Asimov's SF, October-November 2011 by Dell Magazine Authors Page B
Authors: Dell Magazine Authors
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As the blood came off, she found a series of small cuts, some of which still had debris embedded in them.
"What happened?” she asked him. “I thought there weren't any explosions on the station until that big one."
"Cloris Kashion saw something embedded in one of the stealth tech tubes,” he said. “She decided to remove it."
Squishy's heart started to pound. She wondered if he could feel it through her fingertips. She forced herself to concentrate on cleaning the wounds.
The stealth tech tubes weren't really tubes at all. They were jars filled with just enough material to start a stealth tech reaction. Only it didn't have the right composition. So much was missing, so many details she had only just started to learn when she began working with a real, active Dignity Vessel's anacapa drive. The pieces that the Empire had of what it called stealth tech were so dangerous that they could make entire regions of space impossible to pass through.
She had attached the explosive devices to the various tubes. It had taken her two days. The devices were tiny and almost impossible to see. They slipped into the tube, and once turned on, interacted with the tech, destroying it.
She had initially developed the weapon years ago, but she had since modified it with the help of the Dignity Vessel's engineers, so that it wouldn't open the interdimensional rift she had mentioned to Quint.
"There was just a flash of something as her hand went around the tube,” he said. “I can't tell you what it was, only that I had seen it before somewhere, and I knew—"
He shook his head, or tried to. Her fingers were still clutching his chin. His gaze met hers, and so far as she could tell, she was seeing deep inside him. He was vulnerable and at this moment—or maybe at the moment he remembered—he was scared.
"I just shoved everyone out and tried to grab her, but she had pulled on that thing, and the tube exploded, sending me backward through the door. We got it closed, but just barely. That was when I came looking for you."
"And you got her out, right?” Squishy asked.
His look changed. Subtly. It went from open to closed, from frightened to shut off, in the space of a second.
"You could argue that no one died,” he said.
She closed her eyes. “And you would be wrong."
* * * *
Twenty-one Years Earlier
Sixteen of them, sixteen scientists—the best in the Empire—working their asses off. Rosealma coordinated all of them, dividing her own mind into a thousand pieces so that she could think of the implications of stealth tech science and manage her team all at the same time.
They were working fast, because they were all afraid that whatever Hansen had unleashed would grow and grow and eventually envelop the station. There was an energy signature that Rosealma didn't recognize buried in the middle of the reaction, something she knew her people hadn't created, and she was afraid that the experiment had morphed into something she didn't recognize.
Sixteen scientists, struggling to contain the reaction. Once they contained it, they would shut it down. But it kept growing, and she was afraid it was going to pulse again.
She had looked at the records. Hansen's description was spot-on. The experiment had pulsed.
But she suspected he was wrong about the reason. He said he had tried the experiment again—and he had. But it looked like her successful cloak, the one she had celebrated the night before he contacted her, had never really ceased. She thought she had shut down the experiment, thought that was confirmed by the reappearance of that coin. Hansen was right: the coin was different. But he was also wrong: the coin was the same. It was older, and it shouldn't have been. If she had to guess—and hell, that was all she was doing these days, she was guessing —then she would guess that the coin hadn't been cloaked at all, but it had moved forward then backward in time. When she had shut down the experiment, or moved to shut down the
"What happened?” she asked him. “I thought there weren't any explosions on the station until that big one."
"Cloris Kashion saw something embedded in one of the stealth tech tubes,” he said. “She decided to remove it."
Squishy's heart started to pound. She wondered if he could feel it through her fingertips. She forced herself to concentrate on cleaning the wounds.
The stealth tech tubes weren't really tubes at all. They were jars filled with just enough material to start a stealth tech reaction. Only it didn't have the right composition. So much was missing, so many details she had only just started to learn when she began working with a real, active Dignity Vessel's anacapa drive. The pieces that the Empire had of what it called stealth tech were so dangerous that they could make entire regions of space impossible to pass through.
She had attached the explosive devices to the various tubes. It had taken her two days. The devices were tiny and almost impossible to see. They slipped into the tube, and once turned on, interacted with the tech, destroying it.
She had initially developed the weapon years ago, but she had since modified it with the help of the Dignity Vessel's engineers, so that it wouldn't open the interdimensional rift she had mentioned to Quint.
"There was just a flash of something as her hand went around the tube,” he said. “I can't tell you what it was, only that I had seen it before somewhere, and I knew—"
He shook his head, or tried to. Her fingers were still clutching his chin. His gaze met hers, and so far as she could tell, she was seeing deep inside him. He was vulnerable and at this moment—or maybe at the moment he remembered—he was scared.
"I just shoved everyone out and tried to grab her, but she had pulled on that thing, and the tube exploded, sending me backward through the door. We got it closed, but just barely. That was when I came looking for you."
"And you got her out, right?” Squishy asked.
His look changed. Subtly. It went from open to closed, from frightened to shut off, in the space of a second.
"You could argue that no one died,” he said.
She closed her eyes. “And you would be wrong."
* * * *
Twenty-one Years Earlier
Sixteen of them, sixteen scientists—the best in the Empire—working their asses off. Rosealma coordinated all of them, dividing her own mind into a thousand pieces so that she could think of the implications of stealth tech science and manage her team all at the same time.
They were working fast, because they were all afraid that whatever Hansen had unleashed would grow and grow and eventually envelop the station. There was an energy signature that Rosealma didn't recognize buried in the middle of the reaction, something she knew her people hadn't created, and she was afraid that the experiment had morphed into something she didn't recognize.
Sixteen scientists, struggling to contain the reaction. Once they contained it, they would shut it down. But it kept growing, and she was afraid it was going to pulse again.
She had looked at the records. Hansen's description was spot-on. The experiment had pulsed.
But she suspected he was wrong about the reason. He said he had tried the experiment again—and he had. But it looked like her successful cloak, the one she had celebrated the night before he contacted her, had never really ceased. She thought she had shut down the experiment, thought that was confirmed by the reappearance of that coin. Hansen was right: the coin was different. But he was also wrong: the coin was the same. It was older, and it shouldn't have been. If she had to guess—and hell, that was all she was doing these days, she was guessing —then she would guess that the coin hadn't been cloaked at all, but it had moved forward then backward in time. When she had shut down the experiment, or moved to shut down the
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