CHAPTER SIXTEEN
For once there was no crowd waiting to greet Elaine Doi as the presidential limousine pulled up smoothly. The bodyguards riding with her still went through the disembarkation procedure, scanning the area, running identity requests on the few people who were standing outside the gateway control center. It was a nondescript building made from a high-density metal stone amalgamation with slim recessed vertical windows, the kind of office block that would be rented by a small company going nowhere. In this case it was very literally in the shade of the Hanko wormhole generator building, whose composite panel sides rose up behind the gateway control like a vertical mountain.
Presidential security gave the okay, and the limousine’s thick armored doors unlocked. The pressure seal that protected her from chemical and biological attack disengaged, and the force field switched off.
“I see Nigel hasn’t bothered to come and welcome me,” the President complained. How the unisphere shows would love that slight. He’d sent some station management types to wait on the steps for her instead.
“Remember the Michelangelo feed is live,” Patricia warned as the door irised apart.
As she stepped out of the limousine Doi’s smile had the appropriate gravitas for the occasion. She thanked the two CSI managers for sparing the time to greet her at what must be a frantically busy time for them on this historic day. Nodded courteously at the reporter from the Michelangelo show standing to one side, and let herself be ushered inside.
The control center itself had undergone a hurried modification over the last few days, with over a dozen new consoles crammed into the narrow aisles between the existing two rows. Whereas before, under normal operating conditions, there would be no more than three or four people in the center at any one time, each position now had a technician sitting at it, while more specialists and engineers stood behind them monitoring the new procedures. In addition, the back wall was lined with dignitaries, including Michelangelo himself, who’d arm-twisted an invitation out of CST. With only half an hour to go before the wormhole was switched to its new advanced temporal flow mode, the atmosphere was strained and excited. None of the technical staff were bothering to use the communications links; they shouted questions and comments around the center at high volume.
“It’s worse than a Senate debate,” Doi said from the corner of her mouth as they entered the control center.
Patricia’s neutral expression never flickered.
Nigel Sheldon came over to greet her, apologetic that he hadn’t been at the front entrance earlier. “Things are getting a little tense around here,” he explained. “They even asked my advice on exotic matter stress. I was quite flattered.”
“I’m sure you gave them every help,” Doi said tightly; she was very aware of the Michelangelo reporter standing a few paces away, capturing everything for the unisphere audience. In her virtual vision grid the total access number was creeping up to the kind of level that the last Prime invasion had generated.
“We all contribute what we can,” Nigel said in a very condescending tone.
Rafael Columbia came over to welcome Doi.
“Admiral,” she said in relief; at least he would be more formal. The occasion deserved it, she felt. “How is the navy coping with the remaining Prime ships?” she said, as if the Prime armadas were some minor problem left over, a few spaceships already on the run from superior Commonwealth forces.
“Secure in this system, Madam President,” Rafael said. “We now have eight frigates assigned to elimination duty. Over half of the Prime ships have been successfully eliminated, the rest are in flight. Protecting Wessex with its wormhole generators is imperative. We will guarantee it at all costs.”
“I’m sure you will, Admiral.” Which didn’t quite equate the briefing he’d given her ten hours ago. The Prime ships in many of the Second47 systems were trying to congregate into swarms, merging their defense capabilities while they attempted to find a suitable asteroid or moon to claim as a new home. But in seven systems, the gathering swarms were heading into the Commonwealth worlds. The navy had diverted frigates to try to deflect the inward migration, but the numbers were against them. Those seven planets were going to have a tough time of it during the next week while the evacuation progressed.
“We’re almost ready,” Nigel said. He and Doi walked down to the front of the control center while the noise died down. The five big holographic portals on the wall were projecting data schematics for the wormhole. The central one switched to a picture of Hanko’s Premier Speaker, Hasimer Owram.
“Mr. Sheldon, Madam President,” he said.
Doi was very aware of the hostile undercurrent in his voice, and hoped no one else would pick up on it. The last talk she’d had with him, five hours ago, had been short and antagonistic. Starting with his dismay that Hanko was going to be the first to begin evacuating into the future or, as he put it, the experiment to test if the whole lunatic time travel idea worked; right up to the fact that Nigel wasn’t kidding about not letting anyone opt out of the operation. Owram had wanted to be allowed back into the Commonwealth so he could “monitor” the preparations being made for his people on their new planet.
“Hello, Hasimer,” Doi said. “We’re about to open the wormhole for you.”
“Everyone here is ready. We’re leaving with great sadness, but also a sense of hope and pride. Hanko’s society will flourish again.”
“I have no doubt of that. I look forward to visiting and experiencing your triumph in the flesh.”
“Hasimer,” Nigel said. “The wormhole is ready. We’ve got a direct lock on the gateway at Anagaska. It’s opening now.”
“Anagaska it is then,” Hasimer Owram said. “Make sure we’ve got some decent weather when we arrive.”
“Consider it done,” Nigel said. Anagaska was a phase three world, eight light-years from Balkash, which CST had already advanced to predevelopment state. Its position close to the Lost23 was another source of Hasimer’s anger, but as Nigel had told him and all the other Second47 planetary leaders, the Wessex-based wormholes couldn’t reach the other side of the Commonwealth.
Doi watched the image pull back from Hasimer. The Premier Speaker had been standing beside a dark green six-seat Audi Tarol that was parked directly in front of the Hanko gateway. The train tracks had been ripped up and replaced by a vast apron of enzyme-bonded concrete that had been poured without any finesse over the ground all the way back to the main highway leading to the planetary station. It was starting to look like that wasn’t going to be nearly enough.
The silence in the control center was broken with a buzz of incredulity as the Hanko station yard expanded across the portal. It was covered with vehicles of every description, from open trikes to twenty-wheel trucks. The police had done their best to line them up in columns, but the patrol cars had soon become surrounded and blocked by the sheer volume of the evacuation vehicles. Their strobes were all that gave away their position, points of bright light flashing amid the vast multicolored carpet that covered the entire station. At some point perspective failed, and the vehicles looked like blocks in a city grid, a city that had a vast black river winding through the center. That was the people who didn’t have a car or truck or bike, who’d arrived at the planetary station on one of the thousands of trains collecting them from across the planet. Local news media had estimated there were already over seven million people on foot waiting to walk through the gateway.
A frosty mauve light shone out of the opened gateway. For once not the light of a distant sun, but radiated by the exotic matter itself. Normally the wormhole’s internal length was so close to zero it was for all intents and purposes immeasurable; this one was a glowing tunnel that extended a good way to infinity, and was still lengthening. Air roared into it as the pressure curtain was shut down. Cheers and applause began in the control center, building in volume. Doi joined in, clapping warmly, smiling congratulations at Nigel.