Quinn shuddered and turned to Zothan. “We have to follow. Can you transfer us past the breach?”
Zothan nodded. Dark smoke began spiralling in front of him.
The rest of the horde gazed after the retreating dolin. They appeared to have lost interest in the human and the Nemazi.
The smoke thickened, Zothan beckoned, and Quinn followed him into the vortex. The four-space tunnel whirled about them before depositing them in bright sunlight.
Quinn started. Kimn vehicles ringed the breach, and delta-shaped Kimn craft hovered overhead. The dolin emerged from the opening, and the orange beam from its single functioning eye swept the Kimn weaponry. No doubt the construct could survive anything the Kimn could throw at it, but Conor was a different matter. Exposed on the crossbeam, he would surely not survive a firefight. I have to do something
“Come on,” Quinn said. He braced himself for the Nemazi’s objection, but Zothan followed in silence.
Marching to the centre of the space, Quinn faced the dolin. “Release my son.”
The dolin regarded him like an elephant noticing a squeaking mouse. “I cannot. He called to me. His survival is paramount.”
Called to me? Quinn shook his head. “Look, if you take on the Kimn, he will perish in the crossfire.”
“That would be contrary to my primary instruction.”
“Then release him to me.”
The dolin stared a moment longer before setting down the crossbeam. Zothan knelt beside Conor, severing the bonds with his claws. Conor’s eyes remained closed, but his chest gently rose and fell. His face was covered in grime, and dark patches stained his midriff.
A memory surfaced. Quinn lay in an antiseptic room surrounded by winking machines. The Medyr. Their medical knowledge rivalled even that of the Agantzane. If anyone could save Conor, they could. Quinn recoiled at the idea of going to Ga’zaan, cap in hand, but Conor’s life was more important than his personal discomfort.
The side of one of the tracked vehicles slid open, and a silver-robed female Kimn climbed down, followed by four horned males clad in close-fitting black garments. Spiral tubes that Quinn took to be side arms hung from their belts.
Quinn dropped to his haunches beside Zothan. “Can you get him to the Medyr for treatment?”
The Nemazi nodded. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” Quinn glanced over his shoulder at the approaching Kimn. “Go quickly.”
Zothan swept the boy into his arms and stood. A dark vortex appeared in midair. The Kimn drew their weapons, but Zothan had already stepped into the swirling smoke. As the last few wisps faded, the lead female signalled the others with the flat of her hand, and they lowered their weapons. Her sleek muzzle and striped face gave her an almost aristocratic air.
“I am called Syn-moon,” she said.
Quinn exhaled slowly, letting the tension flow out of him. “My son spoke of you.”
“He is of my cushatra,” she replied.
Conor said she viewed him as a part of her family. Quinn felt like demanding to know what lay behind her statement, but he buried his curiosity. “The Nemazi is transferring him to where he can receive medical attention.”
“And where is that?” Syn-moon asked.
“The Medyr.”
“You will regret that choice.”
Quinn took it as a warning rather than a threat. “All I care about is Conor’s welfare.”
Syn-moon met his gaze. “His life means as much to me as it does to you. Yet I would not leave him in their hands.”
Quinn felt his hackles rise. I’m his father. What are you? He bit his lip. Now was not the time. If he was going to survive and get off this world, he would have to find some way of getting the various factions to cooperate.
The horde spilled through the breach. Quinn spotted Druwyn and beckoned. The creature started forwards.
“What are you doing?” Syn-moon demanded.
“The lower-level races have the right to be represented in any negotiation,” he replied. Under the horde’s eclectic structure, the Anghard asserted seniority, but Quinn wasn’t about to grant them any favours after what they had done to Conor. If it were not for the suggestion that the boy had been the aggressor, Quinn would have just as soon seen them destroyed.
Druwyn took up a position on Quinn’s flank. Impressive as he was, with his supple armour and powerful musculature, he was barely half the dolin’s height. Vil-gar’s projection sphere floated a little way off, though the cowardly creature didn’t appear. Probably wants to record the fulfilment of his doom-laden prediction.
“I want you to let these people go,” Quinn began.
Syn-moon shook her head. “My orders are to confine the lower-race invaders to the Esrach’s ground level.”
“So you can kill one in five, plus me and Conor.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Sisterhood will allow them to return to the lower levels—after the culling. You are also to carry out sentence of death against Conor and me.”
Syn-moon’s eyes widened. “How do you know this?”
“The horde chose me to represent them in negotiations with the Sisterhood. Only it wasn’t a negotiation—more like a dictation of the terms of surrender.”
Syn-moon darkened. “We are fighting for our survival.”
Quinn felt as if he were standing in the eye of a tornado. One wrong move and storm winds would rip them all to shreds. “You’re condemning yourselves to oblivion.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Agantzane have joined forces with the Damise,” Quinn said. “Their return is imminent. The rogue AI that’s afflicted their allies will soon be turned against any who oppose their absolute authority.”
“The Sisterhood told you this?”
“No, the Agantzane did. I spoke with them at ground level. Unfortunately, the Sisterhood didn’t believe me.”
“Did you present any proof?”
“I had none, but I do now.” Quinn jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The dolin. It contains a record of what we discovered at ground level, including Conor’s second reanimate, who released the biotoxin. Its memory will also show that I was not the one who programmed it. The evidence should be enough to exonerate us both and confirm the truth about the Agantzane.”
Syn-moon’s features worked, suggesting an inner battle. “I have no means of extracting the dolin’s memory. My duty is to hold you here until your story can be corroborated.”
A flashing light bleeped on Syn-moon’s wrist.
“Looks like you have a message,” Quinn said. “My guess is the Sisterhood are about to give you your final orders.”
“I cannot disobey them.”
Quinn offered a wry smile. “You cannot disobey orders you have not received.”
The bleeping continued, insistent. Syn-moon unbuckled the wrist device, let it drop to the ground, and crunched it beneath her boot. The device fell silent.
“The Sisterhood will deliver their message by other means,” she said. “I have only delayed the inevitable.”
“Then let me suggest a better alternative.” Quinn gazed up at Druwyn. “If there is no cull, and if the Kimn agree to your core demand, that all the races of Pann have the right to a place in the sun, will the horde agree to return to the lower levels in peace, for now at least?”
Druwyn stared at him from beneath heavy brows. “They will say they cannot trust sun-stealers.”
“The Kimn are creatures of honour. To them, breaking their word is tantamount to betraying family. If they consent, then you may be certain they’ll follow through.”
Syn-moon shook her head. “The Sisterhood would never accept your proposal.”
Quinn turned his attention to her, and his smile returned. “Oh, I think they will once you explain it to them. You see, the agreement will specify that the uppermost level be apportioned according to each race’s population.”
Syn-moon’s brow furrowed. “That would give the
Kimn an area far greater than the enclaves.”
“Correct,” Quinn said. “It would also ensure that no one could ever push you off this world.”
“The Medyr would never agree.”
“They won’t be happy about it,” Quinn said, relishing the thought. “They’ll probably be furious. But if they don’t accede, then every race on Pann will be united against them. They’ll be facing attack from both the enclaves and the lower levels.”
“That may not be enough,” Syn-moon said grimly.
“You’ll have two additional resources.” Quinn indicated the dolin with a sweep of his hand.
“I thought you said you didn’t control it.”
“I don’t, but the Medyr don’t know that. I’m betting even the suggestion that the dolin might be used against them will be enough to bring them scurrying to the table. And there’s something else.” Quinn addressed the tiny sphere that bobbed over their gathering. “Vil-gar!”
The sphere did not react. Quinn allowed a hint of menace to creep into his voice. “I’m waiting.”
An image flickered, and the dwarf-sized creature appeared before him.
This is Vil-gar,” Quinn announced. “Or more accurately, his remote interface.”
Syn-moon swept her gaze over him. “I do not recognise your species.”
Vil-gar glanced nervously at Quinn before continuing. “My people are the Farish. I am from what you would call Pann’s third level.”
“Impossible!” Syn-moon said. “That level was buried thousands of years ago.”
“I am the last of my kind,” Vil-gar said. “My people sacrificed themselves to preserve me.”
It was a lie. Quinn had viewed the archive recording that proved his people’s sacrifice was anything but voluntary. However, now was not the time to confront him.
“Vil-gar claims to have a higher intellect than any other living being,” Quinn said. “He can help you formulate a strategy that is certain of success.”
“Is this true?” Syn-moon asked.
Vil-gar rose to full height. “My computational prowess is unmatched.”
Syn-moon turned to Quinn. “You would be willing to give him to us?”
Quinn thought of the smug, superior attitude and the continual prophecies of doom and tried to look pained. “We’ll manage somehow.”
He felt a surge of satisfaction. Securing a future for the Kimn went some way towards redressing his mistake over carrying the biotoxin. Ga’zaan had planned to decimate the Kimn, turn the lower races against the enclaves, and then sit on the sidelines whilst his enemies destroyed one another. That plan was about to blow up in his face. Getting shot of Vil-gar and the Agantzane-programmed dolin would be icing on the cake.
Syn-moon crossed her arms. “And what do you ask in return for these gifts, Human Quinn?”
“The horde will return to the lower levels while the Medyr patch up Conor. As soon as he’s well enough to travel, I’ll need a pilot and the fastest ship you have. Call it an extended loan.”
“You’re going after the Agantzane,” Syn-moon said.
“That’s right. I have to stop them and the Damise from swallowing the Consensus as well as Earth and its colony worlds.”
“How do you intend to do that?”
Quinn smiled. “I have one or two ideas. After we’re gone, you can deliver your joint ultimatum.”
Druwyn nodded. “Your plan is bold enough to succeed, Quinn. I will urge the lower races to accept.”
“And I will present your proposal to the Sisterhood,” Syn-moon added. “We cannot keep giving ground to the Medyr. The Sisterhood has learned to be suspicious, but I think I can persuade my people that this alliance offers our best chance of survival.”
“One more thing,” Quinn said. “When the time comes, I may call on the united races of Pann to help resist the tide that’s about to sweep through the Consensus. Our only chance may be to—”
The ground rumbled beneath his boots like an aftershock. Quinn whirled, but couldn’t see the cause.
“Quinn.” Druwyn pointed over the close-packed roofs.
Vessels, large and small, darkened the sky like locusts. Their thrumming filled the air.
“The Medyr,” Syn-moon announced. “Apparently they have decided to take matters into their own hands.”
“I warned you!” Vil-gar trilled. “I warned you! My calculations are unassailable. All of the subsets from this series of events curve into one another. You cannot escape!”
~
Standing amid swathes of drifting smoke, Quinn tried to orient himself. Weapons fire-flashed and boomed all around. The only available cover lay back the way he had come—through the dolin-sized hole in the Esrach’s outer wall and into what remained of the great hall. Only he was no longer certain in which direction that was.
With the appearance of the Medyran fleet, Syn-moon had turned and run for the Kimn lines. Druwyn had nodded to him before rejoining the horde as they surged past. Quinn searched for Vil-gar, but the dwarf-sized Farish had withdrawn, no doubt to the confines of his projection sphere. Quinn felt like a bride abandoned at the altar.
The bombardment began soon after. Quinn felt primeval panic surge within him and had to resist the urge to flee blindly. Had the Medyr gotten wind of the new accord between their enemies? No, it would have been impossible to muster such a large force mere seconds after his brokering the agreement.
A ragged cohort of Anghard emerged from the smoke. Staring straight ahead, they passed without acknowledging him and disappeared into the haze. A lone Cethlan slithered towards him, octopus-like arms waving in the air as if in distress. Green fluid that he took to be blood stained the dome that appeared to be its head.
As he started towards the creature, a concussive force struck him in the back, pitching him forward. He sprawled headlong, his knee and the side of his face bearing the brunt of the fall. The flash of agony faded to a dull ache. An avalanche of detonations thundered around him. He covered his head as dust and debris rained down.
He lay unmoving long after the fallout had ceased. Finally, he raised his head. Dust fell from his hair and stung his eyes. He spotted amorphous shapes in the murk, but couldn’t make out if they were metal or flesh. A charnel house stench mingled with the acrid smoke.
Low thrumming filled his ears. He shook his head, convinced it was an after-effect of the explosions, but the sound intensified. He twisted around. A spinning tetrahedron was descending towards him. As it settled to the ground, one side grew transparent, and a Kimn in a blue robe stepped out. He recognised the smaller horns identifying her as female. Her facial fur was white, with a thin, dark stripe on either side of her muzzle.
She knelt beside him, a vision of order in a nightmare of chaos. “You are Quinn.”
“That’s me,” he said, hauling himself up and wincing from the effort.
“I am Ka-layne. Syn-moon sent me to find you. You must come with me now.”
Quinn stared at the smoke-wreathed desolation. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
~
As the wall behind him grew opaque, Quinn eased himself to the floor of the empty white tetrahedron and stared at nothing. His damaged knee was starting to swell, but he barely registered the pain. His mind’s eye still saw the scene of death and destruction.
Gradually, he became aware of Ka-layne kneeling beside him once more. She ran a flickering handheld device over the length of his body.
He raised a palm. “Careful. Don’t touch me.”
“I am aware of the talent bestowed on you by the Agantzane,” she replied, engrossed in her task.
Quinn would hardly have called it a talent.
“You appear uninjured,” she added.
His knee, his face, and his back argued with that diagnosis, but he was too tired and despondent to give them voice.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, not really caring to know the answer.
“Your tracer chip,” she replied.
Everyon
e who entered the enclave was implanted with a chip. The flash-mask he had used identified him as a Nemazi named “Smith,” but the Kimn had uncovered his little deception.
“Syn-moon was concerned for your safety,” she went on. “My rank is dash-ine—a healer of the Kimn. Your race is unfamiliar, but I will care for you as best as I can.”
Conor was now in Medyran hands. Quinn had sent him because the Medyr were supposed to offer the most advanced medical care. Now, the boy was a hostage, in effect.
“Should’ve entrusted him to you,” Quinn muttered.
She glanced up from the device and fixed him with a quizzical stare.
He shook his head. “Never mind. Look, I appreciate the rescue, but there must be far more deserving cases.”
“Deserving?”
“Yes. You know, more serious injuries.”
Her brows drew together, and her lips pursed as if he had just suggested something improper. “I am assigned to you.”
Her medical methodology did not appear to embrace the concept of triage.
He decided to try a different tack. “I wonder what’s going on out there?”
Ka-layne waved a hand. Quinn gasped as the walls and floor grew transparent.
He’d seen pictures of the glass bridge over Shiniuzhai Canyon in China’s Hunan Province on Earth. Some who attempted to cross were reduced to a crawl. Others had to be dragged to the other side. Quinn fought down vertigo and surveyed the scene below.
Patchy smoke drifted over what was now a battlefield. Where the smoke thinned, he spotted burning vehicles and scattered bodies. Loose groups of creatures moved among them. A shell launched from one of the remaining Anghard carriages trailed a jagged ribbon of fire before bursting directly in the path of a delta-shaped Medyran vessel. The ship emerged from the flames, undamaged.
Quinn recalled the Cethlan ships flying above the horde during his initial encounter. Where were those craft now? Where was the Kimn aerial support for that matter? The Medyr appeared to have total mastery of the skies.
The Arc of the Universe Page 8
