The Crucible

by Mark Whiteway

  “You are indeed a violent race. Perhaps Ximun was wise to view you as a threat.”

  Quinn frowned. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with Vyasa.”

  “Look.”

  As the soldiers manhandled their captive, Quinn recognised Vyasa. The wings were absent, but the grey elfin face was hers.

  “This is your way of telling me the Damise have captured her.”

  “In essence, yes.”

  “Then why don’t you let me go back and help her?”

  “I told you,” she said. “It’s too late.”

  “Zothan can break the link.”

  “Perhaps, but her mind will still be theirs. She is lost to you.”

  “I won’t accept that,” Quinn said.

  “You have no choice.”

  One of the soldiers clubbed Vyasa with a rifle butt. As she collapsed, the others crowded around.

  “What if… what if I could distract them somehow?” Quinn asked.

  “Your implant is not of Damise origin. They will not detect you.”

  “I’m linked to Vyasa. Maybe I could call to them through her.”

  “You would fall under their influence as well. Is that what you want?”

  The soldiers dragged Vyasa to her feet.

  “I have to do something,” he said.

  “You cannot save her. Adding your sacrifice to hers is not rational.”

  “Look,” Quinn said. “The jig is up. They’re on to us. That means no matter what we do, we won’t be able to repeat this experiment. Our only chance of influencing events is right here and now.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  “Any link has to be two-way. If Vyasa and I work together, maybe we can turn the tables on them.”

  “And do what?”

  “I don’t know. Something spectacular. Something that may give them pause and buy us some time, at least.”

  The soldiers gestured with their rifles, propelling Vyasa up the street. Quinn stepped out into the open.

  “No, Quinn. Wait!” Keiza cried.

  Ignoring her, he gesticulated wildly. “Here! Over here!”

  The soldiers turned their heads towards him.

  “Hey, you filthy Brits!”

  He sprinted away down the street, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to confirm they were in pursuit.

  ~

  Cutting a ragged course, Quinn pelted down the rubble-strewn thoroughfare as occasional bullets zinged past his head. He had no real plan, but from past experience, he knew that Keiza’s re-creation, drawn from memories of what he knew of the Easter uprising, directly related to events in the real world. What he saw from his perspective was not real, yet he could come to real harm. He hoped to stay alive long enough to do some good.

  The British soldiers represented the Damise—that much was obvious. Hailing them through Vyasa’s implant had been a success, but now they were after him. Keiza had been right about one thing. This was a violent period in his people’s past with atrocities committed on both sides. During the assault on Dublin, Irish Republicans had inflicted severe losses on the British, who vented their rage by massacring civilians, in some cases. If these soldiers caught him, he could probably expect little mercy. He was sure that was equally true of the Damise.

  He ducked into a side street, passing a row of mostly shattered shop fronts.

  As he passed a doorway, someone hissed at him, “Pssst!” A wavy-haired man with darting eyes, dark moustache, and sideburns beckoned him. “Get in here, man. Quick!” He spoke in a thick Irish brogue.

  On impulse, Quinn turned and dived through the opening. Dust and gloom filled the air. The moustachioed man led him towards the back and crouched behind a counter. Quinn hunkered down beside him. Shouts and sounds of running feet drifted in from the street, gradually fading to silence.

  “That was too bloody close,” the man said. “Them bastards nearly got you. My God, don’t you know better than to be out on the street?”

  “I’m sorry, but they’d caught a friend of mine and—”

  The man beamed. “Quinn! Sorry. Didn’t recognise you.” He shook Quinn’s hand so hard that he thought it might come apart at the wrist. “Kelly. Martin Kelly.”

  Quinn forced a smile. “Won’t the soldiers be back?”

  “More than likely.” Kelly’s face fell. “They’ll search house by house, shop by shop. Probably pick out some other poor sod and drag him off to jail. I heard they already have Connolly and the others at Kilmainham.”

  Kilmainham Jail. In a few days, the British would begin executing the alleged ringleaders of the uprising. Quinn reminded himself that these were not real people. This was a simulation, nothing more. Everyone represented here was long dead, as was the cause they’d fought for. He could admire their bravery and commitment, but mankind had found better, smarter ways of solving its problems.

  Kelly’s face lit up again. Rapid mood swings appeared to be his trademark. “Will you look at that? I must be goin’ daft. There’s someone here you have to meet.”

  By now, Quinn was well acquainted with the little game of hide-and-seek Keiza liked to play in these scenarios. For once, he was ahead of the game. “You’re too late. I already met up with her.”

  “Her?” Kelly’s face screwed up like an old dishcloth. “You’ve got it all wrong.” He sprang to his feet. “Follow me.”

  Curiosity mounting, Quinn trailed Kelly up a short flight of stairs and along a narrow corridor to a wooden door. Kelly rapped on it and entered without waiting. Inside, sitting on a crate, was a lanky boy in overalls, with a pale complexion and a shock of fair hair. As Quinn entered, the boy looked up and stared back with his mother’s blue eyes.

  “Dad!”

  ~

  Quinn closed his eyes and opened them again, but Conor had not moved. Quinn turned on Kelly. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Kelly looked pained. “Surely, you know your own boy.”

  Ignoring him, Quinn turned back to Conor. “What’s going on?”

  Conor shrugged. “I dunno. Last thing I remember was Zothan putting me to sleep. Then I was here. Am I dreaming?”

  “This is one of Keiza’s re-creations.”

  “Seriously?” Conor glanced at the four walls. “It doesn’t look very exciting.”

  “You can’t be here,” Quinn said, trying to keep his voice even.

  Conor looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  Quinn sighed. “What I mean is it’s too dangerous. You have to go back.”

  “Why? Where are we?”

  “Ireland 1916. The Easter Uprising.”

  Conor’s jaw dropped. “No way. That’s amazing!”

  “I told you it’s just a re-creation.”

  “Could I take a look outside?”

  “No.”

  “But you said it was just a re-creation.”

  Quinn closed his eyes again. “It’s a re-creation, but it corresponds to what’s going on in the real world. You could be hurt or even killed. You’re going back, and there’s an end of it.”

  “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How do I get back? All I know is I went to sleep and woke up here.”

  Quinn turned to Kelly. “How do I send him back?”

  Kelly shrugged. “Blessed if I know.”

  Quinn threw his head back. “Keiza… Keiza, show yourself right now.”

  Seconds ticked by in silence as Conor and Kelly stared at him.

  Quinn pointed at Conor. “All right. He stays here… You don’t move from this spot, understand?”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Kelly asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you—the Brits will be searching through here. They’re bound to find him. And when they do—”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Quinn snapped.

  “You have to finish what you started.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You told
Keiza you were going to do something spectacular. Something that would turn the tables. Maybe even send the Brits scurrying back to their own wretched island.”

  Dark schemes perched in Quinn’s mind like ravens. “Right.”

  ~

  Quinn bounced in the canvas seat of an army truck as it rolled along a tarmac road. He had never driven a truck or any other ancient automobile before, but as in other scenarios created by Keiza, he seemed to have been granted instinctive abilities.

  He was dressed in the uniform of a British army corporal, Royal Irish Regiment. He’d held the soldier at knifepoint and knocked him unconscious. The uniform was a loose fit. I must be losing weight.

  Conor sat in the seat next to him, wearing a nearly identical uniform. The boy stared out the side window, drinking in a view of moonlit fields. In the distance, where land met sky, the Irish Sea was a silver ribbon.

  “Is this really Ireland, Dad?”

  “I told you it’s one of Keiza’s re-creations,” he replied.

  “No, I mean is this what it’s really like?”

  “How should I know? I’ve never visited Earth, let alone Ireland. Keiza extracted the details from my memory of books and videocasts.”

  “It’s wild.”

  Quinn assumed that was a positive remark. Youngsters tended to acquire a vernacular all their own. They also had a talent for seeing good in every situation. Though concern for Conor’s safety nagged at Quinn, a part of him was glad to have the boy along.

  How had Conor suddenly appeared in this scenario? The implant. It was the only explanation. Although Zothan had extracted it from Conor and placed it within Quinn, it had somehow retained its link to the boy. Was Conor’s state of deep sleep a factor? Quinn had insisted the boy be kept sedated. That would make him responsible. And every second they remained here placed Conor in more danger. Quinn had to bring events to a finish.

  Kelly had said that those rounded up were being taken to Richmond Barracks at Inchicore. Soon, the high-walled barracks hove into view. Quinn pulled up alongside the guardhouse.

  A bored-looking corporal glanced at the van’s occupants and held out his hand. “Papers.”

  Quinn dragged a sheaf of papers from an inside pocket and gave them to the guard. They had come with the uniform, but he had no idea what they said or what their significance was.

  The guard flipped through them. “You’re out late.”

  “Got one in the back,” Quinn replied. “You’re welcome to take a look.”

  “Another bloody Mick? No thanks. Can’t stand the smell. Just make sure you book him in before heading for chow.”

  “Too right.”

  The guard raised the barrier and waved them through.

  Quinn waved thanks and drove into the courtyard. His plan was simple: get in, get Vyasa, and get out.

  He pulled the van to a halt. “Stay here.”

  “Dad?”

  “Stay here,” he repeated. “If anyone asks, you’re just waiting for a prisoner to be booked in, okay?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Quinn grabbed a rifle, climbed down from the cab, and headed to the rear of the van. He lowered the backboard and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Out!”

  Kelly dropped to the ground and stared up at the forbidding walls.

  Quinn shoved him in the back, propelling him forwards. “Sorry. Gotta make it look good in case anyone’s watching.” It struck him that he was apologising to someone who wasn’t real, but he dismissed the thought.

  The guards at the entrance stared straight ahead. Quinn followed Kelly through the heavy double doors and emerged into a lobby. The barracks were huge, taking up three floors. How was he going to go about finding Vyasa?

  Prodding Kelly forwards, he approached the main desk. A clerk in sergeant’s stripes looked up. Quinn recoiled as he recognised Keiza.

  “Revealing yourself to the Damise was stupid,” she said.

  “I had to do something,” he replied. “They were about to drag Vyasa off.”

  “And how did your running away alter that?”

  “I wasn’t running away. I was drawing them off.”

  “And yet she still ended up here. You should have trusted me.”

  This is her sandbox. “Okay, I’m sorry, all right? Mind telling me where Vyasa is?”

  “Three seventeen,” she replied. “Top floor.”

  She nodded at a couple of soldiers, who stepped forward and took Kelly by the arms. He tossed Quinn a look of betrayal as they dragged him off. Just a simulation, Quinn reminded himself.

  As he turned away, she held out another sheaf of papers. “You’ll need these.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “She’s in a bad way.”

  I suppose you’re going to add, “I told you so.” Quinn left the comment unspoken and climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  The uppermost floor of the barracks was like a house of the damned. Hollow cries, screams, and clanging doors echoed in hallways. He quickened his pace, passing two groups of soldiers before arriving at another desk. Behind it sat a rat-faced corporal with a scar on his forehead, who looked him up and down as if he were yesterday’s lunch.

  Quinn handed over the papers Keiza had given him. The corporal rose and led the way down another corridor, stopping at a metal door. After extracting a bunch of oversized keys from his belt, he turned the lock. The door swung open.

  Along one wall was a bunk. Slumped in the opposite corner was a lone figure. Quinn crossed the room and settled on his haunches. Vyasa’s mouth was partly open, her eyes were glassy, and the side of her mouth was swollen, as though someone had struck her across the face.

  “Vyasa,” Quinn hissed.

  Her brow furrowed, and she stirred as if in a dream.

  “Vyasa. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

  Her eyes cracked open. “Quinn?”

  “Yes. It’s me. Can you stand?”

  She shook her head. “No, leave me.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  “You… have to stop the Damise.”

  “Stop them how?”

  “Point… defence.”

  She’s delirious. Quinn slipped one arm beneath her shoulders and another under her legs.

  “No,” she said, shoving him away. “No time. You have to interrupt their firing pattern.”

  He relaxed his hold on her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Their attacks are not… random. I heard them. They’re… attempting to disrupt the Elinare barrier using… subharmonics.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The method involves creating a… sympathetic vibration.”

  “Like using sound to shatter a wineglass.”

  “Wine…?”

  “Never mind,” he replied. “How do I stop them?”

  She coughed. “Communications room.”

  Quinn closed his eyes. “What?”

  She reached with her left hand to a pocket in the right side of her grimy robe. Quinn noticed for the first time that the fingers on her right hand were splayed, and her right arm was set at an odd angle.

  She pulled out a crumpled paper and thrust it at him. He took it, flattened it out, and read it. A47F34H.

  He glanced up. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a… code used by the British Forces. It commands them to withdraw. You have to get to the communications room… and transmit the signal.”

  “What good will that do us?”

  Her teeth clenched. “The Damise… have discovered my presence and are… attempting to control me through my implant. They are also aware of you… though the safeguards Zothan installed are holding for now. You must… take advantage of the connection. By exerting control over the Damise operative, you can… reconfigure their firing sequence and… shatter the subharmonics.”

  “And that will preserve the Elinare barrier?”

  “For a while… Eventually, they’ll discover what we have done and try again… But it will
buy time for the Elinare.”

  “How do I get to the control room?”

  “Room 27… Ground floor… Hurry!”

  Her eyes closed, and her head lolled. She’s out of it. He put a hand under her nostrils and found her breathing slow but steady. Carrying her would slow him considerably. However, if he could break the Damise’s link to her, she would probably recover naturally.

  Clutching the scrap of paper, he hurried out of her cell.

  ~

  Quinn tapped on the truck window, causing Conor to start.

  The boy’s frown turned to a grin. “Dad!”

  Quinn put a silencing finger to his lips and jerked his head. Conor opened the door and slipped to the ground.

  Quinn signalled him to follow then headed for the main doors. He had agonised over whether to fetch Conor or leave him in the truck before finally deciding he’d rather have the boy where he could see and protect him.

  The guards at the main entrance gave them no more than a cursory glance. The sergeant with Keiza’s face was gone from the front desk. Quinn turned left and headed down a whitewashed corridor.

  Conor trotted to catch up. “Is Vyasa here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are we going to free her?”

  Quinn nodded to a pair of passing NCOs and waited till they were out of earshot. “There’s something we have to do first.”

  “What’s more important than rescuing Vyasa?”

  “I told you before. None of this is real. It’s a re-creation—a representation of what’s going on in the real world. The Elinare are under attack. In a few hours, the Damise will batter down their defences. We have to stop them.”

  “How do we do that?”

  They were approaching a junction. Quinn held up a restraining hand, and they halted. He peeked around the corner. Halfway down was a door with two guards posted outside. He ducked back and leant against the wall.

  “Damn.”

  “What’s the matter, Dad?”

  “The room we need to get to—it’s guarded.”

  Conor frowned, and his eyes grew unfocused. “You said all of this was just a simulation. So why not call Keiza and ask her to alter it?”

  “Alter it?”

  “Sure. Get the guards to go somewhere else. Or simply make them vanish.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I don’t think it works that way. The guards must represent a… an obstacle in the real world that we have to overcome. Simply making them disappear won’t help. We need to find a way to solve the problem.”