The ELI Event B007R5LTNS

location.”
    “Half a meter?” Pan-Li repeated. “That is uncomfortably close for simultaneous placement in the transmission chamber.”
    “Should we wait to see if they separate a bit more?” she asked tentatively. Clearly, Pan-Li was more than a little distressed, and she knew what his answer would be.
    “No, we must not. We cannot. Lokus’s men may be seeking us as we speak, and they can only find us if the temporal locator is active. We are safe only when we are shut down. Further delay could be fatal, to us and to Aurora and Denes. Do you have the lock?”
    “I… I think so.”
    “Do you have the lock or not?” Pan-Li repeated, as close to losing composure as he had been in years.
    Lucinda looked at him, blinked, swallowed. “Yes.”
    “Very well. Initiating retrieval now.” Carefully he pressed three orange buttons in sequence, waited for them to turn blue, then pressed a fourth, which immediately turned red. The equipment’s ever-present hum increased in volume but—correctly—not in pitch, and the spherical transmission chamber behind them began to illuminate. The console panel showed the correct source and destination dates for Aurora and Denes, 23 Sep 2034 and 30 August 2312. The energy readings were moderate and consistent, the temporal amplitude meters normal across the board. His monitor displayed several status messages.
    SUBJECT ONE ENCODED.
    SUBJECT TWO ENCODED.
    SIMULTANEOUS RELOCATION IN PROGRESS.
    Pan-Li sighed with relief. Aurora and Denes were coming home.
    Suddenly Lucinda gasped. On her section of the console a bright yellow alarm flashed insistently. “Pan-Li,” she shouted, “I’m reading widespread surface and penetrative interference on Federation wavelength! We’re being scanned!”
    Pan-Li responded instantly. “Emergency shutdown, now!” He began punching buttons and flipping switches. The humming suddenly changed to a throbbing vibration, barely audible. The transmission chamber began to darken. More alarms flashed, this time on Pan-Li’s console.
    “No!” Lucinda cried. “We can’t shut down! They’re in mid-jump! We’ll lose them!”
    “If we don’t shut down, we lose everything!” Undeterred, Pan-Li flipped the last two switches.
    Lucinda watched in helpless horror as their consoles went berserk, lights and meters and readings fluctuating wildly. The source date flickered and remained unchanged, but the destination date flashed rapidly off and on, changing each instant from one seemingly random date to another. Days, months, years appeared and disappeared, meaningless, without context. Her primary monitor showed dozens of transmission errors, scrolling rapidly down the screen. Two confusing error messages terrifyingly shone out at her in her panic, eclipsing the rest.
    DESTINATION COORDINATES UNAVAILABLE.
    REVERTING TO PREVIOUS SETTING.
    In mere seconds it was over. Shutdown was complete. The humming stopped, the transmission chamber was dark. Her monitor cleared, then told the terrible story in three short messages.
    RELOCATION INTERRUPTED.
    SUBJECT ONE DESTINATION UNDETERMINED.
    SUBJECT TWO RELOCATION INCOMPLETE.
    Wailing, Lucinda wheeled on Pan-Li, shook him by his narrow shoulders. “Pan-Li! They’re dead! You’ve killed them! You’ve killed them!” She beat her fists ineffectually on his chest, sobbing and shuddering, tears pouring down her face. Pan-Li stood stock still, letting it happen, allowing her to vent her anger and her frustration and her sorrow on him.
    At length, Lucinda’s head fell on his shoulder, her sobs became whimpers. Pan-Li wrapped her in his small, strong arms and whispered, “I am sorry. I am sorry.”
    He rested his head against hers, and felt her warm tears moisten the fabric of his tunic.

Twenty
    Williams frowned at his console. Last night’s breach was a pro job, all right. Every scrap of data relating to the Molecular Disruptor Array—project Molly Day, they called it—was gone. Primary storage, backups, archive tapes, everything. Gone. Vanished. Wiped.
    Williams knew no one had yet notified General Holt, but someone would have to do it soon. As lead tech, it would probably be him. But first, he wanted to recheck a few things, to have as complete a picture as possible when he finally broke the news to Holt.
    Bill Bernardo, his friend and lead tech, approached. Bernardo was six feet two, lanky, and had as much hair on his face as on his head. Nearing forty, he looked thirty, thought he was twenty, and acted