The Crucible Page 21

  A second dart flashed as its atmosphere was exposed to space. Quinn felt like ordering the dolin to crush Vil-gar’s projection sphere, but that wouldn’t do the Nemazi any good. “I won’t let you annihilate the Nemazi.”

  “Then tell them to disengage.”

  Quinn spread his arms. “I have no way of communicating with them from here.”

  Vil-gar’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Just as I thought.” He folded his arms and vanished. His silver sphere fizzed and was gone.

  ~

  The white rime covering the crystalline device melted, revealing its familiar dull red.

  Quinn retrieved it, gathered the contents of his pack, and faced Vyasa. “Get me back to Zothan.”

  Spreading her wings, she waited while he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Then, with powerful wing thrusts, she took to the air.

  He glanced back at the dolin and its gormgast class. What the outcome of that particular experiment would be he had no way of knowing. He could only hope it might work out in their favour.

  “You won’t succeed.” Vyasa’s pronouncement jolted him back to the present.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re going to order the Nemazi to back off.”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “It won’t work.”

  He watched the ochre landscape slip by beneath them. “I assume Zothan can establish a communications link to the attacking darts.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They won’t listen. There’s no Nemazi word for retreat. They won’t withdraw even if the Shanata Tamah tells them to.”

  Quinn’s comprehension of Nemazi language and culture derived from the few minutes spent with Zothan inside a time vortex, where their conscious minds had been blended somehow. His knowledge was patchy, based more often on feelings than quantifiable facts. Yet he knew instinctively she was right.

  “I still have to try,” he said.

  “I understand.”

  He was far from sure that she did. His connection to the Nemazi and to Zothan was as close as anything he had felt with any other human, with the exception of Sarah, his wife. When he spotted the omesku, now a rebuilt town with rusty shacks and dusty streets, the Nemazi-imprinted part of him said home.

  Four cantons radiated from the town centre. As Vyasa swooped low over the herd masters’ quarter, Quinn fancied he could hear the harsh croak of the shaggy, six-legged pozetkah and smell the sweet, pungent vegetation that served as their food.

  They swept towards a tower at the town’s hub, where Quinn spotted Zothan’s retinue on the roof. Keeping a watchful eye on his charges, no doubt. As they got closer, he saw Zothan seated in his chair, eyes hidden behind a wraparound headpiece sprouting a profusion of wires.

  They touched down. Quinn slipped from Vyasa’s back and faced the guards. “What’s going on?”

  The Nemazi eyed one another as if debating who was to have the honour of addressing the Shanata Tamah.

  Finally, a diminutive female spoke. “His excellency Gorz-kah is communing with our darts.”

  “The darts have intercepted an AI vessel that has strayed into your atmosphere,” Quinn said. “The AI ship has a Kimn configuration but possesses an unknown weapon of great power. Several darts have already been destroyed.”

  The guards bowed their heads in unison and mumbled, “Shanata Tamah.”

  Quinn exhaled slowly. They think I’m some sort of prophet. Little did they realise that the entity responsible was a wizened little creature with a bag of tricks and a superior attitude.

  He pressed on. “I need to speak to Gor… er, Zothan.”

  “He is not to be disturbed,” the Nemazi spokesman replied.

  “If I don’t intervene, you’ll lose all of your remaining darts. I need to speak to Zothan now.”

  The female approached Zothan and whispered in his ear.

  Zothan pushed the headband aside. His eyes took a moment to focus. “Quinn. Apologies. I cannot confer with you now. I am dealing with a crisis.”

  “I know. You have to get the darts to call off their attack.”

  “Nemazi do not accept defeat.”

  “It’s called a strategic withdrawal.”

  Zothan paused. “That sounds like a human excuse for cowardice.”

  Quinn closed his eyes. “Look, the Kimn vessel is not under AI control. Vil-gar dispatched it here. He had the Kimn equip it with the same Damise-inspired technology that we had before our ship crashed.”

  “Vil-gar is here?”

  “He appeared to us, yes. Or at least his projection did. He sent the ship because he’s dying. We have to let it land.”

  “You trust him?”

  “In matters involving self-preservation, yes I do.”

  Zothan touched his chin with his claw. “It does not matter. The darts will not withdraw.”

  “Let me talk to them.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Your people are dying up there. What harm can it do?”

  “The interface device is salvaged Borozite technology. I cannot say what effect it might have on your human brain.”

  Quinn brushed his fingertips against the cracked lesions covering his face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve already been exposed to. “I’ll take the risk.”

  Zothan rose from his chair and offered the headband to Quinn.

  Vyasa raised a restraining hand. “Quinn, no!”

  He sidestepped her, ascended the dais, and accepted the headband with its trailing wires. Seating himself on Zothan’s throne, he eased the device over his head and adjusted the fit.

  Kaleidoscopic lights danced before his eyes. He squinted, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. The shapes of several Nemazi emerged, tinged by rainbow-coloured halos. One sat in front with two behind. He was looking inside a dart cockpit.

  “Hello!” Quinn said. “Can you hear me?”

  One of the Nemazi responded, though he couldn’t tell which. “You are not Gorz-kah.”

  “Uh, no. He had to step out for a moment. I am Quinn.”

  “Shanata Tamah,” the others muttered.

  Quinn was wearying of the adulation, but maybe he could work it to his advantage. “I need you to stand down and allow the other ship to land.”

  “Kah zokhi, kah shazaah,” said the Nemazi seated in front.

  The Nemazi idiom translated roughly into “The enemy will never see my back.” Quinn was reminded of the samurai or the Gurkhas of old Earth. Humankind had long since abandoned such pigheaded notions of honour, but they represented the core of Nemazi tradition—the essence of their being.

  “Kah shazaah,” he echoed. “Nevertheless, the ship before you is not your enemy. It is untainted by the Damise’s AI. It is”—he scrabbled for the right words—“an instrument of salvation. You must allow it to land.”

  His vision shifted as the dart was rocked by a detonation.

  “You are our instrument of salvation,” the Nemazi replied.

  “I… appreciate your faith in me. But you’ve lost several darts already. You can’t afford to lose any more. If you withdraw, I can guarantee your safety and that of your people. We must conserve our resources for the struggle to come. That is the course of wisdom.”

  “Kah zokhi, kah shazaah,” the Nemazi intoned in unison.

  He was talking to a brick wall.

  “Pazok!” announced one of the Nemazi in the rear.

  It approaches… Incoming? White lightning filled the cockpit, tossing the Nemazi in their seats like stringless puppets.

  The lightning merged into a searing light that smothered Quinn and hurled him into a pit of darkness.

  ~

  Quinn awoke to the desert’s midday heat. His headpiece was gone, and spare-boned Nemazi fussed over him like a flock of starving crows.

  A barked command caused them to melt away, and Zothan’s head swam into view. “What happened?”

  Quinn winced. Every muscle hurt, including the ones needed for speaking. �
�They didn’t listen. That’s what happened.”

  “I warned you.”

  “Yes, you warned me.”

  “You cannot expect my people to abandon centuries of tradition on the word of a…”

  “Human,” Quinn finished.

  “I am sorry.”

  “So am I. We can’t afford to lose those darts and their crews.”

  “They may still prevail.”

  “What?”

  “The remaining darts could overcome the Kimn vessel. My people are highly resourceful. They might still prove victorious.”

  Quinn sat up. Another option occurred to him, one he hadn’t considered. He cast about. “Where’s that bloody headband?”

  “You’re not trying that again.” Vyasa ruffled her wings as she gripped the device.

  Quinn held out his hand. “I have to reestablish communication.”

  “Get someone else to do it.”

  “It has to be me. Lives are at stake—maybe the lives of everyone in this corner of the galaxy.”

  Vyasa lowered her head. Her long silver hair fell forward over her face. “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  The headband slipped from her grasp and clattered on the tower roof. Then she raised a foot and stomped on it.

  ~

  Zothan held the headpiece in place with his stump and fiddled with it, using his only claw.

  Quinn stood over him like an expectant father. “Can you fix it?”

  “I do not know.”

  Quinn watched as he struggled with the device. “Might someone else have a better chance?”

  Zothan paused and waved towards the knot of guards holding Vyasa by the arms. “These are from the defender canton. I am the only engineer present. Unless you would prefer to wait while I fetch another from our division…”

  “No,” Quinn replied. “No, I’m sorry.”

  He left Zothan to work and went over to the guards. Vyasa squirmed, but the Nemazi held her fast.

  “Release her.”

  “Gorz-kah believes the Harani may be under Damise influence,” their female spokesperson said.

  “Yes, well, I think her motives were a little more obvious. You won’t do that again, will you?”

  Vyasa glared at him.

  “Will you?” Quinn repeated.

  She shook her head.

  “There, you see? Now let her go.”

  “Shanata Tamah,” the Nemazi uttered in unison. They released their grip, and she stumbled forward, massaging her arms.

  “Quinn,” Zothan called.

  Quinn hurried over as Zothan rose to meet him. The headband appeared whole. “You repaired it!”

  Zothan shook his head. “I patched it. Power is intermittent at best. I need to get it to a workshop, but by that time, our darts would all be vaporised.”

  Quinn held out a hand.

  “It could harm you,” Zothan said. “It might not even work at all.”

  “No warranty, no refunds, eh? Thanks—I’ll take it as is.” Quinn settled back into the throne and lowered the device over his eyes, where the bent headband wobbled.

  “They would not listen before,” Zothan pointed out. “What makes you think they will listen now?”

  Quinn closed his eyes. “Because I’m going to hand them the victory.”

  ~

  Quinn opened his eyes to what appeared to be a replica of the dart cockpit he had seen destroyed. At least one of their ships is still intact. “Hello, can you hear me?”

  “We hear you, Shanata Tamah,” the Nemazi in the front seat said. “We will not retreat.”

  Word gets around. Quinn adopted a dismissive tone. “Who said anything about retreat? Open a communications link to the Kimn vessel.”

  “Nemazi lukai kozkah.”

  Nemazi are silent before their enemies. “I didn’t tell you to talk to them,” Quinn countered. “I simply ordered you to open a link.”

  The Nemazi in the front seat grunted, and one in the rear waved a claw over a panel. A static hiss filled the cabin.

  “I need visual,” Quinn said.

  A curved image floated near the ceiling. Satyrlike Kimn moved in orderly fashion through what appeared to be a control area. Most were stub-horned females. On Pann, Quinn had learned that the Kimn were governed by a matriarchy, their males possessing only rudimentary intelligence.

  “Kimn vessel!” Quinn called.

  The head and shoulders of a female Kimn covered in short white hair filled the screen. “Who is calling?”

  “Syn-moon! It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

  “Is that… Quinn?” she replied.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Your voice is distorted. What are you doing on a Nemazi dart?”

  “I’m not on the dart. I’m on the surface. The dart’s crew is relaying my signal.”

  “How—”

  “It’s a long story, and it’s not important right now. I need you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need you to surrender.”

  ~

  “This is some sort of Nemazi trick,” Syn-moon said.

  Quinn fell under her questing gaze. “No trick.”

  “I have no way to be sure.”

  “Your mate is called Gynt. You have a daughter, Kara-moon. You brought me into your family grouping, your cushatra, in an attempt to protect me from the Kimn Matriarchy.”

  A flicker passed over Syn-moon’s features.

  Quinn pressed on. “I still have the crescent-shaped blade you gave me.”

  “All that proves is that you are Quinn. You could be acting under coercion.”

  He was fresh out of arguments. “Syn-moon, it’s me.”

  She hesitated. “Even if I believed you, the risk is too great. Too many lives are at stake.”

  “Vil-gar is dying. I know. His avatar paid us a visit. Right now, he’s the only one holding the Damise’s armada in check. Believe me—I want to help him just as much as you.”

  “Then the answer’s simple. Get the Nemazi to withdraw. I guarantee we won’t pursue.”

  “The Nemazi have a rigid code of honour. They won’t back off.”

  “That is unfortunate.”

  Quinn felt queasy and light-headed, whether due to the damage Vyasa had wrought on the headband or simply its effect on his human brain, he couldn’t tell. Either way, he was running out of time. “Look, this nebula is probably the last place in the Consensus not under the control of the Damise–Agantzane alliance, and the current struggle against the gormgast is whittling away our resources. Even if we succeed in purging this planet, we may not have enough left to take on the AI. I can’t afford to lose those darts.”

  A bright light flashed behind Syn-moon, and Vil-gar’s sphere appeared, followed by an image of the wizened dwarf. “Quinn! I knew you wouldn’t give up. I simply cannot allow you to interfere with this ship’s mission.”

  Quinn sighed. “I’m not trying to interfere. I’m trying to save lives.”

  “Those objectives are mutually incompatible.”

  “No, they’re not. If you capitulate, I will guarantee the welfare of your vessel and its crew.”

  “As slaves to the Nemazi, maybe?” Vil-gar trilled. “Or as combatants in their shath-zokari death matches?”

  “I promise the Kimn won’t be harmed,” Quinn said. “And your ship will be free to proceed to Pann.”

  Syn-moon gave a curt bow. “Very well, Quinn. I place my life and the lives of the Kimn in your hands. We surrender.”

  Vil-gar made a noise like a chicken being throttled. “You can’t reason with these savages!”

  “The Kimn surrender,” she repeated.

  “No,” Vil-gar said. “No, I won’t accept that. I’ll use ka-horeth to rupture space. I’ll rip apart every last remaining dart if they don’t back off right now!”

  ~

  Conor had been maybe seven months old. His mother had just weaned him to a diet of peach, melon, banana, and sweet
potato when a dispute erupted between the colonial authorities and the terrestrial supply companies over tariffs. Earth transports dried up. The colony was forced to fall back on native produce.

  Sarah concocted a mash out of something resembling a parsnip, but whenever she presented it to Conor, he merely screwed his eyes shut and bawled.

  Quinn visualised Vil-gar lying down, yelling, and kicking his legs in the air.

  Syn-moon addressed the wrinkled creature. “This vessel and its crew are under my control by authority of the Kimn Matriarchy. If you attempt to destroy any more darts, I will turn us around and head back to Pann.”

  “Unbelievable!” Muttering, Vil-gar shook his head and vanished in a blaze of light.

  Syn-moon fiddled with something off screen. “Launch tubes deactivated. Powering down.” She looked up. “I await your instructions, Quinn.”

  Quinn gave a slight bow of his head. “Thank you.”

  “Our lives are in your hands.”

  “Hold position. I’ll contact you shortly.” Quinn addressed the dart’s crew. “Visual off.”

  The floating image of the Kimn vessel’s control area flickered out.

  The Nemazi in the forward seat gazed at him with reverence. “The Shanata Tamah has gained another great victory.”

  “Shanata Tamah,” the others chanted in unison.

  “The lives aboard the invading vessel and their technology are now ours.”

  “Shanata Tamah,” they repeated.

  “No.” Quinn had no physical presence aboard the ship, so the worst they could do would be to sever his connection. Still, he could not shake the image of the slaughtered Grok on Zahava and the shiny black Nemazi looming over it. “You said it yourself. I achieved this victory. The Kimn ship and its crew are mine by right of salvage. You will cease your attack and escort them to the surface. They are not to be harmed. Is that clear?”

  “They are Fixed Race palatha!” the forward Nemazi growled.

  Quinn swallowed. “I know. So am I. That is why I must leave you.”

  Part Four: The Ruins

  As Quinn swam towards consciousness, his nose filled with a heady perfume that triggered a distant memory. He reached for it, but it fluttered like a butterfly just out of reach. He frowned. His most recent memory had been the orange-eyed stares of the dart’s crew expressing shock, disappointment, or contempt—he wasn’t sure which. Then… nothing. He shifted position. Something beneath him rustled. Curiosity tugged at him like an impatient child. He forced his eyes open.