ready for Phase 1, say status...over—"

Lyon's voice crackled back reporting Assault Two ready. Time was checked and clocks were synched and at the appointed moment, both forces opened up on Caloris Basin.

In the vacuum of Mercury's surface, no one could hear the booms of the rf pulses, but dust and regolith flew in all directions as all weapons were discharged at the same time.

The radio frequency beams shattered clouds of bots all across the base, raising geysers of dust and dirt in mushroom clouds of debris.

"Jeez, the whole place is nothing but Bugs!" yelled Berkowitz, kneeling on the lip of an oblong crater. "Every damn thing down there is nothing but a collection of bots."

And it was true, though no one was surprised. Each dome and structure, each housing and assembly was in fact a tightly meshed swarm of nanobotic elements, a hive of Bugs that dissolved in the face of Assault One's withering fire. Deprived of its shielding, the base became easy pickings for the troopers as they poured fire down into the valley.

"Squad One, move forward fifty meters, and flank left!" Moncke commanded. "Squad Two, maintain covering fire--!"

Squad One was Sly and Berkowitz. HERF1 and MAG1 scurried as fast as their X-suits would let them to a crater wall fifty meters left, then dropped below the wall and came up firing again.

Then Squad Two, CSO Namibe and Lander Pilot Viyawanda, pivoted forward to a flank right position, with Sly and Berkowitz providing covering fire.

Like an awkward infant just learning to walk, _Hawk_ Troop worked its way steadily closer to the first structures of the base. The outer perimeter was a line of dish antennas— _quantum coupler array,_ said the description scrolling on Moncke's eyepiece, though he didn't know where _that_ intel came from.

Assault Two, Griffon Troop, did the same from the east.

Building by building, installation by installation, the men and women of Assault One and Two reduced the Guardians' compound to rubble and smoking ruins. As CSO, it was Namibe's job to launch their tactical ANAD swarms and engage any Bugs not already fried in the HERF blasts.

Namibe found their ANAD bots a more than equal match for the Guardians' bots. One skirmish happened on a humpback ridge overlooking the excavation trenches and catapult. Here, Assault One Squad Two ran into a dense swarm of Bugs with Guardians militia trying to repair the catapult.

"Light 'em up!" Viyawanda yelled. "Blast the buggers to hell and back!"

Namibe did just that.

The Bugs and the humans battled each other in a running series of skirmishes over the next few hours. Inside the base, both assault teams found the Guardians' equipment and facilities puzzling but the troopers had no trouble reducing the base to ashes. Most of the structures weren't solid anyway. When slammed with HERF or mag, the troopers found their targets little more than solid-seeming swarms of bots, which flew apart like leaves in a wind.

Devoid of its shielding and entangler fields, the base was little more than paper to their weapons.

Nobody was more surprised at this than Detachment Bravo commander Colonel Thanh.

Some hours after the troops of Assault One and Two had penetrated the main compound and leveled most of its equipment and structures to ashes, Thanh left his orbital command post aboard the _Meiji_ and descended to the surface. There he met with Lieutenant Moncke and Lieutenant Lyon of the assault groups.

Moncke wandered across the rubble and ash of the compound with Thanh in tow. Surviving prisoners had been marched off to a temporary pressurized enclosure on top of a low hill, where interrogations had begun. "We found that once the outer bot barrier and those blasted red mounds were breached, the rest of the base was essentially swarms of bots." He pointed out small piles of smashed bots dotted across the floor of the huge crater. "The swarms were programmed to gather themselves together and perform certain functions. We've been trying to reconstruct what each swarm did: there were things that looked like domes for energy management...collecting and conditioning all the power they were going to beam at the Sun Ring. There were swarms for excavating and catapulting material for expansion. There were antennas for receiving and converting the beamed power. Guardians really made quite a home for themselves here."

Thanh was sobered at the scale of the base. "Who the hell financed all this? And it was all swarms of nanobots?"

"Yes, sir...most of it. Nothing solid. Once inside their barriers, we were able to smash the bastards with HERF and mag fire. All that intel we had was pretty accurate."

Thanh stopped on top of a low hill overlooking the now-destroyed excavation trenches and catapult. "I'll have to check with Colonel Zheung and see how the Sun Ring squadron is doing. Detachment Alpha has a different nut to crack. And, for your information, Lieutenant, all that intel came from a rather unusual source, according to CINCSPACE."

"What kind of source, sir...if I may ask?"

Thanh's expression was invisible behind the glareshield of his helmet. The Sun was close, blasting the surface with radiation and heat and the glow washed out everything in certain directions. "What I heard was pretty incredible...I'm not sure I believe it myself. But there's scuttlebutt inside UNISPACE that General John Winger somehow came back from the dead and is now an angel himself...somehow embedded inside the Guardians. He reconned this base and brought details to Earth himself. Right to UNIFORCE in Paris." Thanh shrugged, though nobody could see it. "You can believe that or not, Lieutenant. But that's what I heard."

Moncke and Lyon walked behind the squadron c/o as he loped down toward the excavation pits. Moncke called after Thanh "I'd be careful down there, Colonel...we still find knots of bots in places. Most of the base is secure but it's like putting out fires. Here and there we run into a little hotspot and we have to HERF the bastards."

Thanh toured the rest of what was left of the base and eventually made his way back to the lander. Just as he was boarding, Moncke saw a faint haze swirling toward them from the ruins of the coupler array. Alarmed, he swung his HERF carbine up to disperse the Bugs; it could happen that fast.

But the haze stopped and began to solidify right before their eyes. At first, Moncke figured it was just a dust devil, glommed together from electrostatic forces, reflecting sunlight in an unusual way...that happened on Mercury.

But the form continued to gain mass and soon it was clear what the mass was. The form thickened and it wasn't wearing any kind of protective gear either.

It was General Wolfus Linx...or his angel. The Legend Himself, right out of the history vids.

The Linx angel looked real enough, but they all understood it was an angel.

"Is this a trick?" Thanh asked. "Bugs resembling Wolf Linx...some kind of weird _maskirovka_?"

The voice replied in their ear pieces, inside their suits. "No trick, Colonel. I just wanted to meet the man who put the Guardians camp out of commission."

Thanh was skeptical. He had heard of this Linx apparition but never put much stock in the tales. Officers club banter, he figured. But Linx seemed real enough, hovering in front of Thanh, Moncke and Lyon like some kind of bad dream.

"I guess you're real after all...General," Thanh admitted. "If I didn't know better, I'd figure you're just a case of me having indigestion."

"Oh, I'm real enough," the Linx angel said. "Real as anything around this hellhole. I'm just glad I could get some intel back to your planners. And that you made use of it."

Thanh surveyed the ruins of the base from the steps of his lander. "General, if you _are_ General Winger, pardon me, sir...but what the hell are you?"

Linx sort of laughed at that. "Officially, you might say I'm a multi-configuration, para-human swarm entity. I _am_ Wolf Linx, to answer your question. I was...shall we say...changed in an ice cave on Europa. Long story. Took on the form and likeness of the adversary. Went native you might say." The angel seemed to shrug. "It does have its benefits...like flitting around the solar system on a radio carrier wave. Looking like anything I have a mind to imitate. Colonel, if I wanted to, I could configure to look like you. But...there's a downside. I can't eat a hot dog, like you can. I can't make love...in the conventional sense...I've got some more exploring to do on that score. I can't really _be_ you, or the old me or anything else. I can be _like_ anything I have a configuration for. But it's only a fake...a simulation. That's what it's like."

Thanh glanced skyward, shielding his faceplate from the intense sunglare. "Operation _Mercury Hammer_ has two parts, General. The ground phase here and the assault on that force trying to obstruct Sun Ring construction. Do you know anything about that? About how that's going? We're following strict emcon here, so no signals go in or out."

Linx made an unusual set of gestures with his hands and an oblong form began to materialize in front of them...a sort of shroud hanging freely, black in the middle. "Colonel, one of the things I can do is grab photons from someplace, store them and make them show up someplace else. Kind of like recording a scene. I captured these signals on my last trip to Earth—" The black interior of the shroud now began to glow and soon, images began forming, moving images, flickering like a vid at high speed. Recognizable images formed...there was a UNISPACE corvette, then another and Thanh realized they were looking at pixelated images of the _Tycho_ and the _Aristotle_ , approaching the boundaries of the yet-to-be-completed Sun Ring. It was like a grainy sort of vid they were watching.

"These images were grabbed from transmissions within the Sun Ring itself, the controller bots re-configging to defend the Ring from attack. I just caught snatches of this on my last trip to and from Paris."

The men studied the images flickering across the shroud that Linx had made in front of them, spalled right off his hands. The scenes seem to show the UNISPACE corvettes approaching, then beginning assault ops along the boundary of the Sun Ring, engaging small frigate-size ships that belonged to the Guardians and their allies.

As the scene unfolded, Moncke and Thanh watched the UNISPACE ships fire at the Concordance ships attacking the Sun Ring. Huge gaps in the force were opened up, then closed just as quickly as the ships maneuvered and reconstituted. To Moncke, it was like mowing grass in the summer, with weeds. Just plow along and right behind you, the weeds spring right back.

Yet, bit by bit, the Guardians ships and their Concordance allies were reduced, a few ships at a time. With steady application of HERF and mag fire and close coordination of their assault, after a few days, it seemed as if the attackers finally decided to break off the assault. The surviving ships turned and headed off into deeper space.

_Tycho_ and _Aristotle_ swept up the last remnants of the attackers and their Bug clouds and changed course for Earth orbit and Gateway Station.

The Linx angel let the viewing shroud dissipate and it was soon gone, washed out in the glare of the sun glow.

Thanh said, "It seems like we won, General. At least, we won this round. The Sun Ring is intact. The Guardians base here is in ruins. We beat 'em."

Linx's face morphed into something resembling skepticism; you could never really tell with angels.

"Two victories don't necessarily end a war, Colonel. Guardians are still out there in deep space, out beyond Jupiter. And the bastards now have overt Concordance assistance. I don't know what UNIFORCE will do. This is just one engagement."

Moncke was curious. "What will _you_ do, General? What can you do?"

Linx spread his palms. Bots streamed off his fingers in a thin dribble, perhaps pulled by Mercury's ever-present electrostatic forces. Linx seemed to be breaking down right in front of them.

"Whatever I can, gentlemen. Look, I've got to get to that coupler array and get back to Earth...pass along what I know to Q2. If I stay here—"already his torso and shoulders were fading out, dispersing. "—well, as you can see, I'll be scattered to kingdom come. That's life as an angel. But I've got a few ideas on how to stop these slimebags...I just need for the brass hats in Paris to listen to me. Colonel Thanh, when you make your after-action report, put in a good word for me, will you? Tell them their man inside is working night and day to find some weak spot we can use."

With that, the Linx angel essentially fell apart, vanishing in the glare like dust scattered by wind...solar wind. Now, Thanh and Moncke saw only the ruins of the base and the pop and flash of small residual bot swarms being handled by Assault One and Two in the distance.

Thanh pulled himself up the ladder into the lander. "Lieutenant Moncke, detail a guard force to stay behind and smash any Bugs still hanging around. Put the rest of your people to work on recon...we need intel badly. Anything they think we can use, grab it. The more we can learn about what the Guardians are up to, the better chance we'll have against them later."

"Yes, sir..." Moncke replied. "Sir, do you think the General's right. That there's no way we can stop the bastards with what we have now?"

"I don't know, son. I think we'd better hope General Linx—whatever the hell he is—can find some weak spot, some critical node or something we can exploit. Otherwise---all this does—"he indicated the ruins of the Caloris Basin compound, "is slow the bastards down...and probably make 'em mad as hell. It's like what happens when you poke a stick inside a bee hive. If you don't knock the hive down and stomp the bejeezus out of it fast, you'd better start running."

Moncke watched Thanh disappear into the lander.

The Lieutenant thought to himself: _With Concordance openly helping the Guardians, this Sun Ring may never get built._

And there were those inside InFed Intelligence who maintained the Guardians were even behind what was going on with Jupiter as well, slimebags who would never stomach streaming material off Saturn to bulk up the King of Planets and ignite it as a second sun.

Moncke shuddered in spite of his suit thermal regulator.

If the Sun goes dark and Jupiter can't be ignited, we're all history.

Chaos City

Europa

Solix 4.9.3156

When the Prime Councilor of the Concordance, Semarilyn Paris, was not in the City, the Ultrarch had designated Kaiser Izmit of Sol Secundas to act on her behalf. Izmit had convened an emergency meeting of the Council to get going on the proposal to begin streaming material off the atmosphere of Saturn and directing it across space toward Jupiter, to make up for the mass loss that no one could explain.

Izmit's family had originated on Earth in 19th/20th century Turkey, near Istanbul. In the late 21st century, a branch of the Izmits, led by Recip Izmit, emigrated to Mars Mariner City, founded a separate settlement called Anatalya, in the Acidalia Planetia region. Centuries later, in 2455 EUT, Martian descendant Kemal Izmit moved to the Belt and seeded more family branches throughout the Belt and later in several trans-Jovian terreta settlements. Kaiser was born of the Kemal Izmit branch, a native Europan and was quite comfortable in trans-Jovian space, in the employ of the great Ultrarch of the Concordance.

Most of Izmit's career had been spent in service to the Ultrarchy; he was a career bureaucrat.

Periodically, Izmit had to interact directly, through his embedded halo (also called a _neurolific_ ), with the Ultrarch and even retire to the Upgrade center for mods and extensions and patches to the halo, to enable him to better serve the Ultrarch. These upgrade sessions were often somewhat anxious, even painful and wrenching in their effects, but he couldn't refuse; the halo ensured that and Izmit wishes to keep his Class I (Root Level) standing with the Master Core.

He was married to a transgender spouse named Lovejoy Atlee (V6). They had no offspring though this was a point of continuing argument with Lovejoy, who wanted to sponsor and grow a young boy child. Fertility Module hadn't yet approved this and Kaiser was not sure he really wanted to share Lovejoy's affection with a child.

Kaiser had already been through nine mind uploads in his life and was thus a V9 Europan. All uploads from V7 through V9 were specifically authorized by the Ultrarchy Master Core and were reserved specifically for individual Root-Level advisors who worked closely with the Master Core.

InFed reps had been invited to Chaos City, since the Second Sun project was nominally a joint effort, and there were two: Dr. Fatima Shiraz, out of Copernicus City, and Hector de Salvo, an engineer out of Mariner City, Mars...formerly assigned to the Sun Ring but detailed by InFed to come to CC and try to knock some sense into these Concordance apes.

De Salvo glared across the table, through several avatars of other virtual attendees. "The attack on the Sun Ring...the whole thing at Mercury...is a warning. You Concordance people can't have it both ways. One hand's trying to make Jupiter a second sun while the other hand is working just as hard to botch the whole operation up."

Several avatars brightened, indicating they wished to speak but Izmit rubbed his eyes and bald head wearily and refused to recognize anyone else.

"Look, I know it looks bad—what happened down-sun at Mercury—but the Concordance had nothing to do with it. The Guardians are a rogue group of fanatics and—"

Dr. Shiraz snorted, tossed her black hair back. "Rogue group, my ass. We all know they've got sympathizers all around CC, even right here on the Council."

At that, one of the avatars at the end of the table swelled in size and brightened. The Ultrarch itself was intervening....

"... _DISCSUSSION THREAD MUST BE CONTAINED AND RE-FOCUSED...COUNCIL WILL PROVIDE DATA AND OPINIONS ON CURRENT DOCKET ITEMS...SATURN PROPOSAL IS FIRST ITEM...."_

Izmit pointed to the Ultrarch avatar as proof of what he had been saying. "See? The Ultrarch says we're getting off track here."

"What about de Salvo's idea of using the atmosphere of Uranus as well as Saturn? Doubling up the mass inflow..." Shiraz looked over at her InFed colleague.

Izmit wasn't convinced. "Too far away. Distance and transit time are too great...we discussed this already. The first item to be voted on—" our of the corner of his eye, he was aware of the Ultrarch avatar hovering like a storm front about to break "—is Council approval for our first fleet of scoopships and stream deflectors to begin moving into position toward and around Saturn. All in favor, say aye—"

A chorus of ayes circled the room.

"All opposed—" Izmit glared at the opponents, who were fewer, but defiant in their resistance.

"The measure is approved. Ultrarch, I'll send the formal vote to you now—" he pressed a few buttons and an image of an ornate papyrus scroll materialized and lifted off from Izmit's station, flying like a ghostly bird unerringly into the Ultrarch avatar's hands, which grasped the thing and secured it in a pocket. Izmit himself had designed the voting simulation, with the Ultrarch's approval. _At least, it makes them think their vote matters_ , he had reasoned.

Shiraz glared back at the Concordance attendees. "It's like Pieter Delano always said: the bigger the project, the more people think they're architects. Too many hands in the dough—"

De Salvo said, "Jupiter worries me a lot. I'm having trouble sleeping, trying to figure this mass loss problem out."

"Has anybody heard from Delano lately?"

"Maybe it's an alien wormhole," someone suggested.

"Can't be," came another voice. "If it was a wormhole, all those people working on the _Ultima Culmine_ base at Neptune would be out of a job. We can't have that, can we?"

Izmit reminded them of Delano's current mission. "Time Guard sent him back nine hundred years, to meet one of his ancestors, this Dugay fellow. Delano thought it was something Dugay was doing that was making Jupiter lose mass."

"Anybody heard from him lately? I say we get going on Saturn. We can't wait any longer on Delano and whatever he's doing."

Izmit consulted a log he'd gotten that morning. "Time Guard hasn't heard from Delano or chrononaut Kasongo in quite some time. Something may have happened."
Interregnum

London, England

'April 19, 1678'

( _From the holovid-journal of Philippe Dugay_ )...

Christopher Wren was deep into construction details and problems in rebuilding the great Cathedral when he looked up from his blueprints and first noticed Philippe Dugay, and the striking female accompanying him, a female with the short black hair, freckles on her nose and exclamation-point eyebrows. Wren set down his prints on a table and studied them both with squinting eyes that appraised the female as if she were a Corinthian column.

"Dugay, what have we here....one of your new stone masons? I didn't know the guild was bringing such fair maidens into the project...what's Mr. Strong thinking, I wonder?" Wren took her hand politely but his eyes roved up and down her like a predator.

Kate Lind winced visibly at Wren, grimaced in disgust and was about to stand up to the architect but her eyes came up only to his chest and she backed down when Dugay squeezed her hand hard. She muttered under her breath to Dugay.

"Philippe, your program is a condescending ape."

"Ah...Sir Christopher, this is Kate, or rather Katherine Lind...she's a new bricklayer from the guild."

Everybody shivered as a chill wind blew up along Fleet Street from the Thames. The barely-started dome of the Cathedral was just underway, its base empty of the overhead structures. A few buttresses had been erected; when done, they would give the look of a classical peristyle.

The King's Surveyor of Works held up his hands in mock surrender. "Anything by Mr. Strong is fine with me."

Dugay knew Thomas Strong was the architect's chief of stonemasons. "Sir Christopher, I came to have a word. Ask you some questions about the project. I too have a commission for a great project, sir."

Wren returned to his prints, laying out a line with some calipers. "Ah...the Project. The problem with this is everybody thinks they are an architect. My commission is from the Crown but people want to add a balustrade above my buttresses...can you believe that? A balustrade! It will change the entire look of the dome, make it all fussy and frilly."

Dugay glanced at Kate, who was intently studying the architect's prints. "You're still planning a brick cone between the inner and outer domes, sir?"

"I am. How else would I be able to support a stone lantern? Simple mathematics, man, simple mathematics. The soil up here on Ludgate Hill is all clay. The weight must be distributed equally...it's just mathematics. But some eyes are sharper than others...there are people opposed even to that. Gives me tremors when I think about it. Obstreperous customers, nosy commissioning authorities—not that I mean His Majesty hasn't the right—but most of them have no appreciation of design or what a master plan is for. They think they know enough to just pick up ideas from anywhere and still make a design work somehow...ridiculous!"

Dugay commiserated with Wren for a few more minutes. Kate watched them chat, seeing the wheels turning inside Philippe's head, for the Outer Ring project and the prospect of streaming material off of Jupiter had created much the same backlash. _Philippe's right_ , she told herself. _Everyone thought themselves a genius when it came to design_. _Add a balustrade here, a drum or pilaster there, drop in a few terretas between Jupiter and Saturn that look like gargoyle vomit...that's how abominations like Delambre came about._

She was about to ask a question of her own, when a great commotion developed out on the street. A long convoy of ornate, gilded carriages and a platoon of horse guards had pulled up.

Wren muttered in a low voice. "Well, this is a blessing, is it not? His Majesty himself arrives, here to inspect my work, which hasn't advanced very far due to all his inspections and changes." Irritated, he rolled up one set of prints and stashed it out of the way, then laid out another on his table.

Charles II strolled awkwardly up the hill and greeted Wren, who knelt and kissed the Sovereign's ring. Dugay likewise bowed and, after a sharp glance, Kate relented and offered a brief curtsey.

Charles was clad in burgundy and white garter robes, hiking them high on his leg to avoid the mud.

"Sir Christopher, you've not made much progress since last I came by. Why the delay?"

"Majesty," Wren admitted, "it's true...we've been slowed by weather and lack of materials. Perhaps, Your Majesty would like to see my latest plan for a street grid system for London...so many houses and shops burned a year ago. Clearing them will takes months. But my system would make London a fair and grand metropolis worthy of any other...and greater than most."

Charles squinted as if in pain, offered only a cursory glance at the plans Wren offered him and stood with hands on hips. "Sir Christopher, have we not discussed this before? You've a Royal Warrant to re-build St. Paul's. I've given you a warrant to concentrate on churches, not houses and shops and streets. Leave the rest of the city to me and Mr. Merton. I rather like your Greek cross idea, by the way. But could we not also increase the number of openings in your dome, say double the number? I should think that would bring more light into the nave and transepts."

Wren skillfully throttled a quick laugh. "Majesty, your idea has great merit—" he knew he had to tread carefully here, for Charles was prickly and vain, especially when it came to having his ideas taken seriously, no matter how outrageous—"but would not such a number of openings lend a busy look to the classic lines of my ovoid structure? Then there is the matter of supporting the weight—"

Dugay and Kate watched and listened to the interchange. Kate squeezed Dugay's hand. Her eyes said _Reminds you of the InFed Council, doesn't it? Back and forth ad nauseam on Jupiter and how we shouldn't be messing with the King of Planets, people will be so horrified._

Dugay nodded silently, replaying some of the comments he had heard when Patron and the Outer Ring became a real project....

"Who needs another ring of junk terretas anyway? They just clutter up the heavens."

"Jupiter's a classic...you don't mess with classics."

"All this streaming and material transfer across space...what happens if you can't control the streams...what if they crash into Mars or slice off Saturn's rings...."

The ignorant ingrates.

Now, with Patron pre-occupied rebuilding _Zanzibar_ , Dugay wondered if Kate's successors could manage to hold the project together. Philippe Dugay didn't want another Athalonia on his hands.

Charles departed the site and returned to his carriage, which sped away down Fleet Street and was gone.

Wren wiped perspiration from his forehead and looked at Dugay and Kate. Dealing with sponsors and commissions was worse than consumption or the pox.

"Lads, I must go back to Bletchingdon and retrieve some drawings. Ride with me." It wasn't a request and it was true that Dugay wanted to plumb Wren more for ideas on how to work with recalcitrant sponsors.

After last minute orders to his foremen, the three of them boarded Wren's carriage and clattered off down the cobblestones of Fleet Street. It would be a four-hour trip to Bletchingdon.

The house of the architect was a three-level brick manse topped by a vaguely mansard roofline and surrounded by brick walls with a small garden in the back. Upon arriving, the three of them consumed a lunch of beef and ale, then retired to the grounds beyond the courtyard, redolent with early-spring hibiscus and hydrangea.

Kate pulled Dugay aside as Wren stooped to admire some bushes.

"Philippe, we have to get back to work. The transmuting stations in Jupiter orbit will be getting their first inventory soon. Don't you need to assay their work, make sure the Ring'll be getting the right structural components? That was in your original plan."

"I know, I know, but I still have questions for Sir Christopher."

Wren resumed his stroll.

"Sir Christopher, I must tell you of my newest commission. It's in—" he couldn't very well say Jupiter, could he, since the planet had only recently been measured properly by Galileo—"...er, in Paris."

Wren had his hands clasped behind his back, sniffing deeply of the roses around them. "Ah, yes, Paris. I met Signore Bernini there...we studied each other's drawings. Some of my ideas for the dome at St. Paul's came from that trip...then the Fire came to London right after I returned...such a tragedy...not a week after I had returned."

Dugay was thinking of the eternal conflict between InFed and the Concordance. "My sponsors are quite at odds with each other. Sometimes, decisions are delayed for days or weeks while they argue. They spend their time trying to sabotage each other and prevent any progress, unless it's on their terms. In the process, my master design is brushed aside."

Wren chuckled. "We have the same problem, you and I. I've learned about sponsors, royal or not. If you face contending factions, it's best to give them both a little of what each wants. Then they'll both feel a stake in the outcome."

Kate squeezed his hands. Later, when they discussed Wren's words, it would be Kate who admitted the great architect had offered sage advice.

"Except for the fact that no one inside the Concordance wants anything to do with using Jupiter for material supply. Face it, Philippe, people like their planets the way they are."

Dugay grudgingly admitted the truth of what she was saying. "I should never have taken this commission. But Octavio Patron...how do you say no to someone like that? And now that he's pre-occupied building a new _Zanzibar_ , his family and business partners want the Outer Ring even more."

Kate watched Wren move ahead, gingerly feeling blooms and branches along the pea gravel path. "Philippe, we need to get back to work. Before we came in here, I got word from the Council...Lorenzo Jenkins is hosting some kind of major gathering at Big-Venice-in-the-Belt. A confab of architects was what I heard. Jenkins still has pull with InFed. If he thinks these other designers have better ideas, InFed may pull your commission for good."

Dugay took a deep breath. "Serves me right for daring to have ambition. And once again, a Dugay becomes the scapegoat...just like Athalonia. No," he said to himself. "not this time." Just as Sir Christopher was turning to beckon them to keep up, Dugay said in a clear voice, " _Computer, end program_."

And the 17th century city of Bletchingdon, England winked out and was gone.
Chapter 8

Big-Venice-in-the-Belt

April 12, 2249 EUT

Like Zanzibar, the casino-terreta of Big Venice was a scooper's paradise but an architect's midnight hallucination, much like Lorenzo Jenkins himself. The settlement (you could hardly call it a city) clung to a small dirt clod of an asteroid like something malignant.

Pieter Delano and Evelyn Kasongo came with Councilor Semarilyn Paris in her private cruiser. Jenkins was a big supporter of both the Concordance and InFed, preferring like any good businessman to keep his options open and his customer fat and happy. It was Paris' idea to hornswoggle Jenkins into building support inside the Concordance to completely block the Outer Ring project and stop Philippe Dugay from dismantling Jupiter. She figured to get her fingers into Jenkins and his trillions to help finance a powerful, unstoppable opposition campaign.

Big-Venice-in-the Belt was everything Zanzibar was not. Z-town was, or had been before the _Kalahari_ accident, an asteroid tunneled through and through with plunging, vertiginous corridors, crammed with brothels and craps games, an infinite maze of warrens and niches where anything you could imagine was available for a price.

By contrast, Big Venice was a vast, cavernous open space, kilometers in every direction, an asteroid hollowed out and kept open from one end of its ten-kilometer length to the other.

Though open like an atrium, Big Venice wasn't exactly empty. Throughout its interior, hundreds of separate compartments, cafes, cubicles, boudoirs, and betting parlors drifted independently about the space like so many clumps of particles, driven seemingly at random in every direction by micro-air currents, yet somehow never colliding.

A blizzard of conveyances whizzed at them from every angle—the ubiquitous jetpads, gilded coaches and Roman chariots, faux-Arabian stallions, polished duesenbergs and chevys, flyers and airboards, a chaotic swirl of motion and flight that numbed the eyes senseless when first encountered.

Lorenzo Jenkins beamed at the dropped jaws of Pieter Delano, for the "wow" factor was a key to Big Venice's success and he had worked on that aspect of the resort's visuals for many years.

Where Zanzibar felt close and claustrophobic at times, Big Venice was an open bazaar of clashing sights, sounds and smells.

One entire wall had been given over to an immense cascading waterfall, its spumes resplendent in a rainbow spray of foam and mist, crashing hundreds of meters down in the slow-motion of Big Venice's micro-gravity, to a seething boil of a sea at the bottom. As Pieter Delano careened over the landing on which they stood, he saw the sea thick with waterborne craft of every imaginable shape: gondolas and lateen-rigged dhows, jetskis and paddlewheelers, scows, kayaks, and pickets, so many craft thickening the waters that the eye couldn't take it all in.

"I don't know how all these things keep from crashing into each other," Delano marveled.

Jenkins replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Sometimes they don't...ah, here comes our ride now."

An ornate gilded royal coach pulled up to the landing, decked out with mahogany trim and brocaded velvet seats inside. To complete the picture, the projected 3-d image of a team of horses snorted and whinnied in front of the coach.

Jenkins pulled open the door. "All aboard!" The three of them climbed in and were off.

'Flying' across the interior of Big Venice was a dizzying, chaotic journey of near-collisions and plunging drops and sudden turns. The coach made its way along a circuitous path to Jenkins' formal suite lodged in recesses of the opposite cavern wall several kilometers distant from the landing.

Debarking at the suite landing, Delano and Paris were escorted into a great hall reminiscent of an English castle, complete with a long faux-oak table as the centerpiece of the gallery. The walls were hung with intricate tapestries and paintings, the windows were beaded and beveled and framed by heavy drapes with detailed stitchwork.

"Be seated," Jenkins boomed. He waved at a small platoon of servbots in medieval garb and snapped his fingers. "We'll dine and talk at the same time."

Semarilyn Paris studied Delano's reactions carefully, calibrating her words to his face.

"Well, what do you think of Lorenzo Jenkins' little pleasure dome?"

Delano drew back as plates were set before him and heaping canapes of venison and duck deposited before his eyes. Small tankards of ale, mead and beer lined the center of the table.

"It's almost too much to take in." He thought for a moment, searching for the right words. His usual architect's analysis surfaced in the back of his mind. "Chaotic. Unruly. No real symmetry or unity in the design. But a real living thing, almost an organism, I'd say. Crossing the space in that coach I had the feeling I had been swallowed by some beast and was moving through peristalsis to be chewed up...that's the best I can do."

Jenkins roared with laughter. "I never heard Big Venice described quite that way. Maybe I can do something with that. Here—" Jenkins pushed his chair back and got up. "I want to show you something...no, stay seated, I'll come over."

He went to a bookcase on the wall and unlocked it with a swipe of a finger. The glass doors sprang open and Jenkins withdrew an ancient, musty-looking volume and dropped it on the table.

"One of my most prized possessions. Do you know what this is?"

Delano blinked, gently fingering the yellowed paper. "A really old book?"

Jenkins smiled. "Not just any old book, Pieter. These are some of the original pages of the _Commentarii de Bello Gallico_ , written by Julius Caesar himself, at the time of Caesar's conquest of Gaul at the Battle of Alesia in 52 BC. I've also got a collection of ancient Roman denarii with captions depicting Julius Caesar at various times of his life."

Paris said, "Lorenzo deeply admires Julius Caesar."

Delano said, "Despite what happened to him in 44 BC?"

"I would call that unfortunate incident a misunderstanding. Caesar was a great man, not fully appreciated in his time. Like myself, perhaps."

Delano looked up at his host and studied Jenkins' face for the first time. He saw a pale complexion, a hook nose, weak, watery, perpetually red eyes and ears that flopped like a big dog's. Jenkins squinted and blinked a lot.

Paris smiled at Delano's delayed reaction. "Lorenzo likes it when you call him Buddha."

Jenkins didn't deny it. "Ah yes, the Enlightened One."

Paris wasn't through. "But really, Lorenzo's not like Buddha at all."

"No?"

"Oh, no. Lorenzo Jenkins is something of a cross between Julius Caesar, Buddha, an Egyptian pharaoh and Walt Disney. I couldn't imagine Big Venice..." her eyes lowered, "or the Concordance without him."

Jenkins smiled expansively. "My resort is open to everyone, InFed, Concordance, it makes no difference to me. Money is money...the more the better."

Paris went on. "Lorenzo would never say this but Big Venice is profiting quite handsomely from the Zanzibar disaster."

Jenkins sniffed. "People want to have fun. Of course, we were all saddened by what happened to Zanzibar—" but his words and his face didn't quite match. "Big Venice welcomes any and all, as long as you come to have fun."

Now Paris turned serious. "Lorenzo, I didn't bring Pieter here to have fun. InFed and the Outer Ring are a serious threat to the Concordance. You know that."

Jenkins' beaming face fell. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But couldn't we dispense with politics just for this one evening?"

"No, I'm afraid not. InFed and this Dugay fellow are moving too fast. The Concordance—in fact, the Ultrarchy itself—has given me the job of finding a way to stop InFed from building the Outer Ring, stop them from stealing Jupiter—which, by the way, belongs to all of us—and encroaching on Concordance space with their abominable terretas and that eyesore of an Outer Ring. You read the messages I sent ahead, the proposal?"

Jenkins seemed sad and sipped at a tankard, licking the foam from around its rim. "I read them. This is serious talk, Councilor Paris. A coordinated campaign of resistance and opposition...if I—or my staff here at Big Venice—were to be publicly involved in such a thing, well—" he let the words hang there, hoping his meaning would be apparent. But Paris wasn't biting.

"Lorenzo, you have the resources...and the influence—to make this happen. To slow or stop this project. You're the only one that both sides trust."

"But Councilor, think of all this—" he swept his arms around, "it's a big risk you're asking of me. I can't jeopardize Big Venice, the business of fun, the scoop pilots' heaven, the ore drivers' delight. My business depends on having good relations with InFed and the Concordance."

"That's why I brought Pieter Delano and this Kasongo woman along. They're celebrities now. We can use them. You don't have to be the public face of opposition to the Outer Ring. Mr. Delano can be that. But we need money and influence, _your_ money and influence, behind the scenes."

Delano glanced over at Kasongo. Her eyes were screaming _Be careful, Pieter...be very careful what you say._ He chose his words carefully.

"You've both heard me say that Evelyn and I aren't from this time. We're from another time. In fact, we came back to your time because in our own time, there's a problem with Jupiter. A big problem. And Philippe Dugay has caused it."

It was readily apparent that neither Semarilyn Paris nor Lorenzo Jenkins believed a word of what he saying.

Jenkins scoffed. "Yes, I've heard the rumors...you're some kind of time traveler from the future."

"It's no rumor—" Delano tried to reply but Paris jerked the conversation away from him.

"You've mentioned Dugay before...you know he's just the architect, the builder. It's his design for the Outer Ring that InFed has approved."

"A very famous architect," Jenkins agreed. "We've met several times. I've even given him a few small commissions."

"I'm one of his descendants," Delano admitted.

Jenkins sat up abruptly. "I'm sorry, I thought you said—"

Then Delano, against Kasongo's pleading eyes, proceeded to explain the relationship. When he was done, it was clear that Jenkins and Paris really didn't know what to believe.

"You said you've given Philippe Dugay a few commissions?"

Jenkins squinted and studied Delano as if he had two heads and nodded. "I have. Small stuff really—a hotel on Mars, the Ice Falls at Enceladus. I don't like to play favorites. In my business, I try to keep everybody happy, both sides."

"Lorenzo, we need you. The Concordance needs you."

"I can't jeopardize my standing with InFed...you know that."

Paris was desperately grasping for anything. "Didn't you tell me once you had an idea for another Big Venice...and Dugay was someone you were thinking of?"

Jenkins thought. "Yes, you're right." He hoisted a tankard and let a nearby servbot fill it to overflowing with ale. Then he licked suds for a moment. "I believe you're talking about _Paradisium_. And yes, I felt Philippe Dugay would be perfect for the job, but he's hard to get in touch with...lives like a recluse."

Paris explained it to Delano. Big-Venice-in-the Belt was the current moneymaker for Jenkins. But he had long dreamed of replicating the casino-terreta in trans-Jovian space and had an idea for another casino-terreta complex--even greater--to be called _Paradisium..._ or something like that; the name had been a takeoff of Latin for 'paradise.' As humans began to exploit the Jupiter system and trans-Jovian space out to Saturn, Jenkins wanted a new terreta-casino to be right in the middle of the traffic lanes and orbits, supplying entertainment, hospitality and diversions to any and all. He hoped to offer a commission to build _Paradisium_ to Dugay as a way of enticing him away from Patron and InFed.

Jenkins settled back in his chair and closed his eyes, savoring the memory of the idea. Jenkins had come by his original fortune from mining interests in the Belt, licensed by the Ultrarchy and the fact that his miners had discovered some of the richest mineral orebodies and water resources in the Belt, just at the same time the Concordance was overseeing, approving and licensing a great expansion of Concordance territories and habitats. This was like San Francisco becoming wealthy, servicing the needs of the Forty-niners in California's Gold Rush days. Jenkins had always been much taken with stories of the Gold Rush and the Forty-Niners, fancying himself as a sort of latter-day entrepreneur, in the manner of Levi Strauss and others. Or perhaps as a sort of 23rd century Sheldon Adelson, Las Vegas hotel and casino magnate.

"But I haven't been able to provoke even an ounce of interest from Dugay or his people. The Linds hide him and shield him pretty well, you know."

This made Paris's eyes flash with anger. "Maybe I can contact him. Philippe and I were once lovers. For the sake of old-time memories—"

Delano probed this line of comment and soon found out that not only had Paris and Dugay once been lovers—"until that bitch Kate Lind came along"—but they had had a child as well.

"Jean is his name," Paris admitted. "Beautiful blond boy, so artistic, like his father—"

But Delano wasn't listening. Instead, his eyes met Evelyn Kasongo's, saying without words _I wonder if I may be a distant descendant of Jean_.

The more Delano listened to Paris pleading with Jenkins and the rotund impresario brushing her off, the more convinced he became that this was the best way to meet Philippe Dugay and stop his ancestor from destroying Jupiter. He knew, without Kasongo even reminding him, that time was running out. Sol Secundas could never proceed unless Dugay and InFed left Jupiter alone. Unless the King of Planets were bulked up with material streamed off Saturn, there was no chance of igniting a second sun.

Using Paris and Jenkins to get to Dugay seemed the best hope. Maybe their only hope. Joining forces with Paris' opposition campaign might be the only way to stop the dismantling of Jupiter.

Gradually, by fits and starts, reluctant and objecting all the way, Lorenzo Jenkins succumbed to Semarilyn Paris' entreaties. Pieter Delano agreed to use his new-found and unwanted celebrity to become the public face of the campaign.

"That'll get us a lot of money and resources, just from Pieter's notoriety."

Jenkins could see the possibilities, as P.T. Barnum had once seen possibilities in freaks of nature. "Sure. We could hold shows right here in Big Venice—"

"Fund-raisers," added Paris.

"Exactly." Jenkins warmed to the idea, imagining all kinds of ancillary benefits. "Hey, I know this scoop pilot who has three legs—"

"Later, Lorenzo. Let's work out some details first...who does what, who goes where—"

In this manner, the initial steps of the opposition campaign--which would over the centuries mutate into the Guardians--were laid out. Step one was to sabotage some scoopships and make it too hazardous for them to continue operations in the high atmosphere of Jupiter. The next step would be to sabotage or even disable or destroy one or more transmuting stations in orbit beyond Jupiter. These stations would take the gas materials streamed off by the scoopships and transmute it to building materials for the Outer Ring of terretas. Jenkins said he had some old debts he could call in and he knew just the right people for sabotage job. While Delano didn't want to see people hurt, he knew they were running out of time and options and he and Kasongo agreed that supporting this sabotage may be their best hope. But he had a price:

"I'll lend my name to your efforts willingly if you'll set up a meeting with Philippe Dugay. I want to try negotiating first."

Paris and Jenkins were skeptical but agreed to inquire as to whether such a meeting, at a neutral site, might be feasible. "But it won't work. InFed is determined to push the Outer Ring," Paris said. "It's part of their plan to outflank the Concordance and develop settlements in the outer solar system. They want to confine and contain us to the Belt and squeeze from both directions. That's their strategy." Left unsaid was the general animosity Paris felt for Patron and for Kate Lind.

When the details of the opposition campaign had been worked out, it was late, candles were guttering and everyone was drained. Jenkins was resigned to a role he never wanted.

"I always admired Julius Caesar, despite what happened to him in 44 BC." He shuddered. "Stabbed to death by those he trusted most. But at least he did what had to be done and didn't worry about being popular."

"That's the spirit," Paris agreed.

"All I ever wanted was to make everybody happy and make money in the process," he said.

"This is even better, Lorenzo. Now you can make history."

Delano stole a glance at Kasongo. They both knew that if they didn't get the Jupiter project stopped soon, they themselves would be history.
Chapter 9

Aboard Transmuting Station T-4

In Lagrange orbit at L-4 around Jupiter (Trojan orbit)

May 10, 2249

Onboard station T-4 _,_ sensor tech Katrina Lourdes was startled out of a pleasant daydream when EINSTEIN began beeping insistently at something. In her dream, she had been rocket-hopping across the Moon's Sea of Tranquility... the one-sixth g of the Moon had always made unusual structures possible and one of 'Trina's earliest efforts was what she called her Flyer, a kite-like contraption that could be lofted on even faint air currents inside Selene City and used as a kind of paraglider. Low-g flight inside the domed cities of the Moon was all the rage by the time Trina turned 10 years old and she wanted to invent the best flyer she could and enter it into a contest, despite being too young. The contest was called the Terminator Cup. Later versions of this contest went outside, with flyers equipped with rockets and low-g flight became a Moon-wide craze, even with injuries and fatalities.

But EINSTEIN just wouldn't let her finish the race.

Her eyes blinked open. _Now what?_

Trina Lourdes looked over her boards, controlling the position of the great scopes at the far end of the station's main truss, all the imagers and radars and spectrometers She quickly pinpointed the source of the beeping: Nodes 20 through 24...the portside lateral array of the Main Stream Imager...was picking up some anomaly.

She massaged the controls and tried to focus the array, to get better resolution on the target. EINSTEIN didn't beep without reason. Somewhere in its nearly infinite memory were trajectory and conjunction data on nearly every moon, particle and bit of space junk in orbit around Jupiter. Like an overprotective mother, EINSTEIN knew where everyone was supposed to be, right down to the nearest centimeter.

EINSTEIN only beeped and chirped when something was out of whack.

A quick perusal made the black hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The system was showing an object, a large object coming toward them out of a lower orbit, an object closing fast on an intercept course, an object that if it continued its current heading, would clearly cross the Stream and interrupt production for who knew how many hours, maybe even slam into the station itself.

Trina sounded the Master Alarm, a split second before EINSTEIN would have done the same.

In his quarters, Philippe Dugay stirred groggily at the loud klaxons sounding through the station.

What the hell?

He fell out of his bunk and mindlessly groped in a closet for the pressure suit he knew would be there...a reflex trained in every InFed citizen almost from birth. While he was scrambling to put it on, someone rapped on the door.

It was Octavio Patron.

"You won't need that...not yet. The station's got some kind of proximity warning. Commander Krueger's ordered us to the command deck... _now_."

The two of them pulled and pushed and kicked their way across the junction between T-4's rotating gravity section and the micro-g of her command deck.

Rolf Krueger was there, with Trina Lourdes and station engineer Serena Yakimova, auburn hair tied back in a severe bun.

Krueger explained. "EINSTEIN's giving us a conjunction warning."

Patron squinted, half asleep. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means there's some kind of object on an orbital trajectory that intercepts ours. Closest approach in about eighty-five minutes. We're trying to determine what it is now...Trina's working the scopes so we can some kind of visual."

Trina's fingers played over her console like a pianist, homing in on the object.

"Can't you maneuver out of the way?"

Krueger looked like he was in pain. "T-4? Are you serious? Our mission is to receive input streams from Jupiter's atmosphere, transmute the hydrogen and helium into heavier elements and build construction components in our factory, then fire it all off to the assembly site. Are you nuts, Patron? If T-4 deviates from her position by so much as a few meters, we lose the Stream."

Trina waved her hand over her head. "I think I've got it..." she pointed to her screen, "that little blinking light...right in the center...it's moving right to left in this view...and fast."

All watched for several minutes. The light was initially little more than a blurry star-like point, but it gradually gained shape as it closed the distance to T-4.

There were throat clearings and audible swallows. Yakimova said it first.

"I don't like the looks of that thing."

Krueger agreed. "It's a ship. Manned or unmanned, I don't know. Try hailing it, all bands."

Trina opened up one channel after another. "Unknown ship, now approaching InFed station T-4...come back." Only static and occasional chirps, but no response. "Unknown ship approaching station T-4...you are on a collision course...maneuver away...you will be inside our protected perimeter in less than thirty minutes...identify yourself."

Octavio Patron rubbed nervously at his black moustache. "That's a Concordance ship, I'm willing to bet. No markings, but I recognize the nose. Concordance cargo lighter, Callisto-class, I believe."

Krueger nodded. "You may be right. No answer, Trina?"

"Nothing, sir. And they're not maneuvering."

Krueger made a decision. "Contact _Amalthea_. They're in a low orbit too...Voit may still have time to engage or intercept. Send it E-1, priority."

An emergency message was flashed across high Jovian orbit to InFed corvette IFS _Amalthea_ , circling the planet in a co-planar orbit, on a protective escort mission, several hundred kilometers below T-4.

The corvette's captain, one Jakob Voit, replied that _Amalthea_ had already detected the approaching object, determined probable hostile intent and was moving to engage at that very moment.

Krueger replied in the affirmative and turned to Dugay and Patron. "It's all physics now, gentlemen. We're in Sir Isaac Newton's hands. Trina, based on what you can see, will _Amalthea_ make it here in time?"

Trina shrugged, turned around. "It's going to be close, sir. They just finished a major burn. If _Amalthea_ can't get close enough to engage, that ship's headed right for us. In—" she checked her console, "less than twenty-seven minutes, we'll be splattered all across the heavens."

Patron muttered, mostly to himself, but audible to all. "I think that's the plan...."

***

Philippe Dugay and Octavio Patron had been aboard T-4 for a week, the beginning of a brief tour of the fleet of cable ships and transmuting stations that were on site for the earliest stages of the Outer Ring project.

Approaching the station in Patron's private cruiser _Bolivar,_ Dugay commented on the visible changes already noticeable along the edge of the King of Planets, for Jupiter had in recent days begun to grow a perceptible beard of very faint whiskers...the gas streams even now unspooling under intense electromagnetic fields generated by the cable that had been laid down in its lower stratosphere.

Dugay dictated notes on his wristpad as he studied the scene.

"The cable is, of course, invisible to the eye, being hundreds of kilometers deep, almost at the thermosphere boundary. There are several gas streams faintly visible, like fine whiskers...very straight and focused with little deviation. I'm glad to see they're well controlled. That was an issue in our planning...would Jupiter's intense magnetic fields and storms scatter the gas streams before they reached the factory stations, like T-4? I believe that problem is solved, for the moment."

Patron had joined him in _Bolivar's_ observation cupola. "Writing your memoirs, Philippe?"

Dugay smiled faintly. "Just observations. I want a complete record of every aspect of the project."

"I've never seen you so intense."

Dugay shrugged, shut down _Record_ on his wristpad. "I want this to go right. There are so many variables, so many things that can go wrong."

"You mean like sabotage and resistance from the Concordance. I suppose you're right. Still thinking about Athalonia?"

Dugay closed his eyes. "Architects don't have designs for failure. Most days, I'm okay. But when I took on this commission, I knew I had to get it right."

"The Dugay name is secure. You know that. What about the Moon...the Selenosphere...that was inspired. That's what people remember."

Dugay wished that were true. The Moon was mostly settled now and he did take great pride in that achievement. It was so simple an idea that people laughed when it was explained to them, even today. Bake out the oxygen in the soil for a few years with a couple dozen solar concentrators to get the atmosphere started and then slam a few iceberg asteroids into it to provide some volatiles—carbon, nitrogen, water and the like. The design was easy. The execution wasn't but then you never could get decent help. Assigned as associate chief architect at such a young age, Dugay and his team had managed to make it work (though the atmosphere would be need to constantly replenished because of the low-gravity) and then sailed the lunar seas for promotion.

Patron went on. "Your name and your designs are all over the system. Everywhere you turn, what do you see: terretas. Every shape and size you could imagine. Only Philippe Dugay could take something that simple and use it to suburbanize space. Nobody remembers Athalonia."

"Nobody but the relatives of the survivors. I have Arthur Lind to thank for shielding me from the mobs. And giving me a chance to—"

"Redeem your name, is that it? Why'd you take this commission?"

Dugay shrugged. "Pride. Vanity. Redemption, I guess. A chance to make a lasting statement. Every architect dreams of that. _'The feeling of being almost a god, for awhile, a creator out of the mind is more intoxicating than wine. There is no feeling to equal it for an architect.'_ Philip Johnson said that, way back in the 20th century. Johnson was famous for his use of glass. Now, here I am...streaming hydrogen gas off Jupiter and transmuting it into construction materials for the Outer Ring. You know who designed the first skyscraper?"

"Not a clue," Patron admitted.

"A man named Louis Sullivan, from Chicago, USA. Late 19th century. He once said: _'_ What is the chief characteristic of the tall office building? It is lofty. It must be tall. The force and power of altitude must be in it, the glory and pride of exaltation must be in it. It must be every inch a proud and soaring thing, rising in sheer exaltation that from bottom to top it is a unit without a single dissenting line.'"

Patron rubbed at his black moustache. "Philippe, I get it. But you're no god. You just want to be worshipped like one."

"You may be more right than you know. If I can do this...if I can build an Outer Ring like your InFed sponsors want, use Jupiter as a source of materials, then I've made a statement that can't be ignored."

"And probably cemented your legacy for all time," Patron finished the thought. "Not to put too many words in your mouth."

Octavio Patron knew Philippe Dugay better than Dugay was willing to admit. He'd always kept notes on his clients and contacts; any good businessman would. In his own notes, he had once written: _Philippe Dugay needs constant challenge to live his life. From a childhood designing gizmos for hoppers on the Moon, to building terretas in space, if Philippe was not engaged in some grand, even insane building project, he wasn't happy. Perhaps this need exists to keep his mind occupied and not focusing on the slights and disgraces he has suffered in his life, to keep from dwelling and sweating and obsessing over every perceived injustice, for the truth is that Philippe is both sensitive and insecure, and loves to break rules._

Breaking rules is his way of getting even with his code inspector father and getting back at all the strictures he endured growing up. Breaking rules is a critical part of Philippe Dugay's personality. Some called it rebelliousness. Others called it an outsized ego and talent that just could not be contained in normal human bounds.

Siphoning atmosphere from Jupiter, messing around with the King of Planets and using it to build a ring of habitats was just the sort of rule Philippe Dugay was born to break.

The two of them watched Jupiter slide by thousands of kilometers below them. It was a salmon-hued world, mottled and banded with oranges, reds, browns and ambers, a cauldron of clouds, storms and majestic seething turbulence. Alternating strips of light and dark wrapped the planet in a calico shroud and several small red spots boiled away in the north tropical zone, companions to the Great Red Spot in the south, a centuries-old hurricane churning since the time of Cromwell and King Charles.

Patron asked, "So, you like what you're seeing? How'd you come by this crazy idea anyway?"

Dugay nodded. "How did Louis Sullivan come by the notion that buildings should be taller? How did Brunelleschi come by the notion that Florence should have a cathedral with an impossible dome on top? I guess that's what lures me...the impossible. Doing something everyone says can't be done."

"Or shouldn't be done. There's still the Concordance to deal with. How does all this work anyway?"

Almost automatically, from memory, Dugay launched into a canned explanation. He'd done it countless times before the InFed sponsors, before financiers, before architectural boards, even before Patron and his advisors.

"The cables were first. Actually, there are two: a conducting cable and a magnetized cable. Basically, we're creating a gigantic electric motor inside Jupiter's atmosphere. Jupiter's own magnetic field below the metallized hydrogen layer is one side and our upper cable is the other side of a big stator. The conducting cable is like a rotor. The conducting cable interacts with Jupiter's interior magnetic fields to create a torque that lifts streams of hydrogen gas out of the atmosphere...all this occurs about one third of the way down from the tops of the clouds."

"Like a big electrical circuit?"

"Exactly. A planet-wide electrical circuit. Hydrogen isn't normally conductive, especially under the high pressures deep in the atmosphere. There's no way for the atoms to dissociate and convective processes block any flow of charged particles from above. Higher in the atmosphere, hydrogen is ionized by energetic cosmic rays, but it's still not enough for what we need. But deeper down, hydrogen becomes metallic. Electrons are literally squeezed out of the atoms and it becomes a conductor at that point. We make use of that."

"You've made Jupiter a giant electric motor."

"In a manner of speaking. Our cable grid creates a virtual rotor to react against the 'stator' of Jupiter's magnetic field."

Patron rubbed his forehead. "Science was never my strong point. I'm having trouble following this, I guess. Give me a picture, Philippe."

"Okay, visualize a ball of twine spinning on a shaft. The twine is magnetized. Apply a field of opposite polarity above the ball, with something to capture the twine as it comes off. That's what we're doing."

Patron pointed to the streaking multi-hued bands and zones zooming along as the planet turned below them. "There are some pretty fierce winds down there. What keeps your gas stream under control? Why don't the winds scatter it?"

"The gas stream is collimated from the beginning. Above our cable grid are three concentric rings of collimating stations, circulating in the thermosphere and stratosphere of Jupiter. These stations use very powerful electromagnetic fields to keep the gas stream contained and focused on the transmuting stations in orbit. Like T-4 here. The beauty of this process is that Jupiter's so big and the volume of hydrogen is so vast...it'll be decades, maybe centuries, before we even come close to exhausting the supply. Jupiter gives us an enormous mine of raw materials, which our factory ships like T-4 can transmute into virtually any material we want."

Patron nodded, calculating the payoffs in his mind. "Good for InFed. Good for me. The Concordance thinks otherwise."

Dugay was always energized when explaining his designs and how they worked. "Treaties say nobody owns the planets. We have as much right to be here as anyone."

"That must be why InFed assigned escort ships to protect us, right?"

Dugay said nothing to that, but scowled and resumed dictating notes to his wristpad.

Patron said, "Philippe, I didn't tell you...I was contacted by Semarilyn Paris the other day."

"Paris? I know that name—"

"Prime Councilor of the Concordance. She wants to meet me... _us_. Soon. A neutral site. Paris says there's someone she wants you to meet at this little confab."

Dugay was focused intently on a high-power scope, as he scanned the faint whiskers of the incoming gas stream, rushing at them like a wreath of steam from the top of the planet's atmosphere.

"Needs just a little tweaking to better center the stream...I'm sorry, OP, you were saying...."

"I'm taking you to meet the Prime Councilor of the Concordance."

"Explain to me again why I want to meet this person."

Patron patted Dugay on the shoulder. "Let's call it a meeting of the minds. It might help the keep the neighborhood quiet for awhile."

Patron, Dugay and the T-4 crew watched grimly on the station sensor display as the object slid relentlessly toward intercept with the station.

"Concordance," muttered Krueger. "It has to be. A missile. A mine. Even an unmanned ship."

"Appears to be Callisto-class freighter," Yakimova decided. "If it hits us—"

Trina Lourdes was in contact with the IFS corvette. " _Amalthea_ reports she has the object in sight. Moving to engage now...almost in range of her mag guns."

Dugay stole a glance out a nearby porthole. But the developing engagement was still too far away for visuals. All he could see was the tan and ocher bands of Jupiter, curling and twisting like string bunching up, and the faint trail of the gas stream aimed from below directly at T-4's receiver dishes.

" _Amalthea_ 's firing...she's firing now!"

For several long seconds, nothing seemed to happen. Distances and speeds were great out at this position, the Jupiter-Sun L-4 point. Trina's sensor display showed only the faint tracks of the corvette's trajectory and the approaching object.

Then, a bright blue-white flash burst outside the porthole. It faded rapidly and all eyes turned to the sensor display.

" _Got 'em_!" Trina exulted, pumping a fist. She bent to her comms and her glee quickly turned to horror. "Uh oh... _Amalthea_ reports the target was destroyed. But there's a big debris field and it's still headed for us. Impact in thirteen minutes—"

Patron swore out loud. "It's freakin' Zanzibar, all over again, damn the bastards!"

Rolf Krueger had been station commander for only a year but he'd served in InFed's Frontier Corps for over twenty. Debris fields and sudden 'conjunctions' were routine emergencies that any Frontier Corps crew trained and drilled for. He reacted automatically.

"Conjunction alarm! All hands to emergency shelters! _NOW_! All hands...secure critical items and find shelter! Rig for collision!"

The crew and passengers of T-4 scrambled to shelters and the gangways were soon filled with hustling bodies, flying arms and legs and muttered curses. Over the warning klaxon, then the roar of emergency air banks discharging and pressure-tight hatches slamming shut, the plaintive sounds of EINSTEIN bleated out emergency warnings over and over again.

" _Level One Emergency...level one emergency...conjunction alarm... all decks and sections...all personnel, man the shelters, man shelters immediately...all personnel—"_

The first debris impacted station T-4's gas stream receivers at a velocity of sixty-five meters per second.

A catastrophic hull breach followed seconds later.

Chapter 10

Aboard Stream Deflector Station _Bernini_

In Heliocentric Orbit, Jupiter Lagrange Point L5

Solix 4.18.3156

Not everyone was happy about having a second Sun. That's why the Guardians sent him to _Bernini_ in the first place. Kisan Malakel, engineering inspector 1st class for the Concordance. Malakel had an official job to do and that was to make sure everything aboard station _Bernini_ was up to spec...the gas pulses streaming off Saturn's atmosphere were coming in on schedule...the deflector controls were receiving and diverting the pulses properly into Jupiter's atmosphere...the King of Planets was bulking up on schedule so the thing could be ignited on time...that all aspects of the Second Sun project were proceeding according to calculations. Yes, Malakel had a job all right. But his real job was to sabotage the whole works, sabotage the deflector system, and get away before station _Bernini_ was likely destroyed by an incoming pulse.

The Guardians had invested a lot in Malakel to provide cover and a backstory as an inspector in their efforts to halt this silliness and keep the solar system unspoiled by developers and scoundrels, both from InFed and from the Concordance. To every station that hosted him for regularly scheduled audits, he was Engineering Inspector Malakel. To the Guardians, Malakel was an 'asset in place.'

_Bernini's_ commander was Rodrigo Seria, a twitchy little rat of a man, with darting eyes and smooth black hair.

"Welcome aboard _Bernini_ ," Seria lied, when he met Malakel at the station's UDP, her Universal Docking Port. Malakel's ship had put in right next to _Bernini's_ two escape shuttles. He had quietly scanned the hulls of the ships and swallowed, knowing full well that when the time came, the station's crew would flee for those ships and find them out of order. That was part of his job too. "A quick tour, Inspector?"

It wasn't Malakel's first time aboard. "Certainly, Captain...show me what's new." _Bernini_ was crewed by a mostly Spanish-speaking crew, in fact, Malakel knew some of them claimed distant descent from Peruvian Inca emigrants hundreds of years ago. He knew that because his own family was one of them, although most of his ancestors wound up settling Chaos City, down below on Europa.

Seria ran through the drill and Malakel pretended to be interested, though not for the reasons he suspected. _Bernini_ was a big cylinder, rotating like a spit, with ten decks and the deflector-emitter array at one end, counter-rotating. The crew enjoyed all the benefits of roughly one-half Earth-normal gravity and they did have some serious radiation outside their active shielding, but they also had one hell of a view below.

Mostly, Malakel wanted a chance to spend time up in the deflector module, on A deck. _Bernini's_ whole mission was to receive electromagnetically-contained slugs of Saturnian gas on a regular schedule and divert them correctly into Jupiter's atmosphere. The whole reason for the Second Sun project was because the knuckleheads at Sunboost had messed up the original Sun, good old Sol. You could blame that on the money-grubbing InFed developers too.

For the first few months or so of _Bernini's_ life, little change could be detected in Saturn's appearance. The same girdle of bands and stripes twisted their way across the cloudscape, dotted with the same orange blotches and yellow-white loops.

But soon after that, there appeared a barely discernible ripple along the equator, as the orbiting cable grid pumped electrical current into the atmosphere. Vivid white veins of lightning crackled back and forth. The first faint, nearly invisible streamers of gas had already spun away from Saturn's grasp and the fleet of scoops went to work immediately taking them up. A short while later, the first slugs of gas were streaking toward deflector stations like _Bernini_ in high Jupiter orbit.

By the end of the year, Saturn had grown a long, luminous thread, unwinding at her equator. It made traditionalists want to cry. The filament was nearly eight thousand kilometers long at the scoop end and the ships flew countless sorties into the stuff every day. The timeless beauty of Saturn was slowly being unraveled to make another sun right in the middle of the solar system.

Thinking about that and watching the streams approach _Bernini_ and be shunted off into Jupiter's atmosphere made Malakel realize that he just could not afford to fail. And the sooner he got started on this job, the better.

After the tour, Seria had dinner with Malakel and Dr. Cayamarca, the station's medical officer, in his stateroom, with all kinds of servbots trundling around. They served a traditional kind of stew—Seria called it _aji de gallina_ with stir-fry _lomo saltado_...it was like they were dining with the Inca himself at Machu Picchu.

"Your crew seems to be of good Peruvian stock, Captain," Malakel said between mouthfuls of _anticuchos_ —he figured it was not bad for fabbed food, actually.

"Mostly Inca, actually," Seria admitted. "They make good workers in high orbit here, what with all the radiation and reduced gravity."

"Any problems with the deflectors...guidance on target, divert angles all good, that sort of thing? You know how Engineering is, always tweaking, fixing things that don't need to be fixed."

Seria sniffed at a glass of _Bodega Tacama_ and made a face. Not every traditional dish was fabbed perfectly. He shrugged. "Minor stuff, mostly. Our capture field has to be monitored constantly, what with the magnetosphere around here. If it gets squashed below limits, we could have a problem...maybe a gas slug impacting the station but that's never happened."

_So far_ , Malakel said to myself. He noticed Dr. Cayamarca, studying him curiously, like he was some kind of specimen. He seemed suspicious but he was trying to hide it and Malakel had a momentary chill that he might know more about his background that he was letting on. Malakel wasn't a real name anyway and it was possible they had crossed paths before. Concordance space was a big place.

"Dr. Cayamarca, how about the crew? How are they holding up?"

Cayamarca studied the remnants of his _chupe_ , a decent enough fish stew, choosing not to look directly at Malakel. "Pretty well. I keep tabs on the incident radiation. You know Jupiter's magnetic dipole is tilted and that puts _Bernini_ right in the middle of the some of the worst radiation. It's twenty times stronger than Earth's, so the active rad shielding has to work without fail. If we lost that, the crew would be dead in a day, probably before we could even abandon the station."

On that pleasant note, Malakel begged off dessert, thanked everyone for a splendid evening and retired to his quarters. Later that night, after all had retired save for the bots that constantly circulated around the station, he went to work.

His mission was simple in principle: insert some special malware into the deflector control software and cause the next incoming pulse of Saturn atmospheric gases to fail diversion and impact the station. _Bernini_ would doubtless be destroyed and Malakel planned to disable their escape shuttles to make sure there would be maximum casualties, excluding himself of course, for he had his own ship and didn't plan on sticking around. He knew from his tasking that he was expendable if it came to that, but he didn't plan on becoming part of Jupiter's orbiting horde of satellites just yet.

As he made his way aft to the UDP to see to the escape shuttles, he thought a little about what the Guardians had assigned him to do. But he wasn't really having any second thoughts or anything like that.

Malakel was a believer in what the Guardians were trying to do. _We shouldn't be messing around with the Sun or Jupiter or Saturn._ But he felt a kinship with these sturdy descendants of Andean peoples from Peru and the prospect of them all dying in a cataclysmic impact with speeding slugs of atmospheric gases made him the slightest bit uneasy. Normally, Malakel was a good soldier and did what he was told. It was just that—

Disabling _Bernini's_ escape shuttles was actually the easy part. Just get into the engine controllers and swap a few cards, insert a little Gamma malware—Malakel had lots of it. Voila! Nobody's going anywhere. Malakel wasn't one to brag about it but he had aced his sabotage class at Guardians school.

After shutting down the escape shuttles, the next step was the big one...the deflector array. Malakel made his way up the central gangway to A deck. Halfway up, he ran into Dr. Cayamarca.

"Evening, Doctor," he said, as noncommittally as he could. "Captain said I could use the nav cupola to take some photos." The observation port was on B deck and Seria had indeed made the offer.

Cayamarca was all ready to turn in, by the looks of his pajamas. "I was just heading to the galley." He held up a glass of something. "A little nightcap...some more of that rather disappointing _Tacama_. Join me?"

It was the way he said it that pricked Malakel's sensors. _More like: I know you're up to something and I'm not letting you out of my sight._ He'd have to be careful around Cayamarca.

Malakel demurred and they parted company at B deck, with the Doctor disappearing into the galley. Malakel went forward and made sure nobody was hanging around the deflector controls when he got there.

He knew how the deck worked. He'd studied the details long enough. Scoopships at Saturn peeled off streams of atmospheric gases like peeling an apple and shaped the stream into slugs, sort of like normal supply beams, with a control pod in the center of the slug to maintain the shape and provide a little guidance. Then the slugs were shot out across space and, after traveling for months, were grabbed by Jupiter's gravity and given their final kick and course adjustment by a string of deflector stations just like _Bernini_. There were twelve in all, orbiting around Jupiter.

The deflector-emitter at the apex of _Bernini's_ cylinder beamed out an electromagnetic capture field, strong enough to overcome Jupiter's magnetosphere, and bent the slug—they like to call 'em pulses—down into Jupiter's atmosphere. Without that final nudge from the deflectors, the pulse would crash into Jupiter uncontrolled and maybe into the station itself. Malakel was actually counting on that.

Nobody was in the deflector control station when he got there. He was counting on that too. He studied the controls for a moment, recalling what his Guardians instructor had taught him, and found the right port. Malakel withdrew his drive with the Gamma malware and loaded it straight away, no problem. This took about two minutes. When the download was done, the thing beeped and he pulled the drive out. In less than an hour, Gamma would do its duty and the capture field would be hosed. Not long after that, the next incoming pulse would slam into _Bernini_ and likely splatter the station across the skies of Jupiter. Malakel planned to be elsewhere when that happened.

He felt rather than heard someone behind him. It was Cayamarca. The Doctor had seen everything. The look on his face said _you're the mouse and I'm the cat._ Malakel knew the feeling.

He also saw the Doctor had a pulser sidearm aimed right at his stomach.

"Just keep your hands where I can see them. I'm thinking you're no inspector, Malakel, are you?"

Having nothing witty to say, Malakel answered. "I don't know what you mean. I was just up—"

"Save it. Let's go—we're paying a visit to the Captain—"

Just as Malakel moved to pass by him, keeping an eye on that pulser, he reacted with all the speed and ferocity the Guardians had hammered into him for situations just like this. Malakel swung his elbow out, knocked the pulser away and while Cayamarca was recovering, he slammed a fist into his face.

They were in the low-grav part of the station, so the impact sent him tumbling. His pulser hand struck a stanchion and the weapon went flying. It clattered to the deck and Malakel kicked it away, then slammed another fist into the Doctor's face. Blood spurted and, in his recoil, the back of his head struck a bulkhead and he was stunned. Malakel bent down, groped for the pulser, found it and fired.

The round sent him sprawling further away, landing like a broken doll heavily against a bank of supply lockers. He went down hard and stayed down.

Malakel didn't know what alarms the pulser discharge would cause, so without thinking he ripped open a locker, and managed to cram the good doctor inside one, not easy given his lanky frame and big feet. _Jeez, man, what size shoes do you wear?_ He didn't know if the Doctor was dead, unconscious or what and he wasn't hanging around to find out. Quickly, he studied the deflector controls again, satisfied himself that Gamma had skirted all alarms and inhibits and was doing its dirty work. Already, he could see warnings popping up on multiple displays: _Emitter Fault...Deadband Violation...Tracking Out of Tolerance Error 1..._ Beeps and buzzers were already making a small symphony around the panel. It wouldn't be long before--

Malakel had heard no audible alarms for the pulser discharge, so he ditched the weapon below the console and scrambled back down the gangway—mercifully free of bodies this late in the shift—and ducked into his compartment. His plan had been to get all his gear together, especially anything incriminating, and make his escape on his own ship before Seria and the rest of the crew were awakened. He figured it wouldn't be long before somebody came looking for the cause of the growing ruckus.

Cautiously but quickly as he dared, he made his way aft to the UDP, where the ship was docked. If all went as planned, the incoming pulse of gaseous matter from Saturn would slam into _Bernini_ in a few hours and the whole station would be splashed across the heavens after that. Malakel's own ship was the only way off and Gamma would make sure the deflectors couldn't be resurrected.

The Guardians would be so proud. Malakel also knew that other saboteurs were even now doing the same thing, infecting half the deflector stations in orbit with Gamma. This was sure to be the greatest catastrophe the Guardians had perpetrated since the Hibernia incident a few years ago.

With any luck, even Richter V5, the shadowy head of the Guardians, might invite me aboard his cruiser Veiled Order for an award. Wouldn't that be just be fine and dandy?

Inside the Universal Docking Port, as he was stuffing his gear aboard his own ship, Malakel heard muffled voices and realized he wasn't alone. On the other side of the gangway hatch, two late-shift maintenance techs seemed to be attending to some balky equipment. Both were women, one younger and one older.

Malakel was about to stash himself into his ship and shut the hatch, when the older tech turned about and drifted over to see what was going on.

When Malakel saw her face, he got the fright of his life. He couldn't—his mouth was working but nothing was coming out. His throat went dry. Blood drained from his head. His fingers tingled and he hit the back of his head on the hatch.

Nothing the Guardians had ever taught him had prepared him for this—

He knew the woman, quite well in fact. Her name was Manuella Seguin.

She was Malakel's own mother.

Recognition came to Manuella Seguin quickly, despite the fact that Malakel had nanodermed his face months ago, in preparation for this very mission. She squinted at him, in her way, cocked her head. Some things you just couldn't hide.

"Octavio...Octavio, is that you? _Madre de Dios_...it _is_ you...Octavio, my boy—"

Like a guilty five-year old caught wearing his mother's shoes, Malakel just stood there. Octavio Seguin—his real name—he hadn't heard that in years.

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Finally, Manuella ran to him and hugged him so tight Malakel felt like he would burst. It all felt so natural, like it had always been this way. But it hadn't and they both knew that.

Already she was smothering his face. "Boy, what have you done to yourself...your face, I don't—"

Malakel pushed her away gently. "Nanoderm, Mama. Nanoderm. I just changed—" What could he say? "—a few things."

She beat on her son with gentle fists, right in the chest. "You abandoned us. You ran away...Octavio, why? After your father died, how could you do that to your own family, _chico_? You dishonored us...we were so ashamed...what made you think you were so much different?"

Malakel blinked back tears and swallowed equal portions of guilt and sadness for the truth was he had run away two years ago and never looked back. After his Papa had died, he couldn't live up to the image Mama kept of him— _my Diego, he was so strong, so proud, so smart,_ she was always saying. Malakel knew he couldn't be what Mama saw him as, proud, a mirror image of Papa, a fearless Inca warrior.

Now she was wiping at his tears and mixing them with her own. "Octavio, remember the games we played? Like the _chancas_...your father was Virococha, you were Pachacuti, you fought off the _chancas_ like a good brave warrior—"

She was referring to an ancient Inca story Malakel and his brothers had acted out, with the holograms at the _estadio_ in Chaos City.

"Mama—" he grabbed her head and held it still, "will you please listen?"

She peered up at Malakel with her deep brown eyes, soft as alpaca fur. "Octavio—"

"Mama, something's happened. I joined the Guardians. I came here to—"

But she wouldn't let him finish. "Why did you do that? I always loved you, Octavio."

"You made our lives hell after Papa died."

She was stung by that and backed off, then crossed her arms. "You're in trouble. I can tell. Here we are serving Inti, awakening great Jupiter to make him a second sun—"

"Mama!" Malakel practically screamed it out. Inti was the ancient sun god of the Inca. She was so confused...what had happened to her? "Mama, listen to me. Second Sun's wrong. The Guardians are trying to save Jupiter. It's not to be bulked up, or ignited like a star. It's _wrong_ , it's not right. Jupiter is not Inti to be awakened. Mama, I came here to stop that."

Now she squinted up at her son like she always had, those alpaca eyes narrowing, accusing. "What are you saying, child? What have you done?"

Malakel tried to explain why he had come to _Bernini_. He explained all if it: the sabotaging the escape shuttles, sabotaging the deflectors. "Mama, we have to get off the station. In a few hours, the next pulse will impact _Bernini_. The station will be destroyed. We have to go—" he didn't know why he said that, for he knew his own shuttle had room for only one person and what he had done to the station's escape pods, indeed the deflectors, was irreversible. "Mama—"

Malakel never noticed when the other maintenance tech, Petra, had eased out of the deck and vanished up the gangway. Moments later, she came back, with Captain Seria and three others, all armed with pulsers. It wasn't long before one of them found Cayamarca's cold, stiff body crammed in the supply locker. Through it all, Mama stood by, hands to her mouth, her eyes wide, her head shaking _no, no, no, no._

She choked on a sob. "Octavio, what have—"

But Seria cut her off. "Who are you, Inspector? What are you?"

Malakel was actually glad Seria had showed up. It forced his attention away from Mama, away from things he couldn't deal with anymore.

"The Guardians, Captain. Jupiter won't be a second sun. Not now, not ever. We're seeing to that. Others are doing what I've just done." Malakel told him about the sabotage.

Furious, Seria snapped his fingers at one of his men...Calderon, Malakel thought his name was. "Seal that Concordance shuttle." Calderon bolted off and soon enough, the hatch to his own means of escape was permanently damaged. "Now, Inspector Malakel, or whatever your name is—"

"It's Octavio!" Mama blurted out. "Octavio Seguin...he's my son."

That flustered Seria for a moment, but only for a moment. His face recovered into a mask of contempt. "Now we're _all_ trapped. Inspector, come with me. We're going up to the deflector controls and you're going to undo what you've done."

Malakel tried to explain that the Gamma malware was irreversible, but you didn't argue for long with the tip of a pulser gun. They drifted up the gangway all the way to A deck, Malakel, Seria, Calderon, Mama and just about everybody else who had been awakened on _Bernini_ , a convoy of the half-asleep and the merely curious.

Inside A deck, Seria waved at Malakel to stand at the deflector control station. "Fix it!"

Again, he tried to explain, but the Captain was in no mood for explanations. Malakel couldn't blame him. An overhead display was already counting down the hours and minutes to the next arrival of a pulse...Lot 12, it was labelled. If _Bernini_ didn't operate her emitter-deflector array and throw out a capture field, there was a very good chance the pulse—that slug of hydrogen spun off the top of Saturn—would slam right into them.

Malakel did what he could and Seria and Calderon watched closely. He cycled power from the main buses. He slaved drive servos on the emitter array nearly to gimbal lock, trying to free them. He initialized capture field transmitter amplifiers. It was all useless, as he had expected. _Bernini's_ deflectors were deader than dirt. He knew how Gamma worked. He knew it was hopeless. And he could see the same realization dawning on Seria's face.

Finally, the Captain accepted the inevitable. "You seem to have done your homework, Inspector. And killed twelve innocent people in the process."

Malakel tried to put up a brave front, spitting out the Guardians' litany. "Jupiter's not a sun. No one has a right to mess with the system, not Sol, not Jupiter." The Guardians' guiding principle was that the solar system was perfect as it was and shouldn't be tinkered with. They intended to prevent any further changes or modifications to the solar system in the future, by any means necessary. They particularly viewed the Sun as the source of all life and energy and purpose. In that, maybe, they weren't so different from Mama...Inti, the ancient sun god of the Inca would remain forever asleep and Man would remain in his place, chastened by the gods for his boundless hubris.

But Malakel's heart wasn't really in those words. Mama knew that. He could easily see past Seria and Calderon to her standing in the gangway hatch. Her look spoke volumes and rekindled things Malakel had thought long buried. _That_ was what was being reawakened. His own feelings of guilt and sadness.

"There is one possibility, Captain."

"I'm listening."

"If the emitters can be brought online—if Gamma can be diverted and quarantined, there may be away to trick it-- someone could go outside the station and manually unstick the deflector array."

It was clear the idea had already occurred to Seria. His face seemed to morph like Malakel's own nanoderm patch...by turns hopeful, skeptical, suspicious and anxious...all of those things were visible in the lines and wrinkles that spoke to them.

"To go outside in a suit, in that hard radiation field...it's a suicide mission, Malakel. You know that."

Malakel shrugged. "I can't think of any other way." Even as he said that, he knew what was coming. It was like he could 'hear' the words before they were even spoken. As if great Inti himself was speaking to him. But that was rubbish. That was just Mama's influence. The cold reality was that, as an agent for the Guardians, Kisan Malakel had doomed the entire crew of _Bernini_ to a violent death, including his own mother. He was expendable. The Guardians, even Richter V5, had always been clear on that. For Malakel himself, such a fate could be accepted. He had 'died' before, when his own Papa Diego Seguin had been killed and Mama—pardon, his life at home—became unbearable. He had died then. The old Octavio had died when he had joined the Guardians. Death was a friend. Even this one.

But Mama, and Petra and the others...how could he do that? They hadn't taken the oath he had. _Collateral damage_ he could 'hear' Richter saying to him in the back of his mind... _don't give me that._ Bringing great Inti back to life...superstitious poppycock. But somewhere out of the past, the little boy who tried to comfort his Mama when word came that Diego had died in an icecat depressurization accident on Uranus's moon Oberon, was speaking. Speaking to Malakel...to Octavio. Speaking and sobbing and clinging to Mama's dress. That little boy was Octavio Seguin. Or once had been.

He couldn't really say when the decision was made. He was no longer a Guardian. But he wasn't quite Octavio Seguin either. He was trapped in some kind of nether world, like the original Children of the Sun, like Ayar Cachi, walled up in a cave by Manco Capac, the one who would soon become the first Inca.

Seria had already made up his mind. "You're coming with me, Malakel. I can't do this alone."

Malakel tried not to look at Mama but he figured she knew he was doing this for her. Their eyes met and he saw many things. Octavio had spent a lot of time as a kid on the Europan surface, not always authorized, sometimes accompanying Papa on jobs up there. On one such trip, he was on a camping trip with some friends to the Powyss Regio lowlands. The rover broke down and, although Europa Rescue was on the way by hopper, there were some dicey moments when, on a trip outside, they thought Octavio's suit had been breached. One friend, Eric, quick thinking as he always was, buddy-linked his own oxygen hose to Octavio's suit to blow enough O2 in long enough for them to make it back to the rover. Eric didn't panic, just calmly went about saving a life. From then on, Octavio had felt like he was in debt. He thought Mama would drown the both of them in kisses when they got home.

Seria and Malakel went aft down the gangway to K deck, where the lockout and the suits were located. The Captain tucked his pulser away, perhaps thinking where was Malakel going to go anyway? By now, Malakel was just focused on what they had to do. That focus kept him from thinking too much about what had already been done.

Concordance medics say one hour's exposure in Jupiter's radiation field at this altitude was a lethal dose worth about two days of gruesome, agonizing suffering—nausea, vomiting, fever, diarrhea, seizures, possible coma-- followed by a merciful death. The action of the magnetosphere traps and accelerates particles mostly streaming off Io, producing intense belts of radiation similar to Earth's Van Allen Belts, but thousands of times stronger. The interaction of energetic particles with the surface of Jupiter's largest moons markedly affects their chemical and physical properties. Those same particles also affect and are affected by the motions of the particles in Jupiter's tenuous planetary ring system. Radiation belts are deadly in a decidedly ugly way.

They both knew this, even as Seria and Malakel quietly donned their suits. They grabbed some zero-g tools—impact driver, contra-rotating torque wrench, the usual stuff—and cycled out of the airlock, Malakel first, then the Captain. Malakel tried not to look for Mama, but he knew she was near, probably out in the gangway, hands to her mouth.

The view was beyond words.

Maybe Mama was right about Jupiter, the King of Planets. If Inti could be re-born, why not a big ball of gas? Surely, it was only right that Inca's descendants would do this.

Jupiter loomed over them, a swollen baleful curtain of salmon and ocher, banded and roiled by ceaseless storms and turbulence, fully covering half the sky in their view.

Malakel used his suit thrusters to follow Seria up to the rotation control 'collar,' where the emitter and deflector array were located.

The Gamma malware had frozen the deflector controls so they couldn't track and capture the incoming pulses. "We'll have to power down the drive servos," said Seria over the suit circuit. "Then unbolt and unship the mount and manually re-direct the array. Calderon can give us the heading from inside. Then, we bolt it all down and power-up the servos. I just hope the emitter can still project a capture field."

Malakel said little. What was there to say? They went to work, with Seria taking the lead and Malakel helping, handing him tools, retrieving loose items that drifted away, putting his shoulder into the main shaft to unstick the deflector. It moved a little, then with some more effort, broke free and turned. Calderon guided them from a console on A deck, helping them point the big dish over their heads in the right direction.

Malakel didn't know why he thought of this, but as they were working, it occurred to him that he could easily dispatch Seria right then and there and call it an accident. A slipped impact driver. A mishandled torque wrench and Seria's suit would be holed and he would be dead in a minute, easy. His duty to the Guardians would be done.

He could even hear Richter V5's voice in the back of his head, urging him on. But there were other voices back there too. Papa talking to Marco and Malakel on their first trip topside, on the ice surface of Europa, teaching them how to set up and properly seal a vac shelter..."don't strain the pulleys there, Octavio...give it some slack...". Mama talking to him and Marco and Miriam from the kitchen, while she fried up the anticucho and marinated the ceviche in tart lime juice. There were all kinds of voices in the back of his head while Seria torqued down the last bolts of the deflector housing. He just couldn't tune them out, but after awhile, he knew whose voices were important. Inti was coming back. The great sun god was about to be reborn and they were doing it, and Mama was so proud of all of them.

"Come on," Seria said over the suit comm. "Let's head back to the airlock. We've done all we can out here. Now it's up to Calderon, if he can get the emitter going."

"What's the hurry?" Malakel said. "We're already dead men out here, anyway. An hour in this radiation, outside the active shielding...it's lethal. May as well enjoy the view."

Seria snorted. "I don't know about you but I plan to spend my last hours inside, in a warm bed with some Cuatro Gallos by my side. Listening to music, playing games. The medbots have stuff to keep the pain away, at least for awhile."

Malakel followed him along the outer hull of the station until they reached the airlock. Seria stowed his tools in a small bag and nudged it in, then entered the lockout himself. Malakel watched the mode lights cycling from red to green and back to red. Seria was inside now, de-suiting on K deck.

Malakel didn't follow him.

He heard Seria's voice over his suit circuit. "Get in here, Malakel or whatever your name is. Don't be a fool. At least you can be comfortable."

Malakel pulsed his thrusters and moved off from the station. He didn't answer at first. He was the second born in the family, with an older brother Marco and a younger sister Miriam. In a way, he was a second son.

Malakel clicked open comms one last time. "Hey, can anyone tell me how long until pulse Lot 12 arrives? Where is it now?"

Calderon's voice came back. "Two hours ten minutes out. Look past the station, away from the planet. You may see it. By the way, it looks like the emitter's coming on line, Malakel. Your malware failed...I found a way to bypass it. Gamma's been quarantined and can't hurt us anymore. You failed."

Malakel said nothing because...what was there to say? He lowered his visor and squinted over the edge of the station, looking away from the glare of Jupiter. Maybe it was his imagination but he thought he saw a fuzzy glob of something in the distance, roughly below Orion's Belt. Like the coma of a comet. It checked with Calderon's heading.

Then he heard another voice on his comm. It was Mama. She was sobbing but she didn't sound sad.

"Octavio, I'm so proud of you...such a sacrifice to bring our great Inti back. The name Seguin will be spoken for a thousand years, I know it."

"I know, Mama. I know. I'll hug Papa for you when I see him."

With that, Malakel switched off the suit comm. He fired his thrusters for a long time, down to empty on the nitrogen tanks. He had done the basic calculations in his head while helping Seria and he knew blowing his whole fuel load, firing in the right direction, would put him on a descending trajectory. He had figured the descent into Jupiter's atmosphere would take approximately forty hours give or take.

Malakel made sure to use the last wisps of gas to stabilize his attitude the right way. He wanted to be able to watch the show as it unfolded.

Hard to imagine, isn't it? Octavio Seguin—later Kisan Malakel—helping in his simple, faltering way to give new life to the great sun god of the Inca, the great Inti. He was going to be part of that, in the most elemental way. He was going to be a myth, just like Viracocha and Pachacuti...me, Octavio Seguin. A myth spoken of in hushed and reverent words, something to torment little boys and girls late at night, like he had once endured.

Malakel got himself as comfortable as he could and lay back to enjoy the view, of Jupiter's magnificent amber and calico cloud banks rushing up to meet him.

Chapter 11

Patagonia

In Heliocentric Orbit beyond Mars

May 31, 2249 EUT

Jean Dugay cocked his head and studied his father as if were some kind of strange, unknowable creature. The two of them stood catching their breath on the front steps of the mansion, as their flyers took off on auto for servicing at the garage, down below, beyond the river.

"You know you were lucky at T-4," Jean teased him. He loved teasing his father, loved seeing those cheek wrinkles tighten and those eyes narrow down to slits. Anything to get a rise out of the old marble statue was worth it to Jean.

"If you say so," Dugay came back. The crew of T-4 had been isolated in emergency shelters when debris from the unknown ship struck the station. There had been a catastrophic de-pressurization, but no casualties. IFS _Amalthea_ had arrived a few hours later to effect rescue.

He and Jean went inside, headed to the mansion's parlor, where a pair of cybermates offered drinks. Dugay availed himself of a wine while Jean grabbed a beer.

They strolled out to a porch, sat down and gazed down on the rolling fields of _Patagonia's_ B segment, curving up and overhead out of sight. Small lakes and horse trails meandered across the landscape. Above them, A and C segments were populated with scattered villages. A narrow river glinted from sunlight reflected from the terreta's exterior mirrors. A church steeple hung directly overhead, pointed straight down at them.

Dugay sipped at his wine. "I was hoping Kate would be here."

Jean licked suds from the rim of his beer bottle. "She had to go back to _Balmoral_ to take care of some stuff...you should have seen the disguise. Nanoderm can do wonders. She looked like somebody's grandmother."

"Mmm. And how are your studies going?"

Jean made a face, sucked at the bottle. "The Institute is _borrrring_. Fifteenth century Venetian architecture...can't they at least teach something up to date? Nobody builds that stuff anymore...palazzos and campaniles and the Doge's palace and crap like that."

"Hey, _Patagonia's_ got some of those same features. You know that. You can't build something memorable without knowing what came before."

"Sure I can...oh, yeah, I just remembered. Got a message yesterday. Mother's coming here...two days, it said. Her message said she's bringing someone she wants us to meet."

Dugay froze. _Semarilyn...coming here?_ "When did this happen?"

Jean said, "Message came in day before yesterday...no vid or anything. Just a text message. Her ship arrives this afternoon...four o'clock, I think. You having tea or something? It'll be great seeing her again...it's been several years, at least."

But Dugay didn't answer. Instead, he wandered down off the deck, followed discreetly by a whirring cybermate and strolled alone down to the banks of a small river.

Semarilyn Paris coming here? What could she possibly want? It's just as well Kate isn't here...there's a meltdown every time those two get together.

Dugay realized there were a million things he had to do to be ready. The Prime Councilor of the Concordance didn't just show up for no reason.

"She wants something," Dugay was saying when he climbed back up to the porch. "But what—"

"I'm sorry...what?"

Dugay glared at Jean like he had two heads. "Jean, get your ass out of that rocker. We've got to get this place in shape."

"Father...it's just Mom."

But Dugay wasn't listening and he was already headed into the mansion. The platoon of cybermates serving them beeped and chirped in confusion—this wasn't normal protocol—and scurried after him.

The Prime Councilor's ship docked as planned two days later. The flyer coach came out of the sun like a great winged eagle, circling the estate several times before alighting on the landing pad down by the river. Dugay and his son Jean hovered on the steps of a gazebo as the flyer disgorged its passengers. There were four. One was Ramsey, the chief concierge of _Patagonia_ , who had met the ship at the dock. He was also a trained flyer pilot.

Dugay's anxiety grew when he spotted Semarilyn Paris stepping out of the flyer...you couldn't miss those long blond tresses. Or the long legs.

From a distance, the third passenger was unknown. Bald, with sad eyes and slouching kind of gait, he stepped carefully up the terraced slopes from the landing pad, helped by an athletic black woman in some kind of uniform, who steadied the bald one as they negotiated the landscaped gravel path that led up to the Mansion.

Then she was standing right in front of them, at the foot of the stairs.

Semarilyn Paris smiled, never her best feature. Her mouth was small, almost like something added on.

"Well, Philippe, come down here. Let's get all the hugs over with."

Dutifully, Dugay did as commanded. Jean followed. Perfunctory hugs and arm pats followed.

Paris held Dugay off and turned his head toward her guests.

"Let me introduce Pieter Delano. An architect. And that's Evelyn Kasongo...his, er...."

"Assistant," Kasongo offered.

"Yes, exactly. Pieter wanted to meet you. Something important."

Dugay regained his composure, barely, blinking at Delano. Something about the face...the eyes, maybe.

"Yes, yes...please...come in. My mates here will show you to the parlor."

The party shuffled inside the mansion and found their way to an ornate room of gilded trim and paneling. Tapestries of medieval castles lined the walls, in between flickering banks of vid monitors depicting scenes from about _Patagonia_...the river, the lakes, the small Tuscan village near the docks.

Pieter Delano studied the proportions of the parlor and its furnishings, silently measuring distances, angles, materials.

"Palazzo Cavalli-Franchetti, if I'm not mistaken," he decided. He ran his hands along some molding, and smiled. "The proportions seem about right. Along the Grand Canal?"

Dugay was impressed. "Exactly. You know your Venetian history, I see. This whole mansion's basically a riff on the Doge's Palace. With a little Brunelleschi thrown in."

Delano smiled enigmatically. "I like the extra trim. Some might say it's too busy but—"

"But when you're in Venice...is that it?"

The two architects examined each other from across the room, measuring angles and distances.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

Pieter Delano was about to speak but Paris cut in.

"Mr. Delano and Ms. Kasongo are from the future... _our_ future. Time travelers, I believe the phrase is."

Dugay blinked, not exactly hearing her words clearly. "I'm sorry, you were saying—"

Delano coughed, chanced a look at Kasongo, who just shook her head sadly. _This never ends well._

Paris went on. "Philippe, remember the news story of that odd craft that got tangled up in a cableship's lines at Jupiter? How the crew were rescued and so many thought they were gas pirates or some such nonsense?"

"Vaguely."

"These two are that crew."

Dugay said, "They don't look like gas pirates to me."

"We're not," Delano said firmly. He lifted a snifter of wine that had been offered by a nearby mate, waved it under his nose and took an experimental sip. "In fact, I am an architect, just as Ms. Paris indicated. In fact, you and I are related, in a distant way."

Now Jean coughed, earning a dark look from Paris. "Mother, you want to see what I've been doing in my Structural Design class? It's a new starship base...way better than Ultima Culmine. I've located it on Sedna...trans-Plutonian space...a jillion kilometers from here. Come on—I'll show you." He grabbed Paris' hand and dragged her out of the parlor.

Only Dugay, Delano and Kasongo were left. Dugay waved at a pair of wing chairs and bade his guests be seated. The flagstone fireplace before them had been cold and dark, but a mate waved a mechanical hand over a red light below the mantle and the firepit burst into flame.

"Okay, sir," Dugay took a wine for himself, then shoo'ed all the bots out. "Who are you, really? You said we're related. I doubt that."

"Perhaps you'd believe me if I told you we have similar interests...in Jupiter."

That got Dugay's attention. "You're working for the Concordance, I see. That explains Semarilyn's role in this."

"Not exactly, sir. I know you've pioneered a technique to stream material off Jupiter and transmute it into building materials."

"Sure, the Outer Ring...wait, don't tell me—" Dugay held up a hand. "You want me to stop the project. Jupiter's too important to the solar system to be meddled with. It's not right. It's an abomination against God and the natural order. Sacrilege, even. To alter an original planet like that, steal Jupiter to build Levittowns in space...I'm a heartless scoundrel with no vision and no respect for what's right and proper and—"

"—and no understanding of what kind of order and stability people really want and need in their lives." Delano cracked a faint smile, completing the thought.

"You've been watching the newsvids...reading my press, I see. They want me to stop the project, leave Jupiter alone, stop dirtying up space with more of—" he waved his hands around, indicating _Patagonia_ , "—with more of these. These little boxes called terretas...they said I suburbanized space. Cluttered it up with worthless junk that people could actually afford." Dugay closed his eyes, images of headlines flashing by. "Some people never forgave me for giving the Moon an atmosphere, you know. I mean, really... _the Moon_?"

Delano was fascinated by the outburst, not the least because he had heard many of the same things in his own time. "Actually, I do understand what you're saying. Nobody wanted pyramids either, but the pharaohs made it happen. Nobody wanted cathedrals with flying buttresses—how absurd—but they were built. Nobody wanted skyscrapers, but Louis Sullivan had a vision and didn't listen to the critics who complained about the purity of their skylines."

Dugay sat up abruptly, put his goblet down on the stone of the fireplace. "At least, you know the right words. I guess you're Concordance. You've probably got yet another reason for why we should leave Jupiter alone...why we should stop putting up crap in your backyard."

"As a matter of fact, I did come here for that reason. But I'm not Concordance...at least, not in the way you think."

Dugay didn't like where his unwanted guest was taking the conversation. "What about her?" He indicated Evelyn Kasongo.

Delano said, "This is Jump Lieutenant Evelyn Kasongo. Time Guard. She piloted our jumpship...that's how we got here."

Dugay laughed out loud. "That _is_ a new angle...I'll give you that much. Okay, so I should stop the Outer Ring project and leave Jupiter alone for—at least, give me a reason I haven't heard before."

Delano's face was impassive. "So your descendants, people like me, can bulk up the planet and ignite it as a second sun."

Dugay blinked. A dozen emotions passed across his face: incredulity, puzzlement, something like skepticism. "Well, I definitely haven't heard _that_ one before. I suppose Ms. Kasongo here also has all kinds of time travel tales to tell."

"You'd be surprised," Kasongo admitted.

"I'm already surprised. Not that the Concordance is so desperate to stop me they'll concoct fairy tales like yours but that they're willing to go to such extreme lengths to do it."

"I heard about your little encounter at T-4," Delano said. "Believe me, I...we, had nothing to do with that. I came to meet you—I'm sure we are related—and to convince you to stop siphoning off Jupiter. I my time, Jupiter is our only hope."

With that, Delano related the story of the failed Sunboost effort and how the Second Sun project came to be.

Dugay listened more or less politely. Part of him marveled at the details of this obvious fabrication. But another part of him wasn't so sure it was fabricated.

"Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that there's an infinitesimally small chance you're telling me the truth. What of it? I have a commission from InFed to build the Outer Ring. Jupiter's the best, really the _only_ , source of materials. The streaming technique is my own invention and, yes, I'm quite proud of it. Down through history, haven't architects always jumped on each new technology and techniques to build ever greater structures? You should know that. You should appreciate that."

"I do appreciate that. But we need Jupiter, to become a second sun. What if I showed you how to modify your streaming technique—it is truly one of the great historical advances in construction technology...we study it closely in architecture schools in my time. I could show you how to stream material from Saturn—we're already doing that in my time. Leave Jupiter alone and let us have it to ignite a second sun."

Dugay shook his head, peered into his goblet. _I've got to cut back on this stuff. It's giving me hallucinations._ "I've got an idea. Why don't I take you on a little tour of _Patagonia_? I'll show you what can be done with one of these 'cracker boxes.'"

Delano jumped at the chance. "I'd like that. I've studied the Dugay legacy closely in my career. Even did a thesis on your Athalonia project for my graduate honors degree."

"I hope you were kinder than my critics. Let's leave that one alone. Come—I'll have Ramsey bring a couple of flyers around. We even have bot pilots."

Kasongo spoke up. "Oh, I can pilot a flyer, sir. Before I joined Time Guard, I was on a racing team...even have a couple of trophies from the Terminator Run. I was with an aerobatic team on _Fijiworld_ before they closed it down."

Dugay decided he didn't want to ask. Instead, he comm'ed Ramsey to bring two flyers around. Minutes later, they were soaring aloft on strong thermals updrafting from the Central Hills beyond the river, following the sinuous course of the water over one village after another, villages by turns Tuscan, Alpine and Levantine. Smoke from small cooking fires wafted around them.

Pieter Delano found the impromptu excursion memorable, even pleasant, a picture book in 3-d of every architecture style he could imagine, all delightfully jumbled up. Ancient history come to life, though he didn't say that.

Dugay called over from his flyer as they let nearby thermals hoist them skyward.

"The best thermals over on the other side of the Central Hills. That and along the rivers and around the lakes. Come on!"

With Kasongo piloting Delano's flyer, the two ships headed toward the Hills, cruising and soaring several hundred meters up, letting winds and updrafts carry them on a zigzag course south, toward _Patagonia's_ opposite end cap. The huge rotating cylinder that was Dugay's pride was divided into three strips of land, Sectors A, B and C, alternating with kilometers-long windows to catch reflected sunlight from the beveled mirrors outside. From a distance, _Patagonia_ resembled nothing so much as a giant flower, just budding out with petals open and straining toward the Sun.

They cruised in eerie silence, diving, turning and climbing, for many minutes, with only the rush of the airflow to accompany them.

Dugay came close, nearly brushing their flyer, causing Kasongo to veer off a few meters.

"Sometimes, I come up here for the peace," he admitted. "To think and allow my feverish brain to let go."

"Very peaceful," Delano managed to grit out, before Kasongo turned into another thermal and they lurched upward once again.

They cruised over the Central Hills, buffeting slightly in the chaotic updrafts, then followed the silver glint of a meandering river. One after another, the two flyers coursed above a Tuscan village, its sea of red tile roofs hidden in faint mist, then a small patch of tan and ocher desert dotted with scores of Bedouin _beit_ , tents nestled in the shadows of great dunes. Beyond the pocket desert of south B sector, Delano was amazed to gaze upon a swampy area, replete with dozens of stilt houses of timber and bamboo, then another district abutting that one, thick with Bengali _mawza_. Scores of cooking fires sent tendrils of pungent smoke wafting skyward in corkscrew columns.

Delano had a question. "How many people live here in _Patagonia_?"

Dugay drifted closer. "Several thousand."

"It's so jumbled and chaotic. I like the scale and proportion of the villages and the terrain. But there's no unity of design."

That made Dugay spit out a hoarse laugh. "Unity of design...I haven't heard that one since art school. Remember all that design crap...repetition, proximity, alignment. I like the tropical rain forest principle of design, at least here in _Patagonia_."

"Can't say—" but he swallowed his words when Kasongo swerved sharply in a sudden gust to avoid slamming into Dugay's flyer. "—can't say I've heard of that one."

Dugay nodded wisely. "Think of a tropical rain forest. All the plants and trees and vines straining to reach the Sun. Where's the unity of design in that? It's every plant fighting for itself. Chaos, anarchy, bedlam. There's no real symmetry there, none apparent from the outside. That's what I wanted here in _Patagonia_...the unity of all things striving to be the best at what they are...expressing themselves to the fullest. That's my architect's philosophy, such as it is."

"This Outer Ring...this dismantling of Jupiter. You have an underlying design with this?"

Dugay swooped and swerved for a few moments, as the two flyers passed over a sector of rolling grassland and the semi-spherical end cap of _Patagonia's_ south pole loomed ahead.

"The Outer Ring is being financed by water and sunpower interests in InFed. We met a lot of times. After way too much discussion and trade-offs, we settled on a series of terreta clusters in heliocentric orbit, halfway between Jupiter and Saturn. Most of the orbit is free and open space. The clusters are sited initially around the Lagrange points of that orbit, like these villages crowd around lakes and rivers, or sit so picturesquely in their little valleys. Lagrange points are like gravitational valleys. Doesn't take a lot of maneuvering to keep them there. Density and clustering are good; that's why Man lives in cities. It leaves the rest of space open for all to enjoy."

Now Delano decided to press the point. "But you are dismantling Jupiter to do this, Philippe. People are opposed to that. They don't want developers messing around with the natural order of things...I'm not saying I agree with that, but I understand the thinking."

He could see Dugay's face darken with that line of thought, a face at once scarred from countless battles in the past over this very point.

"You really don't understand, do you? Jupiter's nothing but a big mine. It's the brick pits the Pharaohs used for their pyramids. It's raw materials, that's all. Hydrogen, helium, some trace gases. Nobody's dismantling Jupiter, despite what you think. And the Treaty says nobody owns Jupiter either, or any celestial body. But we can use it for resources. That's all we're doing. It's just that the Concordance can't appear to give in, politically, and survive as an alliance. They're just a loose gang of renegades and outlaws anyway."

Delano said, "Not in my time, Philippe. In the time I come from, the Concordance is stronger than in this time. Run by the Ultrarchy. In my time, InFed is the backwater. In fact, people out my way called it the Bottomlands, as in the bottom of the Sun's gravity well."

"And who's idea was it to try to upgrade the Sun? From what you've told me, that didn't work out so well, did it? I'm glad I don't live in your time...ah, let's head over here." Dugay banked left and glided across the expanse of the strip window between B and C sectors. Kasongo and Delano followed. They began a meandering return to the mansion northward, crossing dense woodlands and scattered cabins dotting the hill country. "I must take you out to Jupiter and let you see what we're doing. Maybe the assembly sites as well...the first terreta clusters are already under construction...then you'll have a better appreciation of my design."

_And your ego_ , Delano thought, but he didn't say that.

Crossing the Central Hills of C sector, Delano decided to put the matter as directly as he could.

"You think of the Outer Ring as your biggest statement, your legacy, I suppose."

Dugay thought about that for a time. "Legacy is too strong a word. Monument, maybe...yes, you could say monument. I'll admit that. I want to leave something behind that can't be ignored, something that outshines...everything I've done before, good...and bad." Images of seas rising around the failed continent of Athalonia came to mind, but he willed them away...he was getting better at that. "Aren't you doing the same with your Second Sun?"

"Not the same, not even close, and you know it. Yes, Sunboost screwed up and now the Sun's on an accelerated aging track. We have a solution for that. But it involves Jupiter and we can't make that work if you're siphoning materials off Jupiter at the same time. Let me show you how to get your raw materials from Saturn instead...we're already doing that in my time. Philippe, listen to me. If we can't make Jupiter into a second sun, we have no future. That means you and your descendants have no future. People like me."

"My sponsors are keen to get the Outer Ring done on time and on budget. What you're talking about involves more time and money, more delays, more meetings and endless discussions. Pieter, I'm not a young man anymore. I'd like to make a statement that people can appreciate. Something they can see when they look up in the sky. What you're proposing will never fly with InFed."

"You really mean it won't fly in your mind. There must be some way we can—"

They had reached the manicured foregrounds of the mansion and both flyers circled a few times, gauging the winds, before settling down a comfortable landing on the grass, near the gazebo.

"Pieter, I have an idea. I can see we're both bull-headed...must be a family trait. Come with me to Jupiter and to the assembly sites at L4 and L5. You'll see why this is so important." They dismounted the flyers, left them in the mechanical hands of the service mates, and went up to the mansion. "You mentioned this is my legacy project. I'll wager that this second sun is your legacy project, isn't it? The problem is that both our biggest dreams involve Jupiter. How ironic is that?"

"I don't think of Second Sun as a legacy, Philippe. I think of it a solution to an existential crisis."

"Oh, posh, Jupiter isn't the issue anyway. Jupiter's a mine for raw materials, that's all. You know what my real legacy will be? I've been thinking about this...me and Jean. It's this—" he stamped his foot on the dirt of a flower bed below the verandah. "Terretas, Pieter. 'Little Earths.' I'm the guy who designed the log cabins of space. Hell, I democratized space. Some critics call these terreta clusters Levittowns in space. You know what? I take that as a compliment. I made it possible for the average Joe and Juan and Ivan and Tetsuko to build a log cabin in space and live their lives any way they want to." His fists curled for an instant—Delano saw it—but he forced them to relax and smiled apologetically. "And for that, they criticized me for having no vision. I'll take that criticism any time." But the way he said it made Delano wonder.

"Then you won't think about what I'm saying...about my proposal?"

Dugay stopped on the top step of the verandah. Ramsey and a small platoon of cybermates with trays of tea, brandy, scotch and biscuits, swarmed around but he shooed them off. "I'll do better than that. Go pack your bags. We're taking a little trip...I estimate it'll take about two weeks."

"Where are we going?"

"A little place I call _Sunnymede_. Cluster number one, right in the heart of Resonance Acres. Jupiter-Sun L4 point, Pieter. You'll see what a real vision means."

***

Dugay's cruiser was a vintage _Samoa_ -class brougham classic. Her name was _Isabelle_. The trip from _Patagonia_ took a week. En route, they did a gravity-assist flyby of Jupiter and passed within sight of Transmuting Station T-6.

Dugay, Delano and Paris all stood together at one of _Isabelle's_ cupolas and watched the salmon-hued panoply of Jupiter pass by beneath them.

Dugay was nursing a red wine from the galley. Canapes were passed around. Delano just stared, wondering.

"Not so long ago, I saw a piece on Solnet, Pieter. There was this critic—his name doesn't matter. You know what he said?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"He said Philippe Dugay 'enjoys pushing the boundaries of conventional thinking.' At first, I thought: how arrogant, how condescending, can you be? But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. I liked it because it's true. I do want to build the tallest pyramid, the tallest skyscraper, the biggest cathedral, the most magnificent hotel. I want people to look up in the sky at night and say 'wow!'" Sheldon Adelson, the big hotel magnate of the twentieth century, once said, 'I look at every business and ask, How long can this last? How can I identify the status quo and change it?' Pieter, you know what? That's me. That's Philippe Dugay right there."

Paris rolled her eyes. "I guess I don't need to mention the male preoccupation with size, do I?"

Dugay pulled a small scope over and began searching for something along the limb of the planet. "There...you see? Gas streams being pulled away, just like I designed it. We were having some issues with Jupiter's magnetic field. It was pulling the streams apart. Jupiter's field is twenty times stronger than Earth's, you know. But we--actually I-- figured out how to beef up the collimators and contain the streams." Proudly, he turned the scope over to Delano.

Delano looked. Above the bands and zones of clouds racing by, faint streamers were barely visible, almost like loose hairs rising in a field of static electricity. "How much do you take every day?"

Dugay consulted his wristpad. "Several hundred tons at least. We have a quota and by now, we're pretty much right on schedule."

Paris bit her tongue. "And every kilo an irrevocable loss. Don't you see that? What you're doing can't be undone. It's permanent."

Dugay tried to defend himself. "It's not like we're taking the whole planet, Semarilyn. Jupiter's a massive place. Thirteen hundred earths worth of material down there. It would take centuries to make a dent in this world."

"We don't have centuries," Delano muttered. "This has to stop or there's no future, for any of us."

"Don't waste your breath," Paris said. "Who says this theft will stop with one Outer Ring? How about Outer Ring 2? How about dozens of Outer Rings all the way to Saturn and why stop there? Once this gets started, where does it stop?"

Dugay seethed at all the criticism. This wasn't going at all like he had hoped. "Every project works from a design. It has a beginning and an end. Octavio Patron and InFed commissioned me to build _an_ Outer Ring, not fill up every cubic kilometer of space. Take a look outside...we're in space, for God's sake! It's infinite."

"So is your ego, Philippe." Paris glared right back at him. "That's what happened to us...a long time ago. Relationships aren't like your precious designs and projects. There always had to be a theme, a master design principle involved, a motif or a premise. You see human relationships through this lens, like something to be initiated, then improved, modified, refined and validated. You can't allow a relationship to just be. You couldn't allow _us_ to just be. You always have to mold everything to your will and see in it like some vision to be realized."

Dugay said, "I thought our vision was realized... in Jean. You told me then you felt complete."

"But it doesn't stop there. Relationships don't stop, Philippe. There's no last stone to put in place. No capstone. No monument or plaque saying 'finished.'"

"You never did understand."

Paris snorted. "Oh, I understood only too well. That was our problem, wasn't it? I could see right through you. I knew what you were."

"Is that why you left?"

" _I_ left?" Paris laughed, a bit forced. " _I_ never left. You left when the 'Semarilyn Paris' project was done. When _she..._ I mean Kate Lind... showed up and started wagging InFed favors in your face, that's when you left. You're just like a busy little bee, Philippe, always hovering around, looking for the biggest pot of nectar. Where is she anyway? I thought the bitch goddess would be tied to your bed at _Patagonia_."

Dugay went back to his scope and forced himself to concentrate on the gas streams and the transmuting station. Visible evidence that even an old, washed-up architect still had one last conquest in him. "If you're referring to Kate Lind, Jean told me she left for Balmoral...some kind of family business."

"Convenient, no?" Paris just glared out at the limb of Jupiter, and the faint stars beyond that were the first shells of the Outer Ring terreta clusters being assembled. "You won't be able to hide behind Kate Lind's skirt or the Lind fortune forever. The Concordance will oppose this project in every way you can imagine."

"Up to and including attacking transmuting stations and nearly killing me and Octavio Patron? Is this how it's going to be now? All-out war with no prisoners?"

"That line was crossed a long time ago, Philippe. We have as much right to Jupiter and this space as InFed. That's the law. That's Treaty. The Ultrarch will never permit bottomlanders, down-sun scum, to grab a foothold out here. Nobody wants your filthy fingers poking around the outworlds, grabbing whatever you like, building abominations like the Outer Ring, just for the sake of your ego and one hell of a lot of money. I imagine Patron would love nothing better than to re-do a few dozen Zanzibars out here. The Concordance will oppose you and your InFed cronies every step of the way, by any means necessary."

Pieter Delano could see the conflict was more than just politics, for the cupola was charged with a bitterness that didn't come from bureaucracies and council meetings and formal edicts and regulations. It was personal. Something had once existed between Dugay and Paris...anybody with a brain and eyes and ears could see that...and whatever it had been, it was lost.

Just as Jupiter was being lost, right before his eyes.

Delano was appalled at what he was seeing. There was no doubt this was the source of mass loss the astronomers had detected in his own time. Somehow, the time lines had become crossed. The cosmos had suffered a short circuit. The continuum had been jolted onto another worldline. Maybe Evelyn Kasongo could explain it, but she was back on _Patagonia_ , with Jean.

Delano understood now that the best hope he had of stopping Dugay's project lay with Semarilyn Paris and the Concordance. He'd tried to explain in detail why InFed couldn't take material from Jupiter, why it was needed for Second Sun to work. But Philippe Dugay wasn't listening. Ancestor or not, blood relationship or not, Delano saw with his own eyes what relationships meant to Dugay. They were like drafts of a design, to be modified or discarded as needed.

Paris had admitted the day after _Isabelle_ left _Patagonia_ that she and Dugay had once been lovers. Dugay's son Jean was one result of that.

How did Semarilyn Paris first meet Philippe Dugay?

"It was initially at Octavio Patron's terreta _Zanzibar,_ way back in 2240, while we were both attending an InFed/Concordance conference on InFed proposals to expand beyond the Belt," she had told him late one night in _Isabella's_ canteen. They were alone, sharing some kind of tea. "There was something there...we both felt it. I knew he had roving eyes, but I thought—" she shrugged, half-smiled over a wreath of steam around her cup "—you know. That I could change that."

Her work in the Privy Council, as a sort of data gatherer/server for the Ultrarch, had often required Paris to travel about the settled worlds and habitats of the solar system, collecting and formatting information. This gave her ample opportunity to visit Dugay's terreta _Patagonia_ and accompany him on his many projects and commissions about the system. The relationship deepened but, after Jean came along, had never reached any kind of consummation or permanent stage. The ostensible sticking point was her loyalty to the Ultrarch and the Concordance and Dugay's close and continuing relations with Octavio Morales Patron and Kate Lind. The real problem was Dugay's never-ending restlessness, resistance to commitment and his real love, his own architecture and sense of grandiosity and desire for acclaim.

"It was obvious to me that he was at least as much in love with himself as he was with me. How do you compete with that?"

She eventually returned full-time to Chaos Station, realizing that she couldn't compete with Philippe Dugay's real love. But a part of her never stopped hoping that someday, somehow, Dugay would again be available...if only she could pry him away from the clutches of Patron.

With the Pieter Delano's sudden appearance and his intense interest in his ancestor Philippe Dugay, Paris figured she now had just the lever to pry Dugay away from Kate Lind, away from his own self-admiration, by stoking a sense of competitiveness between Dugay and Delano.

But now the stakes were incomparably higher.

Delano was ready to turn in. "I've seen enough. I've heard enough. Lieutenant Kasongo and I came here to stop Jupiter from losing mass. I have to succeed. But the only way that's going to happen is through you and the Concordance...I see that now."

Paris nodded, thinking. "I still have some options." As Delano turned to head for his compartment, she added, "Get some rest. The 'Monument' wants to show us some of the new terreta clusters tomorrow...it's his ship, so I guess we'll have to humor him. Or kill him." When she saw the look on Delano's face, she waved it off. "Don't fret. I'm not doing anything I would be ashamed of. Go on...get some sleep."

When Delano was gone, Semarilyn Paris went back to her own compartment to freshen up a bit. Then she padded down the gangway to Dugay's bunk to see if they couldn't 'renew' acquaintances in a more intimate manner.

Solnet/Omnivision Video Post

@jennifer.clement.solnetworldview

June 5, 2249

1200 hours U.T.

SOLNET _Special Report_ :

The Outer Ring and a Tale of Two Cities

Solnet Reporter Jennifer Clement reports on the recent street rallies at Hibernia Station:

"Viewing the dronecam footage of the disturbances several days ago, this reporter was honestly surprised at the depth of feeling about the Outer Ring project and possibly losing much of Jupiter to this development. After a brief facechat conversation with one family living in a mining community at 216 Kleopatra, this reporter paid a visit to a miners' town called Ironton there, a place buried a half a kilometer below the iron surface of this M-type asteroid. I caught up with this family, the Kellehers, all gathered together in the midst of a huge rally in the cafeteria of Ironton."

Dronecam footage shows a large assembly of people crammed into the cafeteria. Signs and placards wave over heads: "SPACE IS THE PLACE!" "WE ARE NOT RATS!" "KLEOPATRA SUCKS!" Clement talks into her wristpad, commanding the dronecam closer, hovering barely over their heads. Hands and fists pump the air to a rhythmic beat. A speaker on the podium yells epithets at the crowd. On orders, the dronecam zeroes in on the Kelleher family, in the center of the mass of people.

"Mr. Kelleher... _Mr. Kelleher_! If you please--!"

Clint Kelleher squeezes through the throng, dragging a wife and several kids, all wearing placards showing Jupiter spinning off gas like a ball of yarn.

"Mr. Kelleher...excuse me... _oof_!" Clements gets an errant elbow in the ribs. "Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me...."

"Sure, sweetie...we met last night...what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Kelleher—" to the dronecam, Clement gives voice commands _tight on me, wider angle, subject to my left and blur the background_ "—Mr. Kelleher, sir, what's this big rally all about?"

Kelleher is a big-boned, rough-hewn man, a shock of greasy black hair on top, but with a pasty white face, like most people of Ironton.

"Well, dear, it's like this: we call these rallies New Life Rallies. This one's number ten."

"New Life...what exactly does that mean?"

Kelleher shakes his head, chuckling. His eyes are weak. "Look around, missy. What do you see?"

Clement takes the bait. "I see a lot of angry people. Is this about the Outer Ring?"

"Damn straight! You see angry people 'cause we here in Ironton are angry. We live like rats, digging iron for the Company down here. Man ain't meant to poke around in tunnels like this, live underground in the dark and cold."

Another face intrudes on the scene, a young woman with long red hair, shoving her way into the picture. Clement quickly orders the dronecam to focus on her.

"Those friggin' assholes out there trying to stop the Outer Ring...makes me puke! Let 'em come to Ironton and look around. Just use your eyes, assholes!"

"And your nose too!" comes a loud voice from nearby.

Kelleher acknowledges the bitterness around them. "Yeah, it's true. We don't exactly smell like the Queen's robes down here, do we?"

"KLEOPATRA SUCKS!" They all shout in unison.

The picture is a blur of fist pumps and hands waving.

Clement tries to get a question in, raising her voice over the music and the din of shouts and curses.

"You all call these rallies New Life. What exactly does that mean?"

Now Mrs. Kelleher slithers next to her husband, linking arms. Clement knows her name is Paulette.

"See, honey, it's like this. The Outer Ring...you know what it is to us? It's freedom. Open space. Sunlight. Hope for something better. We're all tired as hell with living like rats inside this dirtclod of an asteroid."

"But doesn't the Company pay you pretty well?"

That draws loud guffaws and jeers.

"They pretend to pay us and we pretend to work!"

Kelleher adds, "All we want is a chance at a better life. That's what the Outer Ring is to us, here in Ironton. Something better, for us and our kids—" he twirls his fingers through the auburn curls of his daughter Francie. "Just a chance."

Paulette Kelleher continues. "Those Concordance slimedogs don't want us out there in their space...like anyone can own space. They don't want scum like us dirtying up their precious settlements and terretas. They think Jupiter and Saturn belong to them personally."

Clement tries to move the conversation back to focus on the Outer Ring. She is jostled as more miners and their families crowd into the cafeteria. She can hardly breathe.

"Some people say we shouldn't be messing around with Jupiter."

That draws even louder shouts and jeers.

"The dirtbags can't build terretas with gas!"

"Who do they think mines all this stuff...little fairies and munchkins?"

More raucous laughs.

Clint Kelleher nods in agreement. "Hell, missy, we don't get all misty-eyed about a big bag of gas like Jupiter, you know? You know what Jupiter is...it's a friggin' mine, just like Kleopatra! Nobody's dismantling Jupiter. That's impossible. Nobody cares what we're doing to this rubble pile we live on. They just want their iron and platinum, but the panty-waist upper crust out there in the Concordance don't see that. We're just using a little bit of Jupiter to make something better for a lot of people. But they don't want a lot of people around them, especially worthless clods like us. That's what this is about."

" _Concordance crud_!" someone shouts. Others pick up the chant and it begins circling the cafeteria like a religious hymn. Soon, even the small band on the stage picks up the beat and starts riffing on the notes in synch with the crowd.

Jennifer Clement realizes she has completely lost control of the interview. Moreover, the crowd is growing surlier and less manageable. Police drones have begun to filter into the air above the crowd. Occasionally, a drone alights on the head of a participant and does something. A second later, the unlucky target goes limp and has to be held up by others. A chair hurtles through the air, knocking one of the police drones sideways...it clatters to what little floor is left open and winds up being stomped into pieces.

Clement mutters something into her wristpad, as she shoves and squeezes her way toward the doors.

" _Dronecam, zero in on me, wide angle and go full audio on the sound...I want everyone to hear this. Exit the cafeteria and hover at two meters out in the hall...."_

After what seems like forever, Clement makes it out of the cafeteria in one piece, more or less. Her hair is a mess and there's a rip in the side of her blouse...she'd slapped a probing hand away when that happened.

Outside, she takes a deep breath, brushes bangs out of her eyes and tries on a faint smile at the hovering dronecam.

"Solnet viewers have seen scenes like this before, across many InFed settlements but nothing like the intensity and depth of feeling we see here at Kleopatra. The animosity toward those who oppose the Outer Ring and what's happening at Jupiter may be surprising to some, accustomed as they may be to quiet and orderly operations in settlements like Hibernia Station and its mining communities.

"But the feelings here are real and visceral. These people want to be heard. No doubt the pyramids had their detractors. Same for the great cathedrals and the skyscrapers and the suburban tract developments of the mid-twentieth century.

"For the people of Ironton and other mining camps around this asteroid, the Outer Ring represents nothing less than hope for a new and better life. The miners here feel that those who resist and oppose the Outer Ring are slavemasters trying to keep them from living their dreams, trying to keep them weak, disorganized, hungry, poor and in their place.

"This reporter, for one, doesn't believe that strategy—if it _is_ a strategy—has any chance of long-term success. For another perspective on this issue...the question of whether an Outer Ring can and should be built, whether developers can and should be mining and siphoning material off Jupiter, we go now to my colleague, reporter Angel Takanawa, embedded with an engineering staff at Settlement Seven, Chryse Planitia, Mars.

"This is Jennifer Clement, Solnet _Special Report_ , signing off—"

The dronecam red light winks off and as Clement slinks off wearily down the hall toward the lifts, the dronecam follows like a disappointed puppy, faintly whirring as it maneuvers through streams of miners still heading into the rally.

Solnet viewers across the solar system witness a few moments of stock footage enlivened with classical music—Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata—sequentially observing scenes atop Mars' Olympus Mons, cruising inside the F ring of Saturn, following statically charged dust devils across the sun-blasted regolith of Mercury—but the scene then abruptly shifts.

A perfectly symmetrical, cherubic Asian face framed with jet black hair, appears on their screens.

"Hi, I'm Angel Takanawa and this is another in a series of Solnet _Special Reports._ I'm coming to you tonight from inside the process engineering lab at Settlement Seven, in the Chryse Planitia uplands on Mars. We're talking with Shift Supervisor Nigel Brimley, chief of the Boiler-Evaporator section at Life Support Systems. Good evening, sir."

Brimley is fairly young, unblemished face, with a few freckles. His hair is tousled, the color of old mustard.

"Good evening to you, Miss Takanawa. How may we help you tonight?"

"Angel, please. Nigel, tell our viewers just what exactly the Outer Ring and its effects on Jupiter mean to you and your crew."

"Well, Angel, first of all, thanks for having me on." Brimley brushes a hand through his hair, self-conscious of an unruly lock over his forehead. He smiles faintly. "I guess for most of us here at Settlement Seven, we pretty much view the Outer Ring as an unnecessary blight on our solar system. Look, for billions of years, Jupiter's been right there...the biggest guy on the block. I've read the reports about the Outer Ring. Mankind doesn't need the space any more than I need a second head. And my wife says one head is enough. Plus, we've still got plenty of room left here in Mars, at least for those who don't mind being ground-pounders."

Takanawa smooths back her own jet-black hair, whispers instructions into her wristpad _tight on Brimley and me, alternating face shots at an angle, catch my reactions...._

"Mr. Brimley, most of us know that Settlement Seven has a bit of a...er, reputation, I guess we would say. It's pretty common knowledge that the Guardians and similar anarchist groups have a following here."

Brimley's smile widens. "I guess you're trying to say we're independent as hell here. Well, I'll accept that. Why the hell not? Look what we've got? Great views of Olympus Mons. Lakes and streams. Fertile soil now, after the Big Smack. GreenMars did us a great turn dropping those big rocks on us to plant volatiles. Shoot, I can go outside right now with nothing but an oxygen mask on...no more big puffy suits to protect us from low pressure."

"You believe S7—I've heard that's what you call your settlement—is the right kind of place for people to emigrate to?"

Brimley shrugged. "Maybe not everybody. No question that S7 _is_ a rebel community of outlaws and ne'er-do-wells and misfits, most of whom were exiled from other communities on Mars. We're kind of a Tombstone or Dodge City on the Red Planet here. We love our freedom here and we wouldn't be caught dead living in a can like those terretas they're planning for the Outer Ring. We want sunrises and sunsets, horizons, air to breathe, water to swim in and green growing things. The Outer Ring'll be just like the rest of the terretas...nothing but a blight on our system."

Takanawa isn't getting the reactions she really wants from this engineer, so she decides to try another approach, just to stir things up a little.

"Some people say the Guardians were born here. Is that true?"

Brimley's face darkens. His lips tighten noticeably. "Now, look, I don't always agree with their methods but, sure, the Guardians have a following here. They're just trying to keep the developers and the big money assholes from running all over everybody. You're asking me about Jupiter, I'm guessing?"

"Mining Jupiter for material, siphoning off material and possibly reducing the size of Jupiter, is that not pretty controversial for some people?"

Brimley considered that. "Sure it is. Jupiter's more than just a big gas ball, more than just a mine. It's the King of Planets. It's a shining star at night, real bright too, here at S7 and Mars. Maybe a good Earthside analogy would be allowing some company to strip-mine Mount Everest. I mean, nobody would allow that, would they? We have to preserve something of our natural heritage. Just because we can do something doesn't mean we should. Think of what happened two hundred years ago, on Earth. Fossil fuels and carbon nearly wrecked the place. How many people died in the floods? How many cities, priceless places like Venice, went under the waves? It's the same thing with Jupiter. Nobody knows what effects will come if we make Jupiter smaller 'cause we mined the hell out of it. Maybe gravitational changes occur...maybe Mars and Earth and the asteroids wind up in different orbits." Brimley makes an effort to calm himself down, plays with an ancient caliper he's using on some kind of printed schematic.

_How old school_ , Takanawa thinks.

Brimley adds, "Man should leave Jupiter and the solar system as it is. The Outer Ring messes up the sky we've grown up with. If that makes me a Guardians follower, then so be it."

"There seems to be a lot of politics involved in the Outer Ring project. InFed versus the Concordance. What's your opinion on that? Do you think the project is nothing but a naked power play by InFed, to lay claim to Jupiter and parts beyond, before the Concordance can?"

Brimley shrugs. "I'm no politician, Angel. Just a life-support engineer, working with machines to charge the atmosphere of Mars with oxygen. But I can read, same as anyone. I know what the Treaties say. Nobody can own Jupiter, any more than they can own Mars. Yeah, you can use these places for your own purposes but it's like a commons. Common heritage of mankind and all that crap. Everybody has to act responsibly. For me...for a lot of us here at S7...mining Jupiter on the scale the InFed people are talking about is just plain wrong. We don't need an Outer Ring. _That_ is politics. That's InFed sticking a finger in Concordance's eye." Brimley fiddles with his calipers, looks down, slightly uneasy at the depth of feeling Takanawa's questions have surfaced.

Takanawa tries to hide her disappointment in this engineer. She had hoped to get a little more feeling and drama out of the man, but that would have to come later.

"So it's fair to say that you're opposed to the project? Opposed to what InFed's trying to do with this Outer Ring?"

Brimley nods quickly, almost furtively. His eyes scan the process lab looking for others, but they're alone. It isn't a good career move at S7 to be too public about things like this. He notices the sensor-eyes of Cyc lining the edges and corners of the ceiling, staring balefully down at them.

In a quiet voice, he mutters, "Let's just say I'm sure there's got to be a better way."

Takanawa orders her dronecam to back off. "Thank you, Mr. Brimley, for taking the time to be with us today."

Brimley nods quickly, visibly anxious to run the reporter out of the lab. "My pleasure, Angel. Now, I really must get back to work...."

SOLNET _Special Report_ Ends

Chapter 12

Chaos City, Europa

Jupiter

Solix 4.30.3156

" _Two of the great wonders of the Europan surface icescape are the twin peaks of Mount Prospect and Mount Rathmore. Chaos City sits in a ravine between these two towering mountains, which dominate the Connemara Chaos province like king and queen of their realm._ "

For Eric Richter V5, working as an acceptance test driver for EuropaTrans was perfect cover, cover he had successfully maintained for several years now. He drove the icecat through its paces, reciting from memory in his high-pitched lilt, the voiceover that all tourists received when they first exited Chaos City Airlock C onto the surface. The tourist icecats seated eight plus three crew though only a single test driver occupied this one. In his mind's eye, he could see the reactions of every tourist who had ever come to Europa when confronted by the spectacle of the two mountains and the funiculars that ran up their slopes to visitor and observation centers at the top....

" _Both Rathmore—named for the Rathmore Chaos region in which Chaos City sits—and Prospect are upthrust ice mountains, forced upward in Europa's low gravity by the ceaseless churning of the ice rafts and forces that, over millennia, have squeezed the ice in this region into these upthrust structures. Of course, all the ice rafts are really like rafts, for the Europan Ocean lies thirty kilometers beneath the surface and the ice literally floats on top of this ocean...."_

Richter V5 drove the icecat across bumps and hills and across small crevasses, testing out all her systems. To many tourists, the surface between Rathmore and Prospect looked like quilted cotton frozen in time, puffy balls and blocks of cotton scattered across the undulating surface by some giant, bored child. The drive would take about two hours and once he was done and back at the shop on Chaos City Level 2, he would log all anomalies and one more 'cat would be ready for the tourist trade.

Except that on this drive, Richter had planned a little detour.

He headed off the normal test course, crossed a narrow arroyo and bounded up the lower slopes of Mount Rathmore, out of view of both the City itself and the funiculars and observation platforms above. Richter dropped the 'cat to a lower power setting and let her electric motors surge against the slope as she slogged and churned and slipped and slid her way up the incline to a narrow ledge he had long ago noticed.

With the entire bulk of the mountain between him and the City, only the swollen salmon-hued belly of Jupiter itself provided any company. Braking to a halt and maneuvering into a safe position, he studied the vast banded world for a few moments, looking for any incoming gas streamers diving into the disk, visible evidence of the great Sol Secundas project.

But he saw nothing.

Richter checked the time. That very morning, just after he had left Airlock C, a small burst transmission had been received by his wristpad, a transmission encrypted and chopped across too many frequencies to be easily detected. His wristpad had received the signals, patched them back together and stored them in files he could access later, when he was alone.

Eric Richter V5 knew that now was the time. He would never be more alone on the surface of this big ice cube Europa than now.

Detecting nothing around, above or below him, Richter pressed buttons on his wristpad to open the files. In seconds, multiple beams of light emerged from his wristpad, playing across the seat backs of the cabin and the portholes lining the hull walls.

The beams quickly thickened and formed into ghostly yet lifelike avatars of the two Guardians he had requested to come.

One was Nha Trang, Guardian Number Two, his avatar decked out like a stooped old Vietnamese peasant complete a conical _non la_ , a leaf hat worn on many occasions. Nha's avatar displayed wrinkles and sags that surprised Richter a bit, for he knew Number Two to be much younger in person. Still, Nha had his reasons.

The other avatar was Lourdes Quinones, a black-haired beauty of alabaster skin and classic high cheeks, adorned for today's critical meeting as an Eva Peron lookalike, with upswept coiffed hair and an elegant evening gown. Her pearl necklace twinkled in the light like a miniature galaxy. Lourdes had her reasons too.

Richter wasted no time. "All our efforts to stop Sol Secundas have failed so far. This is intolerable. I expected much better from you two, from everybody."

Lourdes looked pained. "Caloris Basin would have worked, but I didn't calculate Frontier Corps getting involved so quickly. Now the bastards are putting up the Sun Ring as fast as they can. Salvation's moving forward."

Richter sniffed. "Seems like your 'perfect' plan had some flaws, Lourdes. At least, my friends in Time Guard came through."

Nha Trang said, " _Kalahari_?"

Richter nodded. "Bots unzipped her like a pair of pants. Explosive decompression severely damaged _Zanzibar_ , but that was earlier in the timeline, about nine hundred years ago. We need successes _now_ , in this part of the timeline."

Lourdes had always figured Eric Richter for a first-class jerk. She didn't plan on being upstaged for long by such a crudball. "What about the deflector stations? Weren't you supposed to be sabotaging them?"

Richter sighed. "I had a saboteur aboard one. But nothing happened. Station _Bernini_ was supposed to be destroyed but the guy failed at the last minute. That's why I called this meeting."

The Lourdes avatar drifted about the icecat's tourist cabin, examining its appointments, everything from the drink service to the small galley. "We'll have to up our game, Richter. We have no choice."

Nha Trang agreed. "If we don't, they'll have Jupiter at ignition point in a few years and everything around here, everything we know, will be incinerated."

"What have you got in mind?"

Richter smiled faintly. A beep from the 'cat's main console meant the ship had detected something moving nearby. He studied the plot for a moment—the threat was descending toward them from above--then realized it was a routine shuttle landing at the City, nothing to worry about.

"We have several terretas that are sympathetic to the Guardians. I've got my own ship _Veiled Order_. And I still have the same strain of bots once used on _Kalahari_ , safely archived aboard. I'm thinking a lot of chaos could be created if Chaos City itself were hit."

That gave Nha Trang an idea. "A combined strike, Number One. Chaos City here and Mariner City on Mars. Seed both and at the right moment, you've got explosive de-comp hitting both targets. Thousands would die. We'd have InFed and the Concordance each blaming the other. I like it."

"There's another possibility," said Quinones. "Didn't I read somewhere that GreenMars has ID'ed another carbonaceous asteroid in the Belt, for another Big Smack? To finish loading up Mars with a final kick of volatiles?"

Richter agreed. "I _did_ see that."

"What if Guardians could drop a sabotage team onto that asteroid—I think it's called Wilks-Lucayo—and arrange for a little diversion at the right moment. GreenMars likes to use mass driver catapults for control. Chew up some of the asteroid and shoot it out in a stream to change trajectory. If we could hack into that, we'd have the ability to divert Wilks anywhere we wanted: Mars, Caloris Basin, even Earth. You know GreenMars usually has exquisite control of these things. If we could arrange for GreenMars to lose control of Wilks and see it plow into populated places on Mars—Mariner City, Hellas, Chryse Planitia and all those seaside resorts in the north..." Quinones smiled at the prospect. "The Guardians would strike fear for generations to come."

"And we'd save Jupiter in the process," Nha Trang added. "I like it."

Richter was already calculating the possibilities. "I'd favor an ultimatum first: ' _Shut down Sol Secundas, let the Sun evolve naturally...or else, we vaporize a few cities.'_ Nobody'll will be ignoring Guardians after that."

Nha Trang said, "How do we proceed?"

Richter was already working out the details in his mind. "We need 'project managers' for each phase. We'll apply ever-increasing pressure in two phases. Phase I will be Chaos City and Mariner City. Number Two, you head up that. Make a list of who and what you need and we'll meet again in a week."

"What about Phase II?" Quinones asked.

"That's you and me, Number Three. We'll meet every other day—same as today—and work up lists and requirements for taking control of GreenMars' little berg and diverting it elsewhere."

"Number One, is your encryption strong enough? We can't chance Public Security or Frontier Corps intercepting any of this."

"When I get back to _Veiled Order_ , I'll send you both a frequency-hopper and a quantum coupler I 'borrowed' from Europa Traffic Control. If we can go quantum, nobody'll be able to intercept or de-crypt that. But we need to be careful. Send your signals the same way for now, but I'll find a different location each time. Today, I'm in an icecat I'm supposed to be acceptance testing out on the surface. Next time, I'll find us a different place...who knows, maybe I can squeeze my way down to Io, undetected. Nobody'll be looking for strange signals down there...with all those volcanoes and geysers going off."

"Agreed," the other two said.

Richter saw Quinones looking slightly pained. "What's wrong, Lourdes? Something bothering you about this?"

The Quinones avatar pixelated slightly. "I'm just wondering about what we do if even these efforts don't stop Sol Secundas. We've got a lot riding on this."

Richter didn't often see doubt in Number Three, but it was obvious even in a ghostly avatar's face. "I have had some thoughts about that. You know the Ultrarch already approved building that starship base in Neptune orbit."

"Yes, _Ultima Culmine_. I've heard of it."

"Maybe that's our next target. If there's no prospect of escaping to another star, maybe InFed and the Concordance will take better care of the one we have...the Sun."

Quinones' face was set in a determined glare. "They can't take Jupiter away from us, Number One, can they? I worry about that. I eat, sleep and breathe that every day."

"And they won't. That's a promise. As long as there are Guardians, nobody's messing around with what the Universe gave us in the beginning. I guarantee it."

"I hope you're right. If Jupiter ignites, everything around you will be vaporized into atoms. I don't think I can live like an outworlder, crammed into some can at the ass end of Pluto."

"You won't. Just wait for my sig—" but he stopped in mid-sentence, seeing another alert on the 'cat's console. "Uh oh...looks like I have company. 'Cat's picking up a pair of hoppers snooping around the top of Rathmore. Probably looking for an overdue test driver. I'm shutting you both down now—"

Richter stabbed a button on his wristpad and both avatars vanished instantly.

He fired up the motors and whipped the 'cat around in a sharp circle, heading back down the switchback path he'd taken up to the ledge, heading for the narrow defile through massive ice flows at the bottom the ravine. That was the way back to the City.

Above the 'cat, two Search and Rescue hoppers detected the vehicle now in motion against the slope of the mountain and comm'ed in.

" _Icecat Delta Five, this is Rescue Two...do you need assistance? You are overdue by an hour back at the locks."_

Richter took a deep breath, as he cautiously negotiated the slippery path. "Negative, Rescue Two...on my way back. I was completing my test card on interior systems and ran into some glitches. ETA at Airlock C is twenty minutes."

Interregnum

Garden Grove, California USA

'November 1, 1980'

( _From the holovid-journal of Philippe Dugay_ )...

Philip Johnson patted sweat off his forehead as he waited to step up to the lectern to begin his speech. His ass ached and had gone numb and he leaned over to Philippe Dugay who was sitting next to him in those really uncomfortable folding chairs.

"I can't feel my butt. If I don't get up pretty soon, I won't be able to," he admitted. "How many more windbags can there be?"

For over an hour, one speaker after another had regaled the perspiring audience with ever-more vivid superlatives about the glass structure behind them, soon to be known to all as the Crystal Cathedral.

Dugay leaned over to whisper in Johnson's ear.

"A magnificent accomplishment, sir. Clean and classic. It looks like it's floating."

Johnson cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. The glasses had fogged up. "I do like glass. "It's like I always said...architecture is the arrangement of space for excitement."

Dugay considered that. "Yes, I've heard you say that before." _On other holovids_ , he reminded himself. "But I must ask you a question."

"Ask."

"I have a commission to do something truly incredible. It's exciting, almost by definition. No one's ever done what I'm proposing. But it's so new, there's growing opposition, growing resistance to the idea. For some, it's too new, too different."

Now, the speaker was winding up and Johnson was shifting about in his seat, ready to rise. He faced Dugay.

"Listen, Philippe, Mies van der Rohe once said, 'We still have monumental architecture. To me, the drive for monumentality is as inbred as the desire for food and sex, regardless of how we denigrate it.' Face it, monuments offend some people. There was a hell of a lot of criticism of the Washington Monument, even the Capitol. People don't understand. But someone, someone like you and me, has to have the vision, or nothing would ever change."

"But what do you say to the critics? How do you deal with the resistance to change?"

Johnson was already on his feet. He smiled at the rising applause, then leaned over close to Dugay's face.

"Look, I've done a lot of projects in glass. But glass is brittle. Glass shatters. You can use that. Danger is one of the greatest things to use in architecture. Look at this building. It doesn't even look like it should be standing. You don't expect that, especially from a cathedral...cathedrals should be massive, solid, perpetual. I did something different. I made a cathedral that could fly."

With that, Johnson strode across the grass, mounted the podium and began his prepared speech.

Dugay clapped politely but his mind was running a million miles an hour. Danger. Perhaps was the key.

Mining Jupiter's atmosphere for tons of hydrogen gas, transmuting it into construction materials and lining a distant orbit with thousands of new terreta habitats, wasn't that dangerous? Lives had already been lost. People didn't like it when you messed with something as eternal as a planet...it's an abomination, it's blasphemy, it's hubris and pride out of control, it's unbridled arrogance.

And it was dangerous.

Still, as he listened to Johnson drone on, not really paying attention to the words, but more to the tone of his voice, Dugay was struck by the notion that Philip Johnson had used glass, a material of light and airiness, but also brittle and not very substantial, a material whose transparency showed everything inside and seemed itself to almost disappear, he had used this nonsensical material to create something at the same time effervescent yet solid, used something nearly invisible to create something perpetual, even eternal.

Like I use hydrogen gas, Dugay told himself. What could be more insubstantial than a gas? And out of this gas would come homes and shops and theaters and whole communities and cities for millions. From literally almost nothing, I've built new worlds.

Satisfied that he had a better grip on what had been bothering him, Dugay listened politely to Johnson's story of how the Crystal Cathedral had crystallized in his mind. But the words of Pieter Delano still nagged at him.

Dugay had tried to defend himself. "It's not like we're taking the whole planet. Jupiter's a massive place. Thirteen hundred earths worth of material down there. It would take centuries to make a dent in this world."

"We don't have centuries," Delano had said. "This has to stop or there's no future, for any of us."

There it was, staring him right in the face. Oh, certainly Dugay had the vision. No one would argue that. He had a vision for how to mine the King of Planets and use it for building new worlds beyond. But when Philip Johnson had the vision for a cathedral of glass, did he worry about using up the grass and dirt and orange groves that had once been here? Did anyone really miss those things? Once those things were gone, would future people suffer and die because of the loss?

That made Crystal Cathedral and the Outer Ring different, in fundamental ways. Dugay wasn't sure he really believed what Pieter Delano had told him...that there was an existential threat nine hundred years in the future, that if Jupiter were lost, Mankind itself might be lost. Delano had pleaded with him aboard _Isabelle_ , as they orbited Jupiter's banded clouds.

"We are your children. We are your descendants. Give us a future."

If Delano was to be believed, if there was any truth at all to what his supposed descendant was saying, resistance to the Outer Ring wasn't just some kind of noble, principled opposition. It was a cry. It was a cry for survival.

He was sure that Philip Johnson had never had to face that.

Johnson had finished his speech and the podium was swarmed with well-wishers and autograph-seekers and photographers and reporters. Dugay hung back until the famous architect had worked his way out of the crowd. He spotted Dugay and came over.

"Come, come. Hurry! Let's get away from this madness. I'll take you on a tour."

And they practically ran away from the scene, ducking into the Cathedral through a side door.

The interior was angular, spacious, filled with light. It reminded Dugay of pictures he'd seen in art school, pictures of shopping malls from the twentieth century. Space didn't so much flow as it seemed joined, one space to another, as if bolted or riveted. As if they were strolling inside a machine, a vast collage of circuit boards and wiring. He kept his thoughts to himself, while Johnson extolled the details.

"The glass panes were a major pain, excuse the pun. There are ten thousand of them and they're glued on, not bolted. Silicon-based glue. The building has to be able to withstand a magnitude 8 earthquake. Do you like the light, the spaciousness? Think of Notre Dame and so many other cathedrals. Old, dark, musty. This expresses the grandeur of God much better."

They strolled down aisles of pews and mounted the chancel steps, staring out at the vast open space, the latticework ceiling and exposed scaffolding-like levels seeming to float before their eyes.

Johnson went on, clearly in his element. "People laughed and critics pitched a fit when I built my Glass House. _It's nothing. It's too simple. It looks like a glass of iced tea on its side_. But they all missed the point. You don't build a glass house, or a glass cathedral, if you're worried about saving money on heating. Is it practical?" Johnson winked at him, shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But uplifting to the spirit? Oh, I think so."

That gave Dugay an idea. Maybe there was a way he could meet Pieter Delano's plea and still be faithful to his own vision. Delano had mentioned using Saturn instead of Jupiter...smaller with less hydrogen gas and much, much colder. But there were possibilities, if Delano could show him the technique....

"Sir, one thing bothers me. Every work of architecture is a compromise. The designer has his own ideas. The sponsors have their ideas. The banks and financiers have ideas. Even critics have ideas. How much can you compromise your vision and still keep the essence of the vision? Did that happen here, with the Cathedral?"

The question made Johnson's face wince and smile awkwardly at the same time. "If you only knew, son. Endless hours of conferences and arguments and finger-pointing. I had to give in on a few things, like those support beams all along the walls...my structural people insisted. _Glass won't hold,_ they said, _too much stress_. I had done the calculations so I knew it would work. Physics said it would work. But I gave in anyway. And those light rafts overhead...I mean, really? Come on. I keep thinking they're going to fall right on the heads of the pastors, but the lighting people insisted. So, sure, there are always compromises. But only one man has the vision and you have stay laser-focused on that. Merely that a building works is not sufficient. It has to inspire. It has to make people better, feel better. Ask yourself this: does your project still make people better? Keep that part of the vision and you can give in on anything else."

They strolled further about the spacious nave and transept of the Cathedral, with Dugay openly admiring the ingenious little touches, gaining in the process a few new ideas for the Outer Ring. _Maybe some whimsical touches would help. Something to make people laugh, instead of always accusing and pointing fingers._

Outside on the grass lawn, among manicured hedges, the sun blazed down on them and Philippe Dugay gradually drifted away from his subject, as more and more people came by to shake Johnson's hand, have pictures taken, ask questions and gush over the famous architect's soaring vision.

Dugay tried to imagine what the days would be like for him, after the Outer Ring was finished, if it was _ever_ finished. Strolling among a platoon of admirers along the grassy swards of some new terreta community, sipping at celebratory champagne, extolling on all the moments of inspiration that had culminated in such magnificence. A glittering necklace of new worlds, orbiting between Jupiter and Saturn, ripe for settlement, new Venices, new Bangkoks, new Cairos and Londons, ready to be populated and built out, all from his own feverish mind and steady hand.

Dugay snorted at the prospect. _About as likely as me growing two heads_. Still, interacting with Philip Johnson had given him some ideas, some things to think about. The holovid time hadn't been wasted. Perhaps more sessions, other famous architects....

Dugay stopped at the curb of a parking lot and glanced back at the massive cathedral and its soaring prayer spires. From a distance, in the right light, he could imagine the whole edifice as a pile of ice cubes dropped to the ground by some god of design. A tumbling heap of oddly refracted light and angles that seemed to meet nothing but space. And below, the bald head of Philip Johnson strolling along, enjoying every word of his flock of swooning admirers.

"Time to get back to reality. Back to scoop ships and gas streams and transmuting furnaces and clouds of beams and girders drifting through space."

With a sigh, he pecked out a few commands on his wristpad.

Just as Philip Johnson spotted him again and was waving his arms, beckoning him over, Dugay said in a clear voice, " _Computer, end program_."

And the Crystal Cathedral and the palm trees of Garden Grove, California vanished in the blink of an eye.

Chapter 13

InFed Headquarters

Luna Selene City

June 6, 2249 CE

The Moon had never been the same since Philippe Dugay had gotten his hands on it. Pieter Delano had, of course, seen the Moon many times, visited a few and often marveled at what it must have been like to be there at the beginning, when the notion that an atmosphere could be installed on Earth's satellite had first occurred.

_And I'm standing next to the man who figured out how to do it_ , he told himself.

Dugay's cruiser _Isabelle_ was on approach to Luna Selene City and a conference with the InFed Council. Still an hour or two before landing, Delano stood with his illustrious ancestor in the ship's cupola watching sunlight glint off gentle waves of the Sea of Tranquility and the tracks of skiers schussing down the slopes of Mount Hadley.

"From here, the Moon is a real jewel, Philippe. Like a Renaissance painting, I would say. The hazy blue of the atmosphere, green patches across the maria where the farms are growing corn four meters tall, the mountains white with snow...it's a palette worthy of da Vinci. You should be proud."

"My best project. My favorite commission," Dugay admitted. "Really, the ideas had been around for hundreds of years. I just figured out ways to make them happen. It doesn't hurt to have big money and powerful people behind you...something Leonardo also knew about."

Delano figured a little more flattery might grease the wheels for what he really wanted...for Jupiter to be given up. A chance to make a new sun where once there had been a gas giant, since the old one was dying.

"You've made the Moon a cathedral of color. Maybe even a Gothic cathedral."

Unable to resist explaining the details, Dugay rose to take the bait. "You're an architect. You know what the fundamental unit of Gothic architecture is?"

"I know a trick question when I hear one but I do have an idea."

Dugay didn't even wait for an answer. "It's the square. The square can be multiplied, bisected and rotated. It can generate every aspect of a Gothic building, from the design of a finial to the plan for a cathedral. Don't they teach that in architecture school anymore?"

Delano smiled inside. It was working. Stroke and massage, that's all it took. "To me, the Moon is your Gothic cathedral, Philippe. It reawakens a powerful sense in our memories."

"Really...I never thought of that. How so?"

Delano was in the moment. Words came easily when he was in the moment. "When we were youngsters in school, we were surprised at how big everything seemed. Chairs, desks, it all seemed so huge. But when we go back and visit our schools or our childhood homes, everything has shrunk. We were once tiny and the world seemed so big. But as we grow up, that size difference changed. It flipped around. The vastness of our universe has changed now. It's diminished. That makes our sense of wonder diminish. That's the marvel of a Gothic cathedral...or what you have done with the Moon. It makes us feel tiny again and our sense of wonder comes back. The world around us becomes awesomely large again. You did that with the Moon. Once it seemed remote and mysterious, a brooding presence in our night time imaginings. Now it feels like home."

Dugay pondered that for a few moments while _Isabelle_ began maneuvering for her final approach to Selene City, situated in the brow of Copernicus Crater's Central Hills, just visible below a light hazy cloud layer. Thrusters pulsed on and off and their perspective shifted to a more vertical aspect.

" _TEN MINUTES TO TOUCHDOWN. PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS AND STRAP IN_." came the ship's voice.

"How did you do it?" Delano asked, as they situated themselves for the last maneuvers. "Make the Moon feel like home."

Dugay shrugged. "As I said, the ideas weren't really mine...just the design, the sequencing and the execution. Our moon was born too small to harbor life. It came from the collision of a Mars-sized world into the primordial Earth. From that colossal crunch spun a glob of rocks that would eventually condense into a satellite. The sun stole its gases, and Earth slowly stole the Moon's spin, locking it so that one side always faces us."

Delano had heard most of this before, in art school, studying the history vids, having the neural downloads. But to hear it from his own ancestor, from the man who had done it...

Dugay now warmed to the task. "The moon's closeness was actually a huge advantage: To make it habitable, we first had to bombard it with water-ice comets, kind of a tricky endeavor to attempt with Earth so nearby. But using incoming comets was worth the challenge, because they could deliver both an atmosphere and momentum."

"You had all this mapped out ahead of time?"

"We had to. InFed insisted on it before they would fund the project. You have no idea what I had to go through to make the money available. All the permits, the simulations...well, anyway, the process began by steering a comet nucleus, which we decided to call an iceteroid, from the deep freeze beyond Pluto. We nudged it from its slow orbit with a kilometer-per-second velocity change and swung it near Jupiter for a little momentum swerve. By hooking the comet adroitly in a reverse swing-by, we knew we could loop it into an orbit opposite to the way most worlds orbit the sun. This grimy, little mountain-size iceteroid soon loomed large in the moon's night sky."

"I read there were plenty of detractors and critics."

Dugay sniffed. "If you only knew. Just days before the big smack, we had to blow it apart—brutally and carefully. Ice shards came gliding in all around the moon's equator, small enough that they couldn't free themselves from gravity's grip. A lot of people were worried this would blow up in our face...I was actually one them. We couldn't let big chunks of comet scatter off the moon and rain down like celestial buckshot on Earth. Within hours of the first incoming comet, though, the moon had a crude atmosphere. We'd already done the sims...with one-sixth of Earth's gravity, it would hold gases for tens of thousands of years.

"Then, as more comets arrived and pellets started pelting down, the moon spun faster. From its lazy "day" cycle of 28 days, it sped up to a 60 hours day—close enough to Earthlike, as they say, for government work."

"The critics began to see what you were trying to do?"

"When they looked with their own eyes and thought objectively, they understood I really did know what I was doing. See, for most of its life, the moon's axial tilt had been a dull zero, robbing it of summers and winters. But I knew that if the iceteroids were angled just so, the incoming ice nuggets could tilt the poles while shortening the days. From such simple mechanics we conjured seasons. It's just physics. Not magic."

"How many times did you smash into the Moon?"

"All told, we needed about a hundred comets the size of Halley's, which brought water and carbon dioxide, with smidgens of methane and ammonia. We needed nitrogen, too, and some magic from the biochemists, who would later pepper the moon's old, gray rocks with blue-green algae that could exhale oxygen."

"Bringing new life to a dead world...re-stoking that sense of wonder that had been lost."

"I didn't think of it that way at the time, but it makes sense now that I can stand back and see it. For centuries, the moon's dark plains had carried humanity's imposed, watery names: Tranquility, Serenity, Crises, Clouds, Storms. Now, thanks to our "rain" of iceteroids, those lowlands of ancient lava would catch the rains and become muds, then ponds, lakes, true seas. After billions of years, the ancient names came true."

"A bit of poetry in that, Philippe. And some justice too, I'd wager."

"By this time, I was beginning to feel a bit vindicated. Genetically engineered plants created the first greenery. Like Earth's tropics now, at the moon's equator heat would drive moist gases aloft. Cooler gas began to flow from the poles to fill in. The high wet clouds would skate poleward, cool, and rain down.

"Back on Earth, such currents are robbed of their water about one-third of the way to the poles. That created the worldwide belt of deserts. Not so on the moon. The new world had no chains of deserts, just one simple circulating air cell grinding away in each hemisphere. Moisture forges climate. Northerly winds sweep poleward, swerving toward the west to make the occasional mild tornado."

Remembering the scores of history vids he'd seen as a child, Delano asked, "You still needed soil, didn't you?"

"True, the moon had no soil, only the damaged dust left from four billion years of being scoured by the solar wind. Making soil from that grime was best left to the biologists. Our moon eventually brewed its own, in fast-forward. Over the decades, hordes of bioengineered minions tilled the dirt, massaged the gases, built an ecology."

Delano chuckled as _Isabelle_ settled down a rattling landing at Selene City. Bumps and thumps followed as the departure tubes were snaked forward into contact.

"I remember my first trip, all the strange creatures. I'd read about them, but to see them, to actually be next to them...those bovine gas-bags that patrol the skies, the spindly zigzagging trees, birds swooping like manta rays, spindly ropes with shimmering green leaves bigger than buildings. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. I'm Europan, a child of Chaos City. The Moon was almost too much to experience all at once. Especially the sunsets...we don't have that on Europa."

"Sunsets _are_ special," Dugay agreed. They filed into the departure tube and made their way through Immigration and Passport Control. "Sunsets seem to happen in slow motion here, the full pallet of pinks and crimsons and rouge-reds lingering for an hour. Earth will often eclipse that sun, punching a dark hole in the middle of the day, for some on the half we still call Nearside. The deep air covets heat—I've heard ground-pounders say that makes the Moon much like a cloudy Florida. In the one-sixth gravity, humans can fly, with flaps on arms and feet. What a joy—you must try it, Pieter--at last we could be one with the birds—but such big rude birds we have here on the Moon. They'll challenge anyone who invades their thick decks of pewter cloud."

"Most days here are cloudy, aren't they?"

"It's true. This exotic Florida-like globe with the land mass of Asia does have mostly cloudy days. It's warm, too, from greenhouse effects. Earth will still hold sway over a moon revolving much faster, making its presence felt even if you can't see it most of the time. The tides can be twenty meters high—have you ever tried surfing? With lesser gravity, a boarder can skate over hundreds of kilometers, a daylong ride. Some do. They ride from one shore of the Sea of Tranquility to the other. Of course, when the tide slides up the shore of a lunar lake, there are always plenty of tourists scampering to get away from it."

After Immigration and Passport, the two of them, with Evelyn Kasongo tagging along, were greeted by a protocol bot that had trundled up. The bot looked like an officious bureaucrat, complete with pince-nez glasses and a Van Dyke 'beard.'

"Good day, gentlemen. Council sends greetings. I am to escort you to your quarters and attend to any needs you have today. Dr. Radovich wishes to host a state dinner tonight in her residence at Somerset House. You'll be the guests of honor."

Dugay held out a hand for Delano and Kasongo. "Ho hum...yet another official function. Get used to it. InFed doesn't go halfway in these matters, you know. Especially for Concordance visitors. After you."

The three of them followed the bot as it wheeled down a corridor lined with oil paintings and busts of Greek gods.

Dr. Anika Radovich hadn't been Council president for five years for her looks, though sadly, more nanoderm would be needed sooner than she'd hoped. She paused the intelligence vids she had been perusing in her office for the last hour, the ones Concordance security had compiled for her from their debriefings of Delano and his strange companion, and examined her face more closely in a nearby mirror.

Didn't see that wrinkle last week. What is it with these treatments? Can't they make them last longer?

Maybe next time, she'd splurge and try _Tropical Goddess Light_...then she smiled at the thought. Probably wouldn't do for an InFed Councilor to stir too many desires among her male colleagues.

Radovich sighed, pushed the mirror away and tapped PLAY on the vid again. A ghostly likeness of Pieter Delano again sprang up from the player like a _djinn_.

_My three wishes_ , she teased herself. _One: that you would go away. Two: that you would disappear forever. Three: that Concordance would simply vanish into the night like those creepy moongnats that swarm all over the City this time of the year._

Not to be, she knew all too well. Every civilization has its pests. She settled back and closed her eyes, while the intel vidfile played itself out...

_Pieter Delano V3 was born on December 4, 3095 (CE)(_ Analyst Note _:_ Our timekeeping system _). He was born in Connemara Chaos City, Europa, youngest son of Dirk and Valentina Delano. Pieter has an older brother Sander and an older sister Greta. The V3 at the end of his name is the normal honorific denoting the mind upload version he has completed. It is commonly referred among Concordance men and women as a neurolific._

Pieter's father Dirk was a hopper pilot in the Transport Service. His mother Valentina worked in Chaos City Life Support, as a boiler-evap systems tech.

_Pieter is a 36_ th _generation descendant of Philippe Dugay._

_That_ revelation caused Radovich's eyes to pop open. Curious, she sat up straight and watched the vid a little more closely...

_One of Pieter's earliest memories was of his first trip to the surface of Europa, aboard a vehicle called a europacat, a sort of hopper/crawler/burrower that could travel across the icescape, or hop over or burrow under. On this trip, when Pieter was only 4 years old, the europacat_ Eternal Harmony _was damaged in an iceslide and buried for time under tons of rock. Her treads and borer were inoperable and she was stuck for several days near the huge crater Pwyll. Air, water and food ran low and the crew had to await rescue, from below, as borers tunneled into the slide and rescued all. Pieter remembered being on short rations and all the songs (like "The Rains of Rhadamanthys") and stories the crew told themselves as they passed time waiting for rescue. It was a memorable experience for young Pieter..._

A chime sounded and Radovich killed the alert on her wristpad. Her pad spoke in the familiar tones of an English butler.

"Madame President, guests are arriving at the front gate of the residence. I have instructed CHESTER2 to scan all individuals, verify with Public Security and admit them if validated."

"That's, fine, CHESTER1. I'm on my way. Inform Number Two I'm en route and arrange for all guests to be escorted to the receiving hall and served light hors d'ouevres...the smoked mare fish, I think. Light Rieslings as well, say the Hadley vintage, perhaps 2201?"

"Very well, Madame." CHESTER1 was nothing if not proficient, though a bit snippy when standard protocols weren't followed.

She found her guests taking their refreshments from a small army of servbots in the receiving hall. Tapestries of ancient European monarchs gazed down at them from the walls.

Anika Radovich had met Dugay before and they hugged lightly. "Good to see you again, Philippe." She was particularly intrigued when he introduced Pieter Delano.

Delano bowed slightly, then they shook hands. "Madame President, thank you for agreeing to see us, to hold this hearing."

Radovich laughed, a short, sharp bark. " _This_ is no hearing, Mr. Delano. That comes tomorrow. I do have the transmitted avatars of most of our delegates right here—" she tapped her wristpad. "Maybe I should let them out to enjoy the reception."

A nearby protocol bot raised a hand to object but Radovich had already tapped buttons. Several bursts of light shot out from her wristpad, lancing across the reception hall. Below a screen of brocaded curtains, images formed almost instantly, the beams morphing into avatar-likenesses of several InFed delegates. Radovich did the introductions, waving her hand across the row.

"This is Tabora, from _Hesperia_. That's Amravati, apparently the best that _Mariner City_ has to offer." That earned a frowning rebuke from the delegate, whose eyes blazed back at Radovich.

"And this is Nyborg, just selected by the governor of _Lords of Chaos_ , out by Jupiter. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Selene City."

"Madame President," Philippe Dugay was already trying to say, "I wanted to explain why we asked for this hear--, I mean this gathering."

"Yes, Philippe, I got the messages...you want us to delay the—" but her words were interrupted by a commotion at the doors.

A small army of protocol bots and security droids had swarmed to the entrance and, one after another, were being shoved aside by something, someone, boisterous, rude, loud and cantankerous. Radovich went over to investigate.

It was Octavio Patron, decked out in a magnificent cape and plumed hat, a 16th century Castilian _don_ in the 23rd century, the cap barely covering his bald head. Splotchy red patches inflamed his face, nanoderm that wasn't quite working right.

"Madame—let go of me, you mechanical moron... _ow_!—Madame President, please--!" Patron wrenched his arms free of restraining hands and graspers.

Radovich spoke up sharply. "Permit!" Instantly, the grabbing and clutching ceased and all the bots and droids backed away.

Patron re-situated his disheveled cape and hat and strode like an unappreciated emperor into the reception hall. Ignoring nearby security, he grasped Radovich in a firm bear hug and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"That's better. Is this any way to treat honored guests?"

"I don't know about honor, Octavio, but please...come in...as I believe you're already doing."

Patron helped himself to wine and a handful of canapes from a passing servbot.

Radovich held on tightly to Patron as she returned to Dugay, Delano and Kasongo, at the end of the table.

She patted Dugay on his cheek. "You were about to tell me why you asked for a hearing before the Council."

"Yes, yes...I see you got my messages. I want to propose a delay, possibly an indefinite suspension, to the Outer Ring project. Some unexpected factors—" he glanced at Delano, "have come up."

Patron spluttered, spewing canape sauce everywhere. " _Delay_? Philippe, no! You can't be serious about that. We've got cable ships and collimators on site by the dozen, transmuting going on full blast, assemblies being assembled, the whole planet's wrapped in cable—"

Radovich shushed him. "Let the man speak, Octavio. Go on."

Dugay ran a hand through coarse blond hair. There were more streaks of gray than she remembered.

"Pieter here is also an architect. He's got a proposal for how we can use the streaming technique at Saturn, instead of using up Jupiter. It needs to be heard and examined, by the Council."

But Patron exploded again, brushing off several bots. "Philippe, have you lost your freakishly genius mind? Jupiter's already being mined. It's perfect. It's closer. It's bigger. The process is already underway...you yourself have already turned out designs for the first terretas...Babylon Heights, I think you were going to call it. What the hell's wrong with Jupiter anyway. It's just a big gas ball."

One of the delegates, Tabora from _Hesperia_ , had drifted over. Her avatar was fully authorized to act in her behalf, for the real Tabora was sound asleep millions of miles away in orbit around Venus...the distance and time delay making real-life contact impractical for most delegates.

"That big gas ball is stirring up quite a ruckus, Patron, all over InFed and beyond."

Nyborg, the avatar-delegate from _Lords of Chaos_ , added, "There have already been incidents, sabotage...look what happened to Zanzibar."

Patron flinched. "Ach...we're rebuilding, we're rebuilding...don't you worry about that. We're rebuilding. Just a little accident with nano..."

"Oh, yeah, a little de-pressurization accident that killed hundreds. A little accident, my ass."

Radovich could see her reception was turning into a free-for-all. "Okay, okay, let's be civil here. Philippe, why the delay? Why isn't Jupiter the best source of material for the Outer Ring?"

Dugay sucked at his lips, held up his hands. "I just think Saturn's a better source. Yes, it's more remote. But think of it like this...think of all the settlements around Jupiter now. We're taking something away from them."

"And from the Concordance," Tabora noted. "That's worth something."

"There aren't as many communities around or near Saturn. It's a virgin mine, to use that analogy."

Patron waved a hand, his face ready to burst out, and Radovich pointed at him like a stern schoolteacher. "Go ahead, Octavio...before you explode."

"Madame President, I represent many investors, as you know. There are scores of sunpower and water interests behind the Outer Ring. If the project is delayed, a lot of people will lose a lot of money. The whole reason we sought—and _got_ , I remind you—InFed blessing and support was to plant your flag, so to speak, beyond Jupiter, right in the middle of Concordance space. To let the little Connies see they don't own space and we have a perfect right to be there and do what we please.

"As long as it doesn't start a war," Radovich reminded him darkly. "Mr. Delano, this is about you, in some unfathomable way none of us understand. You haven't said much. I've seen the files on the debriefing Concordance security did with you and Ms. Kasongo, when you were taken into custody. You claim to have crashed into one of our cable ships above Jupiter after jumping here from the future."

That produced a splutter of laughs and comments but Radovich waved them all quiet.

"This is Evelyn Kasongo," Delano started. "She's a chrononaut from Concordance Time Guard. We both came from a time about nine hundred years in the future."

"Concordance! I knew it," Amravati, the avatar-delegate from _Mariner City_ exulted. "I knew it. The bastards have hijacked Jupiter and the outworlds and now they've hijacked space-time as well. All the more reason to—"

But Radovich waved him silent. "Okay, Mr. Delano, let's suppose that there is some truth to what you're saying. I've read the debrief files. I don't think Concordance security is in the habit of making things up. They corroborate what you're saying, at least some of it. They even mention something called Sunboost somethingorother. Mind telling us what Sunboost is?"

And for the next half hour, Pieter Delano proceeded to do just that. When he was done, there was a moment of heavy silence in the reception hall...not even the sound of smoked mare fish and hors d'ouevres being munched broke the mute stillness. Someone coughed. A wine goblet crashed to the parquet floor and broke.

That was the signal, for the reception immediately erupted into a shouting and pointing match that even Radovich couldn't contain. When security bots moved in, she waved them back, yelling " _Permit_!" and the bots held their positions, while the delegates and avatars and guests fought and cursed one another.

Radovich stood apart with Dugay and Delano, spectators to a wrestling match of insults, curses and clenched fists.

"See what you've done, Philippe? You've unleashed the demons of InFed."

There were some who wanted to save Jupiter and there were some who saw the Outer Ring as natural human progress and Jupiter as just another coal mine and there were those who saw Jupiter as part of God's creation, not be contaminated with human hands.

In the eye of the storm twirled Octavio Patron, clearly in his element, jawing and biting and guffawing and swearing enough for ten people, and occasionally gulping down entire trays of merfish and canapes in between sentences.

Radovich's eyes narrowed. "Council will meet in formal session tomorrow. Mr. Delano, if what you've told us is even close to the truth, I can't predict what might happen. The Council could well fracture and seize up like some old machine...I wouldn't put it past these clowns. Maybe it would be best to delay the Outer Ring...but that _will_ make a lot of people unhappy."

Surprised at the vehemence of the debate raging about the reception hall, Philippe Dugay offered, "Pieter has promised to show me how to use the streaming technique at Saturn. Even to help us do that, if we decide that way."

"I'm not sure we gain that much by using Saturn versus Jupiter. Philippe, I was just reading one of your recent reports...is it true that Jupiter's actually not losing gas to your cable ships? That somehow, it's being re-filled, from some unknown source?"

"I can explain that," Delano interjected. "In my time, as I explained, we're already trying to stream hydrogen from Saturn to Jupiter...as I said, to bulk it up enough to ignite it. In my time, my own people are attempting to counter the dismantling of Jupiter by streaming from Saturn. We're fighting each other, across nine hundred years of time. Your Outer Ring has to stop now or we won't have a future...and this will be your fate too, nine hundred years from now."

Radovich _h'mmmed_ and motioned them both out of the reception hall into the grand foyer, away from the commotion. They landed at the foot of a sweeping staircase, surrounded by bots and droids awaiting orders.

"Philippe, how would you feel if the Council does delay or suspend your big legacy project, the capstone of your illustrious career. Disappointed? Relieved? What's going on in that feverish mind of yours?"

Dugay remembered something he had heard in the holovid sim a few days before, words from one of his architect-idols Philip Johnson. "I feel this way, Madame: I got everything from someone else. Nobody can be original. As Mies van der Rohe said, 'I don't want to be original. I want to be good.' I can be good in a lot of ways."

Radovich watched the uproar continue inside the reception hall. "The idiots. They don't even realize we're out here. The InFed Council is a perpetual motion machine. It runs forever, fueled by lies and insults. Let's go for a walk."

Accompanied by a security team of bots, the three of them left the Mansion and set off through its park-like surroundings into the heart of Selene City. Overhead, the sun had dropped just below the distant rim of Copernicus Crater. Clouds thickened, heralding rain.

Radovich watched clouds scud lower and lower across the City, across the crater floor and the slopes of the Central Hills, where expansive villas clung like grapevines to its tortured slopes.

"Weather Command said we're due for some rain," she observed. "They've planned it for a two-hour slot tomorrow morning, early. The schedule I saw said the rains are programmed to blow out of here by nine o'clock, right about when the Council hearing would start."

"You could order them to begin and end earlier," Dugay said. "InFed Presidents have the authority."

Radovich sniffed. "Philippe, there's an awful lot you don't understand about being InFed President. Just because I have the authority doesn't mean it's a good idea. Just look what happened at the reception...in my own house, mind you. I don't even have authority in my own house."

She stopped at the end of one street—they stood below the massive textured wall sculpture of the Lava Citadel on Surveyor Street, an avalanche of ancient flowing lava frozen in time—and stared at the two of them.

"I read in that Concordance briefing that you two might be related to each other."

"Separated by over thirty generations," Delano admitted.

"Can you read each other's minds?"

Dugay laughed at that. "Not exactly. But I believe we often think alike."

Radovich accepted that. She called up part of a briefing on her wristpad and read from it. "The analyst says here that... ' _Unfortunately, Delano's glorious past and name have dropped him into a lifelong wrestling match with his legacy and that has made him both irresistible and toxic to women at the same time and to many relationships as well. His former spouse Cas often said she felt that Pieter had another mistress whom she could never compete with, a 'mistress' of the name Delano/Dugay. "It was always there in the background, judging everything I said and did. I couldn't get around that with Pieter, make him focus on me and love me for who I was, make him realize I wasn't a Dugay...I'm a Landry and I'm different."_ " Radovich seemed embarrassed by the words. "Sometimes, these intel analysts think they're novelists. They make stuff up."

Delano shrugged. "Madame President, don't believe everything you hear...or read."

"Oh, I don't. I'd never survive in this office if I did. But listen to this...this intrigues me..." She read more of the analyst's speculations....

" _Now the Sol Secundas project promises to give Delano a chance to make a name for himself that will endure forever in human history, outshining everything Philippe Dugay ever did and erasing the stain that a bribery conviction and public disgrace once laid on his legacy. Pieter wants to achieve something monumental that will move his own name into the forefront of great architects of history._

" _He seems not to realize that nine hundred years before Sol Secundas, his ancestor Philippe Dugay was busily working to burnish his own reputation in a way that would prevent Pieter's historic accomplishment from ever occurring at all._

"ANALYST CONCLUSION _: "Each relative works to secure his fame for all eternity. But only one can prevail. And with a dying Sun, that battle may eventually become an existential threat to all Mankind."_

Delano was sobered by the words of a Concordance intelligence analyst. Sobered by its accuracy and its prescience.

"Madame President, I remember those debriefings. Evelyn and I were fatigued, groggy from the jump, not all together coherent, I'm afraid...we said a lot of things."

She glared right into his eyes. "Did you say these things?"

Delano thought, then tried on a faint smile that didn't quite fit. "Analysts and debriefers are entitled to their opinions."

Radovich smiled back, equally a mask. "I'll arrange for you two to be taken back to your quarters." To a security bot, she snapped a finger. The bot scurried up for orders. "We've all got a big day tomorrow, with this hearing. Get some sleep. Ever been to one of our zoos here?"

The bot summoned a jetcoach and the flyer whisked the two architects off to their hotel in seconds.

With a heavy sigh, Radovich walked back to the Mansion and dove back into the melee that was still going on.

As advertised, and feared, the Two Hundred and Forty-fourth General Conclave of the InFed Council was contentious and bare-knuckled. Delegate avatars and real persons mingled and shouted and jabbed fingers at each other across the marbled Hearing Chamber in a food fight worthy of school children.

Radovich let the debate rage and winced visibly when Octavio Patron rose like a disembodied Buddha to speak, the old windbag.

"Delegates of InFed, I came here to plead with you...don't delay my project. Don't suspend the Outer Ring. There's one hell of a lot of time and money invested already...some of it yours. We must go on with this...people are lined up for habitats now, thousands of them. Lives depend on us."

Patron pleaded for a few minutes, until his time was up and Radovich had to direct the master-at-arms bots to physically seat Patron in his seat.

Pieter Delano spoke as well, relating the threat that dismantling Jupiter had for people in his own time.

One delegate shouted, "What are you...some kind of alien freak? An actor? Time travel? Give me a break...."

That precipitated a raucous round of hoots and shouts and jeers and it was only with great patience that Radovich won a sullen silence again.

"Delegates, we have a decision to make today. Delay the Outer Ring or move forward." She turned to Philippe Dugay. "Perhaps we should here from the one who gave us this idea."

Dugay tried to demur but Radovich insisted and a chant rose. " _DUGAY...DUGAY DUGAY!"_

Reluctantly, he stood and addressed the Council.

"Delegates, it's true. The idea of mining Jupiter to make habitats for an Outer Ring was mine. But to make it happen, thousands of others—engineers, cable ship pilots, technicians, assemblers—all have to work together. If the Outer Ring is delayed, what happens to them? They're out of a job. It's true that millions are lined up to lay claim to the new places we're building...this will one of the greatest land rushes in history. But it's also true that we have a great love for the natural wonders of our planetary system...Jupiter, the rings of Saturn, the ice oceans of the satellites, the volcanoes of Mars and Venus. I assure you that what we're doing at Jupiter is only borrowing a small part of the King of Planets. Yes, there is talk of more Outer Rings...yes, we may yet need more of Jupiter. But he has so much to give us. Did the Pharaohs begrudge the desert the sand needed to make the stones of the Pyramids? Did Sullivan lose sleep over the glass he used to build skyscrapers? Man is a tool maker. He uses tools to change the world around him, to suit his needs, to help him thrive and grow. Any hammer inevitably changes what it strikes. That's all we're doing here."

Listening to his ancestor, Pieter Delano silently shook his head. This wasn't going well at all. Maybe Semarilyn Paris was right. The only way to stop them from taking Jupiter away was to make it too dangerous to continue. Make it in their interest to find another source of material. The germ of an idea began to form in his mind, even as the shouts and accusations flew back and forth.

For several hours inside the InFed Council, the debate raged on and finally, after numerous votes, InFed conceded to its wealthy benefactors and approved the Outer Ring to continue. The dismantling of Jupiter would go on, despite widespread protests across the solar system, especially inside many Concordance settlements.

Threats were issued by both sides and plans were drawn up to continue on the same collision course as before.

Delano was silent for many hours as he and Dugay departed Selene City aboard _Isabelle_ and headed back to _Patagonia_.

Dugay found his colleague quietly drifting about the cupola, watching grimly as the crescent Moon receded into the distance. Evelyn Kasongo stood with him, saying nothing.

Dugay felt sorry for them. He wasn't convinced in his mind that all they had told him was true but he knew that somehow, some way, the fate of Jupiter was at the center of their concerns.

What was it Brunelleschi had told him during a holovid trip?

" _In my project,"_ Dugay had told the famous builder, _"I have to take away something that many people have become used to. Dismantle or at least alter the appearance of a familiar object. This I must do to create something even greater. There is great resistance to changing what is familiar."_

Brunelleschi had leveled an even gaze at Dugay. _"Philippe, an architect must convince his public, and especially his sponsor, his benefactor, to see things in a new way. Teach them that harmony and proportion and majesty come from changing their perspective and seeing your design with new eyes, as my studies have shown. I have taught people about vanishing points and foreshortening and how scale changes with angle and now they can view my works with new appreciation they didn't have before."_

Standing behind Delano and Kasongo, Dugay said softly, "You once told me that in 'your time', Saturn was being used as a source to backfill Jupiter."

Delano didn't turn around but talked to the reflection in the cupola. "We're streaming hydrogen gas off Saturn to bulk up Jupiter. That true. Jupiter's got to be about eighty times more massive than it is to have a chance at ignition. That's why your Outer Ring is so dangerous to us. It's like a trying to fill a container from the top with a hole in the bottom."

"Couldn't you arrange for this new streaming technology to be brought back in time to today? You claim to have come yourselves from the 32nd century. Perhaps, we could use Saturn for raw materials rather than Jupiter...the Outer Ring's planned locations are the Jupiter-Sun Lagrange points."

Delano was skeptical, though he appreciated Dugay's offer. "I see what you're trying to do, Philippe. Yes, of course, the technology exists...we're already using it. Even in my time, there are opponents to Second Sun, those who don't want to destroy the beauty of the Ringed Planet. But for us, there really is no choice. Because of Sunboost, the Sun—the first sun—is dying. It can't be stopped."

"Then show me how to use Saturn. Bring me the tools to do it and I can show Patron and InFed that there is another way."

That made both Delano and Kasongo turn around. Delano looked at Kasongo, the chrononaut from Time Guard. "Is it feasible, Evelyn? Can we get back, take Philippe with us? Have him learn how to do this?"

Kasongo was noncommittal. She was a tall, statuesque black woman, with bristly hair and a clanking bone and ivory necklace that she kept tucked into the top of her blouse. "On paper, it's feasible. But we've got to get back to the ship. I can't say for sure what's possible until I can examine the ship."

Dugay looked perplexed. "You mean the ship that was entangled with one of my cable ships?"

"It's at Chaos City," Delano explained. "Under heavy guard, I'm sure. We have to go back to Europa and see if Concordance authorities will let us in to examine it."

Kasongo was thinking, drumming out ideas and obstacles in the palm of her hand. "If I could repair the ship, if I could be sure we can locate the correct time stream, the right coordinates along the worldline, it might be possible to return to our own time...within a margin of error, of course."

"How big a margin of error?"

Kasongo shrugged. "Ballpark...hard to say. Maybe a few solices...a few years. But there's a bigger problem."

"There always is."

Kasongo's brow furrowed. "There's only room for two in _Gemini_ -class jumpships. You know that. We can't all three go in the same jump."

Dugay thought about that for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then: "I want to go along, Pieter. I _have_ to go along. The Outer Ring is my project. If anyone's going to change the design in midstream, it has to be me. Plus, I really want to see what life's like in your time. Don't deny me that."

"It means somebody has to stay," Kasongo insisted. She looked from Delano to Dugay and back, expecting one of them, willing one of them, to state the obvious, to come to the right conclusion. But the conclusion, when it came, wasn't what she expected at all.

Delano said, "Evelyn, show me how to operate the ship. Teach me how to run it, how to navigate and pilot it. If you set the guidance system for the right time stream, it should work, shouldn't it?"

The very idea gave her heartburn. "Mr. Delano, I'm a trained chrononaut. I've made dozens of jumps. I've been with Time Guard for fifteen solices...what I know can't be taught in a few days, even if we had the downloads, even if we fine-tuned your neurolific for it. Nope...unh...unh. Can't be done. It's too dicey. Too dangerous. You could wind up God alone knows where."

Delano had never been one to take no for an answer. "Then you'll do it?"

Kasongo sighed and turned back to face the glittering cosmos now unfolding beyond the cupola. "I want it on the record that I strongly oppose this and object to what you're asking. It's against all procedures and regs. It's nuts."

Delano patted her on the shoulder. "Thanks, Evelyn. I knew you'd understand."

With that, Philippe Dugay ordered his cruiser _Isabelle_ to bypass _Patagonia_ and get on a speed course for Chaos City.

The Time Guard jumpship _Gemini_ was being held there under extremely close guard.

Chapter 14

TECHNICAL BULLETIN

ULTRARCH OF THE CONCORDANCE (UC) TIME GUARD

Control: 17430

Received: Solix 6.15.3156

FROM: Commandant, UCTG

TO: CINCTEMP and all subordinate commands and jump squadrons

NO: 12511 Solix (Time Guard Message)

PRIORITY: Elite Purple Python Ultra

ACTION: CINCTEMP, CINCSPACE, CINCSANC, DIRBIOSHIELD

UCTG 6887 from UNTG

Pursuant to operational guidelines, Commandant, UC Time Guard directs all subordinate commands to implement immediate operational standdown. No further jumps operational, test or otherwise permitted per (UCTG A-22). This Bulletin is effective immediately.

Commander's Directive:

By order of CINCTEMP (UCTG 6887), you are hereby directed to cease all jump operations immediately. This bulletin directs a complete standdown from all operational, test, training or other temporal jumps due to unexpected disturbances in local causality fields, detailed below.

UCTG Engineering advises: Recent operational long-period jumps have created a disturbance in local causality fields that have become positively reinforced into a resonance effect. Primary worldlines have been affected. Multiple Novikov events have been detected, temporarily connecting distant points on primary worldline, leading to incident simultaneity occurrences between these points.

Effective immediately, no long-period jumps greater than one hundred solices (Temporal Standard Displacement TSD-100) are permitted until further advised by UCTG Engineering.

Distribution and Effectivity this bulletin per Commandant, UCTG 01.

KEA: 2

NOTE: Advance copies not distributed per UCTG 4458.

FOUO: REPRODUCTION PROHIBITED UNLESS REVIEWED BY UCTG-021

Chaos City

Europa

Solix 6.15.3156

The Moon-farers conference and the treaty to be signed at the Concord Pavilion was the biggest thing to hit Chaos City since Closure Day, nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, when the last surface domes were closed over the city on the ice.

Leaders of all the major Moon-faring nations were there, Presidents, Prime Ministers, monarchs, general secretaries, first lords, everybody who had any kind of interest in occupying, developing or defending something in the Jovian system. The Treaty was to set up ground rules and assign rights and responsibilities for what was to come and avoid a chaotic land rush for prime sites, ice and water holes and mineral deposits that covered many of the satellites of Jupiter.

The Prime Councilor was there in the person of Esther Ndinka, resplendent in a radiant silver gown, her bone and ivory hairpieces clicking as she glided across the plaza, whirling to greet anyone and everyone.

The Callistonian President, one beef-faced Vasily Ovchenin in the flesh, pressed hands and slapped backs, reminding all who would listen that the first snapshots of Callisto from the surface had indeed been those taken by that venerable craft _Da Vinci 1_.

The Amalthean leader, Hu Jining, seemed positively circumspect by comparison, but held court among a bevy of adoring admirers and press, as he laid out a five-hundred-year plan for Amalthea's conquest of near-Jupiter space.

And there were lesser lights from lesser settlements and communities along with the Secretary-General of the Jovian Assembly, one Achmed bin Aswan, all circulating with drinks and hors d'oeuvres in hand, clustering and gesturing and shouting and laughing as the reception got fully underway.

The pre-conference reception was to be held in the main promenade of the Ice Plaza, the domed surface level of CC, as Chaos City was known to the locals. Situated nearly dead center in the floor of a crater, the Plaza was the topmost level of a city buried in ice, some eleven levels deep, and anchored nearly four hundred meters below the surface. From orbit, CC appeared to be a winking eye set among the central peaks of a narrow ravine. Inside the dome, with its spectacular views of Mount Rathmore to the west and Mount Prospect to the east, the funiculars arrowing off toward the peaks like spiderwebs, the shopping district known as the Blocks sloped down to the Galileo Fountains, and was jammed with throngs of gawkers and sightseers and press surging forward against the barriers toward the gaiety swirling about the Fountains and pool.

The reception was scheduled to conclude with an address by the Prime Councilor to all delegates, followed by a lavish dinner. The plenary sessions would begin the next day among the lower levels of CC, where the only view would be that of delegates and their ministers, and the beige walls of the conference rooms themselves. The delegates wanted to avail themselves of one last view from the surface before burrowing belowground like moles.

They could not have known, as the reception got underway, that there were others below ground as well, not inside the city at all, but approaching on a stealthy vector, visitors who did not have official invitations from the Concordance at all.

The first tremors came when the first course had just been served. Delegates and their spouses and ministers were seated at lavishly decorated tables spotted across the Plaza, all of them clustered under the baleful gaze of Galileo himself, who gazed heavenward with a crude tubular telescope in one hand.

"Look!" someone cried out. " _Look out_ \--!"

Galileo himself wobbled and soon toppled backward into a reflecting pool, his head and arms shearing off on impact. Just beyond the statues and fountains, the lifts which would take delegates down into the bowels of CC began listing to one side and one lift tube detached from its moorings and toppled over on top of Galileo himself.

A strong series of tremors and quakes had struck CC.

The waters of Lake Dundee abutting the Europa Terraces stirred as if a freshening breeze had blown in. Stones from the Rock Citadel above the Lake ran down the terraced hills and splashed into the Lake, as if a giant child had upended one entire end of the Plaza.

Screams and shouts erupted and the dining tables were tossed and kicked as delegates fled the lower promenade and climbed or scrambled through the Blocks, choking Ravine and Cube Streets as they sought the safety of higher ground.

Bin Aswan, the Secretary-General, tried to corral those panicked delegates who sought refuge at the foot of the Slope Houses, on the other side of the Plaza.

He listened for a moment. Heavy things were clanging and banging across the Plaza and the outer walls.

There was a tornado blowing around them, across the Plaza, up and down streets and alleys. Chairs, tables, shelves, shoes, racks of something, a pair of glasses, all were flying through the air, all entrained in a deafening blast of air roaring past bin Aswan. Clinging desperately to the door, he managed to keep from being sucked out. Ice crystals had already formed on chandeliers swaying over his head. One tore loose, shattered into a million shards and showered everything in sight with glass. He felt his ears pop. Pressure was rapidly falling.

Chaos City had suffered some kind of decomp catastrophe. Emergency air blowers flooded every hall, every compartment, with an overflow of oxygen and that combined with the roaring river of debris made maneuvering around the Plaza dicey, possibly suicidal. Bin Aswan decided to duck inside a nearby cafe. With effort, he got the door shut. Emergency seals sucked the door tight and he could feel the blowers blasting away over his head.

From instinct long burned into the memory of every Concordance citizen, he rummaged in the coat closet and found the mandatory customer pressure suit and assorted gear and hastily donned the garment.

Outside at Ice Plaza level, real chaos had come to Chaos City.

Bin Aswan could see they had only a few minutes at best. He motioned fleeing delegates and pedestrians to hurry. "This way...come on! Head up...go up...higher...Triangle Street, the Observatory...head for the Plumes—" he pointed southeast toward the famed Quarter of man-made fumaroles that hissed and belched in musical patterns just below the dome foundations. Like rats fleeing, many delegates followed him, scratching and clawing their way between the Slope Houses, while great sheets of glass and plaster rained down on them.

In all, the tremors seemed to last forever, but later seismic analysis showed the main pulses occurred over a four-minute interval. It was also only in that later analysis that the regularity and constant magnitude of the pulses could be seen for what they were: man-made bursts of energy injected into the surrounding ice crust, in effect a sonic lens deployed as a weapon to shake CC to its very foundations and create a maximum level of panic and chaos throughout the huge complex.

It was Vasily Ovchenin, the Callistonian President, who first saw the two ships appear as if they were huge metal gophers, breaching up through the inlaid tile and stone of the Plaza floor near the Galileo Fountains, their snouts glistening and shedding ice and regolith in great sheets as they came to rest in the shadow of the fallen statue.

" _Gospodi! Chto za chert_! What the hell...?" The great _vozhd_ of Callisto stopped his frantic climbing and turned about to look and point. "What kind of monster...they look like icecats, no?"

Matteo Bari, head of the Upper Union, was out of breath, cut from falling glass and nursing scraped hands and arms. He stopped, sat back to look for himself.

"Some kind of craft... _si_? Underground ship, _si_?"

Indeed, the two craft resembled huge, fat watermelons albeit of metal and composite. Three rows of treads lined their hulls, equally spaced around the circumference of the ships. A lens-shaped nose glowed a subdued blue-white, surrounded by a shimmering ball of light.

Even as the two men watched in amazement, hatches opened on the sides of both ships. Crewmen in hypersuits emerged, bearing odd-looking weapons, which they trained and fired upon knots of fleeing delegates.

Ovchenin scowled. He knew those weapons. "Suppressors, Bari. Those are suppressors, sound and stun weapons. Guardians, I'll bet, _mudaki_ assholes."

Even as he spoke, victims fell before the advancing squads, who circled the Fountains clearing a path for others who poured out of the ships behind them. Neither Bari nor Ovchenin initially saw the small element that had detached from the squad and begun ascending the terraces after them. When the two leaders realized they were the targets, they scrambled as fast as they could further upslope, hiding as well as possible behind planters thick with bougainvillea, behind palm trees and assorted statuary and topiary, as they sought refuge near the dome's inner walls.

But they were no match for the small squad of troops, who climbed steadily after them and when a clear shot was finally available, let fly bursts from their suppressor carbines.

First Bari, then Ovchenin pitched heavily into nearby shrubbery and twitched for a few moments, as their arms and legs seized into paralysis. The last thing the Callistonian saw before he fell down the black hole of unconsciousness was the helmeted face of one of their pursuers leering down at him, dark eyes clearly visible behind the partially open visor. A final burst from his suppressor was the coup de grace.

The assault was over in ten minutes. Both ships backed out of the Plaza, submerging in a shower of broken tile and ice shards, disappearing where they had come from. Slowly, urged by platoons of Europan Security officers who had started combing every recess of the Plaza, the delegates began to come down from their hiding places, from inside the warren of narrow paths known as the Blocks, from gutters and bushes between the Slope Houses, from rafters and beams above the Plumes still hissing their steam columns on schedule, and from pieces of plaster and wall panel floating like rafts out in Lake Dundee.

Quick-acting maintenance bots sealed the City's pressure enclosure, stopping the major leaks and turned down the emergency blowers. Airtight doors re-opened.

Europan Security assembled everyone around the perimeter of the Galileo Fountains, away from any structures that might collapse in subsequent tremors. Delegates from the nations sought the comfort of each other's arms. Knots of conference attendees staggered about in loose gangs, cut and bleeding, covered in dust, some requiring immediate medical attention and the medbots were thick among the litters of injured.

Counts and roll calls were done. Once that information was made available to Europan Security, headed by a tousle-haired female Major named Oliveira, the purpose of the man-made tremors and the assault became perfectly clear.

It was Major Oliveira who explained it to a bandaged Prime Councilor, Esther Ndinka.

"Madame Councilor, some of our national leaders seem to be missing."

Ndinka was sitting on the edge of the fountain pool, wincing as medbots applied salve and sutures to some nasty facial lacerations. "What do you mean _missing_ , Major? Go check with the delegations."

Oliveira tightened her lips and tried to be patient. Dealing with stubbornly incompetent brass had never been her strong point.

"Ma'am, we've canvassed every delegation. My people are still searching, of course...those ruins over there—" she pointed to some collapsed structures in the Blocks, which had fallen in on themselves like children's toys "—there could be people trapped in the rubble. We've got bots sniffing now. But this list—" she held out a small tablet.

"Let me see that," Ndinka ordered gruffly. She shooed the medbots away and ran her finger down the screen, her lips silently mouthing what she read. "Is this right...you're not able to account for the safety or whereabouts of these people...President Kendrick, President Ovchenin...Matteo Bari...Miyashi of Lysithea? Is this right, Major?"

Oliveira nodded her head. "We're looking now, ma'am, everywhere on this level, every structure, every culvert, every rubble pile. What makes me suspicious is that I have multiple eye-witness reports of several people being taken into those ships by those troops. Like they were kidnapped."

" _Kidnapped_?"

Oliveira drew in a deep breath. "We have to consider the possibility, ma'am. Unless we can find these four, the possibility should be considered."

Suddenly, Ndinka felt about two hundred years old. Maybe it was the difference in gravity levels. She'd knocked around the worlds of the Concordance enough times but flitting back and forth between different gravity fields did something to you and Ndinka was beginning to feel it in her bones. Or maybe it was just the blasted headache that rang like a church bell between her ears.

"Okay, Major. Okay, just keep looking—" She handed the tablet back and got painfully to her feet. "We'd better set up a meeting...my offices on Level 1. I want your top commanders and all the attending delegate chiefs. Two hours. No excuses, either."

"Yes, ma'am," Oliveira saluted and hustled off.

But before the meeting could start, the first message from the Guardians came in on EuropaNet wideband.

Connemara Chaos Station

Europa

June 15, 2249 CE ( _nine hundred years earlier_ )

Even as a catastrophe was unfolding nine hundred years in the future, Philippe Dugay's cruiser settled into orbit around Europa and he, Delano and Kasongo headed down to the City to locate the Time Guard jumpship. Delano knew they had some serious negotiating ahead of them to convince the authorities to allow them access to jumpship _Gemini_.

They left the crawlerway terminal and headed across the Ice Plaza to the lifts on the opposite side. Delano and Kasongo glanced at each other, silently acknowledging how crude the Station looked compared to what it would become in the future. Delano couldn't help himself, pointing out the crude rock walls beneath the dome.

"In my time, all that is gone. It will eventually be replaced by the most fantastic, living sculpture...we call it the Ice Citadel. Embedded nanobots change the shape and texture every day...it's never the same, like a living, breathing creature."

"This place is just cobbled together like a big camp," Dugay agreed. "It was hard enough to carve out a place to survive on this world, with the cold and the ice and the radiation. Concordance wanted a presence here because of the sub-ice ocean. We had prospector reports of unusual things down there."

Delano snickered. "That was nothing but echoes. Floating bergs. Your sonar...or your prospectors...deceived you."

Dugay seemed sad. "Then nothing lives in the ocean...we were sure there was life down there."

"Oh, there is life. Kind of like coral growths. We've dredged some of it up. Combined it with nanobots, almost like a slurry. That's how we made the Ice Citadel...but that's for later."

Kasongo led them into the lifts. "Our ship's being held on Level 2, if I remember correctly." They went down.

From memory, and after bluffing their way through several levels of guards and biometrics, they found themselves entering a large hangar bay. On a pedestal in the center, protected behind nanobotic shielding, sat jumpship _Gemini_ , now draped in cables and wires and sensors.

A technician—his name badge flashed _Monahan_ —came up. "I'm sorry, this area's off limits to visitors. You have passes?"

Delano tried to reason with Monahan. "That's my ship. We came in that ship. Your people picked us up."

Monahan was skeptical. "Right. And I'm the Ultrarch of the Concordance. Come on guys, get lost. We're about to run some tests here." As if to emphasize the point, Monahan was joined by another tech, and a dour-looking security officer...Europan Security, from his uniform and cap.

"What seems to be the problem? asked Security.

Delano tried to be polite and pleasant, adapting his own experience with Chaos City bureaucracy to this simpler time.

"Actually, that _is_ my ship. The Prime Councilor will corroborate my story. I just want to check a few things inside and explain some details to my...er, friend here." He indicated Dugay, who smiled hopefully at them.

Security was openly dubious. "The Prime Councilor. You want I should ring her up?"

"If you would, sir, that would be most helpful."

The techs got a laugh out of that. Security was in the process of physically escorting them out of the hangar bay, when the floor of the hangar suddenly jolted and shuddered.

Security was instantly alert. "Icequake! You clowns follow me...we need to find shelter now!"

The floor jolted several times, and the shudders began to die off when a loud _BOOM!_ could be felt through the walls. An explosion somewhere above them, at surface level, rattled the entire complex. The entire bay listed slightly and a strong breeze developed, then a cold ice fog began forming.

Monahan mouthed over the roar of the air. " _De-comp...get to shelter_! Get to the suits!" He trotted off to a line of lockers along one wall, the other tech right behind. Security had vanished completely.

Evelyn Kasongo noticed the security barrier flickering and popping. A moment later, it collapsed completely, showering light all around. The path to the jumpship was clear.

"Come on!" she yelled. "Before they come back--!"

"But the alarms!" Dugay yelled over the roar. "The sirens—"

" _Come on_!"

They ran up the platform steps and Kasongo had the ship's hatch open in seconds. She shoved Delano and Dugay inside the cramped compartment, then began powering up ship systems. _Gemini_ hummed into life.

Beyond, the walls of the hangar bay were beginning to buckle. Kasongo felt her eardrums pop; the entire station was losing pressure and emergency air blasted into the bay in a deafening roar.

Delano threw up his hands. "I don't know how to operate this...I don't know what to do!"

Kasongo said, "There's no time...ALBERT will run the ship. Just let him run the show."

"Can we get back at all?"

Kasongo was already quickly programming the ChronoNav system. "I think I can put you within a solix or two of our departure time...that's the best I can do." She noticed a flashing warning message on a nearby display...some kind of bulletin from Time Guard, but there wasn't time.

A cold ice fog was forming across the hangar bay and furniture, parts and pieces of gear swept past them, entrained in the roaring airflow.

"You've got to go now!" Kasongo yelled. She slammed the hatch shut and secured it, then raced for the outer doors.

Inside _Gemini_ , ALBERT's calm voice counted down the final seconds to the jump. Delano looked over at Dugay, who was white and shaking.

The only thing Delano could think of to say was: "Two architects in a Time Guard jumpship...what's wrong with this picture?"

The vibration through the hull was building as _Gemini's_ singularity core steadily gained full power. Outside, ALBERT ran her control surfaces through a pre-programmed set of motions and the squeal of long-silent flowvaters made them both wince.

The ship's AI announced, _"I have all sensors tuned to the exact frequency of vacuum field fluctuations. Temporal course is set. We are centered in the cylinder of displacement to within twelve point five zepto-arcseconds of nominal course. Adjusting now...."_

Delano knew what a jolt was coming and warned Dugay, "This is like driving an icecat off a cliff."

The voidtime boundary came up much faster than he expected.

" _Increasing to redline."_

_Gemini_ shuddered slightly, as her power plant stroked higher and she nosed into the outer edge effects of the voidtime channel.

Just then, _Gemini_ lurched one last time in the growing turbulence and punched straight through the barrier, straight out of truetime into...where?

In an instant, they were yanked into the river of time, spinning, yawing, and rolling like a top. For Delano, the first impulse seemed insane, like being shaken to death in some dog's mouth...or maybe it was the ship itself that seemed to be coming apart. It was hard to tell. Now they were both whirling and spinning, dizzy, round and round, he could feel the force of the spin against his head, pressing, crushing him....

He had a fleeting glimpse of Dugay—he thought it was Dugay, he couldn't really tell and he nearly vomited at the sight. It was all wrong...the image was wrong and his mind refused to accept it—there was Dugay, with two heads, now three, now four, now eight heads, popping out of his shoulders like geraniums in a fast motion video, Philippe Dugay with his head missing, distorted in a cracked mirror, and he closed his eyes, couldn't look at it anymore— It was all wrong...the image was wrong and his mind refused to accept it, even though he had been told to expect such things in the briefing.

... and then it came. An image of geometric forms—icosahedrons, polygons, trapezoids—all compressed into that same tunnel, a long curving corridor and he found himself hurtling at breakneck speed down this corridor, until—

They were in.

And _Gemini_ found herself caught in the backwash of worldlines unraveling like threads off a spool.

Nine months before his very first trip in a jumpship, Pieter Delano had been riding his turbobike down Voyager Street up at Chaos City's Ice Plaza level, coming back from a visit with his recovering Dad at the hospital, when the bike hit a pothole in the street. Delano lost control and somersaulted over the handlebars. When he thought about this later, he realized just how much time had slowed down in those few airborne seconds. Like his Dad always said: " _It's not the fall that hurts, it's the sudden stop at the end."_

So he had been airborne and basically weightless for a few seconds—not uncomfortably so—then his tumbling body had slammed into the ground inside a culvert adjoining the street.

Days later, when he talked about the experience, Delano mentioned that going through a time jump was like that: moments of peaceful weightlessness, almost a dreamlike quality, except for the bright strobing lights outside the porthole and then the sudden stop.

It was like having a horse kick the crap out of you. Or maybe driving your bike headfirst into a brick wall at eighty miles an hour.

Physics tells us that mass affects the flow of time. Because of this, Time Guard jumpships have to navigate around large masses to stay in the primary time stream or accept that their transit speed and time would vary according to how close they pass near to large masses, like stars or black holes. Often navigation charts and courses were plotted to steer clear of known mass concentrations, just as a kayaker in whitewater would steer clear of hydraulics or rocks in a stream. Other routes were plotted to take advantage of known time stream effects and make quicker runs to common destinations.

In the late 28th century, a new temporal phenomenon was discovered called _voidtime_. Certain extreme singularity core conditions allowed a jumpship to enter a time stream and yet flow as if it were literally "outside of time". Voidtime was a place where time didn't flow, nothing aged or deteriorated, a sort of featureless ether that was nonetheless traversable using pulsing features of a jumpship's singularity core. Some physicists theorized that voidtime was like a black hole turned inside out, a place and time where normal laws didn't apply. In historical terms, voidtime was considered to be like an ancient sailing ship becalmed in the doldrums, unable to go anywhere, but able only to drift with the prevailing currents. Now, with singularity pulsing as a possible technique, it was theoretically conceivable to traverse voidtime, though speeds and navigation accuracy were less than in a normal time stream.

When he came to, Pieter Delano felt the difference. It wasn't on instruments. The panel was dark, the ship's sensors detecting nothing, for there was literally nothing to detect outside. But he could still feel something.

He realized he was hearing a distant voice—it was one of Evelyn Kasongo's old tapes, she had often talked about it...was it her instructor, old man Jellicoe again, from her days at the Academy? Lecturing on time in that gruff, hoarse voice that reminded Delano of the grunts of cave bears in history vids...somehow the violence of the jump had turned it on:

" _Listen up, jolts...there is no single time: there's a different duration for every trajectory and time passes at different rhythms according to place and speed. It's not directional; the difference between past and future doesn't exist in the equations of the world. Its orientation is merely something that appears when we look at things and neglect the details. It's a blurred view of existence. In this blurred view, the past of the universe was in a curiously particular state of entropy...low entropy. The notion of a present doesn't work either. In this universe, there is nothing, beyond higher entropy, that we can call the 'present.' The substratum that determines the direction of time is not independent, different from other things that make up the world. It's an aspect of a dynamic field. It jumps, fluctuates, materializes only by interacting with other things and is not found beneath a minimum scale...the Planck scale...you've got to deep-six your watch, you got to try and understand...the time it seems to capture is just the movement of its hands...."_

Delano shook himself awake and smiled ruefully. You had to love Kasongo and her penchant for saving everything. He felt more than heard the stirrings of Dugay beside him.

Dugay sat up in his seat groggily. He stared bleary-eyed at the console, looked over at Delano and said what no one wanted to hear.

"Where are we?"

In answer, ALBERT's voice was a soothing balm.

" _We are in voidtime_."

"That doesn't sound so good, ALBERT. What can we do? Can we get home? Back to where we started?"

ALBERT crunched on that a few long moments, then said this: " _There are theories. Experiments at the Enceladus Lab showing that it may be possible, even with significant damage to a core, to modulate its twist fields by modulating power to the core."_

Delano considered that. He'd never known ALBERT to make jokes about anything. Humor wasn't in his program. He didn't even really know what the ship's computer was saying. "Okay, so what do you suggest?"

ALBERT replied. _"_ Gemini _has almost no maneuvering. We have damage to our flow vanes and rudder. And, officially, there's nothing to react against in voidtime anyway. The core's showing a seventy percent drop-off in twist output. That should be checked out. If the core's even minimally operable, I recommend we modulate power to it from the power plant. Pulsing a core was shown in the experiments to be able to induce a small amount of momentum to a ship otherwise incapacitated. The core reacts through its twist fields with the vacuum matrix of spacetime itself...that's what kicks us into different time streams and gives_ Gemini _some maneuvering ability in time streams."_

Delano was still skeptical. "Where would we maneuver to, assuming we can do this? We don't know where we are...and voidtime won't tell us."

Here, ALBERT threw up a small chart, on their displays. " _True enough but if we can pulse the core in such a way as to get enough momentum, we can drift and steer ourselves here_ —" the display indicated a zone on the maps with all kinds of cautions and warnings surrounding it. "— _Newton's Jaw."_

Dugay understood none of this. "So what is Newton's Jaw after all?"

" _Newton's Jaw is a gravimetric lens. A zone of instability. Lots of gravity waves crashing together_."

Delano was trying to get his head around all this. "ALBERT, let me see if I've got this right...if _Gemini_ can get up enough momentum from pulsing her core, we could, theoretically at least, surf along the outer bands of this Jaw thing and gain even more momentum?

ALBERT acknowledged the basic idea. " _Done right—and I'd have to make calculations to show this—the ship could punch right through the voidtime barrier out into some time stream, maybe even good old T-001. Some place where our normal controls might work."_

"That's a lot of ifs," Dugay said.

Delano agreed. "What choice do we have? If we do nothing, apparently we just drift...for all eternity. A relic...something to be discovered centuries from now. I just wish Evelyn had had enough time to check me out on all these controls."

"What happened back there at the hangar?"

ALBERT offered an explanation. " _Conditions detected approximated a classic Novikov event."_

"What the hell does that mean?"

ALBERT replied, " _A resonance effect in local causality. Experiments have shown that such an effect can create a simultaneity event, connecting two distant points on the same worldline. What happens at one point on the worldline can also occur, simultaneously, at another point. The experimental data show this is normally a transient and temporary effect_."

Delano weighed all the pros and cons. "ALBERT, let's do what you proposed. Go ahead and make whatever preparations you have to." Nobody had any better ideas.

From inside _Gemini's_ tailpod, ALBERT checked all systems and reported back what he had found.

The tailpod was at the ship's stern. The pod was sealed and insulated from the rest of the ship, housing as it did her twin propulsors, the collapser generator, flowvater and planes controls and the singularity core in a specially shielded compartment.

ALBERT reported the bad news.

" _Power couplings appear intact though I may need to re-route with spares to keep them going. However, there may be a problem with our T-buffers."_

Delano was at pains to show his ancestor Philippe that he did have some idea what ALBERT was talking about. "What about the T buffers? That's the main thing."

There was a brief pause, then, " _I count sixty-six twist buffers active, showing green. The rest are shot. We'll have to drydock_ Gemini _to get those replaced_."

"Um...are there enough buffers to do what you proposed?"

" _I'd have to say..."_ another pause, they could hear ALBERT muttering something to himself in the background, "... _probably_. _Barely. We can cycle and modulate power okay. Have we got enough twist capacity to work against local spacetime...to be honest, I don't know_."

Delano swore silently, wishing it were otherwise. He had a bad feeling about all this. "Okay, ALBERT, get going. Tell us how we can help."

Hundreds of years before, sailors becalmed in the doldrums would sometimes set out small boats filled with rowers, to physically pull a ship forward, hoping to find the slightest gust of wind to fill their sails. In a sense, _Gemini_ was trying to do the same thing. By judicious pulsing of her singularity core, modulating the power—and it was not a practice the dockyard engineers recommended—the hope was that the ship would gain enough reactive force through her damaged twist buffers to react against the vacuum structure of spacetime itself, against the matrix foam that constituted reality at its most fundamental level, to shove and nudge and will the ship toward the temporal instability known as Newton's Jaw, at least toward its outer bands of gravity wave turbulence. With luck and some skillful maneuvering—they were counting on ALBERT for this—the ship could gain enough momentum to punch through voidtime itself and back out into a normal time stream.

Then, even if the ship were still damaged and adrift, she had a better chance of being detected and rescued.

ALBERT monitored the twist field output of the core carefully while Delano worked the power controls as the ship's computer monitored. Over a span of several hours, synchronizing their efforts, the two of them managed to tweak and nudge and prod _Gemini_ forward, while Dugay learned how to keep the ship oriented properly and headed toward Newton's Jaw. Inside of three hours, ship sensors registered the first faint tugs of the gravimetric lens that was the Jaw.

"ALBERT, where are we?" Delano asked.

ALBERT displayed a plot. " _Pretty much centered on trajectory. Maybe you could steer left five degrees more. That would center us better. I'm already seeing the Jaw's effects on our accelerometers. Momentum's picking up smartly_."

"How's that?"

" _Better...much better_."

"How far to the Jaw?"

ALBERT did the math. " _Maybe sixteen, seventeen hours. Depends on how much speed we can build up."_

"ALBERT, can we pulse a little faster? Maybe we need more speed to make our tangent to the Jaw work." _Like I have any idea what I'm saying_... _Kasongo would be so proud...._

" _Negative,...I'm nursing the T-buffers as it is. We could lose ten or fifteen of them at any moment now."_

Delano sank back in his seat and closed his eyes. "Then I guess we'll coast for awhile. ALBERT, check our course again. Can we make the approach corridor on our current trajectory? I don't want to go in too steep...the Jaw'll rip us apart."

" _Current trajectory...we can make it...barely. I'm getting an intermittent corridor warning, but it's touch and go for now. On this trajectory, best guess is we'll be okay."_

"Unless Newton has some surprises in store for us. Okay, maintain present course and speed. Now all we can do...is wait." A rueful thought came to him: _here we are stuck in voidtime, and we have all the time in the world._

Hours passed slowly. Delano and Dugay told stories. They told dirty jokes. They sang songs. Inspected every inch of the cabin, re-calibrated every system, every instrument, cleaned things that didn't need cleaning...all to stay sane, while the ship picked up speed, now caught in the grasp of the gravity well of Newton's Jaw, a well created by a long-dead neutron star of enormous mass. According to ALBERT, at their point of closest approach, the parabolic tangent Gemini was flying would gain them a speed of .08c, an appreciable fraction of light speed. The approach corridor was less than a hundredth of a degree.

There would be no margin for error.

Entering the zone of distortion, for that's what the books called the inner reaches of the Jaw, Gemini began picking up a pronounced shimmy, a shuddering, foot-numbing vibration that no amount of trim on her nearly useless controls could counteract. Newton's Jaw was a vast lens, focusing gravity waves from multiple, very distant sources—colliding black holes, other neutron stars, pulsars from the other side of the Galaxy, the Jaw was like a 'hydraulic' in the flow of gravity waves, a realm of contending, crashing gravitational surf and Gemini was aiming to ride the outer bands of this turbulent zone, gaining enough velocity, with the proper heading to speed away and punch right through the voidtime channel she was trapped in. If all went well, if all the calculations were right and the contending forces had been accurately mapped by Time Guard's Survey Service, Gemini would emerge again into truetime still inside the gravity well of the Sun. From that point, normal comm channels should be available and they could call for rescue, and with any luck, limp to their programmed destination.

"Inflection point coming up," ALBERT announced. "Now, nine minutes forty seconds from closest approach. Ship speed has increased seventy-four percent in the last two hours."

Delano folded his hand; there was nothing left to do. "Any corridor warnings? Any flags or cautions?"

ALBERT almost seemed to clear his throat...could an AI even do that?. "None, Mr. Delano. All systems functioning normally. We have some trim control and I've ordered a slight adjustment to trim out as much of this vibration as possible. Recommending the crew take their stations and secure for inflection."

Delano cinched his harness tighter. "I'll drink to that. Philippe, you heard the man. Take your station."

Gemini had acquired a slight low-rate roll as she approached the Jaw. Though worrisome, it caused no ill effects and ALBERT elected to let the spin continue. The ship's computer knew they were in the clutches of the Jaw already and there probably wasn't enough maneuvering power to counter the spin anyway.

"Reminds me of the Dragon's Tail at the Nomad Township circus," Delano gritted out. The ship was accelerating and ALBERT ordered all crewmembers to trigger their protective bot screens to shield them from the worst effects.

"Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen," Delano called out. "I have a feeling this will be one wicked ride."

Moments later, seconds away from the inflection point, Gemini shuddered like a wet dog shaking and her spin rate picked up.

Dugay felt a rising stream of vomit in the back of his throat and he muttered to himself, "Famous architects do not throw up, famous architects do not throw up—"

At her point of closest approach, jumpship Gemini groaned and shook as if a ferocious hand had just swatted her. Hull plates bent. Stanchions squealed. Shards of something shot across the cabin. Seats swayed under the tremendous stress, joints cracked, seams burst and anything not bolted down went flying...a sleet of debris pelted them for many seconds.

"Inflection point!" yelled ALBERT. "Max q!"

Then, suddenly as it had started, the roll began falling off and Gemini seemed to take a breath, as her structure was suddenly released from the bite of Newton's Jaw.

"Channel walls, ALBERT...how close are we?"

The AI checked their heading. "On course, Mr. Delano...right in the middle of the exit pipe...now exiting the distortion cone! Past max q—now riding the outer bands!"

Philippe Dugay managed to turn his head just enough to take a peek out a nearby porthole. What he saw nearly made him throw up.

The light from scores of distant suns had come through the gravitational lens and expanded into a million lights, all swirling and revolving like a slow-motion explosion, a tornado of glass shards caught in a vast floodlight.

With no more control, Dugay quickly lost what little he had left of his breakfast.

"Channel walls, Mr. Delano...dead ahead...ten seconds—"

Delano gritted his teeth. There were about a million things that could still go wrong with this stunt. Evelyn Kasongo, remind me never to sign up for Time Guard! "Give me the count, ALBERT!"

"Five...four...three...two...one...MARK!"

Gemini slammed into the walls of the voidtime channel like a rowboat plowing into a monster wave.

They had the speed. Trillions of calculations were done and confirmed. They had the trajectory. The approach to the inflection point had been precise, gaining them maximum advantage from the gravity assist the Jaw had imparted. The ship was trimmed as well as she could be, with minimal rates in all axes.

The question was: could she hold together? A Novikov resonance had bodyslammed the ship right through the very same channel hours before and somehow, she had held. But multiple passes through the mouth of the dragon wasn't what the designers of Gemini had in mind when her shipwrights had welded and beamed her together in the drydock at Ganymede Station.

Delano felt his mouth go dry as the ship plunged into the maelstrom.

It was Delano who first said something after the passage. The architect released himself from containment in the seat and checked nav instruments on his console. On his own, he ordered ALBERT to begin star sightings and determine Gemini's true position. While this was going on, Delano tended to his ancestor.

Nobody seemed seriously hurt. Dugay had bit his tongue and his face was banded with dried streaks of blood. Delano dressed the cuts and did a quick medstik on the tongue. That's when Gemini began to slide, an unmistakable motion of sliding down.

Delano looked out the nearest porthole. His blood ran cold.

"What the--?"

Dugay looked too. Outside, even as the jumpship was clearly sliding and moving, they saw a bright spray of yellow and white streamers, almost like embers in a falling rain of fire. Fiery red tongues of lava seeped down a nearby hill, carrying Gemini along to some place lower. The sky was a rainbow of yellow and red and orange and white, all set against the backdrop of stars...and the swollen bands of Jupiter, now nearly filling the night sky.

Delano swallowed hard. "Philippe, somehow, I have a feeling we're not on Europa anymore."
Chapter 15

On the Surface of 2351 Wilks-Lucayo

Four Days to Earth Impact

Solix 8.3.3156

Johnny Winger was seething mad, so mad he could taste it. The Guardians had won this round and the thought went down like sour meat. Wilks-Lucayo was only a few days from slamming into the earth and there wasn't much more they could do about. The Guardians had hacked the berg's impulse motors, taken control from GreenMars and diverted it away from smacking the northern lowlands of that world, lending the Vastitas Borealis billions of tons of much needed volatiles. _Stop Sol Secundas_ had been their manifesto.

Quantum Corps had sent his Detachment of troopers to try and cleave the asteroid into pieces. This low in Earth's gravity well, Wilks was too massive for the impulse motors to thrust it away. In pieces, there was a chance.

But Wilks was a stubborn rock and the Detachment had failed. All that was left now was a last-ditch effort to blast the damn thing with mag guns and hope for the best.

The taste of a failed mission sat in the pit of his stomach and burned.

"Secure all your gear and make ready to boost," Winger ordered. "We lift off in thirty minutes."

Winger, Spivey, Calderon and Reaves did a quick hop around Alpha site, gathering up any loose equipment they wanted to take back. A nearby packbot was activated and quickly loaded down with gear. It whirred across the dusty ground, picking up tools.

Winger decided to call up Captain Mendez aboard _Galileo_.

"We're boosting back to the ship within the hour. How's our patient?"

Deeno D'Nunzio was still semi-conscious and battling infections in the ship's tiny sickbay. Medbots were slowly stitching several bone breaks back together. Mendez took the call just outside sickbay.

"We've still got the bioshield up, Major. Trooper D'Nunzio is recovering, slowly. She sustained severe facial lacerations, a broken collarbone and several broken bones in her arms and legs. Plus, she may have spinal damage...I'm waiting on the scan results. But we've got the bots hard at work and she's coming along."

Winger described his plan. "I want to use the ship's coilguns on this rock pile, Lieutenant. ANAD's so bollixed up, we can't trust him again to bore through without doing full diagnostics. We don't have the time."

"You're telling me," Mendez replied. "That planet up ahead isn't getting any smaller. GreenMars estimates atmosphere contact and entry in ninety-one hours, twenty-two minutes."

"We're boosting in less than half an hour. Get the coilguns powered up and checked out. It's our last hope."

"They can't split up Wilks, Major. Not enough momentum behind the shots. Unless the asteroid's hanging together by a few threads."

"ANAD's almost punched through two of the dig sites. We're close enough to give it a try. Just get the guns ready."

Mendez agreed to rig the coilgun batteries for a test shot.

Winger saw a pair of hypersuited troopers bounding toward him, giant kangaroos leaping twenty meters or more into the sky, rooster-tailing dust as they vaulted up and down. It turned out to be Dana Tallant and Taj Singh from the Chasm.

"Charlie site's all secure, Skipper," Singh said. "Calderon's loading up the packbot and he'll be ready to boost in five minutes." The CEC2 skidded to a stop, piling up a small cloud of dust as he halted.

Tallant landed a few meters away, planting her boots firmly onto the rubbly plain. "Don't even need boost to get around on this junkyard. Just leap into the sky like Superman."

Bravo site checked in ready over the crewnet. Vic Klimuk wasn't visible since the site was below the asteroid's short horizon. But there was no mistaking his readiness to depart.

"Everything's stowed and copacetic, Major Winger. I've already laid in the boost course in Packy's brain...just give us the word and we're out of here like a rocket."

" _Sayonara_ and amen to that," added Ray Spivey.

"Dana, you and Taj stay here with me. All troopers, boost when ready. Head back to the ship."

Moments later, the surface of 2351 Wilks-Lucayo erupted in multiple pillars of dust from one horizon to the other, as quantum troopers from the three dig sites boosted into the sky. From Odin's Fissure at Alpha Site, the others looked like strings of spiderweb unspooling into the heavens, converging on the dimly lit cylinder of _Galileo_ several kilometers above them.

"Kind of like watching our anchoring lines go in reverse," Tallant observed. "Speaking of which...I assume Mendez will be doing that pretty soon."

"As soon as all troopers are aboard," Winger said. "Now for ANAD...keep your mag guns ready, Dana, just in case—"

"Nobody has to remind me of that." The swarm master bot had suffered glitches throughout the mission. She cycled the power cell and made sure the carbine was fully charged. Singh did likewise.

"Okay, Dana, let's get the hell out of here."

"With pleasure," Tallant agreed.

The two of them lit off their suit boost and lifted away from the surface of Wilks-Lucayo. The trip up to _Galileo_ took about twenty minutes.

As they ascended, Winger surveyed the crumpled terrain of the asteroid, now dwindling below his boots. What effect had the Detachment really had on the asteroid? Would ANAD's boring be enough to break up the asteroid in time?

The Chasm of Asgard lay between his feet, framed by the rocket plumes of his suit boost. The great fissure was deeper and blacker than ever. Their own geo analysis had indicated ANAD had bored nearly two thirds of the way through Wilks at the Chasm...there wasn't much now holding the rubble pile together.

"A few good shots from _Galileo's_ coilguns ought to do the trick." Dana Tallant's voice crackled over his helmet speaker. She had been having the same thoughts.

"I just hope we've done enough."

Both of them could see the mottled brown and green outlines of Africa and the deep blue of the Indian Ocean basin on Earth, less than four days away now and filling their sky rapidly. With the dying Sun, great ice sheets had already started to creep south across northern Europe and North America.

"Yeah, it's not like there's much room to maneuver. Those impulse arrays look mighty small down there."

"Let's get back to the ship and start blasting. The sooner we break up this rock pile, the sooner GreenMars can shove the pieces out of the way."

Ten minutes after the two of them had floated into _Galileo's_ service deck airlock and cycled through into the ready room, Johnny Winger decided to go ahead and start his after-action report.

"I've got to call Table Top—" He hurried out of the ready room and made his way forward to the comm shack. He dialed up Table Top, Colonel Kraft, hoping to catch the base commander, make up whatever excuses he could think of.

Kraft's harried face came up on the vid. Behind him, figures scurried and dashed about, moving things, shouting, gesturing. It was chaos.

"Johnny...I'm glad you called—" Kraft turned to give someone off-screen some instructions, then scribbled something on a tablet. He handed the tablet off to a staff aide. "As you can see, we're evacuating the mountain. Orders from General Linx. We're being re-located to an underground facility in Switzerland, near Basel, I think—"

"Colonel—"Winger felt a catch in his throat. "I just wanted to make an early report."

Kraft's face visibly tightened. He shook his head, continued stuffing papers and items into a small satchel. "There was nothing more you could do, Johnny. We've been watching the Detachment through long-range scopes courtesy of Gateway. Get the hell away from there, while you still can."

Winger felt like he weighed a million tons. His heart sank. "We—" but he stopped, re-shuffled his thoughts. "We've boosted off the asteroid, Colonel. I managed to gum up the Big Bang that happened here and stop ANAD from doing any more damage. But we can't use ANAD anymore...and our embeds won't work very well with borer configs...they don't have the processor smarts. We're going to have to finish the mission with _Galileo's_ coilguns."

Kraft understood. "UNIFORCE has been talking with GreenMars the last few days—Nakamura, I think. As long as you can split up Wilks the way they described, Nakamura says the impulse motors should be able to divert what's left away from Earth. But I don't have to tell you—it's chaos here. Everywhere...cities are in an uproar all over the world...people fleeing...riots...mass waves heading to the ports, to the mountains, the coasts, anywhere. It's like just going somewhere—doing something—will somehow save them." Kraft's eyes were tired, weak and watery. Winger thought the Table Top base commander looked a hundred years old. He needed nanoderm bad.

"Has GreenMars made any analysis on possible impact sites?"

Kraft nodded. "According to General Linx, some scenarios have been generated. But nobody's saying anything publicly. It's all pretty closely held... _'we don't want to start a panic_ '...is the explanation I've heard. I've got news for you: the panic has already started. Official silence is only making it worse."

Winger swallowed hard. "Then it's pretty clear what we have to do here."

He sensed a presence nearby. It was Kamler, the ship's pilot. He had drifted down to the comm shack from the command deck.

"Major, the Lieutenant would like to get everything stowed and squared away. He wants to start maneuvering in one hour."

Winger acknowledged. "Tell Mendez the Detachment will be buttoned up in half an hour. You're warming up the coilguns?"

"As we speak," Kamler said. "We need to back _Galileo_ off about two kilometers before we start blasting. Surface effects...we could be hit by stuff flying off Wilks if we stay any closer. As it is, we only have proximity maneuvering. We have no way to run and hide if things go south."

Winger knew he might never see Colonel Jurgen Kraft again.

"Colonel, we've got to get buttoned up here. _Galileo's_ prepared to cut her anchor lines and back off. We should be ready to start shooting in one hour."

"Good luck," Kraft said. "And once you've got that asteroid broken up, get the hell out of there. I know that ship has lifeboats."

"Barely enough to accommodate the Detachment, sir. It'll be a tight squeeze."

"Just get your ass back to Earth, Major. I don't want to lose my best atomgrabber."

"Acknowledged...Winger out." He turned to face Kamler. "Stu, let's go kill us an asteroid."

Kamler was grim as they scrambled forward to the command deck. "With pleasure, Major."

Winger got on the crewnet. "Detachment, this is the Major...listen up—" throughout the ship, in every compartment, quantum troopers were de-suiting, stowing gear, jamming equipment into lockers, securing loose items, cussing and swearing and making obscene gestures at the battered, pock-marked surface two kilometers below them.

"—get everything squared away by 1730 hours...you've got half an hour. Strap in and hold on. _Galileo's_ going to cut anchor lines and back off two klicks on proximity thrusters. Then we're going to blast this sumbitch to kingdom come."

Shouts and hoots and more swearing erupted in every compartment.

"Kick asteroid ass!" yelled Turbo Fatah.

Mighty Mite Barnes pumped her fists in the air. "Yeah...let's make cereal outta this berg—scorch the place!"

In the last row of jump seats on the Hab deck, Ozzie Tsukota quietly closed his eyes and tried to center his thoughts. He prayed silently to his honorable ancestors. _Please to let me not screw up...make many pieces of the hateful Wilks-Lucayo..._

Winger heard some of the jeers over the crewnet. He finished cinching up his own shoulder and lap harness, giving them one last tug.

"Detachment prepped and ready, Lieutenant. You may commence operations."

Mendez and Kamler were at the command station up front. Through the portholes, they had a panoramic view of 2351 Wilks-Lucayo, now rolling over like a sick potato on a spit, rolling into deep shadow as it rotated and gyrated and nutated toward Earth.

"Give me a five-second count on my mark, Stu," Mendez commanded. "Arm anchor line pyros—"

"Pyros armed," Kamler came back.

"Mark—" he twisted a handcontroller. "I'm thrusting up and away—"

"Five...four...three...two..."

"Full slack on the cables—"

"... _one_...punch it, Pete!"

Mendez stabbed a button on a side panel. A staccato clanging sounded through the hull of the command deck, as one by one, the five anchor lines were explosively severed. They watched as the five spider webs pulled sharply down and away, whipped through space by the asteroid's nine-hour rotation. At the same moment, _Galileo's_ jets puffed briefly and the huge shish-kebab of a ship drifted outward, fast enough to avoid being snagged by the anchor lines.

"Lines away and clear, Skipper," said Kamler. Both men breathed a long-held breath. It had been a ticklish operation, fraught with possible catastrophe.

"We're backing on proximity thrust...two point five meters per second...nulling all rates—"

The entire maneuver took about an hour. The ship pulled out to a distance of nearly two kilometers and hovered in the asteroid's weak gravity field as Wilks continued her slow rotation below them.

"Coilgun status, Stu," Mendez inquired.

Kamler checked the board. "All four tubes ready in all respects, Lieutenant. We have a full magazine...sixty-four shots in all. All coils are charged. First rounds loaded."

Mendez turned back to Winger, who was strapped into a jump seat behind the main control deck. Dana Tallant was there too. "I've got the cannon boresighted on Bravo site, Major. Would either of you care to make a final check of my alignment?"

"With pleasure," Winger said. He slid up to the targeting scope and peered in. The crosshairs were centered on the lower end of Odin's Fissure. In the scope, the fissure was a deeply shadowed, sinuous crack in Wilks' surface, spilling out of rugged upcountry near Loki crater, then trending down-sun across a rubbly plain, centered like a dagger between two parallel ridges.

If all went well, if ANAD's boring had gone deep enough, if the geo's analysis of Wilks' composition were right... if...if...if...Winger realized he had stopped breathing. He forced himself to relax.

This had to work.

"I believe you are centered and targeted properly, Lieutenant. The rounds have to hit the fissure pretty much dead on."

"I've still got your grid to guide me in," Mendez told him. "I can adjust the trajectory of the rounds in flight if I want to, although the traverse will take less than a second. I'm trying to fly right down the throat of that fissure. Major, I'm planning to do this in stages. I'm salvoing three rounds at first—that's twelve shots—at Bravo site, then we'll check and see what damage we've done. If there's no detectable breach at the fissure, I'm salvoing three more rounds...that's a total of twenty-four ferro-mag projectiles. I'll keep hammering at Bravo until we can detect some kind of measurable separation along that fissure. I've got sixty-four rounds in all, so I have to save some for the other sites. But I don't want Wilks flying apart in some uncontrolled fashion. _Galileo_ has extremely limited maneuverability. We do this right and, assuming your ANAD's done his job, we can sever one whole end of Wilks clean off from the main body."

"Lieutenant, ANAD did his job, you can count on that." Winger said it with more conviction than he really felt. He ignored a sideways glance from Dana Tallant. "You may commence firing when ready."

Mendez turned back to his control station and flexed his fingers like a concert pianist one last time. He did a quick recon of the board. Everything was clean and green.

"Stu, fire the first round. All tubes."

_Galileo_ had four coilgun tubes in a pod mounted to the top of her command deck. From head-on, the weapons pod made the ship's command sphere look like a rooster's mane. The pod was sighted in on Odin's Fissure and the Bravo dig site.

"Fire in the hole!" Kamler announced.

A sharp rippling crack sounded through the hull as all four tubes discharged at once. At the same instant, a brief light flash lit up the cockpit.

Four ferro-magnetic explosive projectiles slashed away from _Galileo_ and a split second later, slammed into the fissure head on, having traversed the intervening two kilometers at forty-four thousand kilometers an hour.

A white flash erupted from the surface of 2351 Wilks-Lucayo, followed over the next few moments by a billowing plume of rubble, rock and ejecta, mushrooming in slow motion out into the vacuum.

Winger silently prayed that ANAD had bored deep enough to expose bedrock to _Galileo's_ guns.

_This has to work_ , he told himself, over and over again. _We won't get a second chance. This has to work...._

"Measuring separation...I am seeing a little," Dana Tallant announced. She had a scope on the target zone. "Maybe a few meters...more at the lower end of the Fissure."

"Okay, let's do another round," Mendez announced. The coilgun was recycled, coils re-charged, new shots loaded.

"Fire it!"

The _flash-snap!_ crackled through the hull again and another mushroom two kilometers below them announced the impact.

"What's she look like now?" Kamler asked.

Johnny Winger put the targeting scope on the impact site. Most of the ground was obscured by dust and rubble, thick and slow-moving like a ground fog in the asteroid's minute gravity field. "Hard to tell...give me a radar pulse."

Mendez stabbed a button and electromagnetic fingers reached out across the void to kiss the surface. "Possible change in aspect ratio...there must be something in motion down there."

"Yeah, lots of rock from the looks of it. Sorry, Lieutenant, but I think we're going to need another round."

"Let's make it a half round this time," he decided. "We need to conserve shots for the other sites. Stu, re-cycle the gun but load two shots this time."

Kamler did as Mendez ordered. "Guns ready, Lieutenant."

"Fire."

A sizzling _flash-snap!_ sounded through the hull once more.

Winger watched as the white flash and the plume erupted off the surface, geysering in slow motion upward and outward into space.

It was Dana Tallant who saw the first signs of the breach. "Something's going on...right near Loki crater—look! See that rubble cloud spalling off? It's breaking up—"

Mendez studied the radar return. "Measurable breach this time. I'm getting a possible aspect change."

"Look at that debris!" said Kamler. " _Beautiful...just beautiful_!"

Wilks-Lucayo was still turning slowly, like a roasting potato on a spit. But now, one entire end of the asteroid was separating in slow motion from the main body. All along the cleft of Odin's Fissure, the asteroid was calving off a part of itself. Immutable forces of rotation were finishing the job first started by ANAD and helped by _Galileo's_ coilguns. Wilks was shedding an entire up-sun third of its body. The severed end hung together by seams of rock for a few minutes, enveloped in a swelling cloud of rubble. But the centrifugal force of the asteroid's rotation, combined with extra gyrations from its nutating wobble, corkscrewed the severed end away and it finally separated.

"We did it!" exulted Tallant. She pumped a fist in the air. "We chopped the bugger right off—"

"Dana—wait a minute...look..."

"I don't believe it...of all the—"

Even as the partitioned end of Wilks spun lazily away in an expanding fog of rubble and rock, a new fissure quickly opened up. Opposite what had been Odin's Fissure on the other side of Loki crater, a new seam had suddenly developed, a new crack.

"The mantle must have been weak there," Winger theorized. "She couldn't hold together when the breach came."

"Yeah, angular momentum made sure of that," Kamler added. "Her rotation increased and that must have stressed a pre-existing fissure."

The newly created body, spinning and wobbling away from what was left of Wilks-Lucayo, now calved off another section. The oblong chunk ran for hundreds of meters along a stress line that curved around the lower ridges of Loki crater. The small berg looked like a skullcap with fingers of rock sticking out into space.

"This isn't good news, folks," Kamler announced. "There's no impulse motor on that piece. It's just a loose rockberg spinning around in space."

Mendez was already on the comm. "I'd better advise GreenMars...UNIFORCE too. Without impulse arrays on that piece, there's no way to divert it from impact. Maybe killsats can zap it but it's going to be close."

"Let's hope it'll spin away from Earth...maybe just skim off the upper atmosphere."

Left unsaid was a tactic that had come to Winger's mind, a last-ditch desperation maneuver he hoped no one else would think of, if it was even possible. _Galileo_ might have just enough maneuvering propellant to bump the extra piece and nudge it away from Earth. But that would require somebody to stay on board and run the ship.

It was a silly idea anyway.

They watched the two severed pieces for a few moments. Both had picked up unusual torques in the breaching process and so spun, wobbled, and tumbled with crazy gyrations as they slowly separated from the main body of Wilks.

The asteroid itself, now shorn of roughly a third of its mass, had increased its own rotation rate as well.

"Wilks looks like a drunken dancer now...that end wobble has picked up," Tallant noted. "She's really nutating...can you sight in on Asgard?"

Mendez watched the rump asteroid gyrating like a spinning child's top for a few moments. The yawning fracture that was the Chasm of Asgard turned below them like a black seam stitched across the jagged up-sun end of the asteroid.

"I don't know...with that kind of rate, we'll have to pick our moment. Plus there's an extra wobble now. That'll make targeting a bitch...but we have to try. Let me study one full rotation, see if I can pick my spot."

Kamler interrupted. "I've got Nakamura on the vid, Lieutenant. GreenMars Ops wants all the data they can get on the smaller body."

Mendez saw the pale face of Kaoru Nakamura on the vid...floating in micro-g aboard Phoenix Station. The station had been established in a halo orbit about the Earth-Moon L3 point several years before...the better to keep a close eye on 2351 Wilks-Lucayo after it had first been detected, then scouted for use, then diverted to Mars impact.

"We've gotten radar off the smaller body—we're calling it Wilks-D—from Aristarchus Array just a few minutes ago," Nakamura was saying. "Geos say it's pretty light in mass, maybe just a loose rubble cloud. There's a chance it may break up if it hits Earth's atmosphere."

"We could try a few more coilgun bursts after our next breaching shot," Mendez offered. "Maybe that would help Wilks-D break up faster."

Nakamura advised caution. "Let the geos run with the data for a few hours...it's close enough to do spectrum analysis on...we can get a better handle on its composition then. We saw the vids of the first breach...good work, _Galileo_. Good shooting. And thanks to Quantum Corps too; I'm sure the ANAD digs helped that process. You're targeting Asgard now?"

"As we speak, Phoenix," Mendez said. "But the first breach imparted quite a dramatic wobble to Wilks. It's tumbling around like my son's football passes now. I'm not sure I can get an accurate shot at Asgard...and we don't have that much left in our magazine."

"Currently, we make you at about six seven two thousand miles from Earth. Aristarchus is giving us velocity and position updates every half hour. You're approaching the planet at just under 14,000 miles per hour. That puts impact in a few minutes less than forty-six hours...just under two days. By the way, if you can, translate _Galileo_ more toward the down-sun end of the asteroid. We're going to be operating the impulse motors on the piece that has them...the one with the polar arrays. I don't want the ship to be in the line of fire of the pellet stream."

"Roger that," Mendez said. "We'll move down-sun. But I can't go too far off axis from Asgard...I've got to take the best shot I can when I have it."

"Agreed. Just be advised we'll be operating the impulse motors within the hour. UNIFORCE wants to divert that piece as soon as we can."

"Understood... _Galileo_ out." Mendez punched in the new position to the ship's maneuvering computer. "This should put us about halfway between the Chasm of Asgard and Freya crater."

"Fabulous country," said Tallant. "I'd like to build a vacation home there."

"Stu, what's our magazine like?"

"Twenty-four rounds," Kamler told him. "Plus four loaded. That's it."

Mendez studied the terrain below as the ship's computers translated _Galileo_ to its new firing position. "Your opinion, Major. Best targets inside that Chasm--?"

Winger discussed the targeting with Dana Tallant. "You were the site commander, Dana. You had the grid. Where do we shoot?"

Tallant didn't hesitate. She pointed out an area a few hundred meters away from Thor crater. "See where the Chasm widens out...you can still see some of our garbage scattered around the dig site. ANAD boring was deepest there. Shoot there."

Mendez swung his targeting scope around to zero in on the location. He pressed a few buttons to slave the coilgun array to those coordinates.

"Coilguns enabled?"

"Armed and ready, Lieutenant."

"Do it, Stu. Now."

Kamler pressed the firing button. The staccato bang of guns discharging rippled through the command deck hull. Almost at the same instant, a bright white plume of rubble and dust erupted from the dim recesses of Asgard Chasm, geysering out into space like a slow-motion plant blooming.

Winger operated the radar to measure lateral separation across the Chasm at the impact site. "Minimal change...I think we just vaporized a canyon wall...landslide going on now. Can you tweak your aim a little bit uphill, into those shadows at the 'Y'?"

"I'll try," Mendez muttered. "But remember the asteroid's rotating. I'm trying to hit a moving target here...and there's still debris from the first shots fogging up the ground view. It'll take a few minutes for that stuff to fall out."

He made the adjustments and fired another salvo of four rounds. This time, the plume erupted into a massive boiling cloud of rubble, several times wider than the first.

"You hit something...a gas pocket, maybe," Tallant watched. "It's venting like the dickens."

"I see some separation now," Winger said. "She's beginning to breach...several meters per second—"

"Look...another seam," Kamler pointed out. "See to the left, back toward Heldof crater?"

"Crap...of all the rotten—" Winger said. "I don't believe it. This rock pile's nothing but loose rubble. It may tear itself into a dozen pieces."

They continued watching for a few moments, as the asteroid rotated below them, now enveloped in a debris field that sparkled and shone in the sunshine. The dig site at Asgard continued to widen, as centrifugal forces tore at Wilks' innards, flinging off boulders and smaller chunks. Soon, that end of the asteroid hung only by a few loose seams of rock, wobbling like a broken child's top.

"Designating main body as Wilks-A," Tallant said. "Largest bodies are now Wilks-A, B, C and D."

"Dana, there aren't enough letters in the alphabet to name all those pieces. I just hope most of that junk burns up in the Earth's atmosphere."

Mendez was grim. "We'd better let GreenMars know what's happened."

Aboard GreenMars Phoenix L3 Station, the Ops center was in an uproar. Kaoru Nakamura oversaw a small platoon of technicians scrambling to power up impulse motors on the surface of Wilks-Lucayo...or what was left of it.

Nakamura shook his head at the radar plots. Aristarchus and SpaceGuard were now tracking no less than twenty chunks of Wilks leftovers.

"What the hell are they doing up there?" he wondered out loud. "Every sim we did had the burg splitting cleanly along—"

"—excuse me, sir," interrupted Jonas, a nearby tech working the maneuvering console. "Polar arrays on Wilks-C are powered up. Loader bank and grid charged. The bots are giving us a good stream of material."

Nakamura knew they couldn't afford to wait. "Advise _Galileo_ once more. Tell them to stand off several kilometers, at least. We're firing in less than five minutes...start the count."

"Yes, sir." Jonas pecked out a few commands and set up the maneuver. "Estimating twenty-two point one meters per second, total delta-vee over a nominal one-hour burn, sir."

"Very well...we'll fire for an hour and re-plot. What about the other pieces?"

Jonas checked the board. "We have plots on Wilks A, B, C and D, from Aristarchus and SpaceGuard. There are impulse motors on A, B and C. D's a lost cause...it's going to hit in less than twenty-six hours. And Plot's giving us returns on a lot of other pieces up there...twenty in all."

Nakamura had queried his computer to display the original composition of Wilks, as determined by the first scoutships. "Must have more seams of volatiles than we allowed for. That could explain the explosive breaching _Galileo's_ reporting."

"Yes, sir...she was chosen for volatiles. Mars needed the oxygen, hydrogen and carbon and other similar elements."

"I remember. What was good fortune two years ago isn't so good now." Nakamura was in a quandary about what to do next. "Get UNIFORCE on the line. I need to let them now there will definitely be impactors."

"One minute to firing, sir."

Polamalu was the comm tech, a Somoan kid who had grown up in Singapore, joined Quantum Corps as a recruit and washed out of _nog_ school. He'd signed on for a stint at Phoenix L3 to get his spacelegs, with an eye toward UNISPACE and maybe even Frontier Corps as a career.

'Pollie' worked his board, ported the vid to Nakamura's station one level up. "It's UNIFORCE, sir. General Linx's office on screen one."

The Corps commander's face looked like an old hide leathery and beaten with worry. "Phoenix, what's going on? I'm getting SpaceGuard reports we still have impactors undiverted."

"That's correct, General. We're getting ready to divert one piece now. But Wilks seems to have shattered as it breached under _Galileo's_ coilgun fire. Carbonaceous bodies are like that...really just loose rubble piles, dirty snow cones. That's why we chose Wilks in the first place."

Linx winced like he'd been shot. "Give me the details. "What's going to hit?"

Nakamura went down the list. "Biggest worry is a piece we're calling Wilks-D. We have no divert capability for it. It broke off away from any of our impulse motors. This one came from the up-sun end, breached off and spun away from the Odin's Fissure site. I've just talked with our geos...they're saying the whole asteroid's probably riven with seams of volatiles, just waiting to be exposed to the Sun. Wilks-D is about seventy meters in longest dimension...I'm getting projections from Plot coming in right now...looks like entry velocity will be about 26,400 kilometers per hour. Estimated impact point is in North Africa, in the Sahara desert near the Algeria-Tunisia border. "

Linx winced at the thought. "I'll let UNSAC know. The Secretary-General will have to issue a broad-area alert. We still have two days...mass evacuations will help but we don't have a lot of time. What about the other pieces?"

"—thirty seconds to firing, sir—" It was Polamalu.

"We're preparing now to operate impulse motors on Wilks-C. Aristarchus should be able to give us a new plot after an hour's firing. Wilks-B breached intact and we have motors sited there. But Wilks-A shattered when _Galileo_ fired...Plot is following some twenty pieces out of that. Our impulse array is on one of them but the others—"

Linx was realistic about what was coming. "A primary object that big will create one hell of an impact. Shock waves, heat, probably a tsunami in the Med...I'm authorizing Quantum Corps to develop and execute ANAD operations around the Mediterranean basin...erecting a tsunami barrier might just cut down on the death and devastation. It'll have to be done at Big Bang scale to work...but that can't be helped. We don't have a lot of time."

"GreenMars is estimating a Level 9 impact on the Torino scale, sir." Nakamura watched the final seconds tick off to impulse motor firing at Wilks-C. "General, excuse me, I've got to monitor the burn."

"Very well, Phoenix...keep me advised. Linx, out." The vid blanked out to a stylized UNIFORCE logo...the sunburst and spear logo. Nakamura briefly imagined that's what Wilks-D would look like at the moment of impact.

"Five seconds, sir...four...three...two...one... _executing now_ —"

All of the impulse arrays had vid systems embedded in their controller mounts. The screens shook slightly from vibration and much of the view was obscured by rubble and dust clouds stirred up from breaching a few hours before.

Nakamura, Jonas and Polamalu watched as the launcher rail belched a stream of pellets, first one, then another, then another in a thickening stream which soon blurred into a continuous flow of shaped rounds, all expelled at twenty thousand kilometers an hour by the electromagnetic cannon.

"Stream coming up nicely...rate is nominal, mass nominal...looks like a good start, sir."

"Pan around, Pollie. I want to see the rest of the array, especially the feeder."

"Panning now, sir." Polamalu operated the vid cameras with a small joystick. Wilks was now close enough to Earth to enable real-time control of the burn.

From a distance, each impulse motor array resembled a giant T embedded in the rocky surface of the asteroid. At both ends of the top of the "T" were open pits excavated by robotic borers, feeding surface rock into crusher/processor stations. The crushers prepared raw surface stock for transfer along conveyor lines to the T's intersection with its leg. There, under the watchful eyes of its controller station, the shaped pellets were transferred through a charging grid into a loader bank. Now fully magnetized, the pellets, each roughly the shape of a small ball, were fed into the launcher chamber and accumulated into a shot. When the controller signaled firing, the magnetized shot was expelled by sequentially collapsing magnetic fields, slinging small masses away from the asteroid at up to twenty-thousand kilometers per hour. Total delta-vee was small with each shot...at best, a few tenths of meter per second but the impulse motor could operate for long periods, days at a time, slinging shots of rock off the asteroid, and so build up large delta-vees over time.

The trouble was they no longer had a lot of time. And Wilks-C was deep in the Earth's gravity well, accelerating every second.

Nakamura studied the imagery from Pollie's pan. "Borers, crushers, loaders, it all looks good. Magnetrons?"

Jonas checked readouts from the controller. "Charging to seventy-thousand gauss, right on the money."

"First results from Plot coming in, sir," said Polamalu. "Aristarchus is showing measurable delta-vee...just a fraction of a meter per second, but detectable. Rough projection: Wilks-C will skim the upper atmosphere, possibly bounce off."

"Okay," said Nakamura," we're not done yet. Start setup on Wilks-B, Pollie. Get the arrays warmed up. We're not home free."

General Wolfus Linx stared out his seventh-floor window for a few minutes, taking in the timeless Parisian cityscape spread out below. He wondered how much of it would survive the coming impact.

The Eiffel Tower dominated the northwest view, now covered with fixbots as it was nearing completion of the structural upgrade ordered by the Secretary-General a few months before. There was the Place Vendome and the low hill of Montmartre, thick with pedestrians and aircabs. UNIFORCE had been built seventy years before on the Rue des Jardins, at a busy intersection off the Luxembourg Gardens, deep in the heart of the 5th Arrondisement. The mansard roofline of the Palais du Luxembourg filled his northeast windows. And beyond that, the first white flanks of the approaching ice was barely visible on the horizon.

_No time to erect a nanobotic barrier now_ , he thought. _All resources will have to be devoted to screening off the Med, blocking the shock wave and the wall of water that would surely erupt from the impact of a seventy-meter object at twenty thousand kilometers an hour._

Whether such a hastily erected barrier along the periphery of the impact zone would be enough to contain the fury of the impact was not something Wolfus Linx cared to dwell on. _Better to die in action_ , he reminded himself, _than suffer life in doubt._

Linx dialed up Quantum Corps at its temporary site in Scharnhorst, Switzerland on the vid.

Colonel Kraft, now re-located from Table Top Mountain, came on the line. The colonel's harried face spoke volumes.

"Kraft, I've got a job for you. UNIFORCE just got early projections on what's left of Wilks-Lucayo after _Galileo_ finished her off."

"Nothing but rubble, I hope, General."

Linx filled him in on Nakamura's report. Kraft's face fell.

"That's bad, General. Will UNIFORCE be using the killsats?"

"We're throwing everything we have at the impactors, Kraft. I want Quantum Corps to develop a config and launch an ANAD operation to surround the projected impact zone with a barrier, to try to contain the worst of the shock wave, heat effects and water surge. You've got about a day and a half, by the way."

Kraft wasn't particularly surprised. "We've already got something cooking, General. We actually simmed this scenario a few years before, not in any detail, but we have the configs to start with already in Containment. I'll assign a Detachment right away. We should be able to lift to the site in about four to six hours...we'll need everything flyable Balzano has." Balzano, Italy was the site of Quantum Corps' Central Command base.

"I'll see you get it, Kraft. Coordinate with Nakamura at Phoenix L3 station on the details and the timing. I don't have to tell you UNSAC and the SG are under a hell of a lot of pressure now, to do something, to do anything. Get that barrier up now, Colonel. It may save a few hundred million lives. There are already so many ice refugees down there now."

Kraft acknowledged and Linx cut the link. The Colonel sank back in his seat, surveying all the boxes and containers that packbots were still wheeling around the underground base in the Konigsruhe Mountains just outside of Basel.

Surround the projected impact zone with a nanobotic barrier to contain the shock waves—

Just saying the words in his mind made Kraft's head swim. There were about a million things to be done and less than two days to do them: pull together some kind of Detachment; check with Containment and Engineering on concocting a config to slap up a barrier at double time, Big Bang speed; coordinate with Balzano on getting the lifters they would need.

It was bad enough they'd had to move temporarily out of the Table Top base. CINCQUANT himself had ordered that. Now the whole planet was in the crosshairs of the remnants of this blasted asteroid.

It made Kraft nostalgic for the days of Serengeti Factor, when Quantum Corps only had to face threats on one planet.

He dialed up Gabrielle Galland, nominally the battalion c/o for 2nd Nano. Galland had been TDY'ed to UNIFORCE Paris for a staff assignment. Her blond buzzcut came up on Kraft's wrist vid as he hurried down to Containment.

"Colonel—" Galland was saying, "I've just been summoned to a briefing...CINCQUANT's going over all the details about the asteroid fragment...scuttlebutt says we've got a few impactors coming our way."

Kraft rode the tube down to Scharnhorst's 05 Level and cycled through the locks to reach the Containment chamber. "Galland, I want you to honcho a special op." He filled her in on Linx's orders. The Major's dark eyebrows lifted like question marks.

"Sir, I've got several troopers in mind already...Lucy Liu, Chekwarthy, Kincade, probably Mwale too. He's dynamite on the latest configs. Speaking of configs—"

Kraft was one step ahead. "Already there, Major. I'm heading to the Tank right now. I know Wiggins and Klepnick have a few tricks up their sleeves. For starters, I'm thinking we adapt that config we simmed last summer in the counter-hurricane scenario."

"C101...I remember it, sir. I'll get the book on it and brush up on my way down. I can catch the maglev and be inside the Mountain in two hours."

"Do it," Kraft ordered. "I've got Balzano getting me some transport. Three lifters and one hyperjet will be at Basel airport by 1130 hours this morning. I want to depart for Algiers not later than noon, with everything."

"Understood, sir. Galland...out." Her face winked off his wristvid and Kraft passed through the last set of locks.

Bravo Detachment lifted away from the mountaintop pad at Scharnhorst in a dense ice fog and set down on the tarmac at Basel EuroPort half an hour later.

The Detachment would load up its gear onto two lifters and a hyperjet, hyperjet _Apollo_ , which would carry 2nd Nano south across the Med to its destination.

Kraft and Galland stood silently together in the cold dense fog while nanotroopers and packbots scurried up and down loading ramps, shuttling pallets and crates and containerized equipment back and forth. Once the lifters were loaded up, the black ornithopter ships would be collapsed down to their transport chassis and then themselves stowed aboard _Apollo_.

The trip down to Algeria would take only an hour. When the loadout was done and the last packbot had whirred off to the hangar, Galland turned to Kraft.

"Colonel, the last update I saw was impact in thirty-five hours. That doesn't give us much time. I'm not sure how much of this barrier ANAD can erect."

Kraft nodded in grim agreement. "We really don't know if this config will even work. For all we know, it might set off building circus tents on the beach. But we really don't have a choice now. CINCQUANT's under a lot of pressure to try something, anything."

"It's got to work," Galland said.

"Get down there, Major. Get that barrier up. "CINCQUANT...and a hell of a lot of people are counting on you."

"Roger that, sir." Galland saluted. She hustled off, toward the rear ramp to _Apollo_ , joining the rest of 2nd Nano as they boarded single-file, lugging rucksacks and web belts of more gear.

An hour later, the spaceplane rocketed down Runway 17 Left and shrieked off into the leaden gray skies over the mist-shrouded tops of the Jura Mountains, leaving only a trail of white billowing smoke corkscrewing back down to the ground.

Kraft lifted back to Scharnhorst, quiet and pensive. He knew the barrier operation was in good hands; Galland was as capable an atomgrabber as the Corps had. She had honcho'ed dozens of ops in every corner of the globe the last few years.

On the ride up into the mountains, Kraft tried to block out vivid imagery that kept surfacing in the back of his mind: scenes of catastrophic destruction, thousands of panic-stricken people fleeing wildly, whole nations flattened by hurricane-force winds, thousand-meter high tsunami waves flooding ancient villages like Basel, hundreds of kilometers inland....

Hell, it wasn't so hard to imagine Basel completely underwater...the Munsterplatz like a big lake choked with rubble and debris...and thousands of bodies, swollen, bloated bodies. That was the worst part--

Kraft squeezed his eyes shut hard and forced the imagery back into the dark hole where it had come from. He stared up at the last remaining stars now fading out of view above the mist. Daylight was coming and the first light of a brilliant hard blue Alpine sunrise tickled the tops of the mountains.

He knew Johnny Winger was up there, somewhere. Winger and 1st Nano had always completed their mission. And what was left of Wilks-Lucayo would be taken care of by Gabrielle Galland and the 2nd Nano Detachment.

There was no other way for matters to turn out. Kraft told himself that, over and over again. If you repeated something enough times, it became the truth, didn't it?

Back inside Scharnhorst, he decided to occupy his mind with other concerns.

Mendez trained the scope on the rubble and rock cloud that had once been 2351 Wilks-Lucayo. Irregular pieces drifted away from _Galileo_ , some from impulse motor firing triggered by GreenMars, some from the usual bump and grind of a disintegrating asteroid. The larger chunks spat streams of pellets formed by the impulse arrays, looking for all the world like spider webs in the bright sunshine.

Backdropping the asteroid's breakup was the cloudy blue and white face of Earth itself, now less than a day away. Now there seemed to be more white than blue, thanks to a dying Sun.

To Mendez, it was problematic whether the larger pieces, now slowly being nudged off course, would develop enough delta-vee to miss the Earth.

_Whatever happens, we'll have a ringside seat,_ he thought to himself.

Mendez folded up the nav scope and began his part of the power-down procedure. Kamler was with him on the command deck, paralleling Mendez' work. The two of them had several pages of checklists to go through to safe the ship before they departed.

A moment later, Johnny Winger's face floated up on deck between the flight stations.

Mendez carefully finished his procedure. "Major, we've done all we can do up here. Get your people moving...all hands lay aft to the mess compartment. I want to go through the abandon-ship procedure and divvy up the lifeboat and scoutship assignments, make sure we don't leave anybody behind. " He gazed out the forward windscreen at the approaching Earth. "I'm afraid _Galileo's_ not long for this world now."

Winger understood. "We'll be assembled by 0630 hours. Full suits?"

"The works. And keep all that extra gear to a minimum...it's going to be a tight enough squeeze as it is."

"Acknowledged." Winger ducked out of the command deck and drifted aft to the transfer tunnel. He got on the crewnet.

"Detachment...this is Winger, listen up. It's time to load up. Leave all your gear behind but get into your tin cans and button up. Briefing in the mess hall in half an hour. Winger, _OUT_."

Then he maneuvered his way further aft to the crew deck and went up to his own bunk space. _Time to clean house,_ he told himself. _Galileo_ would be diving into the Earth's atmosphere in less than a day. The ship and everything in it would be incinerated and destroyed. Whatever he didn't take would soon be atom fluff; he knew he had some hard decisions to make.

The crew of _Galileo_ and 1st Nano Detachment made it back to Earth, completing a harrowing splashdown in the western Pacific Ocean, just in time to witness the show.

The last few minutes of Lifeboat A's descent seemed to flash by in a blur of frantic activity, punctuated by jerks, jolts, bangs, pops and whistles.

The impact, when it came, was a careening slap against the side of the pod's hull. When he peered out his porthole, Winger saw only water, frothing, bubbling seawater. Then the little ship rolled upright as her flotation gear hissed out into place and the welcome view of sun and sky replaced the underwater scene.

That's when Winger saw the sharks cruising by right outside the hatch.

"Uh, Lieutenant...looks like we've got company."

Mendez had already seen their unwelcome visitors. "We'll be okay inside." He studied the locator screen for a moment, trying to figure out just where they were. "We've come down right on top of the Great Barrier Reef, best I can figure. Off the coast of Australia. Shark grottoes all over the place."

From the rear seat, Sheila Reaves let out a yelp. "On the horizon...look!"

A trio of black dots had materialized. Now growing visibly larger with each passing moment, the dots soon resolved themselves into the familiar shape of lifters; their black fuselages were emblazoned with the golden sunburst emblem of the Quantum Corps.

"Must be our reception committee," Winger concluded. "Probably staged out of Singapore."

"See any other pods? Any other lifeboats?" Fatah asked.

"Zip," said Winger. "Just us and the sharks."

Mendez was already cycling through frequencies, trying to contact the rescue lifters. "Rescue force, this is Lifeboat A detached from _Galileo_ , now at stable one, awaiting your orders."

Seconds later, a loud twangy voice boomed in their headsets. "Lifeboat A, this is... ah...Rescue One. Assume nominal rescue configuration immediately. We're going to have to hoist you out of there one by one. Be advised...ah...we don't have much time...we've got inbound fragments coming in, projected impacts in the central Pacific...less than an hour from now—"

Mendez didn't need to hear any more. "Okay, crew...you heard the man. Get your asses moving. Let's get the hell out of here!"

The operation was done in less than ten minutes. Aboard Rescue One, Mendez, Winger, Reaves and Fatah gratefully sucked in breezes of warm tropical air and topped it off with chilled canteens of water and lemon drink. It tasted better than the finest wine. Even as they settled back, Rescue One's pilot banked the lifter sharply to port and lay in a speed course north by northwest toward Quantum Corps' Singapore base.

The little fleet had just settled onto the tarmac at the base when the first impactor, a jagged mountain-sized fragment from Wilks-Lucayo, slammed into the ocean...ten thousand kilometers northeast of them.

Over the next hour, the undiverted remnants of Wilks-Lucayo shotgunned the Earth's surface along an arc nineteen thousand kilometers long, from the western Mediterranean to the central Pacific.

The largest impactor, as expected, was Wilks-D, which impacted as predicted by GreenMars in the Med, some thirty-five kilometers northwest of the city of Tunis.

The effects of all the impacts would be felt for years afterward.

UNIFORCE/GreenMars Special Report to the Secretary-General

Principal Impact Effects from 2351 Wilks-Lucayo (Fragment D)

Solix 8.7.3156

Impactor _Wilks-Lucayo D_ impacted the earth's surface at 061510Z, Solix 8.7.3156. Point of impact was 37N by 11E, approximately one hundred and sixteen kilometers north-northeast of the Tunisian coastal city of Bizerte. The point of impact was located at the center of a triangle between the Tunisian coastline, bounded by Sardinia on the northwest and Sicily to the northeast.

At impact, the impactor was moving at an estimated velocity of 16.99 kilometers per second.

Energy released at impact was estimated to be approximately 6.04 x 10 exp 16 Joules.

Due to the water impact, an estimated 2.35 x 10 exp 6 tons of seawater was vaporized. Most of the vaporized material was lifted as steam into the earth's atmosphere.

Oceanic effects included a series of seismic events and transients, culminating in three succeeding tremors of Richter magnitude 5.4, 5.1 and 4.1, all occurring in the first two hours after impact.

Shock waves and tsunami effects are appended to this report as _Attachment A: Impactor Wilks-D Oceanic Effects on the Mediterranean Basin_. Notable effects included wave heights of over a hundred meters measured at Bizerte, Algiers, Barcelona and Marseilles. Similar destructive wave effects of lesser magnitude were measured at Naples, Palermo, Messina and Tripoli.

U.N. Quantum Corps efforts to ameliorate destructive shock wave and tsunami effects through nanobotic shielding were only partially successful, owing to the short time frame involved. Shielding was most effective at Bizerte, where observed wave heights reached one hundred and seventy meters approximately two kilometers offshore. Wave energy was substantially dissipated by nanobotic shielding along the waterfront west and east of the center of the city. Measured wave heights at the port entrance did not exceed one hundred and ten meters.

Impactor Wilks-D partially disintegrated in the lower atmosphere, yielding multiple fragments to impact the ocean surface. Disintegration effects were most pronounced at an altitude of five thousand meters above MSL. Peak overpressures from this event exceeded 17.7 bars (approximately 251 PSI) at a point two kilometers from the center of the impact field. Because the impact site was well offshore, little overpressure damage was sustained to land structures. Some shipping in the area was damaged.

Casualty reports are appended to this report as _Attachment B: Casualty Effects from Impact of 2351 Wilks-Lucayo (Fragment D)._ Note that known casualties that can be directly attributed to this event will exceed 800,000 around the Mediterranean basin alone.

Long term meteorological and climatic effects are detailed in _Attachment C: Forecast Climatic Effects from Impact of 2351 Wilks-Lucayo (Fragment D and Lesser Impactors)._ Note that long-term climatic effects incorporate estimates of seawater and seabed excavation and dynamic lifting of excavated materials into the atmosphere integrated into current forecast models over the next two years.

For latest results of forecast model iterations, see World Meteorological Organization "Proceedings of Conference on Climatic Effects from Recent Asteroidal Impacts", Solix 9.12.3156, Madrid, Spain, appended to this report as _Attachment D_.

UNIFORCE casualty and environmental remediation efforts continue and are expected to be required at current levels of effort for at least the next two years.

Io (low Jupiter Orbit)

Solix 8.5.3156

Philippe Dugay studied Delano's face as he peered out the porthole. "Well, what does ALBERT say? Where the hell _are_ we?"

Delano sat back, clutching a nearly stanchion as _Gemini_ continued to slide downhill. "You're not going to believe this. ALBERT says that when we came out of the jump, the ship put us down on the surface of Io."

"What?"

"See for yourself. I've finagled a map of the area. Look...ALBERT says that's the volcano Pele up there." He pointed to a blood red blister just poking over the edge of the horizon.

Dugay strained to see out the porthole. "The ground's covered in yellow snow. Big puffy clumps of yellow snow. And there are geysers, vents, on the horizon."

Delano checked the console. "Somehow, when we came out of jump, we wound up here—" he pointed to ALBERT's map, "right smack in the middle of this lava flow. It's called Danube Planum. A lava flow from Pele."

"It feels like we're still moving."

"The lava's in motion. And that yellow stuff isn't exactly snow. It's sulfur and sulfur dioxide. The vents are spewing that stuff out into space. It's freezing and falling back to the ground."

Dugay studied the scene. "Well, you know what they say about yellow snow. And Jupiter...amazing...is that our lower orbit or is Jupiter really that swollen? It covers a third of the sky."

Delano looked too. "I'd say you're right on both counts. Io's pretty close—in fact, thank God, we've still got active rad shielding. We'd be fried by now. But I'm happy to see the disk of Jupiter expanding so...it means more and more gas streams are coming in."

"From Saturn?"

"Exactly...no thanks to you."

Dugay turned abruptly away from the porthole, a frown on his face. "Hey, the Outer Ring has powerful sponsors: Patron, all the water cartels, even the InFed Council. To build it, we need raw materials. Jupiter's the closest source."

"So while we're trying to bulk up Jupiter enough to ignite it, you've been drawing material off to build your precious suburbs. What's wrong with this picture?"

Dugay's face was a complex web of looks, by turns disgust, pity, disappointment. "I guess we don't have the same tastes in architectural design."

"Or in women."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I saw what happened between you and Semarilyn Paris when we came to _Patagonia_. She had already told me about your son, Jean."

Dugay waved that off. "Fah. That was a long time ago. It's over. Dead and buried. My sponsors are InFed, not Concordance. I could never—" He didn't finish the sentence for the comm chirped, first with static, then snatches of voices.

Delano made some adjustments. "ALBERT, find that signal, please. See if you can clean it up. ALBERT's been scanning all comm channels automatically since we landed here."

ALBERT'S voice was soothing and calm, despite the bumpy ride _Gemini_ was taking down the lava flow.

" _I am scanning now, focusing, zeroing in on the signal_ —"

Delano enabled voice. "Any station, any station...this is Time Guard jumpship _Gemini_ declaring a level one emergency. We have casualties here. Any station, any station... _Gemini_ transmitting in the clear from—" he rattled off the latitude and longitude from the nav screen "—declaring a level one emergency. Mayday, mayday—"

He didn't have long to wait. Even as Dugay was rummaging through the rations locker in the aft galley, the comm crackled to life.

"... _Gemini_...this is Shuttle One out of Deflector Station _Donatello_. We are inbound, closing on your position...descending through ten thousand... _Gemini_ , turn on your approach beacon immediately...we'll maneuver and land as close as we can—"

Delano located the powerful lights and switched on. Outside, the rock fall and canyon walls were bathed in a yellow glow, illuminating a fine yellow mist falling from the sky. From ten thousand meters up, _Gemini_ would flare like a supernova in the black and yellow of an Ionian night.

The two of them waited half an hour. The ship's slide down the lava flow seemed to have stopped. Outside, beyond the yellow rain, the baleful eye of Jupiter loomed like giant's swollen belly.

"There!" Dugay pointed. "I see something...some kind of light!"

They both peered through the porthole, watching as a small conical ship descended on intermittent bursts of thrust to a gentle, slow-motion landing further downslope from them. Moments later, the comm burst out.

" _Gemini_ , we are four hundred meters from you. The ground's unstable here. We're snaking a pressure tube over...be ready to leave fast."

"Acknowledged," Delano came back. He motioned to the lockers behind their seats. "Pressure suits...get 'em out. We may not need them but just to be safe...."

Just before the pressure tube pranged into their hatch, Dugay and Delano sealed their suits and helmets, did a quick buddy check of all fittings and connections and waited. The hatch squealed open and arms waved at them to _come, hurry up...come now_.

The two of them wiggled and shoved their way down through the tube and eventually found themselves inside a small, cramped cabin. Two faces stared back.

One face was Schmidt, the rescue ship captain. He quickly introduced his second, a female named Kolar.

"Get buckled in. We've got to get off this lava flow now."

They did as instructed and after a perfunctory countdown, the shuttle lifted off and made for orbit. Schmidt was busy for a time—Delano and Dugay said nothing but smiled to show how grateful they were—and the ship soon left orbit around Io and ascended away from Jupiter, clearly heading for higher orbit.

Schmidt made a running commentary. "Got to get out of that soup quick...we don't have the right rad shielding to stay that low for long."

Delano asked, "Captain, if I may ask, where are we headed?"

"Back to the station. _Donatello_. They'll check you out fully in our sick bay." He turned around from his console with a quizzical look on his face. "That was a Time Guard ship you were in. You guys really came out of a jump...right onto the surface of Io?"

Delano smiled sheepishly. "More or less. Not the best navigation, I'll admit."

"Where'd you come from?"

When Delano told him about their abrupt departure from Chaos City, Europa, he whistled. "You know...maybe you don't...that CC was abandoned seven solices ago. Evacuated. I guess they'll re-build, but it'll take time."

_Seven months ago?_ Delano remembered what Evelyn Kasongo had told them. _"I think I can put you within a solix or two of our departure time...that's the best I can do."_ He studied Schmidt's face for a moment...no hint the man was making any jokes. "What time is this?"

Schmidt told him. "Solix 8.5.3156. Where'd you say you came from?"

Discussion followed as conflicting times and dates and news and theories were surfaced.

Delano said, "ALBERT did tell us about that Novikov resonance. We must have come out of the jump ahead of our departure point...by at least seven months."

Schmidt was rubbing his forehead. "This Time Guard stuff makes my head hurt. You say Chaos City was collapsing when you left?"

Dugay nodded. "It was bad...we heard some icecats had breached the pressure enclosure."

Schmidt heard a chime, indicating they were approaching Deflector Station _Donatello_. "I think it may have started here. Friggin' Guardians, that's who did it."

From the second seat, Kolar shook her head, her bangs falling into her eyes. Angrily, she pushed them back. "Bastards. I lost some family at CC."

"Oh, yeah," added Schmidt, "assholes destroyed CC, killed hundreds. Did the same thing at Mariner City, Mars too."

Kolar was already wrapping her hands around a translation controller to ease their approach to the station. "Don't forget that comet Wilks... _that_ one did a real number on Earth. Groundpounder casualties in the thousands, I heard. Concordance is looking for the scumbags all over the place."

The shuttle made a smooth docking and the four of them debarked into the deflector station. After a cursory physical in sickbay, Dugay and Delano were pronounced reasonably fit and allowed free access to the rest of the station.

They made their way to the crews' mess and ordered a light meal and drinks from the servbot. An open table by the cupola was available and they made themselves comfortable.

Delano was pleased by what he saw. "Jupiter seems bigger than when I left. The mass loss is slowing...Philippe, it looks like the future's winning. We're pouring more gas in than you're taking out."

Dugay studied the disk of the massive planet. "Material from Saturn. How can you control pulses of gas from that distance...what is it, maybe a few hundred million miles?"

"Closer to a billion," Delano admitted. "It's an orbital mechanics problem, basically. Once we have the gas stream lifted out of Saturn's atmosphere, we compress it into a slug, a pulse like you call it, and wrap the whole thing in an EM field. Embedded in the slug is a small controller and a few thrusters, actually they operate on the gas. The slug forms a small spacecraft. Here—" Delano poked a few buttons on his wristpad. "Here's the public explanation—" A slightly blurry 3-D image erupted from his wristpad and danced across their table, with a stentorian voiceover worthy of a church pastor....

"... _formation of a continuous belt, called a supply beam or supply stream, leading from focusing stations in Saturn orbit, across trans-Jovian space and into high orbit around Jupiter. This effort will require dozens of focusing and controlling stations all along the trajectory. The process is complicated by the fact that source and target are independent worlds moving around the Sun at different speeds. Thus, the work of the focusing stations and their guidance systems will be ongoing. Also important is that the Phase 1 supply beams do not cross or interfere with normal commerce supply beams or passenger ships and cyclers plying the spacelanes between the two planets. Obviously, strictly controlled paths must be maintained to avoid disaster. There will be dozens of such focusing and control stations..."_

Delano beamed across the table at his distant cousin. "It took me a few months to work all this out...me and a small team of engineers and some others. There's more...."

"... _Phase 3_ _involves receiving the supply beam of unspooled Saturnian gases, shaping and focusing the materials for depositing into the atmosphere of Jupiter and the actual seeding and laydown of said gases into Jupiter's atmosphere. Obviously, this must be carefully controlled and monitored, especially in its latter stages. The whole purpose of Phase 3 (and indeed the whole project) is to achieve stellar ignition...which is crucially dependent on mass, gravity and having the right conditions and proportions...."_

Delano killed the vid and it collapsed in a spray of light.

Dugay sipped at his tea, regarded Delano over a wreath of steam from his cup. "I can tell how proud you are of this. If you're like me, you can lose yourself in a project like this."

Delano shrugged. "It's happened. I'm sure you can say the same."

"You really think I can take this back to my time...and make it work?"

"Probably a better chance of that than getting Octavio Patron and the InFed Council to stop the Outer Ring. I could tell how proud you were of that, by the way. Another feather in the cap? Another star in the Dugay firmament?"

Dugay sniffed. "Some of the stars have gone dark, I'm afraid. The Outer Ring means a lot to me, sure, since we're talking about feathers and stars. I guessing it's the same for you, with this Sol Secundas."

A servbot drifted by, refreshed their drinks and left a tray of pastries for good measure.

Delano took a deep breath. "Philippe, the difference between us isn't our legacies or stars in the sky, or doing just one more grand project and daring the Universe to say no. The difference is this. Sol Secundas is our future. It's our only hope. Look, let me send you some data from Sunboost." He started finagling with his wristpad, to call up the files. "You'll understand what's happening with the Sun...with first Sun."

Dugay held up a hand. "It's okay, Pieter, really. I believe you. I just don't think either of us should be deluding ourselves. I admit it. I'm not a young man. I've made mistakes. One was Athalonia...you already know about that. Maybe one was Semarilyn...and no, I'm not proud of that either."

"I think you can be proud of Jean."

"My point is that pride goes with the territory. It's what makes great architects great. They have to have a big ego. I've been spending some time on my holovid at _Patagonia_...Brunelleschi, Sir Christopher Wren, Phillip Johnson. You know what Johnson said to me: 'I got everything from someone. Nobody can be original. I don't want to be original. I want to be good.'"

"We're the same in that. But when two egos collide, you have to watch out, Philippe. When galaxies collide in outer space, nothing much happens for a very long time. Surely, when the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies merge in about four billion years, it will be one of the most epochal events in our cosmos. Yet you'd probably fall asleep watching it, if you could live long enough to witness the whole event. You know why that is?"

Dugay took the bait. "Galaxies are mostly empty space."

Delano smiled triumphantly. "Exactly. Yet when galaxies collide, and dust gets stirred up, strange and violent things do occur, given enough time. Dust clouds collapse. Gravity builds up. Matter gets compressed. Before you know it, the thing ignites. A star is born. And it burns hot and bright for billions of years. Our egos are like that too...whether on a piece of paper or expressed in what we design and build. When put together the right way, our ideas get compressed. They ignite. Light and heat follow. The public gets exposed to all this and finds new ideas, like new elements, bubbling to the surface. Illumination follows, if the architect did his job and put the design elements together the right way."

"You and I are in the education business."

"In a way. We help people see things they never saw before, about their world, their environment, about themselves. You can't take that away from me, Philippe. You and your InFed sponsors like Patron can't take that away from us. We are your children, Philippe, and we're dying."

Dugay was about to respond but Captain Schmidt appeared with a woman. She was tall, even regal, composed...a Renaissance portrait in composure.

"Guys, this is Station Commander Andorra. She has something she wants to—"

But Andorra cut in even before Schmidt was through. "We'll be hosting some visitors in another hour. Concordance Frontier Corps. They're taking both of you into custody, and off my station."

Delano blinked, looked askance at Schmidt, then at Dugay. "Where are we being taken?"

"Geyser City. Enceladus. It's a four-week trip."

Geyser City

Ultrarch Center of the Concordance

Enceladus

Solix 10.2.3156

Philippe Dugay had never been to Saturn before. As the Frontier Corps cruiser settled into high orbit around the Ringed Planet, Dugay was mesmerized by the grandeur of what he saw outside the porthole of the crews' mess.

"Greater than any cathedral you could ever imagine. Truly magnificent. Brunelleschi and Sir Christopher would be embarrassed to even try to compare what they done with this."

Delano beamed at his ancestor's reaction. "Wait'll you see what I have to show you."

They took a shuttle down to the north landing pads near Geyser City, still in Concordance custody, but inside the airlocks, they were met by an official from the Ultrarch, a vizier named bin Almen, who bowed slightly.

"The Prime Councilor of Sol Secundas wishes an audience with you. Follow me."

The vizier was a little man, nearly bald with a single braid of black hair at the back of his head, with feminine fingers like a pianist. Escorted by a single guard, the architects followed the vizier across a vast open plaza, that Delano referred to as the Ice Plaza.

"It's arranged on the same plan as Chaos City," he explained. "The builders—I wasn't one of them—liked the original plan and copied it a number of times. Of course, you didn't see what your Connemara Chaos Station evolved into...before the Destruction. A pity."

"In my time," Dugay admitted, "nobody had built anything near Saturn." He craned his head to admire the faceted sections of the dome. "Amazing."

The vizier took them past the Fountain of da Vinci in the center of the plaza. At Chaos City, Galileo had taken center stage. Now it was Leonardo.

"Says something about the culture here," Dugay noted.

"Oh, yes, much more practical and hard-headed here at Geyser City."

They descended on lifts into the bowels of the City and in time, came to a circular room, admittance to which seemed to be tightly controlled.

The vizier waved a hand over a scan panel and the doors parted. Inside, a circular platform-desk dominated the room. A single man stood in the center of the circular desk, balancing multiple 'globes' of data and 3-d graphics like a juggler. He gestured and swept his hands in confusing arcs, creating more globes, cascading data blocks into small satellites that orbited around his head. Other disembodied images were avatar-heads drifting about the room, all talking at once.

The vizier swept his hands forward, indicating that they should enter. He bowed slightly as they passed and said softly, "Sol Secundas." The doors hissed shut behind them.

The 'conductor' saw Delano and Dugay and bade them come closer. Dugay's head passed accidently through a drifting data globe, then through the 'chin' of an avatar.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Oh, that's okay," said the man, sweeping globes and heads off to one side. "It's just Crimmins. Just blew in from Callisto, I think, the old windbag. He loves to do that. Crimmins, get over here...leave my guests alone."

The avatar-head frowned, muttered something and drifted away.

"I'm Kaiser Izmit," said the conductor. He extended a hand. Dugay shook it, wondering what would happen if he did, for the man was a magician with the data globes. "Prime Councilor of Sol Secundas."

Delano explained, "This is the center of the project. Many of these people are senior designers, engineers, supervisors. The Councilor stays in contact daily with most of the staff."

Izmit agreed. "The Ultrarch insists. Come, I'll show you where we are."

Dugay knew nothing of Izmit and not much about the Second Sun project. Delano filled him in, making a fist-gesture to bring up a short, official _curriculum vitae_ vid that gave details on the Councilor....

When the Ultrarch of the Concordance had formed the Sol Secundas project to create a 'second sun,' Izmit was appointed by the Ultrarch as director-general of the project, reporting only to the Ultrarch Master Core at Chaos City.

_Izmit's family originated on Earth in 19_ th _/20_ th _century Turkey, near Istanbul. In the late 21_ st _century, a branch of the Izmits, led by Recip Izmit, had emigrated to Mars Mariner City, founded a separate settlement called Anatalya, in the Acidalia Planetia region. Centuries later, in 2455 CE, Martian descendant Kemal Izmit moved to the Belt and seeded more family branches throughout the Belt and later in several trans-Jovian terreta settlements. Kaiser was born of the Kemal Izmit branch, a native Europan and quite comfortable in trans-Jovian space, in the employ of the great Ultrarch of the Concordance._

Most of Izmit's career had been spent in service to the Ultrarchy; he was a career bureaucrat. These jobs ranged from financial planning in the Finance Module, to trade negotiator and enforcer in the Trade and Industry Module and just before Sol Secundas, chief data analytic, Science and Research Module, working directly for the Master Core at Chaos City. His work had always been considered exemplary, as were his social credit scores and personal behavior matrices (all the boxes were checked off, Dugay noted) and thus he was well known to the Ultrarch (ranked as a Class I, Carbon-based functionary and proud of it). The governing AI considered Kaiser Izmit a perfect public 'face' for Sol Secundas, able to convey the wishes and commands of the Ultrarch regarding Second Sun to all its many audiences, stakeholders and constituencies.

Periodically, Izmit had to interact directly, through his embedded halo or neurolific, with the Ultrarch and even retire to the Upgrade center for mods and extensions and patches to the halo, to enable him to better serve the Ultrarch. These upgrade sessions were often somewhat anxious, even painful and wrenching in their effects, but he couldn't refuse; the halo ensured that and Izmit wished to keep his Class I (Level 1 or Root Level) standing with the Master Core.

He was married to a transgender spouse named Lovejoy Atlee V6. They had no offspring though this was a point of continuing argument with Lovejoy, who wanted to sponsor and grow a young boy child. Fertility Module hadn't yet approved this and Kaiser was not sure he really wanted to share Lovejoy's affection with a child.

_Kaiser has been through nine uploads in his life and was thus a V9 Europan. All uploads from V7 through V9 were specifically authorized by the Ultrarchy Master Core and were reserved specifically for individual Root-Level advisors who work closely with the Master Core_....

Izmit smiled wryly at Dugay's reaction. "Don't believe everything you hear. I asked them to delete the part about Lovejoy and the Fertility Module, but the Ultrarch said no. Makes me seem 'more approachable,' I was told. Blah!"

Delano steered the conversation back to his original idea. "I got approval to show Philippe here what Sol Secundas is all about."

Izmit squinted oddly at Dugay. "So, it's really you... _the_ Philippe Dugay?"

Dugay nodded, not sure how to respond. "It really is me."

Izmit seemed impressed. "Then I must show you what we've done with your streaming techniques. Watch—"

Izmit pawed and fingered in mid-air, the gestural interface quickly bringing up real-time 3-d images of Saturn below them.

"We still use the basics you pioneered, Mr. Dugay. We take the metallized hydrogen layer deep inside the atmosphere and make a conductor out of it, then 'lift' columns of gas out and collimate them into slugs—we call them pulses. The pulses have embedded controllers in them. After that, we send them on their way through space—the trip takes a year, and crosses anywhere from six hundred million kilometers to over two billion, depending on Jupiter and Saturn's relative positions."

Dugay was impressed, watching the vid simulation closely. "You can keep the pulses together even over that time and distance?

"We can. We shape and contain the gases electromagnetically and with the embedded controllers, we can even navigate around obstacles, like commercial supply beams that are always in the way. After the pulses arrive near Jupiter, the deflecting stations take over and steer them into Jupiter's atmosphere in a controlled way."

Delano smiled. "Thank goodness for deflector stations. When we came out of the jump, we wound up on the surface of Io, in the middle of a volcanic eruption."

"Ouch!" said Izmit, shuddering. "I heard about that. Station _Donatello_ sent a shuttle, I believe. Usually, Time Guard's more accurate than that."

"Novikov disturbance," Delano said. "I don't pretend to understand it."

"Ah, yes. And so you have already seen our deflecting stations?"

"I have," Dugay said. "Most impressive. But I'm curious. How much material will you be taking from Saturn's atmosphere?"

Izmit's face clouded and he sat down for a moment. Globes of data and dozens of avatar heads orbited his head like a sun.

"The exact figures are classified. Sorry. Suffice it say that Saturn will be a different world when we're done...smaller and, unfortunately, less glorious, I must say. A necessary sacrifice."

"Unless the Ultrarch approves my idea for multiple rings," Delano offered.

Izmit went on. "The problem is the mass loss at Jupiter. We're trying everything we can to compensate for that."

Dugay swallowed hard. "I my time, InFed approved a project called the Outer Ring."

Izmit waved a hand. "Yes, yes...all that's known. That's history. We just have to compensate for this mass loss by injecting enough gas fast enough to hopefully, God willing, ignite it someday."

"I'm afraid I'm responsible for this 'mass loss' problem. And my benefactors. In my time, the water and sunpower interests of InFed are powerful. They're sponsoring this project, as a way to outflank the Concordance."

Izmit seemed sobered by that. "Things are much different in this time. Here, let me show you how we live today."

He waved his hands like a conductor and conjured dozens of 3-d vid and graphics blocks, swirling over the circular desk and around Izmit's head. It was a history lesson of the last thousand years, all in 3-d.

"In our time, Mr. Dugay, the Sun, our first Sun, is dying. I'm sure you already know this. The Earth was severely damaged by impact of the comet Wilks-Lucayo, the inner worlds are steadily being abandoned, InFed is a joke, Mariner City damaged, Chaos City destroyed."

Delano took up the story, pointing out various globes of imagery and graphics, a cacophony of sights and sounds that swirled around them. "The inner System is increasingly uninhabitable. The Sun grows noticeably dimmer every year, every solix. Unless we ignite Jupiter and create a second sun and make a new home for ourselves in the outer system, the end of Man is near. That's not an exaggeration. We face an existential threat and your use of Jupiter for raw materials, for your Outer Ring, only makes that worse. You and I are siphoning Jupiter and bulking up Jupiter at the same time. In fact, history shows, in this worldline, that we can't quite ignite Jupiter. That's why you have to understand what we face."

Dugay was increasingly uncomfortable with this whole train of thought. The InFed Council, Octavio Patron, Kate Lind...there were powerful forces behind the Outer Ring. "I'm just the architect. I'm just a designer. I have a commission--" Of course, he'd said that after Athalonia too. But nobody listened then. "Don't you have starship base being built...don't you have plans?"

Delano admitted that was true. "Our efforts to send probes and generation ships to the Proxima Centauri, Epsilon Eridani and Gliese 876 systems will take time, Philippe...time we don't have. We must start over in the outer System and we must have a new sun."

"You can't ask this of me. I don't make the final decisions. You know that. I just draw up designs and oversee the construction."

Izmit said, "Your name is powerful magic, Mr. Dugay. Our own history shows that. Even in your time, your name is powerful. Talk to your sponsors. You must make them understand."

"I doubt that anyone will approve delaying the Outer Ring. Politics and profits are too strong...the animosity between InFed and the Concordance is too strong."

Delano said, "Today, InFed is just a shell. I told you I could bring streaming techniques from our time back to yours."

Izmit was cautious about that. "This is something the Ultrarch will have to approve. And Time Guard too."

Delano went on, not to be dissuaded, with his ancestor. "I'm sure they'll approve. Philippe, Saturn can be your raw materials. Make Jupiter into a protected world, a sort of interplanetary park...that's what History shows."

"Some worldlines show that," Izmit cautioned. "Not all of them."

Dugay was unconvinced, seeing dreams melt away too fast. "Competition between InFed and the Concordance mandates that some kind of Outer Ring be built. My sponsors will never give up that idea."

"Here," Delano said, pointing to a pair of drifting graphics globes, "let me show you what will happen to Saturn." With Izmit's help, he shepherded the globes to come nearer and expand, filling several meters of space, a sort of floating vid in 3-d.

"The Councilor is right: Saturn will become a very different place after we're done. We have to stream trillions of tons of gas to Jupiter to bulk it up...something like eighty more Jupiters' worth added to the mix. Jupiter will be a swollen giant—we already saw that on Io—and Saturn will be a pale shadow of what it is now."

Dugay said, "An irreplaceable loss for Man."

"Not necessarily. Watch this...I'll narrate." Delano waved his hands in a circular gesture and the globes burst into life. "As Saturn is 'used up,' it gets smaller. We estimate by some twenty-four percent. When that happens, her gravity is reduced. That means anything that orbits Saturn, under reduced gravity, will drift outward and orbit further outward. Enceladus, where we are today. Callisto. Saturn's other moons...all two hundred of them. And the rings."

Dugay frowned. "How can anyone permit the rings of Saturn to disappear?"

"They can't. And it won't happen. Watch."

Dugay, Delano and Izmit watched the vid unfold. As it did so, he could see a simulation of Saturn's rings first shrinking, expanding, swelling, fading, almost disappearing, then suddenly growing brighter again and sprouting other rings, rings orbiting the planet at crazy angles, dozens of rings, enveloping the planet like a gaudy diamond swathed in pearl necklaces.

Delano explained. "This was my idea. With the reduced gravity caused by Saturn losing so much mass, yes, the rings almost disappear. They drift outward, they swell to almost invisibility as the particles disperse but remember this: much of the shape of the rings is managed by small moons that 'shepherd' the rings into concentric planes. What I proposed to do is to move many of these moons, by gravity tractor methods, and use them to entrain the dispersed ring particles into multiple rings, different rings. As you can see, if we do this right, we can use the shepherding moons and strong electrostatic fields to create multiple rings, at many angles. The plane of a ring's orbit has to pass through the center of mass of Saturn. We can stream in such a way—we're already doing this—to adjust the position of that center point. We can place rings at multiple inclinations to Saturn's equator. Done right, and over many decades, Saturn will come to resemble what you see here...a much brighter diamond in the heavens, draped with pearls, like a bejeweled scepter coursing through the night sky."

"Fantastic," said Dugay. "This would be such a capstone for your career, Pieter. Greater than any cathedral or any pyramid."

Delano was pleased at his reaction. "It'll take about as long as some of the cathedrals too. Notre Dame de Paris took a hundred years to build. But the idea gives us back something we'll lose if we just take from Saturn and don't provide something in return."

"Your name will burn in the heavens for eternity," Dugay was sure.

Izmit coughed.

Delano realized there was more to selling this idea. "With the Ultrarch's approval, I can provide the plans, the techniques, the measurements, and much of the technology to you, to take back to your time. Assuming Time Guard approves the trip. Philippe, imagine Saturn like this...imagine _this_ as your legacy."

Dugay shook his head. "It might make my detractors forget about Athalonia."

"Exactly. A second chance."

Dugay saw his point. "And if I can convince InFed to delay the Outer Ring long enough to switch material sources to Saturn, this becomes _your_ second chance."

Delano nodded. "And our second sun."

"Our _only_ sun, in a few decades," Izmit reminded them.

Dugay realized here was the moment he had needed. The chance to finally crawl out from under the dead weight of the Athalonia tragedy, a chance to crawl out from under the smothering influence of the Linds and Octavio Patron, a chance to light up the night sky with a work that would emblazon his name across eternity, recited by schoolchildren and design students forever in the same breath as da Vinci, Brunelleschi, Christopher Wren, Frank Lloyd Wright, Philip Johnson, all the greats. A monument for the ages.

"Perhaps in the not too distant future architects will shape worlds in other systems...I'd like to get in on that. How long will this take?" he asked. "All the plans, schematics, the technology. I need to get started on this. And I need find a way to convince the InFed Council. Patron is the key. Patron and Kate Lind."

Izmit raised a problem. "Pieter's plans are magnificent. The Ultrarch has already approved them. But transferring this technology down the primary worldline to your time...that hasn't been approved. We'll have to put this to the Ultrarch."

"I'm ready," Dugay announced.

"Give me some time," Izmit insisted. He fingered one of the avatars to come over. Another vizier. "Take them to the Ice Plaza. Bring them back in an hour."

Delano and Dugay rode the lifts, with the vizier-escort, back up to the surface. They decided to stop at a sidewalk café along Tundra Street, overlooking the reflecting pool surrounding da Vinci.

"Will the Ultrarch approve what you're asking?" Dugay asked.

Delano shrugged. "The Ultrarch does what it does. It's different in my time. You didn't have an Ultrarch of the Concordance in your time."

"No," admitted Dugay. "Just some pompous old windbags who liked to hear themselves talk."

Delano leveled an even gaze at his ancestor. "You and I are blood. Somehow, even though it's distant, we're family. You've got to convince your sponsors to do this."

"Perhaps, with all your technology behind my arguments, I can."

Delano seemed pained. "Look, Philippe...I haven't been completely honest with you."

"What do you mean?"

Delano's mouth worked but no words came out for a moment, as if they were caught in his throat. "We talked about legacy. Both of our legacies. We talked about second chances too, remember?"

"I remember. What's wrong?"

"I know the tragedy of Athalonia has haunted you for a long time. I've studied your bios, the history of the time, the decisions, the mistakes. But I've got something I have to get over too. Maybe that's our family legacy. When we make mistakes, they're big ones. It takes years and something grand, something impossible, to get over them. To make up for them."

"What are saying? Did you murder someone?"

Delano smiled. "It might have come to that."

"What happened?"

"I went through my V2 in solix 3133 and was known formally from that point as Pieter Delano V2. It was a bittersweet time for me. I had my own memories of Cas and the kids, and had them 'weakened'...we say _f_ _iltered_ here... in my memory traces. The divorce was tough. It took a long time to get over. I spent some time extracting and categorizing which memories of Cas I wanted to keep, mostly the good ones. You could do this in the upload process, though it had to be approved and prescribed by the Upload Authority. I worked at G+J for several more years, on small projects, and soon found myself at a career and an emotional dead end. In 3138, I left G+J and, against the advice of all my friends and family, founded my own design studio. It was called Rhadamanthys Partners, after one of Europa's ice fissures. Later shortened to R-P, I moved the studio to a smallish high orbit terreta called _Heraklion_...founded by Greek and Cretan immigrants. It was in an obscure, seldom-used orbit and was something of an isolated backwater. But it was ideal for me. I needed some distance and solitude from Chaos City and the after-effects of the divorce."

He paused as a servbot came by to refresh their drinks and offer a tray of pastries.

"For ten years, R-P was my life and love. I worked insane hours, and, because of my reputation and contacts through G+J, I was able to gain enough commissions to make a living and keep the studio going, often coattailing on G+J work, with little scraps of projects to add features or enhance existing terretas around both Jupiter and Saturn. The cycler run between the two planets became a sort of second home, as I shuttled back and forth overseeing multiple projects.

"I met and dated numerous women in this work and had a sort of relationship with one—Cherry Wan...she was a Callisto girl of Earth-Asian background...we often ran into each other when overseeing projects at or around Valhalla Heights or Asgard Overlook. We dated often and even took a month-long trip to Big-Venice-in-the-Belt once, but the relationship was never serious and eventually ended, when R-P work no longer took me to Callisto.

"Here's the thing though...the relationship was tainted anyway from the time of 3142 when we were both unfairly charged with bribing local officials for additional contract work. Cherry left Callisto. I wound up being 'convicted' by Concordance Justice Module of bribery and sentenced to two things: my halo KURT was officially modified to permit remote monitoring by Concordance authorities. By the way, they call this ruling _ex proculus_...Latin for 'from a distance.' Then I received a Stage 1 anti-bribery vaccine to boost neuro-behavioral inhibits against such activities again. From then on, as you can imagine, I had a kind of love/hate relationship with KURT.

"For me, Sol Secundas came at a good time. It was the commission of a lifetime. It was a chance to put an ineradicable personal stamp on 32nd century industrial civilization...a chance to build a monument greater than the Pyramids, the cathedrals and the skyscrapers of architects past.

"To prepare myself, I petitioned the Upload Authority for V3 and it was approved. The upload occurred in 3154. During this upload, I loaded my memory with everything I could find about you, about the life and times and achievements of Philippe Dugay.

"Sol Secundas was also a chance to reclaim my good name, bury the humiliation of the Concordance Justice conviction, regain my halo KURT and surpass the accomplishments of my most illustrious ancestor...surpass you.

"But I never reckoned on your Outer Ring Project using the very same target of Jupiter for a different purpose. Now, here we are...two distant relatives in competition with each other across nine hundred years of time, not only for glory and fame for the ages, but also for the love of the same woman..."

Delano stopped in mid-sentence, for the servbot had come by. Its face had morphed to resemble the same vizier who had escorted them up.

"The Councilor commands me to inform you...the Ultrarch of the Concordance will see both of you now. Please follow..."

They left the café and rode a lift deep into the bowels of Geyser City, all the way to Level 11...the bottom-most level, several hundred meters below the ice surface of Enceladus.

The vizier took them to a large circular room, after scanning in through all the biometrics. The room was more oval than circular. A scaffolding platform sat in the middle, upon which lay a man oddly dressed. He was waving his hands over images on the ceiling, projected images, Dugay realized. In fact, as the man climbed down, Dugay realized the man himself was a projection, an avatar, though one so lifelike he could barely distinguish him from Delano.

"The Ultrarch...." whispered Delano in his ear.

The Ultrarch presented as a sort of Michelangelo avatar, dressed in a stained smock with black leggings and a blue turban. He was of average height, though he had piercing eyes, fathomless black eyes that unnerved Dugay when he came closer.

"I am the Ultrarch. Algorithm 221781 predicts you will respond if I present this way." His voice was soft, though a slight echo made the words hard to hear, as if multiple voices were laid down over a track.

"You're Michelangelo," Dugay said simply. He didn't know what else to say.

"You like my work?" He waved a hand at the ceiling. Dugay looked up and saw the surface of the ceiling was covered with astronomical objects...stars, nebulae, galaxies, black holes and gas clouds, even planets and moons. The corner nearest them showed the Solar System itself, in ecliptic projection. The Ultrarch waved a hand and all the planets and moons of the Solar System began moving. "Perhaps, if I did this—" He waved his hand again and the Sun went dark, followed seconds later by Jupiter flaring into brilliance, a second sun beyond the asteroids. "Of course, to leave it this way would be unconscionable." Another wave and Saturn with its rings left its orbit and migrated outward, beyond Pluto. "Then we bring in some neighbors from further out—" here dozens of comets from the Oort Cloud 'rained' down into the inner System. "My canvas is a vast one, no. Michelangelo painted images and set them where he thought best. Here, I create worlds and move them as seems right. Michelangelo once said, 'Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.' To that, I would add simply that 'The heavens are our block of stone. It's my job...and yours to sculpt it.'"

Delano said, "Ultrarch, it's a wonderful depiction of Second Sun. We came to ask permission."

The Ultrarch's face fell. He seemed disappointed to have his attention drawn back to the mundane. "Yes, yes...I know why you've come. Your halo informed me."

Delano went on. "Jupiter suffers from a mass loss. We've studied this. This man—" he patted Dugay on the shoulder "—comes from the past. His work makes Jupiter lose mass."

The Ultrarch regarded Dugay with a twinkle and a faint smile. "He is your father's father, no? A builder himself. I know all these things."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dugay noticed the ceiling in motion again. There was Earth...no, it couldn't be...there was Athalonia, a new continent rising from the seas, then came the floods, London, New York, Rio, the loss of life—

He glared back at the Ultrarch. "That isn't fair. We didn't know, we didn't understand—"

The Ultrarch cast an avuncular gaze at him. "Mistakes, no? We all make mistakes. But the Universe sometimes grants us a second chance, a chance to fix our mistakes. For you, Philippe Dugay, it was Athalonia, no? For us, it's the Sun...Sunboost, actually. Second Sun is our last chance to fix what we've broken."

Delano said, "Ultrarch, then you must know that to help him—help us—fix this, save Jupiter for Second Sun, he must use another world for raw materials."

"This would be Saturn, I hear your halo telling me, no? Algorithm 433789 predicts this, within a margin of error."

"Ultrarch, we seek permission to provide Philippe Dugay with our plans, schematics, calculations and techniques for streaming material off Saturn. If he can do the same thing in his own time—"

"We'll have our Jupiter," the Ultrarch finished the sentence. "The true work of art is but a shadow of divine perfection, no?"

A pair of bright lights flared on the ceiling, like small supernovas. For a long moment, the Ultrarch as Michelangelo-avatar froze into stillness and his eyes closed. The freeze lasted less than two seconds. His eyes sprang open and a broad grin split his wrinkled face. Ah, Prediction L-228899 has been achieved." He chuckled at the questioning looks of his visitors. "The Law Enforcement Module...two wanted suspects, Guardians One and Two, have now been eliminated."

Delano's eyebrows went up. "Guardians One and Two, Ultrarch? Both of them?"

"Indeed. Guardian Number One...designated Eric Richter V5—I'm getting all the details now—run to ground at Settlement Seven, Chryse Planitia, Mars. Eliminated resisting arrest. Guardian Number Two designated Nha Trang, was tracked down in a small schooner landed in a crevasse on an unnamed asteroid in the Main Belt...I'm reading this...apparently committed suicide in the apprehension. Prediction L-8876 confirmed. We have broken the back of the Guardians' organization. A happy day for all, no?"

"Ultrarch, all the plans--?"

"Ah, yes, of course." For another long moment, the Ultrarch froze again and his eyes closed. The freeze lasted less than two seconds. His eyes sprang open. "Pieter Delano, I've given to KURT everything you've asked for. Now, go...both of you...and do what you must. As the Maestro himself said, "The greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it." He went back to the scaffolding and began climbing. Halfway up, he paused and looked down at them. "A man paints with his brains, not his hands. When I'm done, our System will shine with a new face...ah—" he held up a finger, "perhaps three Saturns..."

The vizier re-appeared and showed them out of the Ultrarch's theater. He escorted them back up to the Ice Plaza level, then said, "Take Tube C. The Time Guard base is at the end." Then he left them standing at the top of the Sulci Promenade. Beyond the Perspex dome, a dozen hydrothermal jets of subsurface ice shot skyward over the short horizon, geysers for which the City had been named. They boarded a small tram at Tube C and rode it for several minutes, to the end. A sign above the exit flashed "Al Bakbuk Base - Concordance Time Guard."

They left the tram, scanned in and were directed to a small kiosk down a paved ramp. One man was inside the kiosk, another beside it. The man outside introduced himself.

"Jump Captain Soldano. The Ultrarch commands me to take you to your ship. It's in hangar bay three. Please...follow me."

They followed Soldano through a confusing labyrinth of halls, corridors, shops and offices, down several levels and through multiple security barriers and ID checks, eventually emerging into a spacious hangar at the center of which was a raised platform that had been barricaded off. A small egg-shaped craft sat in the center of the platform, hooked up to other equipment by thick ganglia of cables, lines and tubes.

Soldano introduced them to Jump Lieutenant Noor, a dark-skinned chrononaut-pilot from Time Guard's 2nd Jump Battalion. Noor smiled cheerfully, extended a hand and welcomed them. Soldano lingered for a few moments, then quietly withdrew.

"I'll be your chrononaut-pilot for the jump," Noor was saying. "And this baby is Pollux. Finest ship in the Guard. Just came out of refit, by the way...she's got all the latest stuff."

Dugay peered inside the cramped compartment. "I only see two seats." He turned to Delano, a quizzical look on his face. "Aren't you--?"

"No. I'm staying behind. I have work here with Second Sun. Finishing that will be my legacy...my monument." He glanced at Noor, who nodded. "And there are regulations."

Dugay seemed puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Causality," Noor told them simply. "Plus, we don't have room."

"Can you take me back to my original time? What about that disturbance...the Novikov thing?"

Noor shrugged, waggled his hands. "More or less. I can put you back along the worldline to within about four or five days after you originally left. Within a few meters, maybe half a kilometer in space."

Dugay thought about that. "Chaos Station was collapsing when we left. I'd like to go back to before that happened."

Noor shook his head. "The Universe won't let us. Conservation of Causality. I can't jump back with you to any time before you originally left. Not on this worldline, anyway. Causality violation prevents that. But I'm programming ChronoNav now. What's your preferred destination...and time?"

Dugay considered the question. "I guess it makes most sense to go to Selene City, InFed headquarters. That's where I'll have to get on my knees and beg to delay the Project. Let's say Selene City, as close in time to my original departure as possible."

"You got it." Noor disappeared into Pollux and busied himself with the programming. A few moments later, Noor stuck his head out of the hatch.

"ISAAC just informed me that he looked into the historical archives. Selene City suffered extensive damage in the ripple effects of the Guardians attack. InFed moved its operations to Earth, to the UNIFORCE Center right around the time of our temporal target. In fact, there was apparently a big conference...UNIFORCE, InFed and the Concordance. Right at UNIFORCE headquarters, Paris."

"Then we'd better make that our destination." Dugay turned to his ancestor. "The plans, Pieter. I still need all your plans and notes."

Delano grabbed Dugay's hand and placed a small thumbnail disk in his palm, then closed his fingers around it. "It's all there, Philippe. KURT burned this awhile ago. Your people will learn how to access it soon enough. I envy you, in a way."

"Oh, yes...right...while I'm being butchered and carved up by InFed delegates. Definitely something to be envied. I'll do my best. If I can convince them about Saturn—" he held up the disk, "and this should help, maybe a delay is possible. I don't know. In a way, coming with you to this time was an eye-opener. Somehow, I'd hoped that humans would get along better, nine hundred years in the future."

"Not a chance. But at least we may now have a future. Philippe, don't get me wrong, but you could almost think of me, remember me, as one of your grandchildren. Maybe one of Jean's grandchildren. We're all your children here. And we're dying. If you don't succeed, there won't be a future. This—all this—", he waved his hand around, showing the crescent rings of Saturn above the hangar bay doors, the moons as dots of light beyond, the distant Sun even now guttering to a dark ember in a few decades—"all this will be your future too. You have to make them understand."

Dugay and Delano hugged one last time, with a few backslaps thrown in. "Raising monuments is never easy, is it? Just ask the pharaohs."

Noor poked his head out. "Time to board, Mr. Dugay."

Dugay climbed in and the doors were sealed. Outside, the hangar bay was evacuated and the outer doors opened, exposing the hangar to hard vacuum outside. The platform on which Pollux rested extended automatically, outside to sit momentarily beneath the yellow banded beach ball of Saturn, sitting on its side, rings casting deep shadows across the cloudscape.

Noor worked the controls with practiced hands, running through a detailed checklist with ISAAC, the ship's computer.

He checked his board methodically. All green, all copacetic and no flags. Perched on Time Guard's jump pedestal on a small icy plateau several kilometers away from Geyser City, _Pollux_ had been powered up several hours before, her MHD power plant ticking over, humming, now sending a slight shudder through her hull. Overhead, Delano caught a glimpse of the swollen belly of Saturn filling half the sky, her banded stripes seething and snarling at him from millions of kilometers away.

"Ready all systems...stand by for final check and all-call."

One by one, ISAAC reported system status calls back.

"Ready, TT1."

"Search is go!"

"DPS...yo and go!"

"Propulsors on line...ease her forward one quarter, ISAAC."

_Pollux_ lurched slightly as her MHD jets opened up to one-quarter throttle and she came about, to sniff along the path ISAAC had already laid in, a path defined only by the faintest ripples in spacetime.

"Answering one-quarter, handling nicely, ISAAC. Feels like we're fighting cross-currents."

The ship's AI answered back. _"I have all sensors tuned to the exact frequency of vacuum field fluctuations, Lieutenant. On course now. We are centered in the cylinder of displacement to within twelve point five zepto-arcseconds of nominal course. Adjusting now...."_

Noor smiled, shook his head. "This is like driving an icecat off a cliff."

The voidtime boundary came up much faster than he expected.

"I'm opening up the throttle now," Noor said. "Increasing to redline. Hang on and buckle up!"

_Pollux_ shuddered slightly, as her power plant stroked higher and she nosed into the outer edge effects of the voidtime channel.

Just then, _Pollux_ lurched one last time in the growing turbulence and punched straight through the barrier, straight into the river of time.

In an instant, they were yanked off the pedestal, spinning, yawing, and rolling like a top. For Delano, the first impulse seemed insane, like being shaken to death in some dog's mouth...or maybe it was the ship itself that seemed to be coming apart. It was hard to tell. Now they were both whirling and spinning, dizzy, round and round, he could feel the force of the spin against his head, pressing, crushing him....

He had a fleeting glimpse of Noor—he thought it was the Lieutenant, he couldn't really tell and he nearly vomited at the sight. It was all wrong...the image was wrong and his mind refused to accept it—there was Noor, with two heads, now three, now four, now eight heads, popping out of his shoulders like geraniums in a fast motion video, Noor Mohammed with his head missing, distorted in a cracked mirror, and he closed his eyes, couldn't look at it anymore— It was all wrong...the image was wrong and his mind refused to accept it, even though he had been told to expect such things in the briefing.

... and then it came. An image of geometric forms—icosahedrons, polygons, trapezoids—all compressed into that same tunnel, a long curving corridor and he found himself hurtling at breakneck speed down this corridor, until—

They were in. Somewhere in time stream T-001.

And _Pollux_ found herself caught in the backwash of worldlines unraveling like threads off a spool.

Chapter 16

UNIFORCE Headquarters

The Quartier-General, Paris

August 31, 2249 EUT

Theo Giscard intertwined his fingers with Valerie Leon's and tugged. "Come on, let's walk. And talk. This is a big decision for both of us."

They strolled hand in hand along the Allee de la Reine Marguerite, with dense woods on both sides, chatting about Theo's new job offer. The Bibliotheque Nationale had summoned the data analytic from Strasbourg for an interview. There was a new opening in Cloud Support and Theo very much wanted to take it, but it meant moving from Strasbourg. Valerie wasn't so sure. It would mean giving up her job as a tour guide at the Cathedral Notre Dame in Strasbourg, a job she dearly loved. She would need time to get her head around the prospect of moving to Paris.

A shrill screeching of pigeons momentarily distracted them from the argument. Then came a strong wind gust, rustling the upper branches of the beech and elm trees bordering the Lac Inferieur. Theo and Valerie stopped along the promenade, within sight of the hissing waterfall of the Grand Cascade and were blinded by a brilliant light from within a copse of trees.

"A bomb?" Theo wondered out loud. "Maybe we should have a look—"

"No... _no_ , Theo," Valerie begged. She tried to tug him back but he broke free.

" _Come on_...someone may be hurt!"

The two of them bounded into the woods of the Bois du Boulogne and came upon a sight they had never in their lives expected to see. Nestled in a small clearing, squatting on small legs, smoldering and hissing from some kind of high-speed passage sat an egg-shaped object, maybe ten meters tall, five meters wide. It glowed a faint red, and was draped with smoking tree branches and leaves.

Valerie put a hand to her mouth. " _Mon Dieu_ \--! What is it?"

"I don't know. Let me get a little closer."

A hatch on the side came loose and swung hesitantly open. Two faces, two men, began crawling out.

"Theo...Theo, watch out!"

The occupants stood awkwardly, brushing themselves off. One of them wore a strange uniform with even stranger insignia. He was dark-skinned...Malinese, maybe? Algerian?

Noor Mohammed thumbed his throat and, aided by his halo, spat out a stream of grammatically perfect French.

"Montrez-nous le chemin vers UNIFORCE _, s'il vous plait."_

That's when the first squad of Parisian gendarmerie showed up.

Jumpship _Pollux_ was trucked under heavy guard to a basement lab at the Quartier-General, hard by Luxembourg Gardens and the Boulevard St. Michel. Noor Mohammed and Philippe Dugay were interrogated for two days by UNIFORCE intelligence officers, who demanded to know who they were, where they had come from and why they had arrived just at the opening of a critical conference, a gathering that was supposed to be classified.

Inspector Lecroix was particularly nonplussed that the 'enemy spies' seemed to know more about the conference than anyone else. It was as if they had organized the thing themselves and knew how it would turn out.

Dugay was insistent. "If you'll just inform the head of the InFed delegation, they can vouch for me, for us. I know her."

"Really?" Lecroix tried to show he wasn't all that impressed but the truth was rather more complicated, for these saboteurs seemed to know everything. How was that even possible? "If you know so much, and you're such close friends, what is the name of this chief of delegation?"

Without hesitation, Dugay replied, "Dr. Anika Radovich.":

Lecroix checked and swallowed hard. It didn't prove a thing but it was disturbing, to say the least. He motioned an assistant _enqueteur_ over and whispered something in his ear. "Remy, check this out." The assistant disappeared. Lecroix ran a weary hand through thinning blond hair and continued his questioning.

"This little ship you climbed out of...some kind of commando vehicle? You were airdropped into the Bois du Boulogne, no?"

Noor answered. "Time Guard jumpship. Second Jump Battalion, in fact. I'm the pilot."

Lecroix blinked. "Pardon...a time guard? Jumpship, you say. And what is this...some kind of special forces operation? You are with _forces specialies_ , no?"

Bit by bit, painstakingly, Dugay and Noor managed to slowly convince Inspector Lecroix that they were in fact _not_ operatives of the French Special Forces. They were not spies or saboteurs from the Concordance or InFed. They were not aliens from outer space.

"From the future, eh?" Lecroix sipped water from a cup, indicating that his prisoners should do likewise, for he had ordered water and croissants from the commissary to soften them up a little. "Look here, I am an intelligent man, no? We are all perfectly intelligent men here. Twelve years, I am a senior _enqueteur_ with the Force. I have awards, commendations, citations. My jacket is clean. I look forward to retirement in a few years...who knows, a small chateau in Lombardy...my wife's family said we could have it. Peaceful days, gardening, some crops, she loves horses, you know...my wife does. This—" he waved his arms around the small interrogation room, bare but for a table and a few chairs, " _this_...doesn't help. I want to believe you. Every brain cell in my head says you must be telling me the truth...why would you lie to me in a place like this...but, _en realite_ , time travelers? This is beyond—" he groped for the right words, "—beyond understanding. Beyond even common sense. If I—" he stopped when his assistant Remy returned, motioned for Lecroix to step outside in the hall. With the door partly ajar, Noor and Dugay saw them talking quite animatedly. Disgusted with what he had just heard, Lecroix came back inside, with Remy.

"It seems, monsieurs, that you are telling me the truth. I've been instructed to release you to UNIFORCE Security at once." Even as he said this, two uniformed officers appeared at the door. Dugay recognized the sunburst emblems on their shoulders...the emblem of UNIFORCE.

Lecroix motioned for them to stand and said nothing, hands behind his back, looking down at the floor, as Dugay and Noor were escorted from the basement interrogation room down several halls, through several secured access doors to a lift.

They rode the lift for some time, for the Quartier-General was a seventy-floor building, affectionately referred to by the residents of the 5th _arrondisement_ as 'The Big Spleen.'

When the lift doors open, Dugay and Noor were greeted immediately by the bemused face of Dr. Anika Radovich, President of the InFed Council. Without a word, she beckoned them into a large conference theater filled with delegates, real and virtual, for the room was thick with drifting avatars. Dugay never saw one particular avatar that had come out of the shadows of a distant corner. But the curious avatar stayed a respectful distance away and merely regarded him with an inquisitive stare.

A voice rose above the commotion. It came from the Director-General of UNIFORCE, one Hu Longchu.

"Delegates! Delegates, please...take your seats. Virtuals to the rear, keep the table and displays clear, please."

A swirl of motion followed, punctuated by coughs, rustling clothes, chairs scraping and twinkling clouds of pixels as avatars re-located.

Hu intoned an introduction and the conference was underway.

After a few logistical and procedural details, Hu indicated Radovich, sitting to his right. Dugay and Noor stood awkwardly behind her chair.

"The chair recognizes Ms. Radovich, the InFed President."

"Mr. Director-General, it is an extremely fortunate coincidence—" Radovich twisted around to look at Dugay for a moment, "or maybe not a coincidence, that as we begin deliberations, we have in our midst our most famous builder and architect, Mr. Philippe Dugay. The architect of this glorious Outer Ring project. With the current delays in the project, Mr. Dugay has brought some new information and a proposal which I think will enable us to move forward with this project in a timely manner."

Dugay listened carefully to the debate, the questions and accusations, nudging Noor to be still and stop fidgeting so much and was sobered to realize that the ripple effects of the Guardians attack in Noor's time, the 32nd century, had caused more damage than he realized. Noor would explain later why Novikov resonances and simultaneity events could sometimes be so severe, but now was not the time. He learned that the delay Radovich was referring to came about because four of the transmuting stations orbiting Jupiter, the factories that took hydrogen streams from Jupiter and spat out construction materials for the Ring were offline, damaged in the events of several months ago.

He realized Radovich was still speaking, even as he tried to visualize what had happened at Jupiter, and stuttered a response when the President turned for him to add to her speech.

"Uh, yes, Madame President, all this is...er, true. Very unfortunate." He felt for the small tab Delano had given him and found it in a pocket. The gendarmerie had never found it in their body search. He held it up. "This is my proposal. Using Saturn as a source of material instead of Jupiter. Relocating our transmuting stations there. Streaming hydrogen off Saturn—"

But before he could even finish the sentence, or figure out how to activate the tab, the room had exploded into chaos.

"Saturn...you must be daft, man--!"

"Much too far away...it would take years for--!"

"Impossible...not practical...can't possibly be a serious..."

"Logistics alone would be a nightmare--!"

"Show us this folly now!"

It took an hour and help from UNIFORCE tech support for anyone to figure how the tab could be activated. Once active, it sprayed clouds of data blocks and vids and talking heads lecturing about the room, all speaking and running at once. Little puffs of video segments materialized and drifted about, along with animations, artist depictions, actual imagery from Delano's work streaming hydrogen off Saturn and collimating it into pulses for transport across billions of kilometers of space, the catcher and deflector stations.

The delegates fell quiet, mesmerized, as Dugay warmed to the task and offered detailed explanations of what they were seeing.

"How could this idea ever work?" asked the delegate from InFed's Delambre. "The distances alone would defeat this. It's just theory...or an architect's wet dream."

"It already _has_ worked," Dugay informed him, but before he could elaborate, Noor nudged him, whispering _Don't...Causality...Time Guard regs._ "What I mean to say is...just check the numbers. Run the calculations. You'll find this will work."

The debate raged on for an hour but in the end, InFed and Concordance delegates, urged on by Hu and his UNIFORCE attendees, could find no other reasonable alternative. Dugay topped off his presentation by flicking open the tab again, to reveal a pleading avatar of Kaiser Izmit, from Sol Secundas.

"We are your children," the Izmit avatar told them, "and we are dying."

It never failed.

The Outer Ring project was already in standdown and the delay could run to several years. It was Dugay's idea, supported by a growing number of delegates, to use the delay to re-locate streaming operations to Saturn and start building out the infrastructure to support that.

Completion of the Outer Ring would go on, but would be slightly delayed by this shift in sourcing the raw materials. Saturn, Uranus and Neptune could all serve as material sources for the Outer Ring in the 23rd century and as raw material for the Second Sun project in the 32nd century. But the delegates didn't know that and Noor wouldn't let Dugay tell them.

The solar system would over time look radically different and already there was opposition to breaking down Saturn. But at least, Humanity would survive into the 32nd century and hopefully, further into the future. Dugay figured he had done his job saving the future of Man.

Several rounds of votes were taken. On the final vote, only a few dissenters were left. Hu's motion, seconded by Radovich, supported by all InFed delegates and quite a few from Concordance, was approved. Some viewed sourcing Saturn as an encroachment into Concordance space but some last-minute negotiations and maneuvering eventually quashed that objection.

The conference gradually dissolved into hearty rounds of backslapping, laughs, raucous jokes and pointing fingers, made even heartier when carts heavy with hors d'ouevres, canapes, and other delectable appeared at the doors. Drinks flowed, crumbs flew everywhere and Dugay was about to partake of some kind of smoked fish when one of the avatars sidled up alongside. He turned and jumped with a start when he realized it was Kate Lind, in virtual.

"I've been watching you, Philippe," the avatar said. It was a decent likeness of the woman he remembered 'saving' on a nondescript asteroid after her cruiser had 'blown up.' In virtual he could see that her entire body was new—leaner, firmer. Her skin was more supple and textured than ever, it was a tight, glistening new coat, darker than before. He had questioned her with his eyebrows. "It's called regenerative surgery, you idiot. Plus, some new nanoderm. The best possible disguise. By the way, you handled yourself well."

"Your avatar does you good, Kate. I didn't know you would be here."

She shrugged, winked. "Nobody really knows who I am, see? I'm supposed to be dead, blown up in that cruiser accident. Kinnelly—my sister—is Plutarch now." She shrugged. "Of course, that's just ceremonial. _She_ —" Kate indicated Radovich, animatedly discussing things with other delegates "—is the real power in InFed. It's gone to her head too. I have no official capacity. I just 'hitched' a ride with one of the other InFed delegates. I wanted to see what would happen...but I never dreamed the real Philippe Dugay would also be here."

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"So do I," Dugay said, realizing Noor was standing right next to him. "Where are you actually?"

"With the Delambrian delegation...in London. My 'ride' carried my avatar in a thumbstik in his coat pocket. Activated me when no one was looking. I've been here all along."

Dugay shook his head. "It's sad what has happened to the Project. But trust me, Saturn will be an excellent substitute."

"I heard. You were very convincing. How does it feel to be able to sway so many important people to your way of thinking?"

Dugay knew where this was going. "Easier than if Octavio Patron were here. What...you want me to say I tasted the power and it went to my head?"

"You know me better than that."

"That's the point...I _do_ know you better."

"Fair enough. I have a proposal of my own.,"

"Somehow, I knew you would. I'm all ears."

"Come to London. Get on the vactrain. You could be here in half an hour, tops."

"Where do I come?"

The Kate avatar scrunched up her fetching little face to think. Avatars could do things with their faces even nanodermed former Plutarchs couldn't. "How about this? Meet me at the Milton Arms pub. Charing Cross Road, just a block from Foyles. You can't miss it."

Without realizing why he had agreed, other than Kate's inevitable pull on his emotions, he said yes.

Half an hour later, he walked up out of the vactrain terminal near Piccadilly and headed north along Charing Cross.

The Milton Arms pub claimed to have operated since the mid-19th century, some three hundred years if the adverts could be believed. Dugay pushed through the doors and found a dimly-lit club of dark wood and green leather. Plaques and photos lined the walls, mixed in with open books, swords and a few axes.

Kate Lind was at the bar, already working on a pint. She fingered suds into her mouth as Dugay approached, beaming up at him.

After a moment's hesitation, he gave her a light peck on the forehead.

"Kate...."

She wiped suds from her lips. "Monsieur Dugay, I believe." She hopped off the stool, twirled around for show. "So, how do I look?"

"Lost." Dugay found his own stool, ordered a pint for himself.

She made a moue and sat down. "You're supposed to say something like 'not bad for a dead Plutarch.' I did more nanoderm—" she portraited her face for him.

"Let's see...higher cheek bones. Leaner face. And something with your eyes...?"

"Every girl's dream." Kate laid a hand on his arm. "The meeting in Paris went to your liking?"

Dugay quaffed beer. "If you're asking 'am I happy the Outer Ring is delayed,' the answer is no. Events made that necessary." He figured it wasn't worth trying to explain about Pieter Delano and all the time travel and Second Sun. "Saturn's just as good source. Mine Saturn and ship the gas slugs sunward...easier and cheaper than going uphill against gravity."

"No doubt. But it seems your big legacy, your statement project isn't going so well. Doesn't that make you...I don't know, is 'sad' the word? Cast aside? Forgotten...consigned to the history books?"

"You can stop anytime you'd like. I never considered the Ring as any kind of capstone career move."

That made Kate's face explode with laughter, spraying beer everywhere. She snorted up a few loose suds. "Philippe, my dear confused little man, dismantling Jupiter and building the Ring for Octavio Patron and all the masters of the Universe inside InFed was always the signature statement of your illustrious career. You said so yourself."

"I never said any such thing."

"Not in words, stupid. But in everything you did, it was pretty clear. Ah, Philippe, it's just like the old days, no? You run around begging for scraps from your masters and they manage to drop a few your way and you're so happy. It's all over your face. Hell, I almost expected you to lick Patron in _his_ face, you're so happy. Don't you see it? As long as you depend on scraps from the table, you're always on the edge of starvation. Dependent on the whims of others."

"Like I was dependent on your whims and the Linds for so long."

Kate frowned, concentrated on finishing her pint. She motioned for the servbot to do another round for both of them. "That's not fair. I know what Athalonia did to you. I could see it. Everybody could see it. Philippe, whether you realize it or not, I made you whole again."

"Yes, but a whole ' _what'_? A whole slave? A whole child? How about a whole slobbering mess of a life?"

Kate's lips stiffened. This wasn't going at all like she'd hoped. "So what does Philippe Dugay do now? The spotlights are elsewhere. The Ring's delayed. No more accolades for awhile. No more acclaim. That hole inside of you might start growing again."

"I suppose you want me to say that only you can fill that hole, is that it?"

She shrugged. Twisted about on the stool to face him directly. She cupped his chin with her hand. "Philippe, I would never say that. Actually, I don't have to. For your information and since you were about to ask, I'm headed sunward. Place called _Tawshet_."

Dugay had heard the name before, tried to pin down the memory. "What? You mean they don't want you around the Chamber of Deputies anymore? You're like a bad memory around the Plutarchy. _Tawshet_...that was the place—"

She shushed him. "Yes, that _was_ the place. Still is. No need for details."

"Tawshet...what does that even mean?"

"It's a Tuareg word...means clan or tribe. Most of the station crew are Tuareg emigrants, or descendants. You know, like from the Sahara Desert...hot sun, scalding temperatures. Who's better at manning Inner Grid stations for sunpower...like my father always said, 'They came from the desert...they don't need much and I don't give them much.'"

Dugay wasn't beyond a little teasing, dredging up details from memory. "Around 2222 or thereabouts, I seem to remember...

"Philippe, really...you don't have to—"

But it came out anyway and, over a few more pints, they both relived one of her worst memories, one of the worst times of her life. Kate had finished her mandatory schooling and tutoring and was anxious to get out from under father Arthur's wings and make her own way. Toward that end, Arthur had given her a job as a technician, later an assistant manager at a sunsat inside Mercury's orbit, a lonely place called _Tawshet._ The sunsat was based on Tuareg culture; the word meant 'clan' in the Tuareg language. The vast Lind combine was building the Inner Grid that would power much of the inner solar system development for decades. Here, just a few million kilometers beyond the Sun's corona, Kate really grew up fast and learned about men...the hard way.

She'd been responsible technically for _Tawshet's_ life support systems. _Tawshet_ was a rough, male-dominated, highly stratified, caste-ridden place, despite InFed regulations and Kate found it tough going for a female to survive in this culture. She refused to wear a veil and _aftek_ (woman's shirt-like dress) after work hours, per custom and had frequent run-ins with a particularly overbearing lead engineer named Iyad Ghaly. Ghaly was lead on the Inner Grid transformer station _Vela_ , some twenty-million kilometers away from _Tawshet_ , which required frequent maintenance and inspection trips to that station. Kate's job required her to occasionally accompany Ghaly on some of these trips and on one trip, Ghaly attempted to rape her.

The end result of the rape attempt was Ghaly died when Kate was able to force him into an airlock and cycle the air; he died of exposure to the vacuum. There was an investigation (the incident became known around InFed as the _Vela Affair_ and there was much talk about what had really happened) and only Kate's name and her powerful father saved her from prosecution. Not too long after this incident in 2225, Kate returned home to Balmoral and Arthur put her to work on his own staff, as an administrative assistant, where he could keep an eye on her.

Kate shook her sadly. "You feel better after dragging my carcass through the mud again?"

"Why go back there? It's nothing but bad memories for you."

She shrugged. "I don't know. Redemption. A scrap of respect. The challenge. Maybe there's a hole in my life too. Why don't you come with me?" She looked up, her eyes sparkling with something...mischief, maybe, or some kind of teasing glance.

"And do what: wilt under the Sun? Get fried by radiation?" The thought that nine hundred years later, men like him would so damage that very Sun they'd have to think up wacko ideas like igniting Jupiter to save themselves was sobering but he said nothing about that.

"We could start a family...you and me."

There it was, out in the open and it couldn't be recalled. Dugay tried to make light of it. "I have a family. I have a son."

"By that other woman...what was her name: Semarilyn somethingorother?"

Dugay shook his head, hopped off the stool. "Sorry. I'm not buying. Family life twenty million klicks from the Sun doesn't appeal to me. I need something bigger. I need a different challenge. Outward...away from the Sun."

"You mean _I_ don't appeal to you." Kate clutched her chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Philippe. Right to the heart. You really know how to give a girl a great time."

Dugay motioned the servbot over, paid the tab over her objections and gave her another peck on her forehead. It was warm, almost but not quite trembling. _Maybe I imagined that_. "I'd better be getting back."

"Back to your miserable life building monuments to yourself? Is that all there is?"

As a final gesture, Dugay took both her hands in hers. He was surprised how warm and moist they were? More nanoderm? She could turn the stuff on and off like a switch. "I'll come to _Tawshet_ someday. Promise. We'll drink to old times."

"I may not be there, Philippe. Can't you see the headlines: _disgraced old Plutarch rises from the dead, then dies again a lonely death on backwater sunsat station_?"

"I doubt that. Good-bye, Kate."

He left her at the bar and went back to the vactrain terminal at Piccadilly. Boarding the tube, he settled into a seat in first-class and peered out, at walls less than a meter away. He shuddered at the feeling of being constrained, being closed in. But soon enough, the vactrain lurched into motion, sucked along at hundreds of kilometers an hour, levitated like a weightless leaf through its evacuated tube. He would be back at the Gare-d'Orsay terminal in half an hour.

In that time, Philippe Dugay made the most important decision he had made in years.

He would go back, back to Pieter Delano's time, back to the 32nd century and witness Jupiter flare into brilliant life as a new star, Man's second sun.

He found his chrononaut-pilot Noor Mohammed in a noisy gathering in the Quartier-General's basement containment lab. Noor was standing on a platform. Jumpship _Pollux_ was behind him, draped in cables and instruments, while he explained how systems worked on the craft. Dozens of eager technicians and scientists made a raucous crowd, pressing forward with endless questions. Dugay stood in the back while questions flew thick and fast.

"Sir, can you explain the singularity core again--?"

"Is it true you don't age at all when traveling worldlines?"

"Those flowvaters...they really work against the vacuum fluctuations in spacetime?"

After watching Noor for a few moments, Dugay waved at him, got his attention. Noor excused himself, stepped down off the platform and came over, while his audience swarmed the platform and ship.

Dugay explained. "Noor, I want to go back."

Noor blinked. "You mean _back..._ to the launch point?"

Dugay nodded. "There's nothing for me here, now. The Ring's delayed. I need to go back, be with my...with Pieter. Can the ship make it?"

Noor rubbed his chin, sucked in a breath. "Good question, Mr. Dugay. She's functional, that's about all I could say now."

"Can she be made operational? Can we leave from right here, from the lab?"

The pilot considered that, rubbed his hands through bristly hair. "In theory, we could. I'd need...say about four hours, with none of these buggers around...to check her out completely. Get rid of the crowd and leave me alone long enough, and I can make her ready. And yes, we could leave right from that platform. 'Course, I don't know what might happen to all the equipment around here, or the walls for that matter. We may need some permits."

Dugay was determined. "I'm not asking for anyone's permission. I'll find a reason to get these people out of here. Get to your checklists, Noor. And tell me when to be back here."

Noor checked the time. "I need a good four hours. It's 1800 hours now. Come back about 2330 hours. With any luck, _Pollux_ will be powered up and ready to go by then."

Dugay agreed and waded into the crowd. He told them he would be happy to explain everything and answer all their questions, if they'd only follow him. He knew of a small courtyard off a nearby corridor. "It's a lovely evening outside. My wristpad here has all kind of unique things you'd like to know. I can tell you the 32nd century is nothing like this...just follow me."

And much to his and Noor's surprise, most of them did.

After entertaining his audience for an hour, Dugay was grateful that the crowd eventually tired of the canned history lessons, thinned out and dispersed. He decided to go to the Hotel Auguste Comte a few blocks away. UNIFORCE had kindly arranged a room for him during his enforced stay in Paris. He caught a jetcab and made his way up to the fifteenth-floor room. It was furnished like one of Octavio Patron's _Zanzibar_ brothels, he had decided. Peach damask walls. Lace curtains and doilies and Louis XIV chairs. He had some packing to do—the jumpship would be departing, if all went well, around midnight, but he decided a hot shower would make life a little easier. He was tired and sore and was looking forward to the lesser gravity world of the jumpship and Geyser City. Earthlife had been hard on his slight frame and muscles. Philippe Dugay was wiry and strong but there just wasn't a lot of mass there to hold him up. His shoulders and neck ached from just dragging his bones around in 1-g.

He stripped off his clothes and got the shower going with a voice command. "Medium flow...spray one...hot...and what was that scent I liked--?"

" _Amazon waterfall, sir...would you also like the air dry scented?"_

"Negative...just the usual blast." He climbed in and let the stinging hot needles scour his face and shoulders.

Shower over, Dugay stepped out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair, and sat down for a moment to arrange his clothes. The bedsheets were mercifully cool— _Tawshet sunsat station, my ass_ , he muttered to himself, and before he realized it, he had laid back and fallen sound asleep in the middle of the bed's ruffled doilies.

Only a chime from his wristpad startled him awake. It was nearly 2330 hours already.

Dugay hustled to get dressed and sped downstairs for a jetcab. He was back at the containment lab in ten minutes.

Noor was already inside the cabin of _Pollux_. He heard Dugay's steps on the platform.

"Thought you had forgotten our little date, sir."

Dugay climbed in. "Is the ship ready? Can we leave?"

Noor smirked. "Well, ISAAC says everything's ready. Core's already at flight power. "Course, we don't exactly have clearance. Maybe we ought to secure those doors. I wouldn't want some poor lab tech wandering in here at the wrong time."

"Good idea." Dugay climbed out and did what he could to secure the lab doors. He climbed back into the ship and situated himself. "Can I do anything here to help out?"

Noor grinned, happy to finally be back in his element. "Just hold on to your hat. ISAAC, begin sequence now."

The ship's AI answered back. _"I have all sensors tuned to the exact frequency of vacuum field fluctuations, Lieutenant. On course now. We are centered in the cylinder of displacement to within twelve point five zepto-arcseconds of nominal course. Adjusting now...."_

Noor just shook his head. "Get ready for a major kick in the ass...sir."

The voidtime boundary came up much faster than they expected.

"I'm opening up the throttle now," Noor said. "Increasing to redline. Hang on and buckle up!"

_Pollux_ shuddered slightly, as her power plant stroked higher and she nosed into the outer edge effects of the voidtime channel.

Just then, _Pollux_ lurched one last time in the growing turbulence and punched straight through the barrier, yanked into the river of time, into the midst of a million tomorrows.

Custodians and lab techs were cleaning up the Containment chamber for days afterward.

Cable Ship _Cincinnati_

Low Jupiter Orbit

September 5, 2249 CE

"Then we're agreed, right? Now's the time. This is the place. We can't wait to start back up again. Any objections, put 'em on the table now."

Nobody in cable ship _Cincinnati's_ crews' mess said a word. System Tech 1st class Detrick scanned the tense faces around the table: Wolfe, Myers, Lopez and Yamin. Faces looked down at the fake wood grain of the table. Eyes were averted. Nobody said a thing.

Mike Detrick slapped the table with finality. "Okay, that's it then. We're doing this. Hey, stop looking like you're at some kind of funeral. We've got a job here. We know what's at stake. If we don't scram _Cincinnati's_ cable system, the laydown continues. Maybe not Jupiter anymore. I heard the talk, same as you. You know what else I heard? I heard Saturn's in play now, 'cause we're stood down. We might be re-locating all our gear up-sun to Saturn, start laying cable there, just like we did here. And for what? So the Man can grab all the hydrogen, make habs and get rich off our backs? Not a chance. We do this right and the others do their jobs, and there ain't gonna be no Outer Ring, not now, not ever. Leave the friggin' planets alone for Christ's sake. That's what I say."

Yamin looked up finally, dark eyes darting about under darker eyebrows. "I'm with you, Mike. I am. But it's risky. Sabotage of company property...you know what could happen. It's not like Frontier Corps won't have a lot of suspects. There's only so many of us they can question."

"Somebody'll break," decided Wolfe. "Not me, but somebody. You can bet on it."

Detrick's eyes flashed. "Nobody's gonna break. We've come too far. We got others on the other ships. We got a plan. We got a timetable. Nobody's gonna suspect anything. Hell, we can always blame it on that time disturbance thing." Detrick held up both hands. "Honest, Inspector, I didn't touch a thing. I can't imagine how the cable could came loose...I checked it per spec and it seemed okay...I mean give me a break. What can they say?"

Wolfe agreed. "You're probably right. But Yaz is right too. This thing's got to go off on split-second timing or the game's up."

Detrick knew courage when he saw it. He also knew chickenshit when he saw it. You could smell that. "Okay, think of it like this. Why're we even doing this? Nobody's really paying us to stick our fingers in the Man's eye. We're doing this for our kids...our sons and daughters. We let the Man—excuse me, the Consortium—dredge hydrogen off Jupiter, maybe even Saturn, what have your kids got left? Scraps of a planet. A dead black core of a world...something that's as much their birthright as yours or the Man's. Hey, once Jupiter's gone, where does it stop? Saturn? Uranus...maybe _your_ anus. The Sun. No—" Detrick slapped the table again. He loved to make everybody jump half a meter. "We stop this here. Not for us. For our kids. For our families. For their future."

Lopez said, "Damn straight. I say stop yapping and get on with it. We ought to think up a nickname for ourselves."

They liked that idea.

Myers put out, "Space Rangers."

"Myers, don't be a dick."

"How about Keepers. Like we _keep_ things the way they are."

"Not bad. We could call ourselves Guardians of Jupiter and All That's Pure and Right."

Snickers bounced around the table.

Detrick snapped his fingers. "How about just Guardians?"

That sounded sufficiently menacing. Then Yamin thought he heard something rustling outside. He checked outside the hatch and froze. "Jeez, shut the fuck up, will ya! Captain's coming down the gangway!"

Chapter 17

Sol Secundas Headquarters

Geyser City, Enceladus

Solix 5.12.3182

Jumpship _Pollux_ 'landed' amid a swirl of ice and mist in the Valley of Andalus Sulci, some sixteen kilometers from Geyser City's pads. Noor shrugged, shutting down systems, powering down the ship.

"Okay, so ChronoNav isn't always on the money. At least, we got to the right planet, the right moon. _Enceladus, Jeez."_

"Where are we?" Dugay asked. "And when?"

Noor checked his plot. "Not far from the City. As to when, ChronoNav's showing us in solix 5.12.3182...that would be about four hundred plus solices after we originally departed."

"Explain."

Noor finagled with his plot to get some new numbers. "Make it about twenty-eight years, Earth time, after we left."

Dugay considered that, studying the view of Saturn out the porthole. "I wonder. Saturn's smaller, a bit dimmer. Look at the rings...they look like fluff balls now. It's lost mass. And Jupiter's brighter than ever. Maybe we're getting closer to the big day."

Noor had already contacted Enceladus Traffic Control. "Even better...Time Guard's sending an icecat for us."

A heavy-duty crawler arrived a few minutes later and scooped up _Pollux_. They were at the City and inside Crawler Bay Two in half an hour.

Noor went off to Time Guard debriefings. After a quick medscan and checkup, Dugay was released on his own recognizance and headed into the Ice Plaza.

He let his wristpad, synched to the locator net, guide him to Sol Secundas Operations, down on Level 2. There, he ran into Kaiser Izmit, the Prime Councilor, heading out.

Izmit was startled. "Mr. Dugay...I didn't...I mean, it's been a long time."

_In a manner of speaking_ , Dugay thought. "I was looking for Pieter Delano. And some news."

"Ah, you're in luck. Tomorrow's Ignition Day. Pieter's up at the observatory. I'm headed there now. Come with me."

Crowds were thick as usual across the Ice Plaza, thickest around the da Vinci Fountain, but they ducked into a crawlerway and walked a kilometer through the buried tube to the base of Gamma Hill, at the far end of the ice ravine in which the City was situated. A funicular terminal was at the base of the hill.

"Some years ago," Izmit was saying as they boarded the funicular car, "we built our Ignition Control Center on top of this hill...Gamma Hill. It's got a great view of Andalus Sulci, the ice plateau...and the geysers are spectacular at night. We've got everything up here...the control center itself, machine shops, instrument labs and of course, the observatory too. Actually, Gamma Hill's just one observatory. Sol Secundas has dozens of scopes and satellites, up-sun and down, surrounding Jupiter...or Jove as we're calling it now."

Dugay remarked, "It seems that Saturn itself is smaller and dimmer than before. And the rings—"

"Yes, yes, the mass loss. All that hydrogen's been shuttled off to Jupiter, which is now about eighty times more massive. Primed and ready for the spark, as they say."

They reached the summit of Gamma Hill. Izmit showed Dugay around in a quick tour, then led him to the Observatory center. Pieter Delano was inside, poring over some displays and charts. He looked up and seem startled. Dugay noticed a few more gray hairs, a few non-

nanodermed wrinkles.

"Philippe...my God, it's been so many solices...so long. I didn't ever expect to see you here."

They hugged lightly. Dugay explained. "There wasn't any reason for me to stay. The Ring's been delayed, indefinitely. There was a big meeting...InFed, Concordance, UNIFORCE. You could say some heads were knocked together. And we stopped streaming Jupiter—"

Delano snapped his fingers. "That explains that. We saw the mass loss drop off to nothing. Once we saw that, we drastically increased streaming from Saturn and really piled on the hydrogen. Jupiter's bloated up like a big balloon. Your people are going to shift operations out to Saturn?"

"It's being debated. The Ring had to be delayed because some of the infrastructure was damaged in the attacks...transmuting stations, some cable ships, that sort of thing...attacks that rippled down to my time, I guess. I still don't really understand that."

"Nobody does. But you came back at a good time. Tomorrow is Ignition Day. The celebrations and parades in the City should be quite a sight."

"The Councilor told me. I had my pilot—you remember Noor Mohammed—try to come back as close to this time as we could...not really knowing for sure the exact conditions."

"Here...let me show you." Delano pulled up a close-range image of Jupiter, now swollen and banded, many times bigger than before. "This is from a satscope we have orbiting near Lagrange point L5, I believe. Yes--" he checked the feed, "S-7's the one."

"What will you see on Ignition Day?"

Delano smiled apologetically. "Not that much, actually. Remember what's actually going on. Once we send the signal for ignition, fusion reactions start inside Jupiter. Four hydrogen nuclei combine to form a helium atom, giving off some of the lost mass as energy, as light. For the first few weeks, nothing will be visible or detectable. We've calculated that detectable luminosity and radiation effects should be there in about one solix or so. For the reaction process to envelop the entire planetary mass will takes many solices, maybe five or six...half a year to you. Jupiter will grow steadily brighter by the day, then brighter still until, once the reactions have reached a stable state, Jupiter...I'm sorry, Jove... will outshine everything else in the sky, even first sun."

"You mentioned stable state—"

"Yes, that's the point when radiation pressure from fusion balances gravitational forces trying to compress the planet. At that point, if all goes well, Jove enters the main sequence and becomes another star in the night sky...and our second sun. Indeed, the reactions will propagate slowly at first, but it's exponential. Once luminosity reaches a threshold value, it'll proceed rapidly."

"This process will take awhile?"

"To reach Stable One, we estimate may well take ten solices...most of a year. But it'll be quite a show. We'll be monitoring it closely from right here. You'll have a great seat...if you want to stay."

Dugay seemed thoughtful. "I want to see the Outer Ring completed. That's my biggest commission. And I want to use Saturn to do it...that's my biggest challenge. But I also want to see this...this is the biggest achievement of all. I'm jealous."

Delano smiled. "Are you sure that's all you want?"

Dugay knew he meant Kate Lind. "Kate's hopeless. A lost cause. She wants a family. She wants to live like a frontierswoman at some ramshackle place near Mercury, for God's sake. Me—"

Delano said it for both of them. "You want something bigger. Something no one else has done."

Dugay smiled a crooked smile. "Are we both pharaohs, Pieter? Are our egos really that big?"

"I took you up on your offer, Philippe and tried some old holovids. I remember one where I walked and talked with 'Michelangelo'. Very interesting man, that one. He said this to me:' _a true work of art is but a shadow of divine perfection_.' That made me think."

"It makes me sad but it's true for both of us. We're both trying to wriggle up to that shadow and somehow capture it."

Delano waved at that. "Bah. Enough philosophy. Let's get something to eat. There's a canteen downstairs. It's going to be a long night up here on Gamma Hill."

All across Geyser City, and through the solar system, especially in Concordance space, Ignition Day dawned with celebrations both rampant and raucous. In the Ice Plaza, crowds milled about the da Vinci Fountains, listening to music, watching 3-d images of acrobats and 'cat races out on the ice plains of Andalus Sulci, barely following dozens of hectoring speeches on soapboxes stationed around Lake Dundee. Children squealed and jugglers juggled and carts dispensed confections and candies and the air was thick with balloons and swooping 3-d images of Venusian thermosaurs and Europan icthyots.

Watching feeds from the City on monitors inside the Ignition Control Center, Dugay wondered openly about the hundreds of settlements in Jovian space yet to be fully abandoned or relocated.

"There must be hundreds," he surmised. "Europa, Callisto, Ganymede, Io, not to mention all the terretas and freeflyers--"

Delano was pecking away madly at a console, trying to gain better resolution on the center of the Jovian disk. Ignition was just a few minutes away now. Several dozen technicians, engineers and controllers had crowded into Operations, spilling out into the corridors. Kaiser Izmit was holding forth at one end with a bevy of NeuroNet reporters.

"Secundas has been putting out alerts and advisories every solix for quite some time now. Frontier Corps' got ships orbiting high, trying to make sure everybody observes minimum safe distance. Of course, full luminosity won't come for ten or fifteen solices; most of these places have plenty of time to move. You knew Chaos City itself was abandoned, didn't you?"

"I didn't, but I'm not surprised. There seemed to be a lot of damage when you and I left."

"Near total. Catastrophic was the word I heard. Hundreds of casualties. I'm glad Concordance was able to hunt down the perpetrators."

"I just hope we've seen the last of them," Dugay muttered inwardly, but he wasn't so sure.

Izmit had now come over, having ditched the reporters, seeing that the Big Moment was less than a minute away.

He beamed like a proud father. "You know, Mr. Delano, the scientists tell me that because of Enceladus' proximity to Jove, this little berg will become much warmer and a lot of the ice will melt."

Dugay looked puzzled. "Won't all the water vaporize in the vacuum?"

Izmit's smile grew wider, a Chamber of Commerce smile. "Technically, if we did nothing. But Pieter here tells me he's got some ideas on how to fix that."

Delano seemed annoyed by the interruption but relented. "It's just a matter of giving Enceladus an atmosphere, enough pressure to raise the boiling point of any meltwater. We've already scoped out a few cometary bodies in the near Kuiper Belt. Under control, we could slam a few onto the other side of Enceladus and park a short-term atmosphere here. Gravity would be an issue in holding it but I've seen designs for atmosphere generators we could place around the surface. It could be done. But it would be costly."

Izmit shrugged, painting a picture with his hands. "Just imagine it. A satellite of Saturn becoming an oceanic world dotted with islands, reefs, even small continents. Not so much different from what you did with Earth's Moon, eh, Mr. Dugay? You started all this."

Dugay just shook his head. It was clear that there would be radical changes across the System once Jove began shining in earnest, changes even out to the distance of Uranus and Neptune. Millions of migrants and refugees from the inner System would forever alter the look and feel of the out worlds. The immigrant hordes were coming.

"How long can we expect Jupiter...excuse me, Jove...to burn?"

Here, Delano came up with some back of the hand calculations. "Our models are estimating, based on good ignition and achieving stability, about eight hundred million years on the main sequence, give or take a few million."

"Long enough for a new history to unfold," Dugay decided.

Izmit added, "We're even trying to change the language. Instead of solar system, we want to call it the Jovian System. Old Sol's not going to be shining much longer. Despite what Salvation Project's trying to do."

The final countdown had come and all inside the control center shouted down the last few seconds....

" _FOUR...THREE...TWO...ONE...NOW!"_

Kaiser Izmit had been given the honor of pressing an impressively large red button, adorned with ribbons. With a flourish, he pressed.

And all the displays showed nothing changed at all.

Delano barked out. "It takes time, people. It takes time. But we've got a good signal. Good ignition on all jets. I'm seeing a few reactions already...helium ash building nicely."

On the displays, the face of swollen Jupiter remained unchanged. Banded and seething with majestic turbulence, the vast calico shroud roiled and churned as it had for four billion years. Red spots big and small creeped by, driven by hurricane-force winds. But Dugay knew that an irreversible point had come, for it was a given that once started, the internal fusion reactions could not be stopped.

For better or worse, the System would eventually have a second sun.

Over time, over nearly a full solix, the crowds inside the control center gradually began to disperse and scatter. Inside Geyser City, crowds thinned and sweepbots began the herculean task of corralling all the trash—discarded cups and wrappers, lost toys, broken prizes and torn sleeves, a few shoes and slippers—shoving all the detritus of weeks of celebrations toward the incinerators.

By nightfall, Delano yawned and Dugay startled himself awake from what had planned to be only a few minutes' rest in a chair at the back. He stretched and came over to Delano's console. A hand on his cousin's back made Delano's head snap up abruptly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Delano rubbed his eyes. "No, no...it's okay. We should head back to the City. Get back to a normal schedule. And get something to eat too. You up for some Martian _tolidas_?"

"I guess—" Dugay's eye caught something on one of the monitors. "What's that?"

Delano checked, _h'mmmed_ , fingers flying over the console. He tried different views, different scopesats, running up resolution to max, toggling in different instruments. "I'm not believing it. Amazing. Actually, a little worrisome too."

"What is it?"

"Look at the pyrheliometer reading from S-22, right there. It's measuring direct beam irradiance from Jupiter, er, Jove. Light enters a window, goes to a thermopile which converts it to a signal. It's reading awfully high. I'm checking other sats now—"

For a few minutes, he was quiet, save for a few throat gurgles and coughs. "The same...look. S-10 through S-31, all showing big spikes in radiance. Light levels are increasing faster than our models predicted. It's like the fusion process is way more efficient than we figured."

Dugay sniffed. "You're a better designer than you realize."

"Here, I'll try visual..."

For a long moment, both architects were stunned into silence. But the evidence of their eyes would not be denied.

A bright patch of light was clearly visible, centered at latitude twenty-three degrees south and longitude one twenty degrees east. An irregular, almost oval patch of light which expanded and grew even as they watched, as if it were an organism growing and dividing, was centered in the scope display. Resembling a brilliant off-color red spot, the patch moved with the planet's rotation but swelled noticeably as they stood dumbfounded by what they were seeing.

"Our models are off... _way_ off," Delano breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "All our models and algorithms showed First Light at an average of five point four solices, maybe four to five Earth months to you. Not two days."

"Is the process stable?"

Delano checked every instrument he could check. "Seems to be. At least for now. It's like Jove is a baby in a hurry to be born. If this rate holds, we could be at Full Light and on the main sequence in two solices, maybe less."

Dugay was surprised to find himself both moderately jealous and proud of his cousin. He stuck out a hand. "Congratulations. You must be a proud papa now."

Delano took his hand in somewhat bemused good humor. "Our baby still has a long to way to go. I'd better note all this in the log. We'll need to study all our instruments, make sure luminosity and radiation output are nominal. There must be some effects going on we didn't anticipate."

Dugay watched his cousin studying his new creation. He sat down at a nearby console and studied the displays, displays showing the birth pangs of a new star, a second sun.

"You know, Pieter, I once talked in a holovid with Brunelleschi, about his cathedral in Florence. I asked him what it was like to watch his magnificent dome rise into the sky."

Delano was still hunched over his console, hurriedly logging what they were seeing. "I haven't tried that one yet. What did he tell you?"

"I don't remember the exact words but it was something along the lines of ' _I propose to build for eternity_.'"

His hair slightly askew and his clothes rumpled from a long night, Delano finally looked up and wiped perspiration from his forehead. "Sounds like a great builder. If we didn't have our massive egos, what would we have?" He sat down with a groan and sighed. Behind his head, every display showed the same thing: tuned to visual feeds, they showed a vast, swollen Jupiter being steadily consumed by a fire within. The light patch was growing fast.

Delano half smiled. "I suppose the competition to top earlier efforts and build even bigger monuments, even bigger domes, will go on. There's an unbroken line from the pyramids to the cathedrals to the skyscrapers to your terretas and Earth's Moon to this...to a second sun. I'm glad you could be here to witness it, Philippe."

Dugay nodded but he was already thinking ahead. "I don't think we can rest on our headlines. I don't even think we should. Building for eternity's going to take a long time."

"What are you going to do now?"

Dugay had been dreaming fitfully of that very question all night long. "Once you're stable here, I would like to go back to my own time. Finish the Outer Ring. Maybe re-arrange Saturn's rings, like we talked about. More monuments, I guess. More sponsors, more projects."

Delano had an idea. "Stay here. There's talk across the Concordance about that starship base at Neptune. _Ultima Culmine_. Rumor is the Ultrarch wants to fast-track the base and start funding three ships—the names I heard were _Arcadia, Eden_ and _Canaan_ —to go at half-lightspeed out to Proxima C and D. The labs are already publishing details of this new Alcubierre drive. Proxima Centauri in two years, maybe less. You can't beat that."

"New homes for humanity. More pyramids, more cathedrals. Taller domes. It's enticing, for sure."

"Domes, my ass. If we can light up Jupiter, we could do the same elsewhere. Maybe old Brunelleschi was right...build for eternity. Re-make the heavens. But maybe that's not for us, not for you and me. Maybe those are commissions for younger, more energetic architects and builders."

Dugay feigned surprise. "That's doesn't sound like a Dugay...or a Delano. I think you and I just need some breakfast. And a nice bed to sack out in."

Delano was up for it. "Sounds great. I could eat a thermosaur. And I know just the place...a little café at the very top of Voyager Terraces...great view of the mountains and the ice valley...you can see across Andalus Sulci all the way to the horizon...geysers and all."

"We'll pretend it's an ocean. Come on."

Pieter Delano and Philippe Dugay slapped each other on the back and left the control center chatting amiably about new ideas and new projects, riding the Gamma Hill funicular all the way back to the City.

It would prove to be a memorable breakfast, for as dawn broke across the icescape, a new star was shining ever brighter in the morning sky.

END
THE SOLIX: A Note on Time-Keeping for a Solar-System-Wide Civilization

With humanity now spread out across millions of kilometers from Mercury to trans-Jovian space, Earth-based timekeeping will no longer work.

In 2249 EUT, time was still reckoned from the Sun. Timekeeping should be based on some repetitive physical or astronomical process. By the 32nd century, the rotation time of the Sun at its equator became the recognized standard.

At its equator, the Sun rotates once about every 25 Earth days. This is called a _solix_. This means that there are approximately 15 _solices_ in a single Earth year (365 / 25 = 14.6). Additionally, each solix is divided into tenths, as in Solix 2.1, 2.2, etc. A tenth of a _solix_ corresponds roughly to 2.5 Earth days and can be further divided into hundredths, or .25 Earth days or roughly an hour. One solix is also 25 days x 24 hrs/Earth day = 600 Earth hours.

Solices are thus used throughout the solar system, InFed and Concordance, as a standard way of keeping time.

As an example: noon on May 24, 3156 is written as Solix 5.4.024.3156 and is calculated this way:

134 (Julian date) / 25 (Earth days per solix) = 5.36 (rounded up to 5.4). The solix system then records the noon hour (1/2 an Earth day) as 1/600 of a solix = .002 x 12 hours (number of Earth hours elapsed at noon) = .024.

Thus, 5.4.024.3156 is noon on May 24, 3156. Perhaps a bit cumbersome but it works for all human communities throughout the solar system because it's keyed to something that doesn't change on the Sun, the center of the entire solar system. Until now...

**About the Author**

Philip Bosshardt is a native of Atlanta, Georgia. He worked most recently for a large company that makes products everyone uses...just check out the drinks aisle at your grocery store. He's been happily married for over 29 years. He's also a Georgia Tech graduate in Industrial Engineering. He loves water sports in any form and swims 3 miles a week in anything resembling water. He and his wife have no children.

For technical and background details on his series _Tales of the Quantum Corps_ , _Quantum Troopers, Time Jumpers_ and _Quantum Troopers Return,_ visit his blog _Quantum Corps Times_ at http://qcorpstimes.blogspot.com. For details on other books in this series, visit his website at <http://philbosshardt.wix.com/philip-bosshardt> or learn about other books by Philip Bosshardt by visiting www.smashwords.com.

To get a peek at Philip Bosshardt's notes and the backstory on how _Monument_ was created, recent reviews, excerpts from his upcoming novel _The Eureka Gambit_ (due out in fall 2021) and general updates on the writing life, visit his blog _The Word Shed_ at: http://thewdshed.blogspot.com.

