The Crucible

by Mark Whiteway

  “Thank you, Quinn. We will be watchful.”

  “There’s something else. I believe I now have a means of specifically targeting and destroying the AI. A friend of mine is working out the details, but if it comes off, I think we should alter our focus from destroying AI ships to reconverting them to our side.”

  “You think that is possible?”

  “I do. My guess is that the Damise will put the AI-controlled vessels in the vanguard as cannon fodder. That will be their undoing. The more ships we reconvert, the more the numbers will shift in our favour. I’m not sure about recovery times, but if a large number of the reconverted ships become operational, we could really turn the tide.

  “I suggest we organise the Shades into teams of two. Smaller Shade craft can accommodate one or two teams. A larger number can operate from the Shasallah. We match course and speed under stealth, transfer over, introduce the surge program, and transfer back. The entire process should take seconds. It’ll spread like wildfire through their ranks.

  “Sooner or later, the enemy will realise what we’re up to. My guess is that, at that point, they’ll throw everything they’ve got at the Shasallah. Then the Fixed Race ships will have a single purpose: protect the Shasallah at all costs.

  “If we can make it as far as the Damise ships, we can potentially wipe out the so-called invincibles with their AI augmentation. I’m hoping that’ll be enough to cause a rout.”

  Zothan’s eyes shone like amber. “It is a bold plan, Quinn. And it strengthens the Shade’s position.”

  “Position? What are you talking about?”

  “Syn-moon of the Kimn has become supreme commander of the fleet by default. She has the support of the Cethlan, though some say it is because she has reached a private agreement with them over the division of Pann’s resources. Whether the rumour is true or not, the Shade races are rife with discontent. Some are saying they will not accept the orders of Fixed Race palatha. Now, with your return, we have a viable alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  “You should command the fleet.”

  “What, me? No way!”

  “You are the Shanata Tamah. You have brought us the means to destroy the AI, and you have just demonstrated that you have a viable plan to achieve victory. You must lead us.”

  Quinn extended a forefinger at Zothan. “No, not a chance.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Look, we just agreed that the Nemazi and the Omaka have to put aside their differences with the Yeshai. Well, this is no different. The hatred and distrust between the Shades and the Fixed Races has been going on for millennia, and you and I both know it’s based on a lie because the Fixed Races never caused the Transformation in the first place. It has to stop—right here, right now. Tell them the Shanata Tamah says so.”

  “What you ask… is difficult.”

  “You mean it’s difficult to put aside centuries of prejudice and resentment? You don’t have to tell me—I’m Irish. But it has to start somewhere. If it’ll make it any easier, remind them that I’m Shade and that every able-bodied Shade has to be involved in reconverting those ships if this is going to work.”

  “Your lesions appear to have reduced.”

  “I’ve had some treatment for the sickness. I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I have just one further request.”

  “Name it.”

  “I would like to join your infiltration team.”

  Quinn grinned. “That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

  ~

  A huge concave projection covering one wall of the Shasallah’s control area showed a view of space dotted with dozens of tiny lights and explosions.

  It’s begun.

  In a far corner, Conor was propping up a wall, with strict instructions to stay quiet. Quinn’s first instinct had been to send him to wait in some deep, dark hold, but the boy had a right to see what was happening. Besides, Quinn drew strength from having him in plain sight.

  Syn-moon’s strong, clear voice rang out. “Here they come! All Shade vessels to stealth mode. All other ships form up. Shasallah, target Shanata vessel at grid three by five by nine. Match course and speed. Nemazi Team One, prepare to transfer.”

  As half of Nemazi Team One, Quinn folded the tesseract in his mind and prepared to project a four-space tunnel. A tiny knot of pain erupted in the centre of his forehead, but it was bearable.

  Vil-gar’s voice sounded in his head. “Greetings!”

  “Little busy right now,” Quinn said under his breath. “What do you want?”

  “What do you think of my delivery system?”

  “I think you had me propose it to everyone else just to make me look like an idiot.”

  “Team One, transfer!” Syn-moon cried.

  Quinn extended the tunnel and stepped over to the Shanata vessel.

  “Nonsense!” Vil-gar said. “It’s the one weapon skill possessed by all Shades, and it’s easy and quick to manufacture.”

  “I’m no Robin Hood.”

  “You don’t have to be. Just fire anywhere into the mass. The AI will absorb the new material, including the chip with the surge program. The chip will activate and—”

  A dark shape reared in front of him. Quinn unslung his bow, nocked an arrow, and sent it flying into the AI. To his side, Zothan did likewise. Then, without waiting for it to crumble to ash, they both turned and stepped back onto the Shasallah. Quinn shouldered his bow. That was for Aurek.

  “Target Manacazi vessel at grid three by seven by five,” Syn-moon called. “Team Two, prepare.”

  Quinn glanced at the smaller tactical display. The mass of converted AI ships filled the centre, just as he had predicted, while the Damise vessels lingered at the rear, watching the progress of the engagement.

  “One Cethlan vessel destroyed,” reported a female Kimn on one of the upper-level consoles. “A second has engine damage. It’s manoeuvring with difficulty.”

  “We can’t afford to start losing ships this early!” growled the Badhati standing next to Syn-moon.

  “Divert one of the Cethlan vessels to assist the surviving ship with repairs,” Syn-moon said. “And remind them again if they get targeted by a chuthah to neutralise it with a zahar.”

  “Two AI ships on parallel course at grid six by four by three,” another voice reported. “Osei configuration.”

  “Teams One and Four prepare,” Syn-moon said.

  Osei. Reviving them could provide a real Unity for Grey, replacing Keiza’s virtual environment. Quinn stared at the swirling vortex and prepared to cross the gap between ships in a single step.

  “Course and speed matched,” a voice reported.

  “Teams One and Four, go!” Syn-moon cried.

  Quinn stepped onto the Osei vessel’s control area. In the darkness beneath the starry dome, he could see three Osei shapes. They looked as if they were covered with an oil slick. Zothan was on the opposite walkway, bow drawn, clearly thinking the same thought: Can’t shoot the Osei. Yet every second they lingered exposed them and the Shasallah to danger.

  The Osei advanced towards them.

  Zothan leapt from the walkway and vanished. Moments later, he reappeared next to Quinn. “It’s done. Move!”

  Quinn reopened his four-space tunnel and stepped back to the Shasallah.

  “You took your time,” Syn-moon said. “What happened over there?”

  “Nothing,” Zothan said. “Target achieved.”

  Syn-moon looked from Zothan to Quinn and back as if she was about to interrogate them further, but a voice at one of the forward consoles spoke up.

  “Syn-moon. The defender-class Shanata vessel we first cleansed… It’s fired a chuthah.”

  “At us?” Syn-moon demanded.

  “No, at another AI ship. It’s coming about… firing again. Its crew must have revived!”

  A ragged cheer went up from the entire control area.

  Zothan grasped Quinn by a shoulder. “It’s working, Quinn! Your plan is workin
g. Now we have a chance!”

  ~

  Three hours into the battle, the scene was chaotic. The Shasallah’s display showed ships venting atmosphere, bright flashes, and hulks burning in space. The tactical display suggested that the Damise/Agantzane alliance fleet was down to less than half its original number of ships, but the Free Alliance had not fared much better, with the Cethlan suffering the bulk of the losses. Had it not been for the hundreds of reconverted crews switching sides, they would already have been wiped out.

  Exhaustion haunted the faces of the Shasallah’s crew. Quinn had lost count of the number of ships he had helped to reconvert. His actions felt automated, as if he were a mindless puppet with someone pulling his strings.

  By contrast, Syn-moon’s energy appeared boundless. She shouted and cajoled and rallied her crew through every engagement.

  Teams Two and Four materialised at the staging area just as the Shasallah powered away from the latest target vessel.

  Syn-moon pointed at a large blip on the tactical display. “Isn’t that—”

  “One of the Korradan stations,” Grey finished from across the central table. “AI-controlled. Thousands aboard.”

  “Get us alongside. All teams, prepare for transfer.”

  Quinn and Zothan exchanged a glance. The surge program was designed to corrupt itself after a short while to prevent the AI from adapting. The only chance of purging the entire station would be to generate multiple spawn points. The prize was huge, but with all four teams materialising into unknown hazards, so was the risk.

  “Team One, target the hub. Team Two, the trade deck. Teams Three and Four, the outer ring. Timing will be critical. Get in and get out. Clear?”

  Seven Nemazi and Quinn nodded.

  “We’re adjacent to the docking area,” the Badhati announced.

  “All teams, go!” Syn-moon said.

  Quinn stepped onto the station’s circular control section. Fixed screens, normally used for monitoring the station’s activity, were dark or filled with white noise. On the central podium stood a huge black form with extensions that might once have been claws and mandibles. The Korradan meister, no doubt. AI slicks oozed over the monitors governing navigation, propulsion, weapons, and life support.

  Quinn loosed an arrow into the nearest slick. Zothan pulled back his bow and struck a point on the far side of the section, scoring a bull’s-eye on the thickest mass. Together, they stepped back onto the Shasallah.

  “Team One,” someone announced.

  Team Two had already returned. Those Nemazi stood with spindly arms and legs crooked, as if ready to go again. Twin swirls of smoke heralded the return of a third team.

  “Team Four.”

  Seconds stretched by.

  “Where’s Team Three?” Syn-moon demanded.

  “I shall investigate,” Zothan said, black smoke whirling around his claw.

  Syn-moon raised a hand. “Hold. We cannot risk another team.”

  “Commander—” Zothan began.

  Boom! The Shasallah was rocked by a massive detonation. Quinn struggled to stay upright. He glanced over to the corner, where Conor lay sprawled on the floor, clutching his forehead. Quinn staggered over to him.

  Two more blasts shook the walls. Lights in the control area went out then sputtered on again.

  “Station has opened fire,” the Badhati said. “Chuthahs, widespread pattern.”

  They can’t see us, but they can guess where we might be.

  “Get us out of here!” Syn-moon yelled.

  The Shasallah’s engines hummed, and the explosive sounds fell away.

  “Damage!”

  “Hull breaches in three sections,” Grey trilled. “Fire on deck two. Automatic suppression systems are in effect, and…”

  “And what?” Syn-moon prompted.

  “Stealth array has been completely destroyed.”

  Despair swept through the control section a split second before Syn-moon’s voice dispelled it.

  “Get repair teams on those breaches. Signal all remaining vessels, including any reconverted ships capable of responding. Assemble at these coordinates. We’re going to punch our way through!”

  ~

  At the control area’s central table, Syn-moon was the eye in a storm of dissent.

  “This is madness!” The Badhati said. “There are still thousands of AI-controlled ships out there.”

  “The Korradan station has massive firepower,” Syn-moon replied. “Once it reconverts, it should be able to help hold them off.”

  “There’s no guarantee of that,” a dark Kimn female chimed in. “We lost one of our teams over there. There’s no way to know if they achieved their mission.”

  “She’s right,” a Shanata said. “If we are annihilated, then all is lost. We must withdraw now.”

  Syn-moon looked from one to the other. “The only ships that matter are the Damise’s invincibles. If we can clear a path to those, we have the means to destroy them. I believe when they see that, the Agantzane and the remaining Damise will turn and run.”

  A sullen silence hung in the air.

  “You do not have the authority to refuse my orders. You can remove me as commander by a majority, in which case I will stand down.”

  Quinn’s flesh crawled. The Nemazi were all looking at him. They’re expecting me to claim the position. He walked slowly to the central table and took a deep breath. “The Shades will take orders from Syn-moon and no other.”

  The opposition melted away. Syn-moon rewarded him with the faintest of smiles, and he responded with a nod.

  “All right,” she said. “We will adopt a wedge formation. Shades will occupy the centre, along with the Shasallah. All other ships will take the leading edge. We use weapons or conversion, whatever we need to clear a path. But we go forwards. Only forwards.”

  “Fleet is responding,” Grey said. “Moving into position.”

  Syn-moon checked the tactical display and nodded. “All ships, calling all ships. Engines to maximum.”

  ~

  “Incoming!”

  Four chuthahs, spinning and white hot with plasmic energy, emerged from the bows of four Shanata vessels and headed straight for the ragtag band of free and reconverted craft serving as shields for the Shasallah and smaller Shade craft.

  The shield vessels countered with zahars, dark crackling orbs designed to leach energy away into the empty neighbour universe. Three zahars impacted, snuffing out their target chuthahs like candles. The fourth missed and turned to chase but was too late. The chuthah impacted a reconverted Ferike merchant ship amidships, blowing it apart in an orange flash.

  “Five of our lead ships destroyed,” one of the Kimn reported. “Five remain.”

  “Hold position,” Syn-moon said under her breath. “Hold position.”

  Quinn wasn’t sure whether that was an order or a prayer.

  A Badhati cruiser fired a volley of three more chuthahs at the wedge.

  “Tell them two zahars for each target!” she shouted. “I don’t care if our launchers run dry. I won’t lose any more ships!”

  The zahars smothered and extinguished the three balls of white fire.

  Quinn’s vision shifted. He was sitting in a confined space with a set of several windows in front and on either side, displaying a cloudy sky. Ahead, an ancient aircraft with a black cross on each wing executed a sharp turn. The unmistakable putter of a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine filled his ears. A Spitfire… I’m in a Spitfire…

  Vil-gar’s voice crackled in his headphones. “Tallyho!”

  ~

  “What are you doing?” Quinn yelled.

  “It’s July 1940,” Vil-gar said. “We are One Three Four squadron, Royal Air Force. This little shindig is called the Battle of Britain. We’re trying to prevent the invasion of our little island. The German Luftwaffe outnumber us three to one.”

  “I’m more interested in what’s happening in the real world.”

  “You’ve taken over manoeuvring and w
eapons control on the Shasallah.”

  “And Syn-moon permitted that?”

  “She trusts you.”

  But she doesn’t necessarily trust you. “Why now?”

  “Look,” Vil-gar said. “Eleven o’clock.”

  Quinn stared at the patch of sky Vil-gar had indicated. Three formations of Heinkel 111s were headed straight for his position. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just relax and let it come to you.”

  One feature of Elinare scenarios had always been that skills were gifted to him for the duration of the simulation. Whether that was riding a horse or driving an antique truck, he instinctively knew what to do as if the ability were a part of him.

  He gazed at the bewildering array of dials in the Spitfire’s cockpit and fought down momentary panic. Then calmness settled over him as he ran through them in sequence. Left to right—air-speed indicator, artificial horizon, rate-of-climb indicator; directly beneath—altimeter, gyro, turn-and-bank indicator; far left—oxygen-supply gauge and elevator trim; far right—tachometer, boost pressure, temperature and fuel gauges.

  In the real world, Vil-gar would be guiding his movements.

  All right, let’s do this.

  He opened up the throttle and pulled back on the control yoke. The Merlin engine roared, and the airplane climbed.

  ~

  Quinn’s Spitfire emerged from a thick cloud and dived at the nearest Heinkel. Banking to evade the dorsal gunner, he bore down and strafed the bomber’s port wing. A thin line of smoke trailed from its engine. He let forth another burst. The engine erupted in flame, and the aircraft began losing height.

  “Woo-hoo!”

  Quinn ignored the voice in his headphones and targeted the next aircraft in the box formation. He glimpsed a second Spitfire above, beginning its attack run. Without apparent fighter escort, the bombers were fish in a barrel, not unlike the Damise’s AI-controlled ships. He hoped his success in this simulation was being reflected in the conflict being played out near Ximun’s world.