The Arrows of Time

The mountain completed each rotation in less than seven lapses; her motion was stretching that out threefold, but rather than hanging back to witness a full turn at every radius she had to trust her companions to cover their own portions of the territory. Agata wished she could have made it a mathematical certainty that no square scant would go unsearched, but before she’d been out here and seen the conditions she’d been in no position to make binding plans. All she could do now was hope that most of the team found their own workable strategies, and between the symmetry of their initial placement and the shared conditions that prompted their individual actions they’d end up executing a combined sweep without too many gaps.

She began moving steadily in towards the axis.

The change below her was so stark and it came so abruptly that Agata almost began chasing it, but she caught herself in time. The smooth black expanse of the engine’s rebounders was unmistakable, and the visual jolt of entering it was followed by near-perfect homogeneity. The idea of the occulters drilling into this precious lode was shocking – and it would also be the place where their camouflage was the least effective – but Agata decided not to speed past the region. However strong the argument for the machines avoiding it, she couldn’t trust her adversaries not to exploit that presumption.

The surface became rough and grey again. Agata forced herself to readjust her expectations: her prey would show much less contrast now. The temptation to look around for her companions was growing, as much out of a longing for the support of their presence as any real fear for their safety. But with her front eyes fixed on the rock below, her rear gaze couldn’t reach beyond the blackness of the orthogonal cluster. She tried to assuage the pangs by rekindling her anger with Ramiro and Tarquinia; at least that made her feel stronger and more focused. But as the pits and cracks in the stone swept by, she thought of Azelio, who believed that all their efforts were in vain. If a meteor had always been on its way, this charade would not deflect it.

A shape with hints of regular borders passed below her and was gone. Agata raised a triangle on her chest, the preprogrammed symbol to send the jetpack in pursuit. She waited anxiously for the rock to slow, but when it halted there was nothing below her. She edged sideways, stride by stride, and then there it was fixed to the rock: an occulter with a small package dangling from it, held in place by nothing but hooks and strings.

Ramiro had given her no details, but she’d been expecting some far more robust form of attachment. She took the knife from her tool belt, grabbed hold of the package and cut the strings.

The bombs would be driven by timers alone; any kind of trigger based on location would be too unreliable to take out all twelve channels simultaneously, and navigation was the occulters’ job. Still, Agata kept the centrifugal weight on her cargo constant as she ascended from the rock, following a helix that kept the surface motionless beneath her. If everything she’d surmised was mistaken and some accelerometer was ready to cry foul, better not to take a piece of the mountain with her.

When she’d reached a decent altitude she let the jetpack kill her circular motion and spare itself the costly countervailing force. Nothing exploded. Agata was tempted, briefly, to try to prise open the stone box and take a look at the mechanism inside, but the risk of a booby trap seemed to outweigh any prospect of learning something useful.

She was still ascending slowly, in free fall now. She released her hold on the bomb, then instructed the jetpack to return her to the point where she’d left off. As she watched the package shrink into the darkness, a glorious ache of hope came to her unbidden. There were only a dozen bombs: the volunteers outnumbered them more than two-to-one. If even half the other searchers were as lucky as she’d been, the job would soon be done.

Back above the rock face, Agata fought to maintain her concentration. Twice she chased features in the stone that turned out to be nothing – perceptual illusions, or wishful thinking. It was better to pursue false alarms that to miss a single bomb, but her air supply wasn’t infinite.

Looking back towards the rim she caught a glimpse of another searcher, a lonely silhouette against the blaze of the transition circle. By now there was no way of guessing who it was, but the figure looked safe and busy. It was tempting to exchange a few words, to compare counts, to share strategies… but even in its tightest directional mode the link was only for emergencies, so Agata did nothing to stop their drift apart.