The Crucible Page 15

  “Open linguistic database,” Zothan continued.

  Still nothing.

  “Kath-hakar hallalah shokash.”

  “Mas-kallahah iballah Nemazi shokash,” the walls replied with a slight echo.

  “Sakki fallah Ardalan shikah.”

  “Linguistics reset,” the sphere said. “Ardalan contemporary.”

  “Commence diagnostic.”

  “That information is not available. Core safety protocol is in effect.”

  Zothan paused. “Explain.”

  “Bus link was severed at time index four three seven mark eight, following catastrophic energy loss.”

  That had to be when the zahar struck.

  The sphere shivered.

  Vyasa glanced at the walls. “Atmospheric turbulence is increasing.”

  “Override core safety protocol,” Zothan said.

  “Level-four command restricted to Elinare input,” the sphere intoned.

  “Quinn?” Zothan’s eyes fixed on him.

  “Uh, I’m not sure,” Quinn replied. “I’ll try and make contact.” He closed his eyes. Rahada. Afterimages drifted against his inner eyelids. Rahada, we need help now.

  Bright white light filled his vision, and an icy blast buffeted his cheeks. He was dangling from a mountain ledge by a rope. Another Elinare re-creation. Apparently, this one was meant to impress on him the peril he was in. As if he needed a reminder.

  A parka hood appeared over the ledge above him. He recognised Rahada, though the rogue Elinare’s true identity was still a mystery.

  He blinked snowflakes from his eyes. “Pull me up.”

  “I can’t!” Rahada yelled into the wind.

  “Why not?”

  “Look down.”

  A second figure hung suspended from the rope below. He gazed at the upturned face.

  Keiza.

  ~

  “Cut the rope!” Rahada’s voice sounded from the ledge.

  “What?” Quinn yelled back.

  “There’s a knife at your belt. Use it to cut the rope beneath you.”

  The blinding white mountainside stretched far below him before disappearing in mist. This might be a simulation, but a person could die here just as easily as in the real world.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m not doing that.”

  “You must! I can’t pull the two of you up together. We have to sacrifice her for you to survive.”

  Quinn dimly remembered an article he’d read once on the perils of mountaineering. She’s created this little scene from my memories. Maybe it’s some kind of test.

  “Quinn?” Keiza called from below.

  “Hold on,” Quinn replied before turning his face upwards. “This isn’t what we agreed.”

  “How so?” Rahada asked.

  “You said you would free Keiza.”

  “She is free. I have no intention of harming her. Only you can do that.”

  The rope beneath Quinn creaked. Cold sweat trickled from his temples. “You created this scenario.”

  “You opened the door,” Rahada said. “You called for my help, and I will help you. For a price.”

  “You know I won’t allow her to die.”

  “Why not? You’ve done it before.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The rope and the mountain vanished, along with Keiza and Rahada.

  He stood in an old wood-panelled corridor. Dust motes floated in the air. A dry and unloved fern sat in a brown glazed ceramic pot. A Jacobean-patterned carpet, faded and threadbare, gave the decor the air of a once-respectable lady, fallen from grace.

  I know this place.

  The floorboard creaked as he stepped forward. He turned a corner and stared at a door of wood and frosted glass. Flaking gold lettering spelled:

  Lance Larsen

  Private Investigator

  Why am I here again? He knocked as before and heard the familiar whiny voice.

  “Come.”

  A heavily made-up blonde in a print dress sat painting her nails. She blew on them and looked up. “Oh, it’s you. Go on in. Mr Larsen is expecting you.”

  He bustled past her and entered the inner office. A hatstand stood in one corner, a fedora perched on top. Behind a leather-inlaid table, a figure in a tight grey suit stared out a window. The honk of a horn and the rumble of traffic drifted up from below.

  The figure turned, and a faint smile played across his lips. Quinn recognised the grey skin and aquiline nose. Aurek.

  “Hello, Quinn. I pulled you into this simulation so I could explain what’s about to happen.”

  “I know what’s about to happen.”

  This was not how he had responded the first time. Rahada was clearly making him relive this little drama for reasons that would become clear all too soon. Going off script might make her mad, but he didn’t care. He was fed up with being manipulated.

  Aurek frowned. “How could you—”

  Brakes screeched in the street.

  Quinn skirted the desk and peeked out the window. Eight hoodlums bearing drum-magazine Thompsons tumbled out of a pair of Packards. Mikey’s boys. In this simulation, they represented the AI infecting the Osei vessel.

  “You’re about to blow up this building,” Quinn said, “sacrificing yourself to purge all the ships in the vicinity of the Korradan station.”

  Aurek stared at him. “I don’t know how you figured all of that out, but—”

  “I figured it out because it’s already happened.”

  Aurek stepped away from the window. “Then it worked. The rogue command disrupted the AI’s command functions, and my matrix absorbed its counter-discharge. The AI was destroyed, and you survived.”

  “Yes, but you perished.”

  “A small price to pay.”

  “I want you to think of a way of avoiding that outcome.”

  Gunfire sounded from one of the lower floors.

  “You don’t understand,” Aurek said. “If what you say is true, then this is a simulation of a simulation. Nothing you or I do here can affect what has already taken place.” His orange eyes lit up. “If I’m a part of this scenario, then someone else must be running it. Another Elinare is occupying your mind.”

  “Actually, there are two.”

  “Two?”

  “It’s a long story. However, the one responsible for recreating this scenario forced herself on me and remains in my mind against my will. She also imprisoned and tortured Keiza, the other Elinare.”

  Aurek’s eyes widened. “Those are great crimes among my race.”

  “I know. Can you think of any who might resort to those tactics?”

  “No, Quinn. I cannot.”

  Footsteps thudded against the stairs.

  Quinn scratched his cheek. “All right, then, who would want to bring me back here? Why remind me of these events? Was there someone concerned for you—someone who might have been especially touched by your death?”

  Aurek frowned. “I… cannot…”

  Gunfire rattled through the halls, interspersed with shouts.

  “Gazx a kasza,” Aurek said.

  “What?”

  “Ponzsi sakhu. Joszaka.” Aurek’s jaw worked as if it were battling the rest of his face.

  “Why won’t you let him tell me who you are?” Quinn shouted at the walls. “Coward!”

  Wood splintered, and glass shattered. A woman screamed.

  “Razka takazxit. Kokeszi makosu!” Aurek flung open the window so that the thrum of traffic drifted in. “Skakzi. Mossa, mossa!” He waved Quinn forward.

  Quinn mounted the windowsill and climbed onto the ledge. A huge explosion was about to level this entire building. If past experience was a guide, his only hope was to jump, timing it just before the scenario ended.

  He gazed at the scene below: the twin Packards parked askew, the litter-blown street, the people crammed into doorways or sheltering in alleyways. Exhaust smoke invaded his nostrils and mixed with bile in his throat. A police siren wailed. He
closed his eyes. More gunfire sounded, followed by a huge boom. A thump in the small of his back sent him flying…

  ~

  The rush of air ceased, and Quinn’s cheeks grew cold. He opened his eyes. Once again, he was dangling from a snow-covered mountain with Keiza suspended below. On the ledge above, the fur on Rahada’s parka hood ruffled in the wind.

  “You lied!” Quinn cried. “Your hatred of me has nothing to do with the Qan-ho-nah or the Damise. It’s revenge you’re after!”

  “Ridiculous,” Rahada said. “Elinare rejected such petty emotions long ago.”

  “I don’t believe you. Aurek was special to you in some way, wasn’t he?”

  “You have a choice to make. Expire her and live, or die with her.”

  “You have full access to my memories!” Quinn cried. “You know the truth. Aurek sacrificed himself to save me and purge the fleet of the AI. I had no choice in the matter. Punishing us won’t bring him back.”

  “Time’s up, human.”

  The mountain shimmered, and he was back aboard the sphere.

  ~

  Fingers of cold sweat slithered down Quinn’s back. The air felt like a smothering blanket. He glanced at Vyasa, Conor, and Zothan in turn. “The Elinare won’t help us.”

  Vyasa muttered something under her breath.

  Quinn ignored her. “Zothan, take Conor and transfer to the surface.”

  “No, I won’t go!” Conor cried.

  “You’ll do as you’re told.” Quinn turned to Zothan. “Now, please.”

  “It is not yet time,” Zothan replied.

  “Weren’t you listening? The Elinare has refused to help.”

  “I still have one minute and forty-five seconds left out of the ten minutes you gave me,” Zothan replied.

  Quinn’s fogged mind wasted a couple of precious seconds. “You have another idea?”

  “If you will permit me.”

  Quinn extended his hand in an ‘after you’ gesture.

  Zothan addressed the sphere’s glowing walls. “Initiate total shutdown.”

  ~

  The light from the walls faded, thrusting the sphere’s occupants into stygian blackness.

  “Dad?”

  Quinn caught the rising panic in his son’s voice, reached out, and grasped the boy’s arm. “Zothan, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Patience, Quinn.” The gravel in Zothan’s voice grated.

  Seconds marched past. Quinn felt as if the darkness was about to gouge out his eyes. His lungs laboured in the cloying atmosphere. A distant part of him wanted to scream.

  “Reinitialise central core,” Zothan called out.

  The sphere remained dark.

  “Execute start-up protocols.”

  Quinn gripped his son’s arm more tightly.

  A flat voice with a machine edge sounded all around them. “What… am… I?”

  Faint illumination eked out from the walls. Quinn picked out winged Vyasa, sticklike Zothan, and wild-haired Conor as shadow outlines.

  “Command override,” Zothan said. “Status report.”

  “Catastrophic power loss occurred at time index four three seven point eight,” the sphere replied. “I… have no active memory prior to that time index. Power levels now regenerated to thirty-four percent.”

  “Is that enough?” Quinn asked.

  Zothan ignored the question. “Immediate launch. Take us away from this ship and head for the planet’s surface.”

  “That is not possible.”

  “Explain.”

  “Bay doors are shut. Automated systems are inoperative.”

  Zothan nodded. “I will exit the sphere and locate manual override.”

  “And where’s that?” Quinn demanded. “You don’t know, do you? How long till impact?”

  “Approximately eleven minutes,” Zothan replied.

  “Eleven minutes for you to locate the mechanism, start it up, and get back here so we can launch the sphere. That’s assuming you can get it working at all. We’re out of options. Take Conor and go.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Now!”

  Zothan opened his slit mouth as if to object then pressed it shut and opened his claws, revealing the dull glint of a transport stone, the device Nemazi used to enable longer transfers in the nebula’s irradiated environment. Black smoke wafted through the air. Conor blanched and stared into space. A part of Quinn wanted to throw his arms around the boy, but his limbs refused to obey. He watched like an insect pinned to a board as the smoke formed a tunnel. Zothan placed a claw on Conor’s back, and the boy stepped through, head bowed as if on his way to the gallows. Zothan turned and gave Quinn a curt nod before following Conor into the tunnel.

  The smoke swirled and vanished. Quinn stared after it, tears clouding his vision.

  Forgive me.

  ~

  As Quinn blinked away tears, the image of Vyasa swam into focus.

  Her elfin features were drawn. “Offspring never understand the sacrifices their parents make.”

  The sphere shuddered. Quinn was soaked in sweat. What in hell would you know about it?

  “It was many years after I left my mother and abandoned my world that I realised what she meant to me,” Vyasa went on. “All the things she tried to teach me. But I was too headstrong. When I finally returned, it was too late. She was… no more. Communication is such a fragile link.”

  Communication…

  Her expression softened. “It is an honour to share my last moments with you, Quinn.”

  But he was no longer listening. Reaching into his pack, he drew out the crystal the Badhati had given him. It sat in his palm, dull red. What had Yahani called it? A nonlocal tether. Quinn had no real idea what that meant, but he recalled the instructions. Touch it. Speak to it.

  He brushed the crystal with his fingertips. “Hello?” He ignored the furrow in Vyasa’s brow. “Is anyone there?”

  The crystal glowed. “Quinn,” it said in a deep, velvet tone. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Are you—”

  “The one you met on the transit? Yes. My name is Balaki. We are now connected through the tether. How may I help you?”

  “We’re inside the Elinare sphere in the landing bay, but the bay doors are shut.”

  “I believe I can open them remotely. Give me a moment.”

  A clank sounded from outside the sphere, followed by a rumble of machinery. The rumble faded, replaced by a rushing wind.

  “You are now clear for launch.”

  Vyasa addressed the walls. “Execute launch sequence.”

  Quinn raised his hand. “Wait!” He turned to the crystal. “Where are you? Can you get to a lifeboat?”

  “None are left,” Balaki said. “I have been waiting for your call.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Many Badhati possess parahatta. Call it a form of insight. We feel the quantum flow of events. I sensed you would need my assistance. So I remained here.”

  “We have to leave,” Vyasa cut in.

  Quinn waved her away. “Can you get to the landing bay?”

  “No time. The Harani is right. You must go now. You have a vital role in the coming future.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Launch sequence now,” Vyasa ordered the sphere.

  The floor beneath Quinn’s feet pitched slightly.

  “Farewell, Quinn,” the voice from the crystal said. “I wish you success in navigating the river of Parahatta.”

  “Balaki!” As the sphere shot from the Shanata vessel, the howling wind whipped away Quinn’s cry.

  Part Three: The Desert

  A section of the sphere’s wall opened, letting in a rush of baked air. Outside, a rock-strewn plain shimmered. Sweat trickled from Quinn’s temples.

  Sacrifice. No one had ever given their life for his before. Human morality insisted it was the most noble act possible. So why did it feel like a knife in his guts, as if every achievement of his fr
om that moment on was the property of a dead creature with whom he could not remonstrate? He mentally kicked himself. You’re alive. You have a job to do.

  He addressed the desert. “I have to find Conor.”

  Vyasa placed a slender hand on his shoulder.

  He pulled away. When the Damise created her as a reanimate, they had given her immunity to his Agantzane death touch. She was the only being in the Consensus able to make physical contact with him, yet whenever that thought occurred, so did the image of Sarah, his wife, along with a pang of guilt.

  “He’ll be fine,” Vyasa said. “Zothan will make certain of it.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I have to let him know I’m still alive.”

  “He could be virtually anywhere on the surface of this planet. We have no way of locating him.”

  “Yes, we do.” Quinn closed his eyes and invoked the image of the tesseract.

  “What are you doing?”

  He concentrated on joining the sides to each other and the top to the bottom without bending any straight lines. Pain gathered at his temples, but he pushed on. The tesseract pulsed, settled back, and pulsed again before collapsing into a single shining cube that rotated slowly, as if in triumph.

  “Quinn, you have to stop.”

  Vyasa’s voice sounded faraway. He ignored it, basking in the thrill of his extended four-space vision, and swept the surrounding desert. Roiling thunderheads, fronts of fractured time, stalked across rock-strewn expanses of sand. He saw one omesku—a Nemazi tribal unit—packing away their town, preparing to move, and another running before a time front. And then he saw something else, a dark stain like a canker spreading across the planet’s surface.

  He extended the tunnel and moved it closer. The stain resolved into myriad creatures with round, armour-clad bodies mounted on segmented legs. Gaps in their armour glowed with a green phosphorescence, and their eyestalks waved in the wind.

  The gormgast were semisentient beings—part flesh, part machine. The Shanata had introduced them as a means of subjugating the Shade races of the nebula. Quinn recalled reading about army ants that swarmed through tropical forests on Earth, consuming any creature in their path. Unleashing the gormgast was genocide, pure and simple.

  A few omesku appeared to be surviving against all the odds. But for how long? And what of Conor? Even Zothan couldn’t protect him against such a planetwide onslaught. I have to find them.