Redshirts

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I want to warn you that this sounds like a crazy idea,” Jenkins said.

“I’m amazed you feel the need to say that anymore,” Hester said.

Jenkins nodded, as if to say, Point. Then he said, “Time travel.”

“Time travel?” Dahl said.

Jenkins nodded and fired up his holographic display, showing the timeline of the Intrepid and the tentacles branching down, signifying the collection of episodes. “Here,” he said, pointing to a branching node of tendrils. “In the middle of what I think was this show’s fourth season, Abernathy, Q’eeng and Hartnell took a shuttle and aimed it toward a black hole, using its gravity-warping powers to go backward in time.”

“That makes no sense at all,” Dahl said.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Jenkins said. “It’s yet another violation of physics caused by the Narrative. The point is not that they violated physics in a nonsensical way. The point is they went back in time. And they went back in time to a specific time. A specific year. They went back to 2010.”

“So?” Hester said.

“So, I think the reason they went back to that year was because that was the current year of this show’s production,” Jenkins said.

“Science fiction shows had their people going back in time all the time,” Hanson said. “They were always having them meet famous historical people or take part in important events.”

Jenkins pointed his finger excitedly at Hanson. “But that’s just it,” he said. “If a show goes back to a specific time in its actual past, they’ll usually key it to a specific important historical person or event, because they have to give the audience something it knows about history, or else it won’t care. But if the show goes back to the present, then it doesn’t do that. It just shows that time and the characters reacting to it. It’s a dramatic irony thing.”

“So if the show just has them wandering around a past time, if they meet someone famous, it’s the past, but if they don’t, it’s the present,” Duvall said. “Their present.”

“More or less,” Jenkins said.

“That’s some great show trivia,” Duvall said, “but what does it have to do with us?”

“If we go back to the present, we can find a way to stop it,” Dahl said suddenly.

Jenkins smiled and touched his nose.

Duvall looked at the two of them, not quite getting it. “Explain this to me, Andy,” she said, “because right now it just looks like you and Jenkins are sharing a crazy moment.”

“No, this makes sense,” Dahl said. “We know when the present is for the show. We know how to time travel to get back to the show’s present. We go back to the present, we can stop the people who are making the show.”

“If we stop the show, then everything stops,” Hester said.

“No,” Dahl said. “When the Narrative doesn’t need us, we still exist. And this timeline existed before the Narrative started intruding on it.” He paused, and turned to Jenkins. “Right?”

“Maybe,” Jenkins said.

“Maybe?” Hester said, suddenly very concerned.

“There’s actually an interesting philosophical argument about whether this timeline exists independently, and the Narrative accesses it, or whether the creation of the Narrative also created this timeline, causing its history to appear instantly even if to us on the inside it appears that the passage of time has actually occurred,” Jenkins said. “It’s very much a corollary to the Strong Anthropic Principle—”

“Jenkins,” Dahl said.

“—but we can talk about that some other time,” Jenkins said, getting the hint. “The point is, yes, whether it existed before the Narrative or was created by it, this timeline now exists and is persistent even when the Narrative does not impose itself.”

“Okay,” Hester said.

“Probably,” Jenkins said.

“I really want to throw things at him,” Hester said to Dahl.

“I’m going to vote for the idea we exist and will continue to exist even when this show stops,” Dahl said. “Because otherwise we’re all doomed anyway. All right?”

No one offered a disagreement.

“In which case, to get back to what I was saying, if we go back in time and stop the show, then the Intrepid stops being a focus of the Narrative,” Dahl said. “It goes back to just being a ship. We stop being glorified extras in our own lives.”

“So we won’t die,” Duvall said.

“Everybody dies,” Jenkins said.

“Thank you for that news flash,” Duvall said, irritated. “I mean we won’t die just to give an audience a thrill.”

“Probably not,” Jenkins said.

“If we really are in a television series, then it’s going to be hard to stop,” Hanson said, and looked to Dahl. “Andy, a really successful television series could be worth a lot of money, just like a good drama series today can be. It’s not just the show, it’s everything around it, including things like merchandising.”

“Your boyfriend has an action figure,” Hester said to Duvall.

“Yeah, and you don’t,” Duvall shot back. “In this universe that’s a problem.”

“I’m saying that even if we do travel back in time and find the people making this show, we might not be able to stop it,” Hanson said. “There might be too much money involved.”

“What other option do we have?” Dahl said. “If we stay here, the only thing to do is wait for the Narrative to kill us off. We might have a slim chance of stopping the show, but a slim chance there is better than a certainty of a dramatic death here.”

“Why even bother trying to stop the show?” Hester said. “Look, if we really are extras, then we’re not actually needed here. I say we go back in time and just stay there.”

“Do you really want to live in the early twenty-first century?” Duvall asked. “It wasn’t exactly the most cheerful time to be alive. It’s not like they had a cure for cancer then.”

“Whatever,” Hester said.

“Or baldness,” Duvall said.

“This is my original hair,” Hester said.

“You can’t stay in the past,” Jenkins said. “If you do, you’ll dissolve.”

“What?” Hester said.

“It has to do with conservation of mass and energy,” Jenkins said. “All the atoms you’re using now are being used in the past. If you stay in the past, then the atoms have to be in two places at the same time. This creates an imbalance and the atoms have to decide where to be. And eventually they’ll choose their then-present configuration because technically speaking, you’re from the future, so you don’t actually exist yet.”

“What’s ‘eventually’ here?” Dahl asked.

“About six days,” Jenkins said.

“That’s completely idiotic!” Hester said.

“I don’t make up the rules,” Jenkins said. “It’s just how it worked last time. It makes sense in the Narrative, though—it gave Abernathy, Q’eeng and Hartnell a reason to get their mission done in a certain, dramatic amount of time.”

“This timeline sucks,” Hester said.

“If you brought atoms forward, they would have the same problem,” Jenkins said. “And in that case they’d choose the present, which means the thing from the past would dissolve. It’s a pretty problem, actually. Mind you, that’s just one of your problems.”

“What else is there?” Dahl asked.

“Well, you’ll need to acquire a shuttle, which will be no small matter,” Jenkins said. “It’s not like they’ll let you borrow one for a lazy excursion. But that’s not actually the hard part.”

“What’s the hard part?” Duvall asked.

“You’re going to have to get one of the five stars of the show to come with you,” Jenkins said. “Take your pick: Abernathy, Q’eeng, West, Hartnell or Kerensky.”

“What do we need one of them for?” Hester asked.

“You said it yourself,” Jenkins said. “You’re extras. If you try to aim a shuttle at a black hole, you know what will happen? The gravitational forces will rip apart the shuttle, you’ll spaghettify into a long stream of atoms sucking down to the singularity, and you’ll die. You’ll be dead long before the spaghettification, of course. That’s the end event for you. But you get my point.”

“And that won’t happen if we have one of the main characters in the show,” Dahl said.

“No, because the Narrative needs them for later,” Jenkins said. “So in that case when you zoom toward a black hole you’ll switch over to Narrative physics.”

“And we’re sure main characters never die,” Hester said.

“Oh, they can die,” Jenkins said, and Hester gave him another look like he wanted to punch him. “But not like this. When a main character dies they’d make a big deal out of it. The idea that the Narrative would let one of them die on a mission to go back in time to stop their own show from being made just doesn’t seem very likely in the grand scheme of things.”

“It’s nice at least something is unlikely at this point,” Hester said.

“So, to recap,” Dahl said. “Kidnap a senior officer, steal a shuttle, fly dangerously close to a black hole, go back in time, find the people making the show, stop them from making it anymore, and then come back to our own time before our atoms divorce us and we disintegrate.”

“That’s what I’ve got for you, yes,” Jenkins said.

“It’s a little crazy,” Dahl said.

“I told you that going in,” Jenkins reminded him.

“And you didn’t disappoint,” Dahl said.

“So what do we do now?” Duvall asked.

“I think we have to work the problem a step at a time,” Dahl said. “And the first step is: How do we get that shuttle?”

Dahl’s phone rang. It was Science Officer Q’eeng, ordering him to the senior officer briefing room.

“The religious war on Forshan is heating up,” Q’eeng said, with Captain Abernathy nodding beside him. “The Universal Union is trying to negotiate a cease-fire, but we’re limited by a lack of live translators. Our diplomatic team has computer translators, of course, but they only translate the first dialect with any accuracy and even then it lacks the ability to handle idiom. We run the risk of unintentionally offending the Forshan at the worst possible time.”

“Q’eeng here tells me you speak all four dialects,” Abernathy said.

“That’s correct, sir,” Dahl said.

“Then there’s no time to lose,” Abernathy said. “We need you to go to Forshan immediately and start acting as a translator for our diplomats.”

“Yes, sir,” Dahl said, and felt a chill. It’s come for me, he thought. The Narrative has finally come for me. Just as we figured out how to stop it. “How long until the Intrepid reaches Forshan?” he asked.

“The Intrepid isn’t,” Q’eeng said. “We have a mission to the Ames system which can’t be put off. You’ll have to go yourself.”

“How?” Dahl asked.

“You’ll be taking a shuttle,” Q’eeng said.

Dahl burst out laughing.

“Ensign Dahl, are you all right?” Q’eeng asked, after a moment.

“Sorry, sir,” Dahl said. “I was embarrassed that I asked such an obvious question. When do I leave?”

“As soon as we assign a shuttle pilot for you,” Abernathy said.

“If I may beg the captain’s indulgence, I would like to select my own pilot,” Dahl said. “In fact, it might be best if I selected my own team for this mission.”

Abernathy and Q’eeng both frowned. “I’m not sure you need an entire away team for this mission,” Q’eeng said.

“Respectfully, sir, I do,” Dahl said. “As you note, this is a critical mission. I am one of the few humans who can speak all four Forshan dialects, so I expect I will be used exhaustively by our diplomats. I will need my own team for errands and to send communiqués between diplomatic teams. I’ll also need to retain the pilot and shuttle in case I am called to travel on Forshan itself, between those diplomatic teams.”

“How large of a team do you need?” Q’eeng asked.

Dahl paused and looked up, as if thinking. “A pilot and two aides should probably do it,” he said.

Q’eeng looked at Abernathy, who nodded. “Fine,” Q’eeng said. “But ensign rank and below only.”

“I have just the people in mind,” Dahl said. “Although I wonder if it might be useful to have a senior officer on the team as well.”

“Such as?” Abernathy asked.

“Lieutenant Kerensky,” Dahl said.

“I’m not sure how an astrogator would be of much use on this mission, Ensign,” Q’eeng said. “We do try to have away team members have relevant skills.”

Dahl paused ever so slightly at this but then moved on. “Then perhaps you, sir,” he said to Q’eeng. “You have some familiarity with the Forshan language, after all.”

“I know what this is about,” Abernathy said.

Dahl blinked. “Sir?” he said.

“I know what this is about,” Abernathy repeated. “You were with me on the Nantes, Dill.”

“Dahl,” said Dahl.

“Dahl,” Abernathy said. “You were there when your friend was killed when that madman tried to assassinate me. You saw firsthand the risks of an away team. Now you’re being asked to lead an away team and you’re worried about the responsibility, you’re worried about someone dying on your watch.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not that,” Dahl said.

“I’m telling you not to worry about that,” Abernathy said, not hearing Dahl. “You’re an officer, Dill. Dahl. Sorry. You’re an officer and you’ve been trained to lead. You don’t need me or Q’eeng or Kerensky to tell you what you already know. Just do it. I believe in you, damn it.”

“You’re very inspiring, sir,” Dahl said, after a moment.

“I see good things for you, Ensign,” Abernathy said. “It wouldn’t surprise me one day to have you as one of my senior staff.”

“I should live so long,” Dahl said.

“So,” Abernathy said. “Assemble your team, brief them and have them ready to go in four hours. Think you can handle that?”

“I do, sir,” Dahl said. “Thank you, sir.” He stood and saluted. Abernathy returned the salute. Dahl nodded to Q’eeng and then left as quickly as he could, and then called Hester as soon as he was ten steps away from the briefing room.

“So what happened?” Hester asked.

“Our schedule just got drastically tightened,” Dahl said. “Listen, do you still have Finn’s effects?”

“Are you talking about the same effects I think you’re talking about?” Hester asked, carefully.

“Yeah,” Dahl said.

“Then yes,” Hester said. “It would have been awkward to hand them over.”

“Find a small blue oblong effect,” Dahl said. “And then meet me at Maia’s barracks. As quickly as you can.”