The Crucible

by Mark Whiteway

  As he turned away, he heard his name.

  Unable to determine which creature had spoken, he swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just that I saw a light and—”

  “The one you know as Grey bids you welcome.”

  He stepped across the threshold and cast an eye over the assembly. “I don’t see her.”

  “We are Osei,” the voice said. “To speak to one is to speak to all.”

  The Unity. That was how the Osei referred to their collective consciousness. “Are you having some sort of a meeting?”

  “We were waiting for you.”

  “F-for me?”

  “You may take your place whenever you wish.”

  Quinn spotted a vacant position in the circle. Refusal might be interpreted as an insult. At the very least, it would be impolite. He approached and sat, cross-legged. How did they know I would come? The question bothered him, but this was their show.

  At length, the voice returned. “What is loneliness?”

  Quinn shifted position. “I suppose it would be the state of being alone. I guess that’s something no Osei has experienced.”

  “What is it like?”

  He felt as if he were being asked to explain colour to someone born colour-blind. “Well, you’re just alone with your own thoughts.”

  “One step removed from silence.”

  “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

  “It is inconceivable that a sentient being could exist in this way.”

  Quinn struggled for an appropriate response. “You get used to it, I guess.” His heart clenched as an image of Sarah flashed into his mind. “We have family and friends, people who care about us. That helps.”

  “And what of you, Quinn?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You are one step removed from silence.”

  “That’s not true. I was just on my way to see Conor.”

  “He is removed from you because of the dolin. All are removed from you.”

  If the purpose of this gathering was to cheer him up, the Osei weren’t doing a very good job. He tried to think of a way to excuse himself.

  “Are you prepared to become part of a greater whole?” the Osei asked.

  Quinn frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “The one you know as Grey wishes you to experience a wider identity.”

  “You’re talking about becoming a part of your Unity.”

  “No, that is not possible. Your mind is not sufficiently developed.”

  They had said something similar when linking Rahada’s mind to his. Again, he tried not to take it as an insult.

  “We can proceed whenever you are ready,” the Osei said.

  “You’re going to show me something?”

  “One moment of sheer perfection.”

  Every question spawned a tangle of fresh ones, but his choice was as clear as glass. He could get up and walk out, or he could go along for the ride. He stared at the tentacled creatures. Osei were the most inhuman of all the Consensus races he had met, yet they seemed to embody humanity’s best qualities. They had never harmed him or Conor.

  He smiled. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  He caught himself tapping on his knee and tried to relax. The fibre-optic bush grew brighter and redder, then becoming orange then yellow then green then blue before reddening once more. The pattern repeated, triggering an old memory. It’s cycling through the visible spectrum. But why?

  The sequence grew faster and faster. Quinn tried to turn away but couldn’t move his head. The colours merged in a kaleidoscope. His eyelids were frozen as a torrent of light poured into his eyes. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

  Glass shattered, a wave of pent-up emotion broke, and tension flowed out of him. The room was a sea of brilliance. Colours flowed and merged in symphony. The ceiling opened, the walls fell away, and he soared on wings of light through a universe of possibilities.

  ~

  As the display faded, Quinn was gripped by a childlike sadness he had not felt since his father had lifted him from his shoulders at the colony fairground and set him on the ground. He wanted to clap his hands and demand, “Again! Again!”

  He was sitting in a circle with the Osei. The fibre-optic bush emitted a faint glow. He felt calm… centred. The rejection and isolation, which had hung around his neck like an albatross, was now as light as a daisy chain.

  He pushed to his feet. “Excuse me. I have to go see my son.” As he made to turn away, a reminder nagged at him. “Thank you.”

  “The one you know as Grey says you are welcome,” the Osei said.

  He exited the room and headed for the cabin allocated as quarters for him and Conor. The trepidation he felt before his meeting with the Osei had lifted like early-morning mist.

  Conor lay on a white slab with his eyes closed.

  Quinn knew with a parent’s certainty that the boy wasn’t asleep. He sat on the end of the slab. “Hey.”

  Conor opened his eyes.

  “Rough day, huh?” Quinn said.

  Conor stared at the ceiling. “You were trying to turn the dolin back into a weapon.”

  He’s been talking with someone. Zothan maybe. Or Adza. “It crossed my mind.”

  “I think you’re despicable.”

  The word sounded odd coming from a fourteen-year-old, but Quinn glossed over it. “You remember when the Agantzane first awakened you and you tried to persuade me to kill for them?”

  Conor’s features twitched as if Quinn had jabbed him with a pin.

  “Later, when Zothan and I found you unconscious in the crashed Agantzane lander, I had no reason to think it wasn’t another of their attempts at manipulation. Before I knew what was happening, a Nemazi liquidation squad appeared out of thin air. Zothan pleaded with me to run, but I wouldn’t leave. I killed every one of them with the Agantzane death touch.”

  “You never mentioned that before,” Conor said.

  Quinn laughed without mirth. “Yes, well, maybe I didn’t want to admit that I’d abandoned my principles. But a set of principles is an overcoat, not a straitjacket.”

  “So they’re fine when things go our way, but when they don’t, we throw our friends to the wolves.”

  “The Agantzane designed the dolin to be an instrument of destruction. It told me it intended to return to Castellan and reactivate the others of its kind.”

  “So you killed it.”

  “That wasn’t my intention,” Quinn said. “But thinking about it, maybe it’s for the best. I couldn’t help but think of the old Aesop’s fable about the frog and the scorpion. A scorpion convinces a frog to ferry him across a river, promising he won’t sting the frog, but halfway across, the scorpion stings him anyway. The frog asks, ‘Why’d you do that? Now we’ll both drown.’ The scorpion replies, ‘I couldn’t help it. It’s my nature.’”

  Conor sat up, his cheeks red and his eyes puffy. “You don’t know the dolin would act that way.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But if I set the dolin on a path of wholesale destruction and couldn’t stop it, what then? Even the Agantzane couldn’t fully control them. That’s why they mothballed their creations.”

  Conor’s gaze grew distant. “It protected me on Pann,” Conor said. “I owe it my life.”

  Quinn nodded. “Me too.”

  “What are you going to tell the Nemazi?”

  “I have a few ideas,” Quinn replied.

  ~

  Quinn entered the Shanata vessel’s control area and hurried to the central table. Unknown symbols streamed across a curved projection that floated over it. Adza, Yahani, and Grey did not appear to have moved since he was here last.

  He took up a position between Adza and Yahani and stared at the display, with no idea what it meant. “Status.”

  Adza and Yahani stared at him as if he were a gate-crasher at a wedding. With the dolin shut down and his link to Elinare rendered irrelevant, he had no real authority
anymore. He continued staring at the projection.

  “Approaching the nebula,” Grey replied. “We will enter the Nemazi system in approximately two hours.”

  “This is pointless,” Adza said. “We should reverse course.”

  “And go where?” Yahani countered. “You said it yourself: the entire Consensus is under Damise control.”

  “We have nothing to negotiate with, now that the dolin is disabled.”

  Quinn caught Adza’s sideways glance. Doubtless, an expression of utter disdain lurked beneath his Shanata mask.

  He allowed the thought to wash over him. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Grey asked.

  “We have the most powerful ship in the Consensus.”

  Adza’s voice had a withering edge. “One ship cannot prevent an army of gormgast from overrunning the planet.”

  “Maybe it can.”

  “You have no grasp of the tactical realities, human.”

  Quinn rested his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’m not talking about tactics. When the others and I broke through the Agantzane’s blockade of Nemazi, the tactical effect was negligible. Shanata vessels plugged the hole almost immediately and promptly unleashed their cargo of gormgast. Yet our actions had a profound effect on the Nemazi. They had come to view the Agantzane and their allies as all but invincible. We proved they could be beaten. The disparate tribes put aside their rivalries and banded together to resist the invasion of their world.”

  “They’re still losing the conflict.”

  Quinn closed his eyes. “My point is that, to the Nemazi, symbolism is everything. If we can show them that their position isn’t hopeless, if we can score a victory, no matter how small, we may inspire them to redouble their resistance efforts.”

  “Even if they were to succeed in driving back the gormgast, what possible use could they be in our wider conflict with the Damise?” Adza asked. “They have limited resources, and they are technologically backward.”

  “Then why are you so scared of them?” Quinn felt Adza’s hidden eyes boring into him and moved on quickly. “You are right to fear them. On Zahava, I hid in an alley and watched as a Nemazi materialised in front of me and executed a Grok with a single claw stroke. At the time, I saw them as terrifying monsters without compassion or conscience. But I was wrong. Outside the nebula, they are what you, the Fixed Races, have made them. You employ them as spies and lawful assassins because their Shade characteristics make them ideal for those roles. But that isn’t who they are.”

  “Quinn makes a valid argument,” Yahani growled. “If the Shades were to join our cause, we would have an army of infiltrators at our disposal who could potentially wreak havoc among the Damise. But persuading them will not be easy. The Fixed Races have traditionally shunned the Shades, and the Shades blame the Fixed Races for abandoning them following the disaster that devastated their worlds. The nebula is nominally part of the Consensus, but in reality, the Shades run their own affairs. It’s difficult to see how we are going to overcome centuries of resentment.”

  “I’m guessing none of you has ever lived among them,” Quinn said. “I have. At first glance, they can seem overly preoccupied with form and ritual. But behind all of that is a deep sense of honour and an unwavering loyalty. If we show respect and conduct ourselves with honour, they can become staunch allies.”

  “What do you propose?” Grey asked.

  “When we approach the planet, I will go down and negotiate on our behalf. I’ll take Zothan with me, no one else.”

  “Unacceptable,” Adza said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Any negotiations will presumably involve committing this vessel to some sort of engagement. That can only be done by unanimous agreement of the Triumvirate.”

  Quinn glanced at each of the others in turn. “I’m assuming that’s the three of you. Well, I suppose that’s reasonable. But it would make a party of five, and five is too many. I don’t want the Nemazi thinking we’re another invasion force. I’ll take one of you.”

  “I will go,” Grey said.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll take Adza if he’s agreeable.” Quinn detected no reaction behind the mask.

  “Very well,” Adza said at length.

  “Then it’s settled. I’m going to put my head down for a couple of hours. Could someone alert me when we’re entering the Nemazi system?”

  Yahani nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  As Quinn turned on his heel and headed for the doors, he became aware of Adza at his shoulder. Ignoring the Shanata, he exited the control area. As he turned in the direction of the transit station, he found himself pinned against the wall with crossed blades at his throat.

  Adza’s breath washed over his face. “I know what you’re up to.”

  Quinn’s Adam’s apple rested on the blades’ edges, so the act of replying threatened to slit his windpipe. He decided to risk it. “And what’s that?”

  “Your death touch, Shanata Tamah! Expire me here on the ship, and you risk incurring my people’s wrath. But if I were to perish down on the planet with its many dangers, who would question it? You would be rid of your main opposition.”

  Shanata Tamah—Shanata killer. The Nemazi had bestowed the title on Quinn after he and the others had smashed through the blockade the first time. He hadn’t heard the expression in a long while, but some among the Shanata clearly had long memories.

  “You’re wrong,” Quinn said, feeling the blades nick his skin. “We’re all on the same side, here.”

  “Then why choose me?”

  Quinn fought to remain calm. “Because I don’t have to convince the others. I do have to convince you.”

  Their eyes locked. Finally, Adza released him. Resisting the impulse to run, Quinn headed off down the passage.

  “You’ll never convince me, human!” Adza called after him.

  Quinn did not look back.

  ~

  Quinn sat on a bunk in a room of rough-hewn stone and stared at a set of heavy iron bars. Light streamed through a barred window. I’m in jail. How’d I get here? The last thing he remembered was lying down in his quarters on the Shanata vessel and drifting off to sleep. I must be dreaming.

  A scratching made him jump. A cockroach skittered across the floor, heading for a dark corner. Quinn raised his eyes and saw a figure leaning against the shadowed wall. The figure moved into the light, and he recognised Rahada’s face.

  She wore a tin star.

  His heart quickened. She isn’t Rahada. She’s the rogue Elinare. And this is no dream.

  She pushed up the brim of her hat with a forefinger. “I underestimated you. Your mental capacity is no greater than the races of the Consensus. Yet you have a crafty streak.”

  “My mother would agree with you there,” Quinn said.

  “Tell me—are you typical for a human?”

  Reminded of conversations with Ximun, he decided not to give too much away. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “No matter. If I ever meet any more of your people, I’ll be on my guard.”

  “Where’s Keiza?”

  “Back in the prison I created for her. Your little ruse may have enabled your friend to navigate you back to your own universe, but she isn’t going anywhere. As for you, you will suffer for your arrogance.”

  Quinn closed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  Rahada’s mouth quirked. “Don’t you know me? I’m the Shanata you befriended.”

  “You’re not her. You’re not even Shanata. Who are you really?”

  “Who do you think I am?”

  A game of deduction. All right, I’ll play. “You’re Elinare—that much is obvious. But I’m guessing you’re not part of the establishment. According to Keiza, your people have strict rules. You don’t occupy sentient beings against their will. And you don’t imprison and torture your own kind.”

  “Not unless we have an overriding obligation.”

 
; The scene shifted. Quinn was on his knees with his hands bound behind his back. The jail’s stone floor had been replaced by thick loam.

  A grimy, wild-eyed wretch pressed his face close. “’E’s one of the sheriff’s men, fer sure. So ya thought ya’d just ride through our forest without a by-yer-leave? Well, then…” He jerked Quinn’s head back.

  The Elinare with Rahada’s face sat on a boulder, serene and clad in Lincoln green.

  The wretch grimaced, revealing a set of blackened teeth. “Meet Robin o’ the Hood!”

  ~

  Rahada regarded Quinn with an enigmatic smile. “Release him, Will.”

  The wretch hissed and freed him with a shove.

  Will… Will Scarlet? In popular mythos, he was depicted as a young man with a penchant for elegant clothing. The filthy vagabond the Elinare had dredged up from Quinn’s mind was probably a lot closer to historical reality—assuming he had ever existed.

  Scattered around the boulder was a rabble dressed in green homespun. The giant of a man on Rahada’s right had to be John Little. The others he could not name.

  Rahada’s hand brushed her tunic and admired her outfit. “A fascinating character, this Robin Hood. He sought to right the wrongs of a decadent society, correct?”

  “Is that how you view your people—as decadent?” Quinn ventured.

  Rahada’s expression darkened. “The Elinare stand at the threshold of universal greatness. Next to us, you are a patch of slime, barely aware of your own existence!”

  No point provoking her. “I meant no offence.”

  “My people are not decadent, but those who direct them are.”

  “You’re talking about the Qan-ho-nah.”

  “The Qan-ho-nah’s neglect of the Haven’s defences now threatens our very existence!”

  “They do appear preoccupied by their hole-in-the-universe problem,” Quinn said.

  Rahada’s anger soured. “Solving the Problem will not help us if we perish.”

  Quinn’s mind worked furiously. Robin Hood had opposed a wicked regime, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. That’s how this Elinare sees herself. She’s crossing boundaries—breaking rules—to achieve a greater good. “Look, you’ll get no argument from me. We’re on the same side, here. We both want to see the Damise defeated and an end to the AI threat.”