Koffield smiled.
“
You make it sound as if you
’
ve been expecting us for some time.
”
“
That
’
s a fact,
”
Raenau said.
“
I have been. I
’
m one of those guys who
has
to know things. And you people have been driving me nuts every day since I took on this job. And every other poor bastard who ever held this job. You
’
ve been staring us all in the face.
”
“
How could that be?
”
Norla demanded.
Raenau flipped open a panel on his desk and punched a few buttons. The image of swimming fish on the decorative folding screen by his desk vanished, the screen went black, and the upper half of the unit flashed up a text display instead.
“
My daily agenda,
”
Raenau said.
“
First item.
”
But Norla didn
’
t need to have her attention drawn to it. It jumped out at her. All the other items on the screen were in normal-sized black or dark blue lettering. But the first item was displayed in bright red letters twice as tall as everything else. Even the shape of the letters for that first item was different. Everything else was in the same sort of ornate, fussy-looking type she had seen on most of the signs and placards around the station. But the first item was in the thick, blocky, simplified style of lettering they used aboard the
Dom Pedro IV
and the
Cruzeiro do Sul.
It read:
[EARTHSIDE STANDARD DATECODE 05FEB5213] TOP PRIORITY, PERMANENT STANDING ORDER, TO BE POSTED UNTIL COMPLI
ANCE: BE ON ALERT FOR ARRIVAL OF TIMESHAFT SHIP
DOM
PEDRO VI.
ANY PASSENGERS ARRIVING FROM THAT SHIP TO
BE CONDUCTED TO STATION MANAGER
’
S OFFICE
’
AT EARLIEST
CONVENIENCE. IF ANTON KOFFIELD ARRIVES, CONDUCT HIM AT ONCE TO MANAGER
’
S OFFICE AND ALERT MANAGER REGARDLESS OF TIME OR CIRCUMSTANCE. ATTACHED FILE WILL DECRYPT AT THAT TIME.
It struck Norla at once that the syntax of the instruction was relatively normal. Everything else on the board was in the same odd compuspeak Sparten had used.
“
‘
Posted until compliance,
’
“
Raenau said.
“
I
’
ve been staring at those words since I took this job. So has every man or woman who
’
s run this station since it was posted. Praise be, the great day dawns at last!
”
“
You couldn
’
t erase the message?
”
she asked.
“
Nope,
”
said Raenau.
“
The station manager of the time, a woman by the name of Pulvrick, saw to that. I couldn
’
t even change the typo and make it
Dom Pedro IV
instead of
Dom Pedro VI.
Probably they got it mixed up with the
Chrononaut VI.”
“
Wait a second,
”
Norla said.
“
Back up a little. We know something about the
Chrononaut,
but none of the rest of it.
”
“
Sorry. I keep assuming you
’
d know this stuff, because it
’
s all about you. Three days after the
Chrononaut VI
arrived in-system, Pulvrick told the station
’
s artificial-intelligence system to burn that message
”
—he stabbed at the screen with his cigar—
”
into the station
’
s core-memory systems. And every station manager since has had to see it every day.
”
“
So why couldn
’
t you just get rid of the message—or the system running it?
”
Norla asked.
“
Because I don
’
t really run this station,
”
Raenau said.
“
The station artificial-intelligence system does that. Has to be that way with a system as big as this station. The complexity of the station operation systems approach that of a human body. You can
’
t yank out the brain and plug in a new one. You have to leave some systems running while you upgrade others. Backups in every subsystem, every sort of redundancy. I looked into it. There have been at least six replacements and fourteen major upgrades of the station
’
s artificial-intelligence system in the last century. And every generation of the station Artlnt has made sure that damned message popped to the top of the screen on the manager
’
s schedule, no matter what.
”
“
Pulvrick must have thought we had something important to say,
”
Koffield said mildly.
“
People have wondered about that, from time to time,
”
Raenau admitted.
“
It was all the rage when the Glister refugees came in, back before I was born, and when I was just a kid. Not much anymore these days, of course, but there used to be a lot of theories floated about. It
’
s always been assumed that the
Chrononaut
was carrying some sort of message from you, saying you were working on something big, or had vital news, or whatever, but no one
’
s ever seen the message.
That’s
what got people guessing. There were whole books just on that one subject, as a matter of fact. Have a look in the archives when you have a chance, if you
’
re interested.
”
Raenau grinned suddenly.
“
But I guess
you
know if there was a message, huh? I guess you don
’
t have to read up on it.
”
Koffield looked intently at Raenau.
“
It
’
s been
assumed
that I sent a message on the
Chrononaut?
Why assumed? How is it they didn
’
t know? And if they didn
’
t know, why did they speculate?
”
Raenau pointed a beefy finger at the message display.
“
Because of that.
‘
Attached file will decrypt.
’
It was posted three days after the
Chrononaufs
arrival, and there
’
s an encrypted file linked to it. Because of that, and because the message mentions you in particular, it
’
s always been assumed that what Pulvrick had linked to that command was a message from you. People have tried to find it and crack it now and then, but the station
’
s Artint was under orders to protect the message, and it always found ways to do it. Even the message
’
s
location
in the memory storage system is encrypted.
”
“I did indeed send a message on the
Chrononaut
to the station manager—addressed to the office, as I had no idea who had the job. I never intended it to be kept secret,
”
Koffield said.
“
Pulvrick should have unbuttoned the message once we were badly overdue.
”
“
Right,
”
said Raenau.
“
Except by then she was busy being dead. A bad virus ripped through the station, killed lots of people—including Pulvrick and most of her staff. And the
Chrononaut VI
never passed through the Solacian system again. It was years before anyone thought to track her down. She
’
d been sold for scrap by then, and the crew dispersed all over Settled Space. Just finding out that much took years. They traced one or two of the crew, but none of them knew anything. The captain was the one to talk to, but searching took a lot of time and money, and after a while, people gave up looking for him.
”
Koffield was staring straight at Raenau, and yet did not seem to see him at all.
“
Do you mean to say no one knows, no one in this star system has ever known, except this Pulvrick person, what was in my message?
”
“
Nope.
”
“
For a hundred and twenty-seven years it
’
s been in the station Artlnt
’
s memory store, waiting for me to show up?
”
“
That
’
s right. At least we think so. We
think
that when we give the Artint positive confirmation of your identity, it will deliver up the message. But we don
’
t know for certain.
”
Koffield was plainly stunned. Of all the possibilities he had considered, this was clearly not one of them.
“
Then you don
’
t know,
”
he said.
“
You don
’
t know.
”
“
No, we don
’
t,
”
Raenau said.
“
And, well, I don
’
t mean to be too hard-edged* but you two are quite literally history. Maybe that hasn
’
t sunk in yet. Maybe your information was vital a hundred years ago, but, now, well—you
’
re too late. The historians will want to talk with you, and I want to know myself, but, well—a long time has passed.
”
“
If we
’
re so unimportant, why did you bring us directly here?
”
Norla asked, a little belligerently.
“
Didn
’
t have much choice. Once your ship was identified as a lighter off the
Dom Pedro IV,
the station Artlnt systems started firing up every sort of alarm it had, insisting on compliance with its standing orders. Mind you, I was happy to cooperate. I want that message gone and my schedule board clear. Sick to death of staring at those big red words every morning. So—can we get you identified and get this over with?
”
Norla was about to protest further when Koffield caught her eye and shook his head.
“
What we have to say, and what was in the message, are still quite important, Commander. Once you decrypt that message, and once I open this secured container, we
’
ll prove that much.
”
“
Hmmph. I suppose I have to admire your confidence, anyway. Lemme get the Artlnt into voice mode, and we
’
ll get this done.
”
He worked another of the controls hidden in his desktop.
A dull, expressionless, genderless voice spoke, coming from nowhere and everywhere in the room.
“
Voice mode, command systems, activated,
”
it announced.
“
I hate talking to this damned thing,
”
Raenau growled.
“
Feel like I
’
m talking backwards to a smart-ass assistant who wants to show he
’
s smarter than I am.
”
He cleared his throat and spoke with exaggerated care.
“
Command Artlnt, receive command. Identity test, subject, seated in chair two. Compare results, standing orders, action list, item one, station manager schedule. Proceed.
”
“
Subject, seated in chair two, state name, state personal identity phrase.
”
“
Anton Koffield. *I warn of things to come.
’
“
“
Match, preliminary, formed. Stand by.
”
One of the ceiling portals, a different one than the one the elevator had used, irised open. A small wheeled equipment cart, held by a hydraulic arm, came down into the commander
’
s office. The arm set the cart down and released it. It rolled toward Koffield and stopped in front of him.
”
Fingerprint, blood sample, for DNA extraction, retinal
scan,
”
the dull voice announced.
“
Scanner-sampler active.
Indicated slot, insert hand into, palm down.
”
Koffield put his hand into the slot with far greater apparent willingness than Norla would have shown. She could see him flinch
slightly, no doubt as the sampling needle drew its blood
from a fingertip.
“
Hand to be withdrawn. Subject to stand
by.
”
A second slot opened in the top of the cart, and a scanner mask raised itself up and out on the end of a telescop
ing arm. It positioned itself at eye level, a few. centimeters
from Koffield
’
s head.
“
Face, press up against mask, eyes,
align with scanners. Eyes open, looking straight ahead.
”
Koffield obligingly leaned in close to the mask and pressed
his face up against it.
“
Complete,
”
the voice announced.
“
Identity, subject, established as Koffield, Anton. Standing
orders, action list, item one, schedule, commander com
pared. Action, required, execute.
”