Loops

Now that he looked, the tendrils all converged on a single spot near the star, circling some invisible spot. Is that Cygnus? The black hole? But that’s…never mind, I’ll worry about it later. He swept some paper off the desk and sat down at the rather nondescript AI terminal. A mission statement, a project summary, anything…Bingo.

A dull, leaden voice flatly intoned "The Pegasus Project: The aim of the Pegasus project is a remotely operated wormhole that can reach through time as well as space. The controls on current nano-constructors are artificially set, and there are no practical constraints to sending a wormhole back through the fourth dimension, time, as well as the first three we are all so accustomed to skipping over through wormhole travel.

The only significant restriction on these wormholes is the targeting. Distance and time must be combined in a specific measurement, a hideously complicated process that can take hours even for the most advanced AIs. And the causality can be horribly complicated, leading to altogether absurd situations. We find, however, that actions which would seem to be paradoxical simply create closed loops, self-consistent, rather than bringing down all of Creation in a puff of logic. And just like any ‘hole technology, it can be fit in the palm of one’s hand!"

As the sales presentation prattled on about investment opportunities, Rieger’s gaze was drawn to the side of the keyboard, what looked like a newer version of his own hand-held transporter, with many more keys and a much more complicated interface. He stared at it, and particularly at the display, which already had a long set of coordinates entered into it. It was more complicated than the usual, but something about it looked vaguely familiar. With a sick sense, he realized who had set into motion the chain of events that brought him here. As if guided by the hand of destiny, he reached one arm towards the "Transport" button and punched it down firmly. The familiar plate of glass appeared, then a human brain dropped out of the air and landed on the stacks of paper. He knew he should feel remorse, or even simple revulsion. He had just committed willful and conscious murder, but he felt nothing.

"…closed loops, self-consistent…"

He started to wonder who had put the transporter in the office and figured out the coordinates, then a wonderful sense of liberation came over him. He would have plenty of time to come back and do it later.