Read Online The Best of Galaxy’s Edge 2013-2014 by Larry Niven, Nancy Kress, Mercedes Lackey, Ken Liu, Brad R. Torgersen, C. L. Moore, Tina Gower - Free Book Online
Authors: Larry Niven, Nancy Kress, Mercedes Lackey, Ken Liu, Brad R. Torgersen, C. L. Moore, Tina Gower
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end up in the galley.
The klaxon goes off.
“Incoming: theta six-one, phi one-four-eight, distance six-five-five, velocity one-oh-seven.”
Ignoring this, I sit down at the table and pick up a cup to spit scalding hot coffee into it. Then I proceed to vomit food onto my plate so I can sculpt it with a knife and fork into peas, carrots, an omelette.
* * *
A shiver, and my thoughts flow forward again.
“What … happened?” I ask.
“Unknown.” The computer pauses. “System clock is out of sync with sidereal observations.”
“It’s like someone just took his finger off the REWIND button.” I set down the cup of coffee that had just come out of me, nauseated. “We were dead.”
“Affirmative.” The computer hesitates. “And impossible.”
“An Azazin ship,” I say.
* * *
We know almost nothing about the Azazin save that they’ve made repeated incursions into this region of Union space. My one-man sentry ship is our first line of defense.
“They seem to believe in preemptive attacks,” I say.
“Hypothesis: we hit a temporal anomaly that briefly reversed the flow of time,” the computer says.
“I’m going to return fire.”
“But if time has been reversed, our attack now would be unprovoked.”
I shrug. “The military lawyers can sort out causality later.”
From the trajectory of the projectile that hit me, it’s easy to calculate the location of the stealth Azazin ship.
“Subphotonic missile ready.”
The click from the big red button is satisfying.
I press up against the porthole. Watching flickering numbers on a screen is never as good as the actual explosion.
“T minus ten.”
The passing seconds seem to slow down.
“T minus zero.”
But there is no dazzling flare, no new star in the sky.
“.orez sunim T”
The arrow of time.
… The missile reverses its course, now flying backwards, retracing its arc back to the launch tube…
… I rush around the cockpit, frantically pushing buttons …
* * *
The galley. Spitting coffee. Someone takes his finger off the REWIND button.
We’ve been through it dozens of times. Sometimes I shoot at them; sometimes they shoot at me. But always, we end up back here, fifteen minutes earlier.
“They can temporarily reverse the local flow of time in a bubble for up to fifteen minutes,” the computer says. “Perhaps it’s even triggered automatically when their ship is destroyed.”
“I think the time-reverser is designed to allow those in its field, including the Azazin, to keep their thoughts and experiences,” I say, finally understanding. “They’re repeating the experiment to gather intel on our tactical responses, like running rats through a maze.”
* * *
Ignoring the computer’s vociferous objections, I engage the manual override targeting system.
I press the big red button; the click is satisfying.
The faint trail of the missile approaches the spot in space where I know the Azazin ship is hiding.
“T minus ten.”
So close—
My heart is in my throat.
—nothing.
“A miss. Closest approach to target: fifty meters.” There’s a faint trace of I-told-you-so in the computer’s voice.
Time continues to flow forward. The Azazin were able to tell that I was going to miss, and they didn’t bother to reverse time for my useless attack.
No choice now . “Set a collision course. Full speed ahead.”
“They will simply rever—”
“ DO IT !”
We dive towards the invisible target, the oldest, most desperate tactic known to man. But, perhaps, they cannot believe that I will actually go through with it.
.ssengnihton, neht dnA
Flash white blinding a.
The ship zooms backwards, in front of me a dark, looming bulk that quickly fades against the stars.
And then the finger is off the REWIND button. It’s fifteen minutes earlier.
“A miss—”
Before the computer can finish, I punch a small black button: my jury-rigged secret. It sends a signal that shuts off the antimatter containment field in the
The klaxon goes off.
“Incoming: theta six-one, phi one-four-eight, distance six-five-five, velocity one-oh-seven.”
Ignoring this, I sit down at the table and pick up a cup to spit scalding hot coffee into it. Then I proceed to vomit food onto my plate so I can sculpt it with a knife and fork into peas, carrots, an omelette.
* * *
A shiver, and my thoughts flow forward again.
“What … happened?” I ask.
“Unknown.” The computer pauses. “System clock is out of sync with sidereal observations.”
“It’s like someone just took his finger off the REWIND button.” I set down the cup of coffee that had just come out of me, nauseated. “We were dead.”
“Affirmative.” The computer hesitates. “And impossible.”
“An Azazin ship,” I say.
* * *
We know almost nothing about the Azazin save that they’ve made repeated incursions into this region of Union space. My one-man sentry ship is our first line of defense.
“They seem to believe in preemptive attacks,” I say.
“Hypothesis: we hit a temporal anomaly that briefly reversed the flow of time,” the computer says.
“I’m going to return fire.”
“But if time has been reversed, our attack now would be unprovoked.”
I shrug. “The military lawyers can sort out causality later.”
From the trajectory of the projectile that hit me, it’s easy to calculate the location of the stealth Azazin ship.
“Subphotonic missile ready.”
The click from the big red button is satisfying.
I press up against the porthole. Watching flickering numbers on a screen is never as good as the actual explosion.
“T minus ten.”
The passing seconds seem to slow down.
“T minus zero.”
But there is no dazzling flare, no new star in the sky.
“.orez sunim T”
The arrow of time.
… The missile reverses its course, now flying backwards, retracing its arc back to the launch tube…
… I rush around the cockpit, frantically pushing buttons …
* * *
The galley. Spitting coffee. Someone takes his finger off the REWIND button.
We’ve been through it dozens of times. Sometimes I shoot at them; sometimes they shoot at me. But always, we end up back here, fifteen minutes earlier.
“They can temporarily reverse the local flow of time in a bubble for up to fifteen minutes,” the computer says. “Perhaps it’s even triggered automatically when their ship is destroyed.”
“I think the time-reverser is designed to allow those in its field, including the Azazin, to keep their thoughts and experiences,” I say, finally understanding. “They’re repeating the experiment to gather intel on our tactical responses, like running rats through a maze.”
* * *
Ignoring the computer’s vociferous objections, I engage the manual override targeting system.
I press the big red button; the click is satisfying.
The faint trail of the missile approaches the spot in space where I know the Azazin ship is hiding.
“T minus ten.”
So close—
My heart is in my throat.
—nothing.
“A miss. Closest approach to target: fifty meters.” There’s a faint trace of I-told-you-so in the computer’s voice.
Time continues to flow forward. The Azazin were able to tell that I was going to miss, and they didn’t bother to reverse time for my useless attack.
No choice now . “Set a collision course. Full speed ahead.”
“They will simply rever—”
“ DO IT !”
We dive towards the invisible target, the oldest, most desperate tactic known to man. But, perhaps, they cannot believe that I will actually go through with it.
.ssengnihton, neht dnA
Flash white blinding a.
The ship zooms backwards, in front of me a dark, looming bulk that quickly fades against the stars.
And then the finger is off the REWIND button. It’s fifteen minutes earlier.
“A miss—”
Before the computer can finish, I punch a small black button: my jury-rigged secret. It sends a signal that shuts off the antimatter containment field in the
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