The Crucible

by Mark Whiteway

  Quinn returned to cutting the Shanata’s bonds. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You still intend to free them?”

  “Yes. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “You realise that if you let them go, then it is most unlikely that another omesku will take them in. They will die out there in the desert. Your efforts will have been for nothing.”

  “Perhaps. But this way, at least they’ll have a chance, even if it is a slim one.”

  Zothan reached over and cut the remaining bonds with his claw. As the Shanata slumped forwards, Zothan caught him and lowered him to the ground.

  His eyes met Quinn’s. “Then let us both be hanged as a sheep as well as a lamb.”

  ~

  As dawn broke, ten Nemazi guards armed with pikes came for Quinn, Vyasa, and Grey. They dragged Grey out and roughhoused Vyasa but stayed clear of Quinn—whether out of respect for his title of Shanata Tamah or fear of his death touch, he couldn’t tell.

  A few minutes later, they stood once more before the dais, a crowd of Nemazi at their back. Durga was clad in a heavy dun cloak of animal hide. The sun’s early morning heat suggested it was for ceremony rather than warmth.

  He rose from the rusted metal chair and turned his head slowly, taking in the assembly. “Razokah sothak nahazi!”

  I would look upon the face of my enemy. Quinn had heard that particular Nemazi idiom once before. He waited for Durga to put it into context.

  “The Nemazi assigned to you for your protection were found unconscious near your quarters this morning. And the Shanata dathaza are gone.”

  Quinn raised his chin. “It was I who freed them.”

  A murmur rippled through the gathering. Durga silenced it with an upraised claw. “Explain.”

  “I told you. They could do you no harm, and they were of no use to you.”

  “They were not your dathaki.” Negotiating asset—but the term often referred to individuals held as “guests” or hostages.

  “You are correct,” Quinn said.

  “A price must be exacted.”

  Here it comes. Feet shuffled, and the crowd behind him parted. A Nemazi was shoved to the front. Quinn recognised Zothan. His head was bowed and bruised, and he limped badly. Horror twisted Quinn’s guts as he spotted a bloody, cloth-covered stump where Zothan’s right claw should have been.

  “What have you done?” he demanded.

  “This one assisted you in freeing the outworlders. I have amputated a claw, as is my right. He is now hokkah, outcast.”

  “I thought your people no longer practised that sort of barbarism,” Quinn growled.

  “I have revived the ancient traditions. Also, since you freed the Shanata, I am letting you go. Fallalah san kozaah—you will no longer drink your fill as guests of our nucleus. However, I pledge to honour the remaining terms of our trade. Volothi allassar!” He opened his arms wide in an expansive gesture. “May the desert accept you as its own.”

  Machinery clattered, and a hatch opened in the transport’s deck. Sharp spears and sizzling pikes urged them down a wide ramp. At the bottom, a door opened, admitting the sun’s blistering rays. Quinn, Vyasa, Zothan, and Grey headed out into the furnace of the open desert.

  ~

  Quinn and Vyasa watched as the transports started up their immense engines and moved off in a pall of grey smoke. Then, carrying Grey between them in a sheet of bedding that served as a makeshift stretcher, they picked their way across the desert.

  When Quinn tried to persuade Vyasa to fly Grey onwards, she had tersely replied, “I can’t carry you both, and I’m not leaving you behind.”

  Zothan marched in front, head bowed. He had not uttered a word since they left the Nemazi settlement. Quinn wanted to reach out to him, to express sorrow, regret, empathy—any of those human reactions designed to ease trauma and salve emotional wounds. But Zothan was not human. Everything Quinn could think to say seemed woefully inadequate.

  A range of barren hills lay before them. There, an overhang or ravine might offer the prospect of shelter from the worst of the sun. When evening came, Zothan could build his circle of stills to collect water as he had done on Quinn’s previous visit, and they might survive another day—assuming they didn’t encounter any of the denizens that stalked the desert, didn’t fall afoul of the gormgast, and weren’t swept up in a time front and hurled back into the chaos following the Transformation.

  Their best plan was to make for the Elinare sphere. The sphere offered safety, water, and a means of transport. The moment Zothan seemed open to conversation, Quinn intended to suggest he transport them there, one by one, then retrieve Conor, but he had no idea what to do after that. They could leave the planet, but with the Damise’s AI holding sway everywhere except the nebula, where would they go?

  Quinn was still debating the problem when Vyasa tapped him on a shoulder and jerked her head. A line of ten Nemazi was tracking them.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Quinn said. “They’re going to wait till the others are out of sight before finishing us off.”

  Vyasa stared at the Nemazi, who were rippling in a heat haze. “I don’t think so. You heard the zathaar. He wants to preserve the trade you made with him. Outside the nebula, Nemazi contracts for legal assassination are voided if the contractor meets a violent end, but if he were to simply expire, then payment would still be due.”

  “So what are they after?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re here to witness our deaths from natural causes and then report back. That way, the zathaar would still have salvage rights on the ship. They might have orders to bring back Grey, but the rest of us are expendable.”

  “Could they kill us and make it look like an accident?” Quinn asked.

  “That’s another possibility.”

  “Bloody vultures,” Quinn said under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He turned and hurried after Zothan.

  ~

  Loose stones slipped under Quinn’s boots as he struggled for purchase on the slope winding into the hills. The Nemazi sun blazed high in the sky. On the blanket, Grey was scarcely moving. Grasping the other end of the blanket, Vyasa breathed heavily.

  The Nemazi line trailed them at a distance of about three hundred metres. They could easily have closed the gap but appeared to have no interest in doing so, which supported Vyasa’s theory that they were merely observing. However, if Quinn and the others did not oblige them by dying quickly, their tactics might very well change.

  Quinn eased around a narrow cleft just in time to see Zothan disappear into the hillside. Dammit, why can’t he slow down?

  When Vyasa emerged from the gap, Quinn pointed. “That way.”

  Carrying Grey, Quinn and Vyasa struggled up the path towards the point where he had last seen Zothan.

  “Where did he go?” Vyasa asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Quinn replied. “He just seemed to vanish into the rock face.”

  “Shades can phase through solid objects.”

  Quinn stared up at the hillside. “Where could he have gone?”

  “What’s that?”

  Quinn peered where she was pointing. “I don’t see anything.”

  Carefully, she set down her burden and advanced seven more steps. “Here.”

  As he joined her, a dark fissure appeared, retreating into the rock. You had to be almost on top of it to see it clearly.

  “You think he went in there?” he asked.

  “I don’t see any other access points.”

  Quinn glanced over his shoulder. Having lost sight of their quarry, the Nemazi would no doubt be picking up the pace. They might appear around the cleft at any moment. He signalled Vyasa, and they retrieved the sheet and carried Grey to the opening.

  Quinn climbed into the crack. Normally, he wouldn’t have made it through the gap, but weeks of infrequent meals, strange foods, and scavenging had depleted his fat reserves. His ribs scraped agains
t the fissure’s sides as he squeezed through.

  He held out his hands, accepted the sheet from Vyasa, and set Grey down as if the Osei were a helpless infant. Vyasa folded her wings against her slim back, slipped through the opening, and took a position at Quinn’s side.

  The interior felt a good twenty degrees cooler than outside. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, his breathing slowed. A cave stretched back into the hillside some fifteen metres. Surrounding the entrance was a mass of dry vines, as thick as a man’s finger.

  “Wait here.” Without waiting for an answer, Quinn advanced into the cave. As he approached the back wall, he heard the unmistakable drip, drip of water.

  The sound appeared to be coming from behind the cave wall. The surface was rough and dry, with no opening. As he ran a hand along it, his foot slipped into a recess. He got on his hands and knees and explored the cavity. It was over a metre wide and extended beneath the wall.

  As he crept forward, his hand brushed something. He picked up the object and turned it over in the dim light. It was heavy for its size, with a large scalpel-like blade, but it was not a weapon. He had seen one before—a lacotah, a device the Nemazi used to make fire.

  How’d it get here? It looked identical to the one Zothan carried. Had he dropped it by accident? Everything he knew about Zothan made that seem highly unlikely. He had left it here deliberately, then. But why?

  “Vyasa,” he hissed.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Did you find something?”

  “Grab some of those vines and bring them here.”

  He heard the rustle and scrape of branches, reached back, and grasped a vine stem. It was dead and as dry as parchment. With the other hand, he scraped the lacotah on the stone floor.

  He had watched Zothan use the tool, but watching and doing were different prospects. A good minute passed before he had his first spark and several more before the vine sputtered into flame. He crawled into the hole and emerged into a smaller round chamber.

  The dripping was louder. He raised his makeshift firebrand. Rivulets of water trickled down the wall and gathered in a small pool.

  “In here,” he called. “Bring our Osei friend.”

  He turned slowly, illuminating every nook and cranny, banishing every shadow, but of Zothan there was no sign.

  ~

  “I don’t think we’ll see Zothan again,” Quinn said.

  Vyasa was spooning water into the cavity between Grey’s tentacles. She paused and shot Quinn a look of defiance. “He wouldn’t abandon us.”

  Quinn shook his head. “He told me before—Nemazi who are condemned as outcasts carry the sign of hokkah by having a claw amputated. They are not accepted into any other omesku. Alone, they face an uphill battle for survival. Most choose galatha-tamah—a form of ritual suicide.”

  “I can’t believe he would do that.”

  “He discarded his lacotah before transferring out. That would leave him with just the shazaan, his ritual blade.

  “What if you’re wrong? What if he simply located the Elinare sphere and went to check it was secure?”

  Quinn shook his head. “He’d have been back by now.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know that, thanks to me, he’s lost everything. He has no family and nowhere to go.”

  “Stop it, Quinn! You’re not responsible for what happened to him.”

  “Oh, but I am. If I hadn’t insisted on freeing the Shanata, he’d be fine. He paid the price for my hubris. And that’s not the worst of it. I effectively tore up our alliance. Durga will take the ship and its technology, leaving me nothing to bargain with. I’ll never secure the Nemazi’s help in combatting the Damise. I’ve condemned the entire Consensus as well as Earth and its colony worlds, including my own home.”

  Vyasa cupped her hands beneath the trickle of water. “Durga is a power-hungry manipulator. Do you honestly think he would have followed through with his promise to you?”

  “Maybe—maybe not. But I played right into his hands. I handed him the prize he wanted while giving him the excuse to renege on our part of the deal. He knows if I’m dead, I can’t very well enforce it.”

  “Zothan knows that too. Do you think, after everything we’ve been through, that he would just leave us to expire out here?”

  Quinn sighed. “All right, we’ll give him a day. By then, the Nemazi will surely have given up searching these hills and moved on. If they find us first, we’ll have no choice but to move. I’ll transfer us to the sphere.”

  “It’s too far without a transport stone,” she insisted. “With the residual effects of the Transformation, we could end up inside a time front or worse.”

  “I’ll do a series of smaller hops. That’ll reduce the risk.”

  “You’re forgetting your illness. The last time you used Shade abilities, your condition deteriorated badly. You barely survived.”

  “It’s less risky than attempting the journey on foot.”

  “Not for you.”

  “Leave me.” Grey’s hoarse whisper severed their argument like a blade stroke.

  Vyasa brushed the creature’s tentacles with her fingertips. “She’s delirious from the heat.”

  “You don’t understand. My mind is empty…”

  “She’s talking about the Osei Unity,” Quinn said. “Since the ship was destroyed, she can no longer commune with those of her own kind. Her mind can’t function.”

  “The silence…”

  Vyasa’s hands were restless in her lap. “Isn’t there anything we can do to help her?”

  “Not unless you know where we could locate a few dozen Osei…” Quinn frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe they don’t have to be actual flesh and blood.” Quinn closed his eyes. Keiza… Keiza, are you there?

  The cave and its meagre fire were gone. He sat on a grassy cliff top overlooking a grey sea decorated with whitecaps. A fishing smack bobbed up and down, its sails trimmed as it beat to windward. The scene could have been anywhere from Maine to the west coast of Ireland or beyond. He wore a nineteenth-century frock coat and black buckled shoes. Lying on the grass beside him in a white cotton dress and white bonnet was Keiza.

  She sat up and smiled. “Hello, Quinn. You seem in a tough spot.”

  “I am, and I need a favour.”

  “Anything I can do.”

  “I need you to get out of my head.”

  ~

  Keiza’s smile vanished, and her countenance fell. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

  “No, that’s not it. I have a friend who needs your help more than I. In fact, she’ll probably die without it.”

  The onshore wind ruffled her bonnet. “You’re referring to the Osei.”

  “That’s right. If you can create scenarios of her past experiences when she was connected to the Unity, then that might be enough to fill the void threatening to destroy her sanity.”

  “The scenarios we build are generally short-lived, Quinn. I’m not sure I could create one that would be sufficiently sustainable.”

  “All I’m asking is that you try your best.”

  She drew her legs up under herself and leaned closer. “And what of the risk to you?”

  “You’re talking about Rahada.”

  “You’ve seen what she is capable of. My presence is a reminder of Elinare values. Take that away, and I’m not sure what would happen. You could expire in one of her re-creations.”

  “Well, if I don’t do something, Grey will die for certain. She might well be the last of her race. And I owe her. The Osei gave me hope when I was at the point of despair. It’s time for me to return the favour.”

  She stared at the boat as it battled the swells. “If you order me to leave, then by the Elinare code I cannot refuse. But if I do not stay, I cannot protect you.”

  “I understand,” Quinn said. “But the final showdown between Rahada and me has to come at some point, and I would rather you didn’t get caught
in the crossfire. Right now, I’m asking you to do everything you can to keep my friend alive.”

  “Before I go, there’s something I have to show you.”

  “All right.”

  The cliff top was gone. He stood in a room tinged with green emergency lighting and watched images playing over the surface of a huge globe.

  A group of Farish, Vil-gar’s people, marched past a line of open cylinders, their heads hanging. They were an eclectic mix—old and young, large and small, the last of their race.

  Flanking them were armoured individuals holding ring-shaped devices that Quinn assumed were weapons of some type. Suddenly, they grabbed one of the smaller creatures, forced him into a cylinder, and sealed it. Green liquid poured in from the top and bottom. The creature struggled and cried out inaudibly as the armoured Farish sought to quell the dissenters with threats and backhands.

  As the fluid filled the chamber, the creature’s eyes closed, his movements ceased, and he floated, lifeless. The cylinder sprouted tubes that pierced his back and neck.

  Quinn tasted bile in his throat. “Why are you showing me this?”

  Keiza’s voice sounded in his mind. “This is what you witnessed in the Farish facility, is it not?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Do you see the symbols at the bottom left?”

  “What of it?”

  “They are a time index. Now watch.”

  The scene shifted again. He was back in the room where they had first discovered the avatron. The life-support machine lay open, with Vil-gar’s desiccated form inside, grey and silent.

  “Do you see the small readout at the base on the lower left? The symbols at the bottom are also a time index. They indicate when Vil-gar was first sealed within the avatron.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t see—”

  “This time index is well before the images you watched were recorded.”

  “What’s that supposed to prove?”

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. The Farish clearly knew their civilization was coming to an end and that a new race was building over them. Faced with the imminent end of their kind, some may have grown desperate. Whether they gave their lives in a grand and noble gesture to preserve within Vil-gar the knowledge that their race had accumulated or whether they were compelled to make that sacrifice, we will probably never know. But I invite you to consider the possibility that Vil-gar was put to sleep with no knowledge of what would happen to his people.”