Future Shock, page 12
“We’ll be landing shortly,” Boswell commented. “Did you bring your glad rags?”
It took Hamish a moment to realise Boswell meant his dress uniform. “I’ll change when I get there,” he said. He hadn’t been given any specific orders, but he had the feeling he’d be called aside when they landed. “You don’t have any dress uniform yourself?”
“No,” Boswell said. “We never did.”
***
Ethan let the autopilot handle the flight as New York came into view, a towering metropolis that managed to be remarkable and yet disappointing at the same time. His New York was a tourist attraction, a dazzling collection of skyscrapers and parks that bore mute testament to the wonders of human ingenuity; this New York was a grimy city, the giant skyscrapers surrounded by slums and cardboard cities that chilled him to the bone. Dozens of rusty ships were docked along the rivers, providing more living space for the poor and hopeless. The sheer disparity between the extremely wealthy and the terrifyingly poor shocked him, even though he knew it was common in this era. He’d seen the history records, but none had conveyed the sheer grinding reality of such a life. It was an utter nightmare.
His heart twisted. New York hadn’t been America’s premier city for a long time, if he recalled correctly, and it hadn’t been until long after the Diyang War that it had been cleaned up and restored to something comparable to its legendary state. Now ... he kept his face under tight control as he landed the shuttlecraft neatly onto the airbase, then scrambled out to the waiting car. The air stank of everything from burning hydrocarbons to tobacco, drugs, piss and shit ... he gritted his teeth, hoping the nanites could flush the poison out of his system before it did real damage. He dreaded to think what was happening to the locals, the people who had no way to leave this horror. It was disgraceful. They lived in a time of vast promise and didn’t know it.
The city didn’t improve as they were driven through a maze of streets. Some skyscrapers were so badly degraded it looked as if they were about to crumble into dust, their windows broken and their doors hanging off their hinges; others were sealed and guarded, uniformed men – he didn’t think they were the famed NYPD – standing guard to keep the inhabitants safe from harm. It was just ... he shook his head, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable despite the certain knowledge Captain Bukharin was monitoring his every move. The ship would do what it could, if someone tried to kidnap him, but ...
His skin itched. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t.
The car slowed to a halt in front of a towering building, flying the flags of every currently recognised nation on Earth. Ethan tried not to roll his eyes as he saw the welcoming committee, picking out a couple of recognisable faces and matching them to names from the history files. Secretary-General Mbonambi of the United Nations and Ambassador Todd Wentworth of the United States of America ... the others were strangers, perhaps flown in for the meeting. The UN hadn’t been anything more than a talking shop until the Diyang declared war, whereupon it had become the framework for the alliance that had won the war in the original timeline. He wondered, morbidly, what would become of it now. The war would be over a great deal quicker in this timeline.
The droplet becomes a ripple of change, he thought, as the driver opened the door. The air outside smelt better than earlier, which did nothing for his mood. And each successive change will trigger another, and another, until our history files are worse than useless.
He gritted his teeth. If the history files were becoming increasingly unreliable, was there any guarantee the Killers would arrive on schedule? If they arrived earlier ..
“Commodore Boswell,” Secretary-General Mbonambi said. He was a tall, dark man, wearing a simple dark suit. His accent was odd, but understandable. “In the name of the United Nations, welcome to Earth.”
“I thank you.” Ethan shook hands firmly. “It’s good to be here.”
Secretary-General Mbonambi gave him a faint half-smile, then introduced him to the rest of the welcoming committee. Ethan made a mental note of their names and faces, knowing that someone on Dauntless would already be checking their names against the files and preparing a download for his edification. A Russian, a Chinese, a European ... it was a confusing mishmash of nations and titles, all the more puzzling to a man who’d grown up in a united world. The sheer size of the Terran Federation dwarfed the Solar System, let alone individual nations ... it was hard to convince himself that these men represented independent states.
And I suppose I do now too, he thought. Endless discussions with his officers hadn’t produced much in the way of any resolution, but everyone had agreed there was no way they were just handing the fleet over to the United Nations or any single nation. I have to treat this as a diplomatic meeting, not a report to my superiors.
“We have prepared a suite for you to freshen up,” Secretary-General Mbonambi continued. “I trust it will meet with your approval.”
“I’m sure it will,” Ethan said. He felt a little overwhelmed. He needed time to meditate and centre himself, to read the files and plan his next move. “And then we need to discuss the future.”
“In all senses of the word,” Secretary-General Mbonambi said. “We’ll hold a dinner for you this evening, then we’ll start formal talks tomorrow.”
Ethan nodded, schooling his face into a blank mask. “It will be my pleasure,” he said. “And I hope we come to a swift agreement.”
He allowed the other man to lead him through the corridors to the suite, his lips twitching as he realised Captain Anderson had been called away. His superiors probably wanted to ask him a few million questions, in hopes of improving their bargaining position. He kept the thought to himself as he was shown into the suite, offered everything from a light snack to a massage, then left to his own devices. His terminal reported there were no bugs within the suite. Ethan hoped to hell it hadn’t missed anything. The locals would get one hell of a surprise if they saw the eHuman. He hadn’t told anyone Rachel had uploaded herself into his terminal before they’d left his ship.
Rachel materialised on the couch. “You do realise they were offering you sex?”
Ethan blinked. “You have got to be joking.”
“The massage was a code word for sex,” Rachel said. “In this era, they wouldn’t miss an opportunity to get close to you – and get you on their side.”
“This place ...” Ethan shook his head. “Why ...?”
“It’s a common problem,” Rachel said. “No one wants the real historic experience. They want a romantic version of the truth, in which knights in shining armour are chivalrous and damsels in distress are strong independent women, rather than bargaining chips deployed by their fathers, brothers and husbands. Even the weirder ones want to explore a fantasy, rather than reality. They want to play at being slaves, rather than actually being slaves.”
“Charming,” Ethan muttered.
He forced himself to turn and explore the suite. It was primitive compared to his home ... gone now, thanks to the Killers ... but obscenely luxurious compared to the poverty outside. A bath big enough for two, a bed big enough for three, a room service menu that offered foods from all around the globe ... it made him want to throw up in disgust. What sort of mind thought it had the right to bask in luxury, while so many outside starved through lack of food or died through diseases that could be cured easily? And it was worse elsewhere ...
There was a knock at the door. Rachel vanished back into the terminal, although she’d still be able to hear everything said within the room. Ethan felt another pang of regret she hadn’t reincorporated herself, then opened the door. Ambassador Todd Wentworth stood outside.
“Mr Ambassador,” Ethan said.
“Commodore,” Wentworth said. “Can we talk? Privately?”
Ethan nodded, stepping aside to allow Wentworth to enter the room. “Captain Anderson told me a great deal about you people,” Wentworth said, as Ethan closed the door. “He said you preferred to be blunt, rather than beat around the bush.”
“We do,” Ethan said. The Federation Navy might have been mildly military, compared to the contemporary space navies, but it was still a military force, and it had little time for endless discussions that went nowhere fast. “What can I do for you?”
“I shall be blunt.” Wentworth took a seat, his eyes never leaving Ethan’s. “The United Nations is a glorified talking shop. There’s little hope of it agreeing to anything in a hurry, particularly now the immediate threat from the ... ah, Diyang has receded. Even if it did, it lacks the resources to supply your fleet with everything you need, certainly not without the approval of the Great Powers. Coming here may have been the only thing everyone could agree on, Commodore, but it is also a waste of time.”
Ethan cocked his head. “And you have an alternative in mind?”
“The United States has the resources you need, as well as a tradition of freedom and liberty that gave birth to your own,” Wentworth said. There was no doubt in his tone, suggesting he’d read Anderson’s reports very carefully. The contemporary spacer hadn’t had access to very detailed history records, but he was clever enough to fill in the blanks. “If you work with us directly, you could recreate your society very quickly.”
“I see.” Ethan wasn’t too surprised the offer had been made, but he was a little surprised it had happened so quickly. Perhaps he shouldn’t be. The UN Building had dozens of ambassadors and their support staff, all perfectly capable of making the same approach themselves. The US had to act fast if it wanted to get its offer in first. “And you want access to our technology in return?”
“We could offer you everything from resources to land,” Wentworth said. “Your refugees could be landed safely and resettled. You’d have a place of your own ...”
“I will take your offer under advisement,” Ethan said. He wanted to tell the man to go to hell, but it wouldn’t be very diplomatic. “Right now, we have a war to fight.”
“A war that can be ended quickly, with your technology,” Wentworth said. “There’s no need to worry about it.”
“We do not have an unlimited supply of missiles,” Ethan said, flatly. “I will discuss your offer with my staff. Until then ...”
Wentworth was perceptive enough to recognise the dismissal. “I’ll see you this evening, Commodore,” he said. “And if you wish to discuss the matter further, you know where to find me.”
He bowed and left the chamber.
Rachel materialised as soon as the door was closed. “You want to bet there’ll be another ambassador here in ten minutes? Maybe less?”
“No bet,” Ethan said. Everyone would be trying to make a private deal, if he was any judge. He had the nasty feeling they’d walked right into a snake pit. He just wasn’t used to politics of such a savage bent. None of his crew were. “I’m sure you’re right.”
And she was.
Chapter Thirteen: UN Compound, 2308
“Captain Anderson,” Admiral Ryan Garland said. “Thank you for coming.”
I wasn’t aware I had a choice, Hamish thought coldly. The invitation had been an order in all but name. It felt as if he’d been invited to his own court martial – or execution. You wouldn’t have taken it very calmly if I’d refused to come.
He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the chamber. Admiral Garland stood alongside two other officers, neither having deigned to introduce themselves to him. One wore a standard naval uniform, the other wore civilian clothes but held himself in a manner that confirmed he was a military officer. Probably a spook, Hamish guessed, although quite why the DIA or another spook agency was involved was beyond him. He’d collected quite a bit of intelligence during his stay on the future starships, but most had been vague enough to make him suspect they were keeping him away from specifics. Information was power, and they’d be fools to give it up so quickly. His own service record – a faint shadow of a reality that would no longer be – was the only thing he’d been allowed to read in great detail. He wasn’t sure why.
“There will be more debriefings over the weeks and months to come, I am sure, but there’s only one question we need answered now,” Garland continued. They hadn’t bothered to offer Hamish a chair. “Are these ... future people ...for real?”
“Yes, sir,” Hamish said. He’d had his doubts, and he knew the admiral would take some convincing, but he’d seen enough to confirm – at least to himself – that the future starships had fallen back in time. They’d done the impossible, displayed technology he could barely imagine ... there was no way in hell they’d show him such technology, such wonders, and use them to trick him. Anyone with such power didn’t need to resort to trickery. If he was trapped in some kind of VR illusion, it was a very good one. “I believe they’re exactly what they claim to be.”
He paused. “They also took out an alien fleet in a bloodless victory, sir,” he added. “They did us a vast favour.”
“And stole your glory,” the uniformed officer added. “Does that bother you?”
Hamish took a moment to consider his answer. It did bother him. His stalled career had taken off like a rocket ... would have, if history had followed its original path. He would have risen to incredible heights, becoming the first great naval hero of the first interstellar war ... yes, there was a part of him that felt a little resentment. But the price in the original timeline had been terrifyingly high. How many of his classmates had survived the war? Not many.
“If their files are accurate, hundreds of thousands of people were destined to die in the battle, a battle that never happened” – a shiver ran down his spine, a reflection of a world that had never existed and now never would – “and me losing my glory is a small price to pay for those people living on.”
The uniformed officer cocked his head. “Is it so easy for you?”
“That is not a pertinent question,” Garland said, before Hamish could come up with a response. “We are here to consider the impact these ... folks from the future ... will have on our world. Our time.”
He leaned forward. “Captain, you saw them up close. What do you make of them?”
Hamish honestly wasn’t sure what to say. He’d written long and detailed reports, as had his officers who’d interacted with Boswell and his crew, but there had been too many unanswered questions, questions he’d noted as such in his report. His impressions had been part of the report, of course, yet he’d known his instincts could be misleading him ... or something he’d taken for granted, something as natural to him and his world as breathing, simply wasn’t true in the far future. It was possible he’d been misled, by everything from a limited understanding of their tech to simple linguistic drift. His superiors would know it too, he was sure. They’d take everything he said with a grain of salt. He tried not to take it personally.
“I think they’re good people,” he said, finally. “They grew up in a very different world, sir, and their understanding of the way things work is very different from ours. They’re ... different.”
“So you said,” the third officer replied.
“Words are not enough.” Hamish sighed, inwardly. “Sir, imagine we found ourselves in the America of 2025. There would be a degree of cultural and political continuity, true, but there would be so many differences that we might as well be foreigners as far as the locals are concerned. Or 1860, with slavery and sexism and everything else ... we would be completely out of place. The most conservative person of our era would be a raving liberal by their standards, so much so they’d consider him a lunatic. They have the same problem, only worse.”
“They’re descendants of our government,” Garland pointed out. His tone was light, suggesting he was testing Hamish rather than taking his own words quite seriously. “Shouldn’t they take orders from us?”
“If we found ourselves in 1754, would we take orders from the British Crown?” Hamish spoke quietly, but firmly. “George Washington is fighting for the British. Benjamin Franklin is a loyalist who is trying to ensure a fair deal for the colonies, rather than seeking outright independence. The Revolutionary War hasn’t taken place yet, and the heroes and villains haven’t taken up their historical roles. There’s no United States in that timeline ... sir, what choice would we make?”
The third officer met his eyes. “You think they’d have no loyalty to us?”
“Would we have any loyalty to the Brits, sir, if we found ourselves in the middle of the French and Indian War?” Hamish looked back at him, evenly. “These ships and crews are not American, any more than they’re British or Chinese or Russian. They have no loyalty to our nations, and why should they? They’re from a very different world.”
“You’d think we might make some kind of agreement with the British Crown,” the uniformed officer said. “You think we could do the same here?”
“Yes, sir,” Hamish said. “They’re reasonable people.”
“And yet, their presence will be monumentally disruptive,” the third officer mused. “Can we not force them to share their knowledge and technology on our terms?”
Hamish gritted his teeth. He understood the man’s thinking – anyone else holding any sort of technological supremacy was anathema to the United States, and every other nation on Earth – but there was no way they could hope to force Boswell and his crew to surrender anything they didn’t want to surrender. The gulf between Grant and John Birmingham was so wide there was little hope of closing it in less than a century, and even that might well be mindlessly optimistic. It might take a great deal longer ...
