Crucible of Time

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  The leader of the Karellian world government hissed with bright laughter. “That seems to depend on which branch of the family was writing the story!”

  “Ah.” His own amusement hissed out.

  “I’ve only just had time to skim it. But you know, don’t you, that your work in time theory helped lay the foundation for our current understanding of physics?”

  He blinked rapidly, his hearts stuttering again. “Uh—”

  “You didn’t know? That’s half the reason you’re a legend. The average person nowadays has probably never heard of you—but if you hadn’t left behind such good work, the legend would likely be that you either tired of life and walked into the forest, never to return, or that you were killed by one of the revolutionary groups that roamed the countryside then.”

  Li-Jared didn’t remember any revolutionary groups roaming the countryside, though for sure there was social and political instability in the world he’d left. “How about, I was kidnapped by aliens from another star?” he said, lifting his mug of tea with a trembling hand.

  Quin’s gaze was a probe directly into his eyes. “Is that really what happened?”

  “It really is.” He gripped the mug with both hands. His voice catching a little, he told her how a force-field beam from a spaceship had literally snatched him up from where he’d stood in an open field one night.

  Quin sat silent, considering. “Then, cousin and returning legend—please tell me. About your proposal, or invitation. Just how important is it that I come along with you to your ship? Don’t tell me as your cousin. Tell me as Li-Jared the physicist.”

  Li-Jared jerked from his reminiscence and blinked at her. He bonged softly. “It is everything. I believe it is critical to the safety of Karellia. Perhaps the survival of Karellia.”

  Her gaze seemed doubtful. “Critical?”

  “Critical.”

  She spread her fingers. “How can I be sure?”

  “Ocellet Quin,” Li-Jared said. “Which is the greater risk to our world—that you fly into space with us, never to be seen again—tricked, or abducted, or killed—or that you fail to act on the greatest threat this world has ever faced? I need you to see with your own eyes: the stars beyond the Heart of Fire; perhaps the Mindaru themselves.” He squeezed the mug so tightly he banged it down on the table, startling both of them. Li-Jared grimaced and gestured apology. “You must believe me about the Mindaru. They are a terrible enemy—and we fought them using technology far beyond Karellia’s.” He shook his head. “They are coming this way. And you need our help.”

  Chapter 8

  Coming to Terms

  AFTER SENDING LI-JARED back to rejoin his companions, Quin was left with several problems. One was the report her science adviser Aylen had just brought her. Of the several probes launched through the Heart of Fire, decades ago, at least two had been aimed, broadly speaking, in the general direction of Uduon. Why? Apparently because gravitational studies suggested the presence of something in that direction. With that in mind, autonomous probes had been sent to see what could be learned, probes that could alter their own flight plans if something of interest was found.

  Extended communication with the probes had proved impossible, because of electromagnetic interference from the Heart of Fire nebula. Any findings had to await their return. But none had returned. Their fates were undetermined, and all were listed as failures. In fact, the pattern of failure had resulted in a loss of support for further probes, and had set back outward exploration by many years. Nowadays, they were rarely spoken of at all.

  Was it conceivable that those probes had crashed on Uduon, unwittingly triggering this war? They carried no weapons, though their propulsion was an earlier, and perhaps less reliably controlled, form of nuclear fusion. Could they have caused the kind of devastation depicted in Akura’s images? That possibility was too terrible to contemplate. But what if it’s true?

  A closely related problem was the array of sixty-four deep-space, thermonuclear-tipped missiles right now parked in high orbit, ready for launch. Half the ruling council thought she should already have launched them. They might never have seen their enemy, but that had not prevented their tracing the incoming asteroid trajectories with great precision. Several smaller missile strikes had been launched in the pre-Quin years; but the effectiveness of those strikes was in doubt, since the asteroid attacks continued. This master-strike, some hoped, would end the matter by annihilating their foe.

  The Heart of Fire still precluded sending crewed missions to investigate. Quin was unwilling to unleash such destructive power as long as the defensive shield was doing its job. She understood the risks, or thought she did; and now an even greater question overshadowed the others: What if Karellia really had started the war, however inadvertently?

  And now this! Li-Jared, a noted Karellian scientist from out of history—her cousin, no less!—flies down out of the clouds with a group of aliens, claiming that the planetary defense, the one thing preventing escalation to all-out war, is actually putting all of Karellia in even greater peril! How could she not go with him to see for herself?

  As a political matter, she could not make such a decision entirely on her own. If she opted to go, she needed support—and not just from her science adviser. Fortunately, she had, with the arrival of the aliens, asked her top staff to be available for consultation at a moment’s notice. Most of them were already in the administration building, waiting to hear her report.

  Quin called her nearest aide. “Summon the council at once. And make our guests comfortable,” she said. “But don’t let them wander unaccompanied or far.”

  “House arrest?” the aide asked.

  Quin thought a moment. “Let’s call it closely watched hospitality.”

  ***

  The council meeting was short, acrimonious, and probably satisfactory to no one. It took place in a plain, rectangular meeting room, with eleven ranking directors gathered to see her presentation of holovid clips of the conversation with the aliens.

  “I want to know,” said the director of security, “why you will not allow us to meet these alien visitors ourselves. If we’re to make a decision—”

  “Time is too short.”

  “So they say.”

  “Yes. And I am compelled to believe them.” Ocellet Quin did not want to get into a debate about this. If she opened the door to everyone questioning the guests in person, they would never have a decision today, or in the next ten days. She believed Li-Jared about the urgency, at least enough to take the chance. “They report the likely approach of at least one threatening vessel of great destructive power. Coming this way, at speed. They propose to show me the view from space while they can, preferably before getting caught up in some kind of battle. It is now or never. If there is even the slightest chance that the danger is real, then it would be irresponsible not to go find out.”

  Quin hissed through her lips, a little surprised that her own thinking on the matter had crystallized so completely. She acknowledged the public morale officer.

  “You are risking your life on the word of someone who claims to be a Karellian from a long time ago—but cannot prove it.”

  “Actually, we have fairly convincing evidence, including an archival image of him taken over two hundred years ago—” she would hold off on mentioning their possible family connection “—but just a few years, in his biological time. But go ahead with your question.”

  The morale officer was thrown slightly off his stride. “Well. Your citizens need to know that you are taking care of your own safety—as their chief officer.”

  Again she hissed a sigh through her lips. It was a reasonable concern to raise. But . . .” I think it more important that they know I am putting the planet’s safety first and foremost. I might be risking my own life, it is true. But this could be the deadliest thing we’ve ever faced. If I don’t go, I could be putting all of Karellia’s safety at risk. Which would you rather?”

  Her defense counsel
or, Monte-Sho, looked distinctly uncomfortable as he said, “What if they make you a hostage? They might make demands, from up there in space, and say they will harm or kill you if you don’t go along. That could put all of us in an untenable position.”

  She gave him a gentle smiling extension of her fingers. “Not at all. Because I tell you right now, and for the record: I am expendable. If evidence forces you to conclude they are trying to cheat us, or use me as a tool for extortion . . .”

  The civil defense coordinator, a political opponent, smirked. “We could just shoot you out of the sky?”

  “Yes, exactly!” Quin said, which startled the annoying coordinator into silence. She hadn’t planned to say that, but it made perfect sense. “We have weapons at the ready, for an attack I hope we never have to make. But if it is necessary to protect the planet, you will have my authorization to do what is needed. Including sacrificing any of our people on the visitors’ ship.”

  Monte-Sho looked pained. Good, loyal friend. “You are that convinced that this could be a real, and imminent, threat to us?”

  Ocellet Quin flicked her fingers outward, then back in, with a nod to Aylen. The scientist stood and said, “I am persuaded it is real—or at least the evidence is persuasive enough to warrant the risk.”

  “And I,” Quin said. “Also, I wish Chief Commander Koro to come with me. I would greatly value his view and counsel.” She saw Aylen’s face fall at that, and she was sorry. But she had decided she needed military advice when she was up there. Koro was a topnotch military leader, intelligent and honest, if sometimes annoying in his political views. If this trip was going to result in any hard decisions, and they didn’t want an insurrection back on the ground, she was going to need him to see the same things she saw. “And oh yes,” she added wryly, “Commander Koro will be expendable, as well.”

  Koro acknowledged, eyes gleaming in a faint smile.

  Quin hadn’t expected everyone to see it her way, and they didn’t. But in short order, Defense Counselor Monte-Sho announced, if reluctantly, that he stood with her, followed by three more of her immediate support group—and with that support, she declared her decision. She and Koro would go with the aliens, as soon as could be arranged. When someone urged that they include a science adviser, she said, “Just two are invited. Commander Koro and I both have scientific training, and that will have to do for now. My science adviser Aylen will be in close contact here on the ground.” Aylen, hearing that, tapped her chest in affirmation, but the disappointment on her face was keen.

  In Quin’s absence, her senior aides would hold the reins of power. As long as she remained in communication, there was no need to transfer control. It would be like any other trip. As she said to her senior staffers, she hoped to be back in a day or two, wiser and better equipped to handle the threat.

  “Let’s get back to the house now and gather up our guests,” she said at last. “And someone please pack us a couple of overnight bags.”

  ***

  Together with the alien visitors, they boarded a government air transport for return to the spaceport, flying fast and low over the bay and the city. The squad of soldiers watching the alien craft served this time as an honor guard. Quin and Koro walked with their alien guests through the protective cordon and boarded the strange little vessel.

  “It’s bigger than it looks,” she said, peering around at the interior of the craft. Besides flight controls, there were three rows of seats, and luggage room in back. A mechanical creature called Jeaves took their bags and ushered them to their seats.

  Sheeawn gave a little squawk of surprise. “There’s a row of seats that wasn’t here before,” he said, walking the length of the cabin.

  “I was informed of new passengers,” the thing called Jeaves said, “so I took the liberty of adding seats.”

  “Longer cabin, too, I see,” Bandicut murmured as he guided Quin and Koro to the middle row.

  Longer cabin? How did they manage that? Quin wondered as she settled in.

  Bandicut and Li-Jared sat farthest forward, with Bandicut taking the controls. “Ready for launch, everyone!” he called a few minutes later, looking up into a small mirror over his head.

  The craft lifted smoothly. “Stop holding your breath,” Koro muttered. Quin wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself; but she was holding her breath, and she let it out suddenly, and gazed out the viewing ports in awe. The city of Karellendon fell away beneath them; clouds whipped by, and the sky slowly deepened. Koro was probably equally awed, but he seemed to feel duty-bound to look unimpressed. As they climbed, the sky darkened to midnight blue, and then a black vault, against which shone the terrifying blue and green crucible of the Heart of Fire.

  This ship was much faster than any Karellian craft, Quin thought; she knew that without having any expertise at all. We don’t know how to do these things.

  Li-Jared glanced back, making sure they were all right.

  The two Uduon behind them were speaking privately. She couldn’t tell what they were thinking.

  At one point, the robot Jeaves pointed out a Karellian patrol ship twinkling in the distance. But it quickly fell away, as they continued climbing. Finally, when they were much higher than any crewed Karellian craft could go, there came into view a faintly luminous, elongated lozenge: the alien vessel, The Long View. Bandicut steered the lander right through the wall of that ship, and straight into a docking cradle.

  ***

  Li-Jared took the lead, introducing Ocellet Quin and Koro to Ruall, who was floating pensively in midair on the bridge. If the blank, silver-faced Tintangle was pleased or honored to greet the leader of all Karellia, she didn’t show it. “We have gathered additional remote tracking on the craft we detected earlier entering this star system,” she clanged, the moment introductions were over. “It fits the profile of the Mindaru that attacked us in the starstream.”

  “Is it coming this way?” Bandicut asked.

  Ruall made an ominous ringing sound. “It appears to be sweeping the planetary system, while inbound on a course that will make it easy to turn this way once it has confirmed the signatures of life. Dark has observed it, and I have dispatched a probe to monitor its movements more closely. But I have no doubt it will find us.”

  And when it finds us, it will attack, and we’ve just brought the Karellian leadership aboard, Li-Jared thought with a slightly sick feeling. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

  He turned back to their guests. Quin and Koro were staring at Ruall in consternation. Sheeawn was busy translating the information for Akura, whose eyes filled with alarm. Li-Jared couldn’t think of much to say about Ruall’s grim announcement, so he tried to redirect the newcomers’ attention. He gestured to the disk-headed stick figure, who had to look pretty damn weird to Quin and Koro. “Ruall,” he explained, “is a Tintangle. She doesn’t exactly live in our three dimensions.” He continued with the same Ruall introduction he had given the Uduon. “If we were to get into a fight, she’d assume battle command.”

  Ruall dinged. “I have already assumed battle command. When we detected the Mindaru, I put the ship on combat alert—and that put me in command.”

  Li-Jared winced and curled his fingers inward. What could he say to that? No good getting into an argument about it in front of the guests. “I stand corrected. Ruall is currently in tactical command of the ship, for as long as the potential for combat exists.”

  Quin and Koro were exchanging looks of displeasure. “Li-Jared!” Quin snapped. “Please explain! Have you brought us up to your ship, just in time to go into battle?”

  Li-Jared grimaced. “I hope not, and that was not my intent. I sincerely hope to avoid a combat situation while you’re aboard. If it does come to that, I am sorry to have put you in danger.”

  Koro took a step toward Li-Jared. The military markings on his jacket somehow seemed more prominent than before, as he glared from Li-Jared to Bandicut to Ruall. “You are sorry? To have put the leader of all Karellia at
risk? You are sorry?”

  Li-Jared raised his hands, fingers spread. “Yes. Please understand: it was, and is, our hope to show you as much as possible, and then to return you to the surface, if that is your wish.”

  “It certainly would be,” Koro growled.

  “But—”

  “But what?” Koro demanded.

  Li-Jared drummed his fingers on his leg. “If the Mindaru come here, and defeat this ship, there will be no safety for you on the ground or in space. For you or for any of your—our!—fellow Karellians.” He pressed his mouth shut, and then swung to face Akura and Sheeawn. “Or for anyone on Uduon.”

  Akura stepped forward now, her face taut. She’d been holding her temper, but now she appeared about to erupt. As she spoke, Sheeawn translated nearly instantaneously. “There’s one thing you have not told us, and that is why this threat is coming to us. Not just to this galaxy of yours, but to us.” She glared into his eyes, and then into Quin’s. Swinging back to Li-Jared, she pointed a finger at his nose. “You said it’s because of something on this planet. Something Karellia is doing.”

  Quin jerked her head around sharply, looking from one to the other with a warning glare. Do not speak of it! her eyes demanded.

  “We insist you answer!” Akura snapped. “What is bringing them here?”

  Li-Jared paused to frame his words before answering. “It is something Karellia is doing,” he said. “And yes, you are right—I must show you what that is.” As Quin and Koro reacted to that, he put up a stiff hand in a command to silence. They were on his ship now, and he felt an authority he had not possessed down on Karellia. “But it is not just Karellia. It is also Uduon. You are both drawing the Mindaru here.”

  Everyone began to shout, but he was quicker. “Jeaves! It is time to show them!”

  The bridge fell dark, except for a display in the viewing space. Jeaves floated forward, and images appeared, and the robot began to explain the workings of the Karellian temporal shield.