Black Box (21 page)

“If my theories are correct, time is much
more complex than even the most twisted mathematical formula. I
think time is constructed from an algorithm or a series of
algorithms that work in concert with one another. Those algorithms
are inordinately complicated, intertwining with one another as they
are executed. In fact, I suspect that time is recursive.”

In computer programming, a recursive
operation is one that doubles back on itself. Most commonly, the
operation receives information, works with that information to
construct a result, and then performs the same operation on the
result.

“It sounds like an endless loop,” Boone
said.

Rollins nodded. “Recursive algorithms
usually have a base case or an escape clause built into them. The
idea is that you are whittling down a piece of information into
result after result until you ultimately come across a final
product.”

“Then what happens?” Hardy asked.

“Why, then the program can continue on.”

“Time,” Tunsley mused, “as a recursive
algorithm.” He was so intrigued by the theory that he had trouble
dismissing it.

“Much of what has gone on here supports my
theory,” Rollins said.

“And we’re the parameters, the pieces of
information that the operation is whittling down?” asked Hardy.

“I think you’re simplifying it,” Rollins
said, then nodded to himself. “But the concept is generally
correct. If you break down a series of events into an operation,
there must be countless operations occurring at various intervals
throughout what we think of as history. The events of two weeks ago
or ten years ago may be running concurrently with these events
today. All it takes is some new variables in order to introduce a
new flow of information. When the Ghosts unlocked the ability to
escape into the past, they introduced new variables into the
algorithms.

“What I’ve learned today is that the
iterations are not fixed. Mr. Boone has accepted Rodrigo’s offer
every time until this one. That means some other variable has
affected the result. During the next iteration, which may be
happening even as we have this conversation, some other variant may
exist. Their frequency may occur at an exponentially increasing
rate until the course of events hardly even resembles our
experiences.”

Hardy, who was paying more attention to
Rollins himself than his theories, had listened to the testimony of
countless witnesses on countless cases. As chief, he’d had to call
crew members to account for their actions time and time again. When
they lied, they struggled with those lies. They fought to keep the
details in order. Rollins didn’t have to do that. He told his story
so effortlessly. “And that’s why you keep going back and reliving
this?”

“Exactly,” said Rollins. “This time out I
wanted to have the opportunity to really understand the events as
they played out. The only way I could do that was to have the run
of computer control. I spent a few years devising an identity and
working my way up through the Space Force. When I was ready, I
requested a transfer to the
Valor
, served under Captain
Beckett for four years, and gained his trust.”

Tunsley looked at Hardy, then looked at
Boone. Then he looked from one to the other again. He had
completely forgotten about his original accusations. Boone being a
mutineer was no longer nearly as interesting as the psychotic story
that Rollins was telling.

Rollins continued. “One thing that I’ve been
tracking is the Ghost attack. The ship that attacks the
Valor
has been different each time I’ve experienced this
event. The only common factor among them is that there is
always
a Ghost attack. Every single time, a ship comes
through the wormhole and you defeat it. Ask yourself this: If
Ghosts are a people who exist outside the bounds of time, how is it
that a ship, a
different
ship, appears in the same place at
the same time in every iteration?”

“Are you expecting us to answer that
question?” Tunsley scoffed.

Rollins shook his head. “Of course not. I
can’t answer it myself, but it supports my theory even further.
That variable is necessary for this operation, this particular set
of events, to play out correctly. You defeat it every time and the
captain delays the landing for twenty four hours. This has two
major effects. In the first place, your landing always comes
minutes before the
Einstein
arrives. Without a computer
officer, Mr. Applegate is usually in computer control and he hides
the landing, apparently much more effectively than I did.”

“What’s the second effect?”

“The wormhole, of course. The Ghosts use
them to travel through time. When Walker launches the black box, it
shoots into the wormhole and travels back in time almost to the
point of the
Einstein’s
launch. Then it drifts for two
hundred years until it eventually falls into the hands of the
Admiralty
.”

Boone rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.
At no point during the conversation had he lowered his weapon. He
was rigid, suspicious of Rollins and still worried that Tunsley was
going to try and subdue him.

“So where does Tedesco fit in? Is she trying
to rescue Walker? As much as I hate Ted Beckett, I find it hard to
believe that he’s going to massacre the greatest explorers in the
history of our planet.”

“He’s not,” Rollins agreed. “The
Admiralty
sent your soldiers to do it. Captain Beckett is
off ship right now trying to prevent it.”

Of course.

“You knew that,” Rollins said. “You all
know
that. Maybe, then, this will convince you I’m telling
the truth. Tedesco took Rodrigo and the infantry out to do the job.
They’d have gone at first light, but instead they needed to head
the captain off. Whatever it is that gets Beckett curious, it’s
also what gets him killed.”

Hardy’s hands balled into tight fists.

“Beckett dies?” Boone asked, and his tone of
voice did not necessarily represent sorrow.

Rollins nodded. “Every time. Rodrigo got him
once. The other times it was MacDonald. From what I overheard on my
last trip out, Walker got him. Ironic, don’t you think? Killed by
the man you’re trying to save?”

“But he definitely dies,” Boone said.
“Definitely.”

Rollins nodded again, looked down at his
shoes. “Definitely.”

Boone took a deep breath and finally
holstered his gun. “You said I take the deal. I always take the
deal.”

“You always have.”

“Of course I do,” Boone said. “All I ever
wanted was to get the hell off the
Valor
. Why wouldn’t I
take the deal?”

Tunsley and Hardy were staring up at Boone
expectantly while Rollins sat impassively in his chair.

“Not this time, though,” Boone said. “This
time
I’m
the variable. This time
I’m
going to go out
there and save the captain.”

Tunsley snorted again. “You expect us to
trust you, Boone? You just said you hate the captain.”

“You bet I do,” Boone agreed. “But I hate
Rodrigo even more.”

The trouble with facing off against his
mentor was that she knew all of his tricks and he knew hers.
Anything Beckett could think of, he had to assume Rodrigo could
anticipate. Of course, the reverse was true as well. His one
advantage was that she couldn’t know how far ahead his thinking had
taken him. She would be ready to take on all four of them instead
of just one. If he could use that to divide her attention, he might
be able to…

She would go to the clearing where she had
killed Cummings first. That would buy him some time. If he could
get the two bodies into position, he might be able to fool her.
With little time, he set to work on moving them. He found them cold
and stiff and difficult to shift. He didn’t have time to position
them well, but he had to do his best. And there was no time for
respect.

The first thing he did was kick the loose
portion of Danielle Smith’s head into the trees where it couldn’t
be seen. Then he lifted her by the shoulders and dragged her over
to cover. He’d have to block her top half but was already thinking
that if she appeared to be hiding with an exposed foot, it could
serve as a good distraction. The trees had no branches so he wasted
precious seconds trying to prop her up behind one of the fernlike
plants. The sound of the bike’s engine grew louder and louder as he
worked. If he didn’t get the man under cover, the whole ploy would
be blown. In the end, the job was inadequate but the best he could
do. He rushed back into the clearing and grabbed the heavier body
by the ankles. He was less careful in positioning him, but he was
already out of time. Several yards away, the bike’s approach had
halted. Beckett could hear the engine idling at the scene of
Cummings’ death. He hesitated. It occurred to him that she would
have no idea that he’d deduced the truth about Walker’s expedition.
That meant that she might go on to the landing site, catching up
Bonamo’s party. Preventing this was the reason Beckett had stayed
behind in the first place.

“Anabelle!” he called out. It was better to
call her out directly. Anything else would have been a transparent
attempt at deception. She would have recognized it as a weakness
and used it to her advantage.

The bike revved up almost instantly and
began its approach once again. This time, though, it moved slowly,
cautiously. He stood in the middle of the clearing, his weapon
drawn and down. The bike appeared magically from within the trees
and slowed to a halt. Rodrigo remained seated.

His best hope was that she didn’t recognize
the area. He desperately wanted to draw her attention to his dummy
soldiers hidden under cover, but knew that any such attempt would
give away their true nature. In all of his years as a soldier and a
captain, he had never faced anyone on these terms before. He felt
as if he should be reassured by her appearance, the knowledge that
they were enemies no more than a nagging feeling at the back of his
mind. It was something he had to force himself to remember.

The darkness was complete now. The two took
long seconds to size each other up while she waited for him to make
the first accusation.

“You lied to me.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I’m not in on the joke.”

“Ted…”

“Are you going to kill me, too,
Anabelle?”

She tensed visibly. Physical reaction to
stress was not her style and it made him aware that the stress was
severe. Like him, she would not have attempted so transparent a
deception so he knew it was genuine.

“A good soldier follows orders,” she told
him.

“Whose orders? Those corrupt old bastards
back on Earth? You taught me how easy it is for old men to give
orders from their war rooms but it was up to good
soldiers
to make the right decisions on the battlefield.”

“Good soldiers know how to survive,” she
answered.

“
You murdered Jason Cummings!
”

The accusation came hard, but she had
already steeled herself against it. “It was self defense. He fired
first.”

“Sure,” Beckett agreed. “He knew what you
were up to so he tried to take out your gun arm.”

“He didn’t know I had the laser on my left
side,” she finished.

“This laser?” He threw it at her and it
clanged off the front of the bike. The bounce took it further than
expected and it skidded away into the darkness. She never even got
a look at it. “What the fuck, Anabelle? Why would they send us to
kill Walker instead of save him?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They didn’t tell
me.”

“They didn’t tell you? Are you fucking
joking?” If she didn’t know why then there must have been some
other reason she’d accepted the mission. What could they have
possibly done to her to force her into this role? He lifted his gun
and pointed it directly at her. “Tell me,” he said.

“They’re doing a clean sweep, Ted. Merit
doesn’t matter anymore, if it ever even did. They want a Space
Force that they can control completely. People like you and me are
dinosaurs.”

“So you get what? A promotion?”

She smiled a bit. “A promotion would be
nice.”

For the first time in all the years he’d
known her, Ted Beckett saw Anabelle Rodrigo as everything she
didn’t want to be. She was vulnerable. She was old. She was a
woman. Without the Space Force, she’d wind up as some rent-a-cop
with a nightstick. For her that would be an unacceptable way of
life. A good soldier knows how to survive. She was afraid of being
put out to pasture. And without so much as a thank you.

Everybody has a price. Rodrigo’s should have
been ten times or more.

But he still didn’t get it. He was as much a
pariah as she. Maybe more. No one had tried to coerce him into
playing this game. He had been sent out unaware. Why? He thought
back to his meeting with John Poulle. The old bastard had known all
along. His whole demeanor had been off. Even when he’d been short
with Beckett, he’d been apologetic, as if he knew that he was
sending him out on his last mission.

“You sold out,” he said through gritted
teeth. “For
nothing.
”

“You might have also.”

“I doubt it, but I wasn’t given the
opportunity. Why, Anabelle? Why test you and not me?”

She shook her head a little sadly. “I
guess…” She looked up at him as if realizing for the first time
just exactly what was happening. It was Beckett versus Rodrigo. The
greatest fight of all time. Two would enter. One would leave. “I
should never have had her, Ted. You should never have talked me
into it.”

Stunned, he just stood there, staring at
her. This was about Rebecca?

This was about her daughter?

Still, he was ready when she gunned the bike
forward. Firing off a shot, he dived for cover. The shot never had
a chance at hitting her. It ricocheted off of the front of the bike
and that was closer than he had any right to hope for. What would
have been really lucky is if she had been conned into thinking that
someone else had fired. But she wasn’t. She sped past him as he
used his own momentum to bring himself into the trees. Their soft,
fernlike leaves provided visual cover, especially at night, but
they would do little to deflect bullets should Rodrigo decide to
open fire. He needed to find a position from which he could fight.
Instincts told him to break right, so he broke left. Instincts told
him to put some distance between them so he stuck close to the
clearing. His instincts were his enemy as much as she. Rodrigo knew
them all and could anticipate every single one.