The effects of the DNA reprogramming caused by the neutrino blast from the Cusp Foundation emitter became almost immediately obvious. An increasing number of crewmembers on the Archangel started to report to the onboard medical facilities with various illnesses, aches and pains. Dr. Calcagno started doing DNA scans of every new patient but the results were distressingly similar: formerly healthy, strong patients were beginning to show the signs of advancing age and alterations in their blood chemistry. They each showed exactly the same kind of changes to their DNA – markers unmistakably and deliberately changed in exactly the same fashion.
Reports began to flood in from all points in the Galactic Alliance; a massive extinction was starting to occur in species of bacteria and microscopic life, whose life spans were naturally extremely brief. If any good occurred at all from this incident, the confrontation between the Alliance and the Kellurian Empire was quickly defused, and all the military posturing and threatening were curtailed. Both sides discovered they were facing a much more deadly problem.
After the war vessels began backing down from their aggressive position, several of them on both sides turned away to return to their home bases. When they tried to enter compressed space, the space warps did not form properly around their ships and they were nearly destroyed when they activated their compspace engines. One by one, the spacecraft learned that they were no longer able to travel through compressed space and suddenly the galactic quadrant became an incredibly huge, isolated space. The best velocity that any vessel could obtain was just below lightspeed. Travel times to planets which normally would be measured in hours through compressed space, were now decades away.
As the Archangel slowly plodded off through space in an attempt to return to a Galactic star base, another staff meeting was called. The participants glumly filed into the conference room and depression and despair was thick in the air. Everyone sat down in their chairs and didn’t say much to each other. They all knew what was happening to them and everyone else in the quadrant and they all knew what their fate would be.
Captain Twillig walked into the room and assumed his position at the head of the conference table. He had noticeably more grey hair in his head and the lines around his eyes and on his face seemed deeper. With weariness he placed his electronic tablet on the table and looked around the assembled crew. The sadness he saw in their faces and the resignation in their eyes told him everything he had to know about the ship and crew he loved more than life itself.
“What is the current status of the neutrino pulse?” Captain Twillig asked. Brisbane looked at his electronic tablet. “The wavefront has swept through then entire galactic quadrant and is halfway through the next quadrant,” he said. “Calculations have it finally exiting the galaxy in five days.”
“Alanna, any new information on the compspace issue,” he asked.
The science officer checked some last minute information on her monitor tablet. “We have verified that the inability to access compressed space is directly the result of the neutrino flood of a couple of days ago. The problem is the nature of the neutrinos created by the Cuspies. They have a very unusual quality of persistence – they are actually ‘sticky’ neutrinos that remain on any surface they touch, which is everything and anything. Their presence on the outer hulls of spacecraft prevents the space warps from forming properly around the vessel, preventing it from dropping into compressed space. No one can travel through compressed space because no one can get to it.” This statement made everyone miss the presence of Talox, who was still onboard the Frontiere making his way back to the Archangel, also unable to travel in compressed space.
“Is there any way to ‘unstick’ these neutrinos, to get them off the ship?” the captain asked.
“Possibly, sir,” Alanna said, “but it would take months of work to understand the underlying process and devise a way to clean them off the surfaces, and we …” Suddenly she stopped what she was saying, realizing what the implication was.
“And we don’t have that kind of time,” Captain Twillig finished her sentence. “We all know that, Alanna.” He looked sadly around the room at everyone. “And even if we could travel, where would we go, in the time we have left?”
“Are we certain that there are no ships that haven’t been contaminated by the neutrinos?” Brisbane asked. The little robot Ramses, who had become his constant companion, was at his side.
“All reports we have received are the same,” Engineer Tony Moreno interjected. “All spacecraft, whether Alliance, Kellurian or any other entity, all have the issue with the persistent neutrinos and are unable to enter compressed space. There are no exceptions.”
A couple of seconds of dejected silence blanketed the conference room The only noise was the soft clicking of Ramses as his internal computers worked hard to understand the situation. “There is one Galactic Alliance vessel that is uncontaminated,” the robot announced suddenly.
Everyone looked up at the robot in startled surprise. “What are you talking about, Ramses?” Brisbane asked.
“The U.S.S. Hyperion has not been exposed to the neutrino radiation,” the robot stated.
Everyone was shocked at the mention of the Hyperion. Brisbane looked crossly at the robot. “Ramses, are you making some kind of joke with your newly-programmed sense of humor?” he asked.
“I am not making a joke,” the robot asserted firmly. “Jokes are made to make people laugh and laughter was not my intention.”
“Ramses, you know very well the Hyperion was sent back in time three thousand years when Daressencia Laportine was on her destructive rampage with her TMA technology. The vessel has been officially declared lost and it is not appropriate to make a joke about that,” Brisbane said testily. He looked at Captain Twillig in embarrassment, since it was well known that the captain’s brother was serving onboard the Hyperion and was declared missing in action along with the rest of the crew.
“I did not make a joke,” the robot affirmed, “and the Hyperion is not lost. I know exactly where it is.”
By this time everyone’s attention was firmly riveted on the robot. “How can you know where the Hyperion is, Ramses?” Brisbane asked impatiently. “Daressencia Laportine used the TMA technology to send them back in spacetime. No one knows exactly the temporal parameters she used to create the time warps. Without them, it’s impossible to pinpoint the location of the Hyperion.”
“We should begin to plan for the medical issues which are inevitably going to arise in the next couple of days, and we need to …” Captain Twillig began to say.
“I have the spacetime vectors that were used on the Hyperion,” the robot interrupted.
Captain Twillig stood there with his mouth open. “You have what?” he asked incredulously.
“I have the spacetime vectors that Daressencia Laportine used to send the Hyperion back in time. Her son gave me the vector information a long time ago. He told me to keep it secret and only use it in the very worst of circumstances.” The robot looked around the room with his blue video sensors. “I think these are very bad circumstances.”
Everyone in the room could not believe what they were hearing. Brisbane got out of his chair and knelt in front of the little robot. “Ramses, you have to verify with me that what you are saying is the absolute truth,” he said with utmost earnestness. “If you do have the real, authentic spacetime vectors for the Hyperion, it is critically important information we need to have.”
“I can confirm with complete veracity and accuracy that I do possess the actual and authentic spacetime vector information for the U.S.S. Hyperion,” the robot said confidently.
Brisbane turned to Captain Twillig and they both exchanged astonished glances. “Sir,” he said, “obviously being three thousand years in the past, the Hyperion was spared the neutrino stream. If we can use the vector information to return it to the present day, they should still have their compressed space capabilities. Conceivably they could then go back in time two days and destroy the Cuspie emitter, before it has a chance to fire!”
Brisbane’s statement went through the entire room like an electric current. “Is that even possible?” the captain asked in disbelief. Alanna looked up as a realization crossed her face. “Theoretically it is possible,” she said slowly. “The Hyperion is the only vessel that could enter compressed space and exceed the Sanderford limit. It could go back in time to prevent the emitter from discharging.”
Captain Twillig started thinking rapidly. “If they did exactly that,” he said as the sweat started beading up on his forehead, “the destruction of the emitter would cause the timeline to reset itself. The DNA damage will never occur, and everything would be exactly the way it was just before the Cusp foundation emitter fired!” Everyone’s head began to swim as the realization of the incredible option which had suddenly become available to them. “What do we need to do to return the Hyperion to normal time?” he asked.
“We will need to resurrect the TMA technology, which was banned and declared forbidden by the Alliance,” Brisbane responded. “The technology is now under the control of the Alliance central library computer back on Terra. If we could convince them to send us the data, we could recreate the technology on the Archangel and bring the Hyperion back!”
“How long would it take to reconstruct the TMA technology, Alanna?” the captain asked, entering some information on the computer terminal at his chair.
“I don’t know, sir, that would be a problem,” she said nervously. “We would need to convert the radiation emitters on the Archangel and figure out a way to reroute power, and most importantly, interpret a difficult, alien technology …”
“I am completely familiar with the TMA technology,” the robot chirped. “It can be operational approximately six hours after we receive it.”
Everyone in the room stared at the little robot and began to smile. “Ramses,” Brisbane said as he touched the half-dome of dark glass that functioned as the robot’s head, “you have no idea how happy you have made all of us!”
Less than eight hours later, the Archangel came to a complete stop in space. The bank of particle emitters on its sides and underbelly started to glow. In front of the starship appeared a wavering, blurry patch of blue light. The patch began to pulsate and undulate slowly, and very gradually stretched itself out on both sides and curved around, both ends meeting up with each other on the other side of a large, circular band. The band thickened and began to show a series of evenly-spaced bumps, on both the top and bottom. These bumps stretched themselves out to bands, extending up and down, and curving inward so that they met at a point above and below the center of the middle ring. The ring replicated smaller copies of itself up and down until the TMA framework took on the shape of a large globe. For a short time the TMA arrays flickered and wavered as they hung in space. Then slowly, the globe began to shrink. The empty spaces between the fields got closer to each other and gradually merged. The framework globe slowly became a solid globe of ghostly blue light and started to shrink even faster. A couple of tense seconds later, the blue sphere of light collapsed in on itself and disappeared in an enormous flash of white light. In its place, hovering in space was the U.S.S. Hyperion.
The crew on the Archangel bridge just stood in total silence and just could not believe what they were seeing. No one had ever expected to see this particular vessel again. It and its valiant crew were honored and memorialized years ago and while they were not forgotten, they had assumed their place in history along with the legions of other ships and crewmembers who had given their all to the Galactic Alliance. The stunned silence on the bridge was interrupted by a small alarm on the communications console. “The captain of the Hyperion wishes to speak with us,” the communications officer said shakily. “He is requesting we open a channel.”
“Put them on the main screen,” the captain said, suddenly not having any idea of what he should say to them. The view screen flashed some static for a half-second, but then showed a picture of the bridge area of the Hyperion, looking exactly as it did when they were sent back in time twenty-four years ago. Seated in the main chair was Captain Reese Timberlane, his science office and tactical officer by his side. They were staring back at the crew of the Archangel in a similar state of disorientation and surprise.
“Captain Twillig?” the captain of the Hyperion ventured. “Bob – is that you?” he asked incredulously.
“It is Bob Twillig,” the captain said, walking slowly toward the view screen. “I guess I look a little different from the last time we saw each other.”
The science officer of the Hyperion said something quietly to the captain. “Captain Twillig, we have determined that the current date is … July 23, 2465. Is that accurate?” Captain Timberlane asked slowly.
“Indeed it is, Reese,” Captain Twillig said. “You undoubtedly have a couple dozen urgent questions to ask us. Why don’t we arrange for you and some of your staff to come over to the Archangel, so we can have a much-needed talk?”
Captain Timberlane looked over to his right side for a second. “We will do so immediately,” he responded, “but there is someone here who would like to say something to you.” The video camera on the Hyperion panned over to the left and focused on a tall, dark-haired crew member. Captain Twillig felt his heart nearly skip a beat as he saw his younger brother, Samuel J. Twillig IV. “How are you doing, Sam?” he asked in amazement.
His brother looked back at him with a big grin. “Just fine, Bob,” he answered. “How is mom?”
“She’s doing well,” Captain Twillig answered. “She’s doing very well.” He did not have the nerve to tell his brother that their mother passed away thirteen years ago.
Over the next couple of hours the crew of the Hyperion was brought up to speed on the desperate situation that has resulted from the discharge of the Cusp Foundation neutrino emitter. There was precious little time for reunions or catching up on everything that had transpired in the part quarter-century. The Hyperion learned of their mission and assumed it with utmost seriousness and determination. They knew what they had to do, and they knew how much was riding on its successful completion. Sadly, but with great hope, the Archangel watched its sister ship turn slowly away from them and take off into the vastness of space, disappearing into a brilliant flash of white light as it dropped into compressed space.
Roaring through compspace, the navigator on the Hyperion said, “Sanderford limit will be breached in seven seconds.” Everyone knew whenever they passed that velocity they would begin their journey backwards in time. As the time warp developed around the ship, everything on board became suffused with a bright white glow. The screaming sounds of the engines became muffled and indistinct as the crew dropped into the dreamless sleep of time travel.
An unknown amount of time later, Captain Timberlane opened his eyes and groggily looked around. “Science officer,” he said slowly. “Report status.” The science officer had already started to gather information from the ships sensors and computers. “All stations reporting in, sir,” he said. “No casualties or problems. We are still in compressed space, right on course.”
The tactical officer looked at his screens. “Sir, we are coming up on the exit point,” he said urgently. He added, “I can see the Frontiere on the sensors, far up ahead. It is on the verge of exiting compspace.” The captain looked at some information on a side monitor and pressed an intercom button on his console. “All hands, prepare to drop out of compressed space.” He turned to his science officer. “What is the current date?” the captain asked.
The science officer looked down at his computer and said, “July 21, 2465.”
