“What you are proposing is difficult, Quinn,” Zothan said. “I am not sure it can be accomplished safely.”
Quinn raised his palms. “I realise there’s risk, but we also have an opportunity here. From the nature of the information she’s gleaned so far, I don’t believe the Damise are aware of her presence. If we can strengthen her connection while keeping it covert, we might pick up vital intel.”
Rahada pursed her lips. Quinn was grateful she had dispensed with the traditional Shanata head covering, as it enabled him to assess her mood. “Have you consulted the Elinare about this?”
“I have.” Quinn had spoken with Keiza, so his answer was at least partly truthful.
“What was their reaction?”
“They… have yet to give me an answer.”
Rahada’s eyes strayed towards Vyasa. “She doesn’t look well. Do you believe she’s up to the task?”
Quinn took a deep breath. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m going to accompany her.”
Rahada and Zothan exchanged a glance.
“I am not sure you comprehend the technology,” Zothan said. “Vyasa is a reanimate. Her connection to the Damise operates via the implant they inserted in her. You have no such device.”
“No, but Conor does.”
All eyes turned towards Conor.
The boy stared at his father with wide-eyed innocence. “Dad?”
“As I understand it, his implant no longer functions. I want it placed within me and reactivated.”
“Out of the question!” Rahada said. “Your role in negotiating with the Elinare is crucial. We cannot risk losing you.”
“We may need to readjust our view on that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Qan-ho-nah are too wrapped up in their hole-in-the-universe problem. I don’t think they will agree to help us.”
“They told you that?” Rahada asked.
“Not directly, no.”
“So you’re giving up?”
“I didn’t say that. I just think we need a plan B.”
“A functioning implant is designed to resist tampering,” Zothan said. “It cannot be removed without extreme risk to the host. However, Conor’s implant is dormant. I believe I can extract it safely.”
Vyasa rounded on him. “You’re going along with this?”
“The Agantzane created reanimate Conor,” Zothan rasped. “The Damise never established an uplink to his implant, so they should be unaware of its existence. If I install adequate buffering, I believe the risk to Quinn would be minimal. However…”
“What?” Quinn prompted.
“I am engineering division. I have the skills but not the tools. Will the Elinare agree to provide what I need?”
Quinn’s eyes hardened to points. “They’d better.”
~
Quinn lay on the slab in his chamber, closed his eyes, and awoke to fire and smoke. The whine and thud of bombing assaulted his eardrums.
Not again! He coughed, waved away the smoke, and peered forwards. A grey landscape of pulverised masonry curved upwards. As he climbed through the thinning haze, the sounds of bombing faded, to be replaced by a siren’s plaintive wail. He emerged at street level and was confronted by a smashed sign that read …A-N-K. Bank. She’s brought me back here to witness the carnage after the bomb dropped.
He surveyed the smouldering crater. Beneath the rubble, one hundred eleven people lay dead. Not people… simulations. No one in this twisted scenario was real. No one except Keiza and me. A cord inside him snapped. She had dug around in his head once too often.
“Keiza!”
Around him, the once-proud edifices of London’s financial district lay in ruins.
“Keiza, we don’t have time for this!”
The only answer was a clanging bell. An ancient fire engine emerged into the intersection, screeching to a halt before the newly formed crater. Firemen scurried from the vehicle, dragging hoses.
Quinn trotted towards them. “Hey!”
They ignored him.
Marching towards the nearest, Quinn grabbed him by a shoulder and spun him around. “Hey!”
The firefighter stared straight ahead, adjusted his hose, and headed into the smoke-filled crater.
Dust-covered people emerged from the surrounding buildings and shuffled forward like spectres. He faced down a balding man, who met his gaze with a glassy stare. What the…?
He yelled into the night. “Keiza! If you’re not going to speak to me, then what am I doing here?”
“You think you can prevent this disaster?”
He whirled. Keiza was standing before him, dressed in filthy rags, her hair matted.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I’m damn well going to give it a try. Are you going to help me?”
Keiza pushed her fingers through her hair, releasing a shower of dust. “Vyasa believes in you. So does Conor.”
Quinn swallowed. “I know that.”
“Are you willing to sacrifice them?”
Her question felt like a sword thrust in his gut. He scrabbled to recover. “Zothan has assured me he can extract the implant safely from Conor. As for Vyasa, that’s why I’m accompanying her. I’ll keep her grounded and sever the link at the first sign of trouble. But all that can only happen if you let us have the instruments we need.”
Her grey face contorted. “You don’t understand.”
Quinn read pity in her expression and softened his tone. “Look, I trust Zothan. If he says he can perform the transfer safely, then I believe him. I’ve asked Vyasa, and she’s willing to give it a go. If we’re successful, it could mean your people’s salvation. You’d be instantly redeemed in their eyes.”
She shook her head. “You still don’t understand.”
Firemen emerged from dust clouds, some supporting the walking wounded, others bearing stretchers. They were only phantoms, yet Quinn could not suppress a twinge of sympathy.
“I will give you what you need,” she continued. “But I fear we may both regret it.”
The scene shimmered and vanished, and he was lying alone on the slab once more.
~
Quinn sat up and massaged his arm. The black lesions had slowed their advance, presumably because he was refraining from using Shade abilities, but they were still spreading. Concealing them beneath his Nemazi mesh cloak was increasingly difficult.
The fog parted, and Conor entered.
Quinn let his arm drop and hid his guilt with a smile. “Hey! Good news—Keiza has agreed to help us.”
“Please, Dad,” Conor said, “don’t do it.”
Quinn wiped the smile from his face. “The Elinare are under siege. If we don’t do something, the Damise will break through the barrier in a few hours.”
“There has to be another way.”
Quinn patted the space next to him. The boy sat and stared at his boots.
Quinn felt crushed under the weight of lone parenthood. “What’s the problem?”
“I… remember things.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pretending to be your son while plotting to destroy you.”
Quinn placed a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. The implant was controlling you, but it’s dormant now. Zothan’s going to remove it for good.”
Conor gazed at him with his mother’s eyes. “And then he’s going to put it in you.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll install safeguards to protect me.”
“What if they fail?”
Quinn cobbled together a smile. “Zothan knows what he’s doing.”
Conor’s eyes grew unfocused. “When they took Mom away, I had no idea I’d never see her again. I don’t want to lose you, too, Dad.”
Quinn nodded. “You never knew Nana.”
Conor shook his head.
“When I was your age, my mom and dad would take me to see her at the hospice every Saturday afternoon. She’d been honoured for her work in helping to establish the co
lony, but in her latter years, she contracted dementia. I had to sit and watch her crochet and mumble things that made no sense. I hated every moment. All I wanted was to be outside, playing soccer with my friends.
“One day, Mom and Dad stepped out to speak with the administrator, and I found myself sitting alone with her. Suddenly, she had a moment of perfect clarity. Her fingers stopped moving, and she looked up and said, ‘Regan?’
“‘Yes, Nana?’ I replied.
“‘Where’s your father?’
“I must’ve opened and closed my mouth several times before saying, ‘You want me to get him?’
“She clasped my hand, smiled the warmest of smiles, and said, ‘No, stay here. Tell me how you’re doing in school.’
“I stammered some reply or other, and she said, ‘That’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you. I want to stick around and see the kind of man you’re going to become.’
“And then she was gone. Her face slackened, and she muttered something, returned to her crocheting, and never spoke to me again. Six months later, she passed away.”
Conor raised his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because even with most of her mind gone, Nana wanted to be there for me. Every parent’s strongest wish is to be there for their child.”
Conor reached out and pulled up the sleeve of Quinn’s mesh robe. Quinn resisted the urge to pull away, allowing the boy to brush his fingertips over the shiny black calluses. Conor stared up at him with accusing eyes.
Quinn managed a smile. “They don’t even hurt.”
“Dad—”
“Look, I’ll be fine. Since I stopped using Shade abilities, they’re hardly growing at all. When the crisis is over and we return to Eire Colony, I’ll visit the clinic, promise.”
“Doc Flynn won’t have a clue how to treat an alien disease.”
“We’ll get a transport back to Earth, then. I’m sure specialists there will be queuing up to study me.”
“What if there’s no cure?” Tears welled up in Conor’s eyes.
Quinn grasped the boy’s shoulders. “We’ll find one. Whatever it takes. I’m going to do everything possible to be around to see you grow up.”
Conor frowned. “I am grown up, Dad.”
Quinn chuckled as he ruffled the boy’s fair, unruly hair. “Of course you are.
~
Quinn opened his eyes. Zothan’s black, wedge-shaped head loomed over him. Cleared of food and crockery, the large table in their bland dwelling had been transformed into a makeshift operating table.
Quinn found his voice and croaked, “What happened?”
“The instruments Keiza provided were adequate,” Zothan replied. “The procedure was successful. The implant is now lodged within your cortex.”
“Conor…?”
“He is resting in his cubicle.”
Quinn nodded. “I want you to keep him sedated.”
Zothan paused. “I do not think—”
“I mean it. You can wake him when it’s all over.” Quinn braced himself for an extended argument.
However, Zothan merely replied, “As you wish.”
Quinn tried to convince himself that was a kindness and he didn’t want Conor to worry, but the real reason was that if he saw the look on his son’s face, he might not be able to go through with his plan.
Rahada’s face came into view. “Vyasa is ready.”
Quinn squeezed anguish from his heart. “Let’s get on with it.”
He heard a flutter of wings and turned his head. Vyasa stood next to the table. She still wore the grubby white smock the Damise had given her. Her eyes were closed, her face upturned. Her hands rested on his chest.
“Activating the implant,” Zothan said. “Tell me if you feel anything.”
Quinn waited several seconds.
A voice sounded in his head. “Quinn.” It was Keiza. “Quinn, please don’t do this.”
“No,” Quinn said aloud. “Everything seems fine.”
“Very well,” Zothan said. “Vyasa is attempting to make contact.”
Vyasa, the table, and the dwelling faded from view.
Quinn stood in a dimly lit chamber. Next to him was Vyasa. Twelve high-backed chairs occupied by black-robed Damise ringed a circular portal set into the floor. Vyasa started forward, and Quinn trailed after her. A shining world filled the portal, marred by dark explosions that blossomed in its upper atmosphere. The Haven. Virtual displays hung in the air.
Golden-skinned Damise pored over them, conversing in a language that sounded like the clicking of bamboo. “Output seven point five three… Shield is holding… Configuring next zohar wave.” The clicking registered in his mind in Ardalan, the universal language of the Consensus.
How…? Vyasa. She had been their puppet, so they had doubtless imbued her with the ability to comprehend their language. He was linked to her Damise implant.
Zothan had claimed the Damise wouldn’t be able to detect his presence. Time to test that theory.
“Vyasa,” he hissed. He had no reason to suppose that lowering his voice would keep him concealed, but instinct demanded it.
She looked around as if hearing an indistinct voice then appeared to notice him for the first time.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, but the worry etched on her face said otherwise.
The Damise’s clicking translated into a stream of data he had no idea how to interpret. If Vil-gar didn’t come up with something, the Damise would break through the Elinare barrier in a few short hours, and Quinn and the others would be finished. Quinn had to find some way of halting the barrage.
“Can you understand what they’re saying?” he asked.
She looked at him as if viewing him down a long tunnel. “Mostly, yes.”
“Is there anything that might help us?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Quinn forced a smile. “All right. Let’s keep listening and hope they let something slip.”
As he slowly walked around the portal, his steps felt spongy, as if his boots weren’t fully in contact with the floor. Appropriate for someone who’s not really here. Black stains burst over the planet like drops of ink, merging, fading, then blossoming anew. The Damise gazed down at the spectacle, clicking as if in polite applause.
Quinn peered at the floating displays, but the symbols meant nothing to him. Zothan was the engineer. Perhaps he would be able to sift through the information and glean something usable.
The nearest Damise turned his head, and his eyes burned into Quinn. Quinn’s heart raced, and cold sweat slithered over his skin.
The Damise turned away, scanning the chamber, and his clicking grew more rapid. “We have an intruder.”
“Impossible,” another clicked. “All physical forms on board are accounted for.”
“The ship does not lie.”
During his last visit to a Damise vessel, Quinn had learned their ships were living entities. He had even conversed with that ship during one of Keiza’s simulations, when it had appeared in the form of a dragon of Celtic legend.
“It is here,” the first Damise said. “In this very room. An echo from one of our implants.”
Vyasa. Somehow the ship had sensed her presence.
The first Damise rose from his chair. “Destroy the source! Now!”
A third Damise’s skeletal fingers flew as he made rapid adjustments on his floating display. “Generating feedback signal.”
A steady tone pulled Quinn up short. It was faint, at the limits of his hearing, like a dog whistle. He glanced at Vyasa. Her eyes bulged, her mouth lay wide open, and her lips were drawn back over her teeth in a silent scream.
~
Quinn stirred himself and headed around the portal towards Vyasa. He had barely taken two steps before the light changed and he found himself standing in the lee of a burnt-out building. Evening sunlight cast an orange glow over a rubble-strewn street. He felt like a kid who’d been grabbed b
y the collar and yanked from the path of an old-fashioned automobile. Resentment clouded his relief.
He surveyed his surroundings, trying to get his bearings. His first impression was that Keiza had tossed him back into the London Blitz of 1941, but he noticed subtle differences. His suit was a heavier weave—maybe wool—and he wore a grey flat cap that seemed to be made of the same material. He heard no clanging fire bells, no thrumming of aircraft, and no wail of sirens. Gravelike silence filled the street. Whatever happened here had come and gone, along with the people.
“Keiza! Keiza, where are you?” As his voice faded to silence, he spotted a scrap of green cloth with white and orange lettering lying on the rubble. He could not read the words from where he was standing, but a fragment of memory fluttered just out of reach.
He was still struggling with the recollection when Keiza stepped from the shadows. She wore a heavy-looking suit like his. He let out a long breath. At least she isn’t making me search through all of this to find her.
Keiza stared at him through red-rimmed eyes. “I warned you.”
Quinn’s impatience bubbled to the surface. “What are you talking about?”
“I warned you that if you attempted covert contact with the Damise, you might resent the outcome.”
“What I resent is being dragged away just as I was trying to help Vyasa.”
She shook her head. “It’s too late for that. I have frozen this moment in real time, but it makes no difference. There is nothing you can do for her.”
She pointed towards the street. Six soldiers in khaki uniforms and peaked caps were dragging someone from the ruins of a building on the opposite side of the road.
“According to your memory, we are in Ireland, the world of your forebears, although the last time I brought you here, it was a pastoral scene. This appears radically different.”
Images from ancient newsreels he had viewed as a child welled up. The green cloth amid the rubble—it was a remnant of the Irish Republican flag.
“This is… from the Troubles,” he said.
“Your mind records these events as the aftermath of the Easter uprising. This is Dublin—O’Connell Street. It is the end of April in the year 1916, according to your method of counting. Is this human entertainment or a part of your history?”
“It’s from my people’s history.”
The Crucible Page 4