Over one point three billion kilometers away in Argus Station over Earth, Jonas Shigeki had a problem, and unlike most of the difficulties he faced in his position as head of DTI Foreign Affairs, the current problem was almost entirely his fault.
This is why I hate after-lunch meetings, he thought to himself as the mind-numbing presentation continued.
“And now here you can see a surprising breakdown from the survey results of grid nine-dash-three-dash-twelve,” Doctor Andover-Chen continued to drone on, the mathematical equations under his synthoid’s black glassy skin glowing brighter with enthusiasm. “Surprisingly, chronometric field intensity in this transverse grid is three percent stronger than surrounding grids, indicating the presence of an as-yet-undiscovered anomaly. Please reference exhibit nine-dash-three-dash-twelve-alpha in your supplemental material for more details.”
The room’s four dozen occupants stirred from their lethargy, each person swiping to the next slide in their abstract handouts. Researchers, agents, and analysts from both the Admin’s DTI and SysPol’s Gordian Division filled the conference room deep in Argus Station, all assembled for a soporific series of presentations put on by the Gordian Division’s chief scientist, Doctor Andover-Chen, and his counterpart in the DTI, Doctor Katja Hinnerkopf.
The Gordian Division was the newest addition to SysPol, born out of the destruction caused by the Gordian Knot, a chaotic anomaly of knotted timelines centered around 1940 that nearly destroyed sixteen universes. The organization had grown in leaps and bounds since its inception, and its relationship with the DTI—while contentious and suspicious at first—had improved drastically after both groups joined forces to resolve a second existential calamity, now called the Dynasty Crisis.
The meeting Jonas now found himself in was part of a series of workshops and seminars put on by and for various members of both organizations, which would then culminate late next week in high level discussions between DTI Director-General Csaba Shigeki, his father, and Commissioner Klaus-Wilhelm von Schröder of the Gordian Division, along with their respective senior staffs.
Jonas prided himself on sensing the flow of events hidden beneath the surface, of gauging where those eddies and currents might lead, extrapolating what dangers might lie ahead and then—with the utmost care—nudging the flow in the most beneficial direction.
But he couldn’t do that if he had no idea what was coming down the chute!
Jonas glanced over at Hinnerkopf. The stern, compact woman with her severe buzz cut stood beside Andover-Chen at the head of the room, patiently attentive as her counterpart drudged through yet another banal exhibit.
Yes, surveying the transverse—the binding fabric that connected individual universes and held the greater multiverse together—was important. Yes, the TTVs of Gordian Division and chronoports of the DTI had discovered some unusual phenomena out there, but what he really wanted to know was what Andover-Chen and Hinnerkopf were up to, and so he’d signed up for every single workshop the two were putting on this week.
God help me, he thought sullenly.
Jonas had pressed Hinnerkopf repeatedly over the past few days, but she’d been tight-lipped, only hinting at a “proposal of monumental proportions,” a description which did not put him at ease. He was the director of Foreign Affairs, damn it! Any collaborative projects fell under his jurisdiction! But Hinnerkopf had insisted this unannounced project would fit under her authority as Under-Director of Technology.
Jonas knew his father had received a preview of Hinnerkopf’s mystery proposal, and he assumed Commissioner Schröder had as well from Andover-Chen, which implied they’d given their consent for the upcoming negotiations to proceed. He’d tried hitting up his father for the details, but all that had gotten him was some vague reference to a “large, collaborative project” and instructions to wait for Hinnerkopf’s formal presentation.
What sort of “large, collaborative project?” How was he supposed to ensure their two sides worked well together if he had no idea which cliff they were about to leap off?
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Oh no!
The worst part—the absolute worst—was the fact that he could barely keep his eyes open!
“Moving on, please open exhibit nine-dash-three-dash-twelve-beta. Here you can see . . .”
The room stirred as everyone swiped.
It’s my own damn fault, Jonas thought morosely.
As a rule, he ate light lunches because he knew of his tendency to become sleepy after a heavy meal. But today the chefs in the Argus executive café had served this absolutely amazing macaroni and cheese side with bacon bits, tomatoes, and mushrooms mixed in a creamy five-cheese blend and topped with seasoned bread crumbles. It tasted so good Jonas had ordered a second helping.
And then a third.
And then he boxed up a fourth to go.
Now all those carbs sat in his stomach like a leaden lump, dragging down his mental acuity and alertness with all the inevitability of a black hole consuming a neighboring star.
It didn’t help that the room was dark and warm. He propped his cheek up on a fist and stared at the presentation through drooping eyelids.
“Chronoton movement in this region also bears investigation,” Andover-Chen continued. “As you can tell from exhibit nine-dash-three-dash-twelve-gamma, the survey showed a statistical anomaly in the distribution of chronoton particles, with forty-seven percent moving forward in time and a surprisingly high fifty-three percent traveling into the past. This discrepancy in the distribution from the typical fifty-fifty split indicates . . .”
Jonas’ brain waded through the thick, mental sludge. He had a strong desire to get up, walk over to the nearest wall, and beat his head into it until he felt better. The suffocating deluge of technical jargon oozed over him, threatening to drag him under—
An alert appeared in his virtual vision, and he perked up, thankful for the interruption. He saw it was from Special Agent Susan Cantrell, and he opened the message with privacy filters engaged.
He began reading, and soon a different kind of deluge assaulted his senses. He scrolled down through the message, skimming its contents.
What the hell is she after? he wondered, picking through the word salad in front of him. “Further germinate positive foreign relations with enhanced social outreach.” Germinate? Someone needs to confiscate this woman’s thesaurus.
He glanced up at Andover-Chen, and saw he was still talking about chronotons acting weird, so he returned to Cantrell’s message and read on.
Why do her bullet points have bullet points? he asked himself. “Showcase Admin generosity with unsolicited magnanimity.” Come on, Agent, get to the frickin’ point already!
He started skipping more and more of the letter, searching without success for the purpose behind it all.
What the hell is she asking me for? An assault cruiser?
And then he found it, tucked neatly into the last paragraph of Cantrell’s magnum opus of word mush.
All this for an extra ticket and a third hotel room? Oh, good grief!
Jonas swiped the APPROVE toggle and hit SEND without giving the request another thought.
