Time, Like a River

"Put him up front, so they can see him," Collins suggested as he steered back towards the crown-shaped rocks. Seconds later the F-18s broke off and headed out to sea, while just a few yards away Collins saw a periscope off to his right – then he looked on as the sub's sail broke surface, it's huge black hull surfacing alongside his 12 foot long inflatable boat.

"Come alongside," Collins heard over the sub's hailing speaker, and he watched as sailors swarmed on deck, dropping a boarding net over the side. Marines followed, their M-16s still slung, and two of them came down the net to secure the Zodiac alongside. Collins looked up the wet black hull, saw the ship's C.O. heading down the net and groaned.

The Marines secured a line to the President and helped him aboard as the sub's skipper hopped into the Zodiac.

"Let's go," he said.

"Where, sir?"

The man pointed at the little cove. "Smithfield," was all he said.

Collins turned back to Gemini and they pounded back through wind-driven waves to the island, arriving soaking wet and cold...and he saw Smithfield waiting for them on the aft deck.

"No weapons, Captain," a still-dazed Smithfield said plainly, and the captain just held out his hands.

"You're welcome aboard, then."

The captain hopped across to the aft platform, waited for Collins and Sherman to come up, then they all crawled into the cockpit. Liz popped up through the companionway, passed up a tray of fresh fruit, then carried up a pitcher of margaritas and put them onto the cockpit table.

"Alright, Captain," Smithfield said slowly, "you called the meeting, so fire away."

"Yes, Mr President...uh, is that one of them, sir?"

"That's Jennifer. I'm not sure who she represents, but whatever you need to say, it probably needs to be said in front of her."

"Was she responsible for this?"

"What? Removing me from the west wing after that son of a bitch threatened to throw my ass in Guantanamo? Yeah, I guess she is."

"He what, sir?"

"You hard of hearing, skipper?" Collins asked.

The captain turned red. "You're Collins, aren't you?"

"That's a fact."

The captain looked him over, tried to reconcile the man's dossier with what he saw now. "Well, the Joint-Chiefs wanted me to pass along a request: don't do this again, okay?" He turned and looked at Jennifer. "It would be helpful if..."

"Captain," Jennifer spoke now, and her voice dripped with power, "we are allied with Hyperion. That is all. If your group moves against Hyperion, we move against your group."

"Our group? You mean...?"

"The United States, captain," Smithfield said. "As her group has already demonstrated their capabilities in this regard, I think it sound advice."

"If you seek a change in status, captain," Jennifer said now, "please relay the request through this group."

"What?"

Smithfield sighed. "If the President, or the Joint Chiefs – or whoever happens to be running the country right now – wants to negotiate with this group, you'll need to get in touch with me. We'll arrange a meeting."

"So, you're with them, Mr President?"

"Nope. We just happen to have a coinciding set of interests, captain, and their interests do not conflict with our own."

"Mr President, are you free to leave here and come with me?"

"Of course, but why the hell would I want to do that. I'm not particularly fond of Cuba, or for that matter, the climate in DC these days."

The captain reached in his pocket and placed a transmitter on the table, then he switched it off. "I'll probably be shot for this, but sir, can you tell me what the hell's going on?"

Smithfield looked at the transmitter, then at the captain – and as he looked up he shook his head, turned to 'Jennie.' "I think it's time to go," he said, and in the blink of an eye both he and Jennie disappeared.

"That's the craziest thing I've ever seen in my life," the captain said. "Do they keep an eye on you all the time?"

Collins shrugged. "I have no idea," he replied, not wanting to fall into that trap. "Can I run you back out?"

"No, that's alright," he said, smiling now as he pointed to several Navy inflatables roaring towards the cove. "I reckon we'll just take you four into custody."

Collins shook his head again. "Y'all better get it together real soon, 'cause this is getting old, and our friends are going to start thinking you're just stupid." He leaned over, looked into the sky above the island, then motioned the sub captain to come out from under the awning and take a look.

The skipper of the USS Montpelier stared open-mouthed at his ship, all 362 feet of her now hovering hundreds of feet above the island, then he nodded at Collins. "I'll relay the message."

"They seem to have a pretty good handle on things, captain. Shooting the messenger isn't going to solve anything."

"What about my ship?"

"What about it?"

The skipper looked up again – and she was gone. He turned, saw his ship a mile offshore and felt sick to his stomach.

"You know," Collins said as he looked at the man, "they usually want to park things like that in orbit. They have no idea how or even why we'd spend so much money on something dedicated to defense, and they seem almost annoyed a machine so big does so little, that our ships can't leap from the sea to space. Frankly, I don't think they've realized yet just how primitive we are, technologically speaking. You might pass that thought along, too."

"Okay."

"Oh. Here's your transmitter. Don't forget," Collins said as he tossed it back to the man, "to mention this was unappreciated, too."

The skipper looked at Collins one last time. "Whose side are you on, Collins? Really?"

"Mine. Humanity's, even yours, when you get right down to it."

"So, you'd take sides against us, your country, over the Russians or the Chinese?"

"The Russians and the Chinese aren't acting in the best interest of humanity, and our allies know that."

"They do? So, why are they here?"

"I think they're curious, but really, I have no idea."

"Curious?"

"When I figure that one out, skipper, I'll let you know."

"If they let you," the captain said under his breath, as he stepped onto one of the Navy inflatables. He looked up at Collins one more time, shook his head then left.

◊◊◊◊◊

Hyperion Five was tumbling now, just barely under control, and Hope Sherman wished her brother – or Sumner, really – was here now to help her. She wasn't a pilot, had never been a pilot; she counted on the ship's computers to take control during maneuvers like this...only the computers seemed to get more freaked out by trans-light speed dilation effects than even she did. She re-booted them one by one, and systems chirped back to life one by one, only very slowly now, and she put them through simple routines to check accuracy before turning even basic operations over to them.

She saw poor, doomed Phobos ahead through the single ovoid viewport, then their colony ship – in geosynchronous orbit above the Martian equator – with four space elevators already running huge quantities of material down to the planet's surface.

Finally, computer links were established and Sherman's Hyperion began slowing, the ship's tumbling ceased, and she could just make out a docking platform on the colony ship – almost identical to the platform destroyed last year – with three Hyperion vessels already mated there. Five began it's autonomous approach now; she heard thrusters popping, watched minor attitude corrections line up on her primary display, then a docking monitor superimposed over the platform – and then, with one last gentle bump, positive contact and seal.

She watched pressures equalize, then the computer cycled the airlock. She saw Sara Green on the monitor, no helmet, no spacesuit, and she flipped the safeties to clear the airlock. Green entered the primary airlock, started the equalization process anew, then entered Five's cabin.

Sherman could tell something was wrong. The expression on her face, in her eyes was all wrong.

"What's happened?" Sherman asked as soon as the other woman was inside her pod.

"The Phage. We have more reports ready for you, but they're headed for this system, still sub-light but speed is picking up."

"The timeline? Have the Vulcans advanced it yet?"

"Moe is convinced we need to advance the schedule, and he wants another colony ship here, like yesterday. Larry and Curly remain unconvinced, they don't see any need to worry at this point."

"I wish we'd named them something else," Sherman sighed.

Green smiled. "I never saw those programs, so the names meant nothing to me. Then Hayden showed me a couple of episodes. Singularly inappropriate, but I get it now. Are you sure you want to call them Vulcans?"

"People will be able to relate to them better that way, at least before they see them. Once that happens, shit's going to hit the fan no matter what we call them."

"Klaatu barada nikto."

"Exactly. Unreasoning panic, all human paranoia manifest and come to life."

Green sighed too. "Nothing compared to the Phage. Damn, where'd we be without their help?"

"Extinct."

◊◊◊◊◊

'Jennie' was back on Gemini, sitting on the chart table waiting for Collins, her legs crossed 'Indian-style' with her elbows resting on her knees, and Sumner laughed when he came below and found her there...

"Well hello there, Tink!"

"Tink? I thought you wished to call me Jennie, or Jennifer?"

"Right you are, but you remind me of a character in a story. Remind me to tell you about Peter Pan someday."

"I will. I never get over watching you laugh."

"Oh?"

"I am simply a communicator, yet even so I have no analogue of laughter when I relay our conversations. Laughter, humor," she said, shrugging her shoulders with her palms now up, facing the sky, "they're all Greek to me?"

Collins laughed again. "You're developing a sense of humor, too, I see."

"If you spent all your time around Smithfield, I suspect yours might develop as well."

"Stop it," Collins laughed as he shook his head.

"You see? Here's another example of the inherent conflict of expressions in your language. You tell me to stop it, yet you laugh, an expression of pleasure. The complexity of neuronal responses is staggering, and at times the interplay of ideas and language is most upsetting to me."

"Well, you're understanding seems to be improving."

"In English, yes. French is not too bad, but Hebrew? You can not swear in Hebrew, apparently, without using your hands. This causes headaches, nausea, death-wish."

"Probably has for three thousand years."

"Collins? May we mate?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not physically, you idiot. May I have some of your genetic material?"

Collins' laughter was loud enough to cause Liz to poke her head out of the aft cabin. "What are you two talking about now?"

"Sex, mating, procreation, genetic co-mingling," Jennie said. "I asked Sumner if I could have some of his genetic material."

"Oh, did you now? And Sumner? How are we going to go about doing that?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, but maybe you could give us a hand?" He looked at Liz, at the expression of withering contempt in her eyes – then he turned to Jennie and whispered: "Uh, now would be a good time for some humor."

"Ah yes. I see. Perhaps, Liz, I could get some of your genetic material too?" Jennie looked at Sumner – who was now frowning, his face scrunched up like he'd just eaten a lemon – then at Liz – who was now staring at 'Jennie' with an odd smile on her own face.

"Oh no. Far be it for me to come between you two."

"Liz," the urJennie said, "they're going to send you to a punitentiary, for punishment."

Liz groaned, shook her head and walked back into the cabin.

"So, what's this all about," Collins asked.

"We are highly differentiated, genetically manipulated to fulfill specific tasks. Language skills for communicators, size and strength for those who work heavy industrial machines, intellectual capacity for academic theorists and educators..."

"Attractiveness for the procreation class?"

"We do not conceive, or procreate in the manner you do. I think you call it asexual reproduction, but there is no absolute analogue. And Smithfield implies that at his age all his activities are asexual, and this has caused some concern among our scientists."

"It does me too."

"Ah."

"Are you serious? About wanting genetic material?"

"It has been done many times," she said, "on this planet." She looked at him now, studying his reaction carefully.

"Oh? When?"

"A long time ago. An hour ago."

He looked at her now, wondered where this was going.

"We have manipulated genomes on this planet."

He felt pressure closing-in as he heard those words, then he pointed at the two scars under her left eye – and she nodded her head.

"These are not scars," she said, touching her face. "These are sensory organs, and the spots under the right eye..."

"Sensory...? You have eyes, a nose, and ears...?"

"These are...geospatial might be the most appropriate term. But we can see past time, as well."

"Past time? I don't understand."

Jennie looked at him and sighed. "Some of us, communicators mostly, can see time, almost like you see a river. Some can see up the river, and down."

"You mean the past? And the future? You can see the future?"

"Me? No, but this is a recent genetic variation. Very few communicators have this ability. It is dangerous, the word is..."

"Paradox."

"Yes, just so. Exactly."

"Jenn? Do you know what is going to happen here, on Earth?"

She looked away, then looked to the southern sky. "We are too far north to see the danger, but it comes from what you have termed C99, the Coalsack Nebula."

"The danger?"

"It, or perhaps they, have been named the Phage, by Ted's sister. They absorb planets. Planets with sentient species. They remove life, advanced lifeforms. We have observed there activities many times."

"Many times? Why have they not bothered your civilization?"

"The reason should be obvious. We do not attract their attention."

"So, they have left you alone? Not attacked your system?"

"Many inhabited worlds are benign. We have observed that those attacked are deemed irrational."

"Irrational – worlds?"

"The beings. They become irrational, they attempt to spread their irrationality between stars. The Phage react to this threat – and stop it."

"What do you mean by – irrational?"

"The Will to conflict, to spread conflict. You might call conquest. Also, theological constructs have been considered irrational."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, I know. Sherman had difficulty with the idea, but ultimately she found the notion amusing."

"She would."

"Ah, another interesting concept. Sarcasm."

"You don't lie, do you? Or evade the truth?"

"No. What is the point?" Collins' scrunched face was all she needed to see to understand the point was lost on him. "Lies are deception, and yet all deceptions fail in the end. Suspicions deepen, even political subterfuge crumbles. Your history is filled with lies."

"I suppose," Collins said, and he watched her watching him. Communicators would almost certainly be adept at reading all kinds of language, wouldn't they? Even body language? And if they could "see" the future, was there anything anyone could do they wouldn't already know about. "So? How long have you been manipulating genomes?"

She made the jump without batting an eye. "Human? After your last Ice Age. We manipulated the atmosphere, and the waters of the ocean, after several intermediate meteoroid impactors. To preserve..."

"The experiment?"

"No. Our destinies are inextricably linked to another species, so our manipulations with humans have been limited to a few."

"My dolphin," Collins said, sitting bolt upright. "She has the same markings. On her face."

"Yes."

"What does that mean? Is she...has she been genetically manipulated?"

"Of course. She is not the only one."

"What has she been manipulated into?"

"A hybrid, a cross between her species and my own. She is a communicator."

"What?"

"Her kind can maintain an active link to any communicator, anywhere. And it is from her species that we found the ability to see through time."

"WHAT?"

"Her's is a unique species, Sumner. When we came to this world, when we first came to study life here, we developed little interest in any other species. We came first to catalogue lifeforms, we continued to come to study – only them. When their true significance became apparent, after the first hybrids were developed, we came to preserve habitat. When the Phage became aware of the inherent irrationality of their ability, we were able to see, through their mind's eye, that the Phage are coming – here. We have come now, to this system one last time – to save them."

◊◊◊◊◊

Corrine Duruflé sat in the back of a yellow and black utility company van, an old, beat-up Mercedes 'Sprinter' class van – watching an apartment building on the left side of the Rue Albert Einstein, in the town of St Denis. The Parisian suburb had developed a reputation over the last few years as a haven for Islamist terror cells and perhaps, she thought, it was the proximity to the old cathedral, the first true gothic cathedral in Christendom, that made them feel safe and at ease as they drew up plans for their assault on Christian infidels. That might have worked in the beginning, but as pressure grew groups had moved first to the south, to Lyon, and then north, to Brussels, after the attacks the year before. But the Directorate had watched a return to the town of St Denis, that her quiet streets were growing popular again. More attacks would surely follow...

A direct metro line to the heart of Paris might have been one reason, but there had to be a network still in place – and that was obviously of more importance – and two days before drones had sniffed the tell-tale signature of radioactive material in the air near the cathedral. Not medical material, that much was immediately obvious, and no known transits of waste through the area were on the books, so the obvious supposition was that IS had gathered enough material for a dirty bomb – and were assembling the device now.

CCTV cameras throughout the area were now being monitored day and night, more sniffer drones criss-crossed the area through the night, triangulating patterns, narrowing the search perimeter, and now Duruflé was parked outside a pale gray apartment building monitoring live CCTV feeds, while two specialists from ASN, the Autorité de sûreté nucléaire, watched readouts spike and fade...

"Best guess," one of the techs said, "is this top floor unit – right here – " pointing at an image on her screen. "The one with the telescope on the balcony. Concentrations are heaviest in the air above this unit."

Corrine looked at another screen. The apartment was leased to a physics professor, a woman from Grenoble married to a Saudi national. She ran a search, read the dossier then looked at her watch, called the university where the woman was employed and asked to speak to her department chair. She introduced herself as a reporter for Agence France-Presse working on a story, and understood the professor was well regarded in the field, and she wondered if the Chairman could facilitate an interview.

"I would be happy to, madame, but the professor has not been in class for the last week, and has not called in..."

She left her name and number, then rang off. She called headquarters, relayed all she knew.

"Approaching the residence will be next to impossible," she advised. "Too many known assets are in the area, warning would be instantaneous. Even something as ridiculous as an airstrike would be counter-productive, radiation would be released on an even more massive scale."