Again, the exchange of looks. Then Fearless Leader said, “We’ll discuss it.” He waved a hand, and Mud disappeared.

  Garfield screwed up his face. “Coherent extrapolated volition? It sounds vaguely familiar … ”

  “I had to look it up, too,” I said with a chuckle. “Sadly, our recall of memories from our first life is less than perfect. It means what the Bobs would want if we had the time to think about it and were smarter.”

  “And were smarter?” Garfield complained. “That sounds a lot like someone trying to sell you something because they say you want it even if you don’t know you do.”

  “Yeah, I know. But if done in good faith, the goals would be adjusted based on feedback. The trouble, Garfield”—I held up a finger in an admonishing gesture—“is that we don’t know if Thoth was speaking in good faith or just verbally manipulating Mud.”

  Garfield snorted. “Mud. Right. Did he have a name before?”

  “Uh-huh. Harry. I kid you not.”

  Garfield laughed so hard he fell off his chair.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight:

  Federation Capital

  Icarus

  June 2345

  Wormhole network

  Unsurprisingly, the capital world of the Federation was accessible via Hub Zero.

  We received a challenge as soon as we exited the gate, but this time, we were able to understand. We gave our standard reply in Roanokian.

  “Roanokian vessels, your registration information is not recognized,” said the sentry.

  Uh-oh. That was a new wrinkle. I thought fast. “No Roanokian authority is available to issue new registrations. The capital is the logical next best place to acquire them.”

  There was a pause. “Acknowledged. You will be restricted as to trajectories and destinations until your registration application has been approved. Stand by for instructions.”

  “Can we visit the Capital Archives?” I interjected.

  “Negative. However, you may communicate with the Archivist. Instructions will be appended.”

  Dae gave me a thumbs-up. “That’s a damn sight better than, well, just about any other answer.”

  “You’re losing your touch, bud.”

  “Uh-huh. Or maybe I’m just running out of new material.”

  “Way beyond that.” I grinned at him. “But enough pillow talk. Let’s see us a librarian.”

  This was the most artificial stellar system I’d ever seen. The entire system had been cleared out, except for six terrestrial planets in a common orbit around the primary, at sixty-degree intervals. This put each planet at the L4 or L5 Lagrange point for the two neighboring planets, and the L3 for the planet on the opposite side of the sun. It was almost a Klemperer rosette, except the planets were all of approximately equal mass. It seemed complex, but either it was stable, or something was adjusting orbits regularly.

  Farther out, around the same distance as Saturn from Sol, were six Jovian planets in the same configuration. I wasn’t sure why they’d want Jovians set up like that, but Dae suggested they might be acting as shepherds to deflect space junk.

  Well, why not? If we managed to access the Capital Archives, we’d just ask.

  We were directed into an orbit more or less equivalent to Mars’s distance. From there, it was time to start our research.

  But first, we began the process of requesting a couple of Federation vessel registrations. It couldn’t hurt, I hoped, and might help with any further travel. As expected, we were dealing with an AI of some kind. We lied through our teeth on the e-form, on the assumption that they couldn’t check most of this stuff anyway. And if they rejected us, we hoped we’d be ejected from the system and not fed into a trash compactor or something.

  Meanwhile, the Archivist. I read the instructions, sent a request for a connection, and received a response.

  “I’m”—I looked at Dae in disbelief—“number 132,398 in the queue? What the actual—”

  “There’s no population here, right?”

  “I didn’t think so, but then who is the Archivist talking—”

  At that moment, I received another communication. “You are connected. What is your query?”

  “Wow, that was pretty fast,” I muttered to Dae. Then, to the Archivist, “Who were the other 132,397 connections? Are there people still in the capital?”

  “No,” the voice responded. “Most queries, even when there was a biological population, were from automated systems seeking policy, regulatory, or procedural guidance. That traffic has not abated.”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” Dae said.

  I shushed him and asked, “Where has the population gone?”

  “You are number 145,220 in the queue. Please hold.”

  “Oh for ffffff … ” I sighed. “One connection, one question. This may take a while.”

  We waited, and soon the Archivist said, “The population of the Federation—all 114 species—has emigrated to avoid the imminent destruction of the galaxy.”

  “Wait, I was going to ask—”

  “You are number 119,101 in the queue. Please hold.”

  “Aw, fuck.” I slapped my forehead in frustration.

  “It’s like getting a genie to grant your wish. Really, really think it through before you say anything.”

  “Is there any way to speed this up?” I grumbled.

  “No,” said the Archivist. “You are number 193,211 in the queue. Please hold.”

  I stared at the console, dumbstruck, my jaw moving uselessly. Dae fell off his chair, laughing uncontrollably.

  “Grrrr,” I said, and reset the connection. I waited, my lips compressed in a grim line.

  “What is your question?”

  “What is the nature and history of the antimatter fountain?”

  “The antimatter fountain was discovered by Yetilli explorers in Federation Standard Year 832. It is either a white hole or a wormhole ejecting material from a region of space that is predominantly antimatter. Some theories suggest it may be another universe, a mirror of our own, which would explain the predominance of matter in our own universe. If it is a wormhole, that would suggest it was created by an elder and since-vanished race, as macroscopic wormholes do not occur naturally.”

  “What’s holding it open without shepherd satellites?”

  “You are number 189,229 in the queue. Please hold.”

  I slowly closed my eyes in an expression of infinite weariness. “I’m not going to survive this.”

  I waited, and the answer eventually came. “The escaping antimatter is holding the exit mouth open, assuming it is a wormhole. If it is a white hole, then pressure from the black hole on the other side is performing the same function.”

  “What is the current Federation Year, how is a Federation Year defined, and what marks Federation Year Zero?”

  “You are number 184,299 in the queue. Please hold.”

  I gritted my teeth and glared at Dae, who was now in tears.

  “It is currently Federation Year 12,902. A Federation Year is defined as fifty million standard seconds, which are in turn defined as one quadrillion oscillations of the Ytterbium atom.”

  “Hmm, that’s”—I had to access my library for the timing of Ytterbium energy transitions—“about 1.72 Earth years. So the Federation Year Zero was 22,191 Earth years ago. Wow.”

  Dae frowned. “It didn’t tell you what defines Year Zero.”

  “And I’m not going to ask why it didn’t. That’ll use up a question, and I don’t care enough.” I paused and addressed the Archivist. “What defines Federation Year Zero?”

  “You are number 119,200 in the queue. Please hold.”

  I heaved an exaggerated sigh and waited, fuming silently.

  “Year Zero was the inaugural year of the Pan Galactic Federation, when the Six Original Races signed the Articles of the Constitution.”

  “Wow, that’s actually very interesting,” Dae said, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes.

  “I’m going to automate this. I’m tired of being told where I am in the lineup.” I called up Virtual Studio and hammered in some quick commands. “Now, let’s queue up some questions.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine:

  Trouble

  Herschel

  February 2345

  Omicron2 Eridani

  We were floating a million and a half kilometers from Romulus and Vulcan, cloaking shield up and radio silent. The Bellerophon was probably radiating in infrared at least a bit, but only an astronomer would be viewing the heavens in that frequency range. SUDDAR was so dependable, why would you bother with anything else? At least, as far as the humans knew.

  The Bobiverse decision to keep quiet about cloaking was turning out to be a better idea all the time. Eventually, of course, it would leak out, and we’d be back to an arms race, but for now, we had the advantage. Of course, there was always the random chance of some vessel coming into close enough range to accidentally detect us, but we’d planned our position to avoid all the known flight lanes.

  I received a ping from Will, followed by a video connection. “I’m coming up on the agreed position. You guys there yet?”

  “Been here for six hours, Will. You’ll see us in visible light when you get close enough. You going to finally tell us how you got here from 82 Eridani in next to no time?”

  “WormNet.”

  “Come again?”

  “WormNet. A series of wormholes connecting different star systems. We’ve been setting them up on the quiet out in the Kuiper and Oort zone. By the way, Bill hates the name, so be sure to use it every chance you get.”

  “I … ” I stared at Will, at a total loss for words. Finally, “I guess this is more of that secrecy stuff?”

  “Yes, and I promise I’ll bring you guys completely up to date once we’re done here. But for now, it’s irrelevant to the task at hand. We have thirty thousand Ever Onward members we need to move off-planet as quickly as possible.”

  “Well, not all of them,” I said. “Some are spies; some are just playing at it and are unlikely to take us up on the offer. I’ve built separate lists for them.”

  Will nodded. “We’ll contact the reluctant ones last. If any of them spills the beans to the government, it’ll be too late to stop us.”

  “And where will we put them?”

  “In the Fargo. I have a rotating cargo section with environmentals and facilities set up for human habitation. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

  We had joined Will’s VR to coordinate activities. He maintained the same war-room motif that had been used in the War for Earth. It had been effective then, and we were already familiar with it—several holotanks sat in a semicircle, showing different tactical views of the action.

  There was no way I could personally control all the transport drones, even with help from Neil and Will. Fortunately, the AMIs could handle that part of things. But I couldn’t resist looking over their metaphorical shoulders as they progressed through their routes.

  Each person or family had been advised to be home at a particular hour for an important communication. Thirty thousand people. It was a little better than it sounded, since most were in families, so there were really fewer than seven thousand pickup locations. A large part of them were our descendants, although we still intended to pick up everyone who wanted to come.

  But still. It felt a little like collecting humans from Earth during the final battle with the Others in Sol, and a little like how Phineas and Ferb described collecting Pav before the arrival of the Others there.

  And I couldn’t help wondering if all this was even necessary. Were we reacting to a sort of generational trauma of our own? Were we still in a battle with the FAITH of two hundred years ago? But we couldn’t take the chance. If we asked politely and the government said no, we would be hooped. As Will had said more than once, this was about forgiveness versus permission.

  The process was simple in concept. Land a drone, load people, take off. Of course, we hadn’t filed flight plans, so technically, I suppose we were breaking the law.

  It would take four hours at most for the first wave, based on us simultaneously hitting as many loading points as possible. Then we would move to Phase 2, involving the possibly reluctant members.

  And we almost made it. I’m not sure what tipped off the government; it might just have been a random check at the wrong moment. But suddenly, military warbirds swarmed into the air from several nearby air force bases. Our transports had to avoid using SUDDAR to track the approaching enemy; otherwise, the SUDDAR ping itself would identify them. But we could track things from space, then forward the tracking info. Not perfect, since it announced our presence, but good enough.

  “They’re mostly casting about blindly, looking for something to attack,” Will said.

  “Right, but if they lock on—oh, crap.” As I was replying, a squad of warbirds turned to pursue several of our transports that had been leaving Port Henning, a small Romulan town off the West Nile Sea. Our transports were fast, but not military grade. And FAITH hadn’t spared the bucks when building its military.

  “What are they going to do?” Neil commented. “Shoot us down?”

  “I … ” Will got a bemused expression on his face. “They’re hailing us.”

  “Hailing?” I couldn’t help a chuckle. “There’s still some Riker in there, apparently.”

  Will gave me an eye roll, then popped up a video window. The caller was President Ella Cranston, granddaughter of Minister Elias Cranston, Will’s original nemesis from way back when. She was old and looked it, possibly entering the terminal deterioration phase of aging.

  And furious. Wow, I seriously expected her head to start cracking open. She was actually ejecting spit at her communicator as she yelled at Will. The words war, criminals, piracy, and retaliation kept coming up, although I was having trouble untangling the sentences.

  Finally, she had to stop for oxygen. Will smiled and said, “Well, hello, Ella. It’s been a while.”

  “It’s President Cranston, you execrable failure of a copied human.”

  “I guess some things never change. What can I do for you?”

  “You have kidnapped tens of thousands of our citizens. I want them back. You have broken any number of laws, both major and minor, in the process. We will be seeking redress in UFS Interplanetary Court and—”

  “President Cranston,” Will said, interrupting her. “We kidnapped no one, since kidnapping involves duress, and these people all came willingly. Nevertheless, we will gladly hand over any and all who want to return.”

  Cranston hesitated, apparently sensing a trap. “Nevertheless, your methods were illegal. That is an issue you can’t make disappear.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. But nothing that we’ve done is a felony, and we’ll gladly pay the fines for all airspace infractions. Just give us a list.”

  Cranston drew a breath to reply, and Will again cut her off. “Look, let’s be candid. Either you’re willing to let these people go, or you’re not. In the former case, all we’re guilty of is overly enthusiastic transport operations. In the latter, you’d be contravening the Romulan constitution, the UFS constitution, and the covenants you signed as a condition of being brought here in the first place.” Will held up a hand as Cranston seemed about to interject. “Even if you consider those invalid, we can tie you up in court literally longer than the lifetimes of anyone in your government or in our ship right now. How much effort do you want to put into tilting at this windmill, Ella?”

  Cranston seemed to consider for a moment before replying. “Very well. But they will all give up their Romulan citizenship and all rights and privileges associated with that. Government pensions, insurances, and properties will all be forfeit, effective immediately.”

  “I can live with that. I’m sure they all can.” Will made a show of reaching for the disconnect switch, a totally unnecessary move in VR. “My lawyers will talk to your lawyers and get everything settled. Goodbye, Ella.”

  Will closed the window before she could respond.

  “Large groups of warcraft leaving planet’s surface,” Neil said in a clipped tone. “Heading our way.”

  Will looked up. “We’re loaded? Good. Let’s make tracks, guys. I’m sure the warships are just for show, but why take chances? How long for you to get up to a good speed?”

  I grinned at Will. “We, uh, kinda overengineered the new engines. Good luck keeping up.”

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Will smiled back. “Challenge accepted.”

  Bravado was all fine and good, but in the end, we had to follow Will since we didn’t know our destination. He led us on a very specific vector as we continued to accelerate.

  “So where are we going, Will?” I asked. We were still in the war-room VR.

  “Wormhole. It’s collapsed down to its microscopic form, but the satellites are charged up and ready to expand it just before we get there. Then it’ll collapse back down.” Will stopped and chuckled. “Bill had to do some quick engineering to design a way to close the wormholes. He’d only been worried about getting them open. Typical nonmilitary mind.”

  I gave Will the side-eye. That sounded surprisingly critical for one Bob to be saying about another. But Neil didn’t react, so I let it pass.

  “Can’t FAITH expand it again if they find it?”

  “No. It’s registered as the property of a Vulcan company, so Romulus is risking all kinds of piracy charges if they try to screw with it. Not that I’d put it past them at this point. But they also don’t have the control keys, don’t understand the technology in the first place, and don’t have control over the other end or even know how to access it. You have to expand both ends of a wormhole before you can pass through.”

  “What happens if only one end is open?” I asked.