“Quinn, please!” Vyasa’s cry was as meaningless as a leaf in a sandstorm.
He pushed farther outwards with his tunnel vision, scouring bare-scraped mountains and dust-blown wadis for a glimpse of a stunted Nemazi and a fair-haired human boy. Nothing.
Lights flashed. Searing pain arced. Quinn’s eyes squeezed shut, and his lips stretched over his teeth in a silent scream before darkness claimed him.
~
Quinn drifted towards wakefulness and hit a wall. His skull was a hollow dome of agony. And he felt… wrong somehow.
Forcing his eyes open, he gazed up at the sphere’s curved ceiling. He was resting on something soft. Turning his head, he realised with a jolt that he was nestled in Vyasa’s lap.
He sat bolt upright as if she were a hot plate and swallowed. “How long was I out?”
Her features twitched as if he had slapped her, and she averted her gaze. “I am not sure.”
Instinctively, he touched the side of his face. The skin was cracked and hard. His insides ached. He recalled the blighted, blackened creatures he had witnessed on the night of the Transformation and shivered despite the heat.
“You should not have attempted it,” she said.
I don’t need a lecture. He pushed to his feet, steadied himself, and stepped outside the sphere. The desert sun made his head swim, though the Nemazi mesh garment cooled his body. Far off, a huge funnel of black smoke rose into the sky. The Shanata ship crash site. He turned one hundred eighty degrees and began walking.
“Where are you going?” she called after him.
“To find my son.”
“We’ll never survive out in the open.”
“You’re welcome to stay here.”
A machine voice drifted out from the sphere. “What am I?”
He marched away. I don’t have time for you.
~
Quinn had skirted several rocky outcrops and traversed a wadi when he heard the flap of wings overhead. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he waited for Vyasa to alight in his path. She thrust a silver container at him, and he heard the slosh of water.
“Drink,” she commanded.
He stared at her a moment longer before accepting the canister and taking a swig. The water was cold and sweet as a mountain lake. “Thank you.”
“Again,” she said. “You need to hydrate.”
He raised the container to his lips and paused. “What about you?”
She indicated her back. The space between her wings was occupied by a bulging backpack.
He quaffed once more and wiped his cracked lips. “Where’d you get it?”
“I asked the sphere. Apparently, it’s programmed to deliver life support to match a variety of environments.”
Feeling foolish, he nodded, took a bearing from the blistering sun, and set off again towards a low ridge.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I told you,” he replied.
“No, I mean why this direction?”
He stopped and pointed at the billowing smoke. “The ship went down there. We came down here. Zothan and Conor left a few minutes before us, so they must be somewhere on this track.” He resumed his course.
She hurried after him. “That’s a lot of assumptions. We don’t know the ship was on a straight-line course when it entered the atmosphere. And even if it was, we have no idea where Zothan and Conor transported. If they did arrive at a point on this trajectory, they would almost certainly have moved by now.”
She was right. The massive release of exotic particles, during the Transformation, had granted races on nebula worlds the ability to move within four-dimensional space, but the residual particles made such transfers unpredictable. Even when using a transport stone, the error factor became significant over long distances. They could be anywhere.
“Why don’t we just—” she began.
He whirled on her. “Look, I have to find him, okay?”
“Quinn…”
“What?”
She was looking past his shoulder. He turned. A swarm of gormgast crested the ridge and flowed towards them, silvery metal glinting in the sun.
~
Quinn turned to flee.
Vyasa grabbed a handful of his mesh garment and yanked him backwards. “We can’t outrun them.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Emotion drained from her features as she let her backpack slip to the ground, the contents sloshing. “Get on,” she said with a flick of her head.
Quinn stared at the pack. “That’s our only supply of water.”
“I can carry you or it, not both. Now, get on.”
Quinn threw his arms round her neck. Vyasa spread her leathery wings and made powerful downward strokes, yet they remained grounded. The gormgast tide flowed towards them, servos clicking like excited chatter. Suddenly the sand and rocks receded, leaving his stomach far below.
A soot-black cloud lowered over a distant hill, but Quinn understood this planet well enough to know it wasn’t rain. Time front. Anyone entering a time front would be swept back to a random point in history between the Transformation and now. It was a period marked by violence. Twice during his previous visit, he had encountered a time front—both times, he had nearly died.
Vyasa’s wingbeats slowed as she glided over the sandblasted landscape. “We need to find one of the Nemazi communities.”
“Omesku,” Quinn said.
“What?”
“They’re called omesku or nuclei, and they don’t stay in one place. They’re constantly on the move to avoid the time fronts. Now, they have a new enemy to try to evade.”
“Any idea where we might find one?”
“Not really.” As he spoke, his mind flashed back to his four-space vision and the omesku engaged in the painstaking process of dismantling their town, loading sections onto wide transports in preparation for departure. If they hurried…
Quinn surveyed the desert panorama and pointed. “That way.”
~
By the time Quinn spotted the omesku, it was already on the move. The great platforms scudded across the desert like a string of pagodas, sending up plumes of sand and smoke. Nestled between Vyasa’s wings, he shifted position but could not spot any obvious threat. Maybe they had detected a new water source or some technology they could salvage. Water and technology, the two most precious resources on Nemazi, were essentially their forms of currency. If he were to gain any leverage, it would be with either of those commodities.
Nemazi trade was steeped in ritual; giving offence could be fatal. He would need to rely heavily on everything he had learned on his previous visit.
He leaned forwards. “Set us down a short distance away, but not in their path. I don’t want to appear threatening.”
As she swooped in, Quinn scanned the convoy. It was nearly identical to omesku he had encountered before. Perhaps they’re a fixed size—large enough to constitute a viable community yet small enough to up sticks and move at a moment’s notice. That would make sense.
Vyasa alighted some two hundred metres away. She straightened her back, and Quinn slipped to the ground.
She folded her wings and started towards the moving column, but he caught her arm.
“No. Wait for them to come to us.”
“What if they don’t see us?” she asked.
“On this world, survival means being constantly on the lookout for danger. Trust me—they’ll see us.”
A distant horn sounded, and the convoy slowed. A whirlwind of sand separated from the foremost platform and headed towards them. At the heart of the whirlwind, three small vehicles skimmed across the surface.
“Let me do the talking,” Quinn said under his breath. “Don’t make any sudden moves. And above all, don’t run.”
Twenty metres out, the two outer vehicles split off, passed on either side, and turned around, taking positions behind him and Vyasa. Mounted on each was a large weapon with a long, rust-stained barrel, flanked by four
Nemazi. The third vehicle settled to the ground in front of them. At its centre was a well-worn high-backed chair occupied by a Nemazi wearing a chain of metal trinkets that looked very much like gormgast parts. He would have to be the zathaar, the chieftain or overlord of this “nucleus” community.
Quinn’s mouth felt drier than the desert sands.
The chain-wearing Nemazi rose to his feet slowly. “Gathgara karitha skall.”
Quinn gave a curt bow. “Kasmara karitha skall.” He indicated Vyasa with a twitch of his head. “Goresha Ardalan, pashah.”
“Very well, we will speak in Ardalan. You are dathaza—outworlders. The female is Harani. Your race I do not recognise, but you show signs of the Transformation. You must have an interesting story. Regrettably, I do not have time to listen to it.” His eye strayed towards the weapons now trained on them.
Quinn raised his voice so that all those present could hear. “We come to trade.”
The zathaar made an imperceptible cutting-off gesture with his left claw and fixed Quinn with a look that might have been curiosity. “No assault can take place during trade. You comprehend our customs. Very well.” He brushed his worn-out chair, reseated himself, and looked about the desert theatrically. “I see nothing for you to trade. Perhaps you neglected to bring your wares?”
“How about an entire Shanata vessel?”
“You mean the one that crashed here earlier today?”
Maybe his intelligence network was more sophisticated than Quinn had realised. Or maybe he had simply observed the streak of fire against the sky and put two and two together. Either way, Quinn would gain nothing by lying.
“That’s right.” Quinn said. “A mountain of metal and spare parts for you to use or to trade.”
Vyasa looked at him sharply.
It’s a wreck. It’s no good to us.
The sun poured out heat like an open furnace. Quinn almost swooned but caught himself in time.
The zathaar examined a claw as if contemplating a manicure. “And what is to prevent us from simply taking possession of it?”
“We are survivors from the vessel. By your rules of salvage, it belongs to us. The Farzah Volothi are an honourable people. They do not steal.”
“We take from our enemies.”
“We are not your enemies. We have done you no harm. And we offer trade.”
The zathaar leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Shanata hardware is common enough. What you offer is of little value.”
“There is more. This ship is… special. It was fitted with an advanced stealth capability based on Damise technology.”
Again, Vyasa gave Quinn a dark look, but he ignored her.
The zathaar made a harsh sound in his throat. “And yet it was destroyed.”
“The technology was new to us. We did not fully comprehend its use. If you were to salvage and study it, your omesku could become the most powerful on the planet.”
“You warrant as to its effectiveness?”
“I am not a technician. But Nemazi engineers are among the most famed in the Consensus.” Quinn had no idea whether that was so, but a little flattery couldn’t go amiss. “Are you agreeable to a trade?”
“I might be prepared to take it off your hands,” the zathaar said. “What is it that you ask in return?”
“The protection of your omesku. And sufficient water and food to sustain us during our stay on your world.”
The chain-wearing Nemazi rested his chin on a claw as if Quinn’s proposal were a matter for intense deliberation. “Agreed.”
“Also the assistance of your scouts in locating my son. He is somewhere on the surface of this world.”
The zathaar spread his arms wide. “Alsathar volothi.” The phrase roughly translated into It’s a big desert.
“Your omesku have banded together to resist the gormgast invasion. They represent an effective planetwide information network.”
“Very well, I will make enquiries.” The zathaar turned away.
“There is one final thing,” Quinn said. “We will help you defeat the gormgast and reclaim your world. And in return, you will help us defeat the Damise.”
The desert rang with deep-throated Nemazi laughter.
The zathaar silenced it with a raised claw. “And how do you propose to inflict this crushing defeat on our enemies?”
Quinn met the zathaar’s gaze square on. “I’ve done it before.”
“You lie!”
“Nemazi do not lie during trade. Neither do I. It was I who broke the Shanata blockade and uncovered the Agantzane’s scheme to loose the gormgast on your world.”
A ripple spread through the gathering. Half a dozen throats hissed “Shanata Tamah,” the honorific the Nemazi had bestowed on him.
“Silence!” the zathaar cried. He half rose from his seat. “You claim you are the Shanata Tamah?”
“He claims nothing,” Vyasa broke in. “He is the one who broke through the Shanata blockade and helped unite your people.”
“And why should I believe the word of Fixed Race palatha?” The literal translation was dry vomit, but the Nemazi also used it to refer to polluted drinking water.
“Would you believe one of your own?” Quinn asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Find my son. The Nemazi accompanying him was with us on the ship. He can testify as to who I am.”
The zathaar rested his chin on his claw once more. A guard to his left bent down and whispered something in his ear.
The zathaar raised a claw. “Enough! Who you claim to be is unimportant. You say you can drive the gormgast from our world? Prove it. Only then will we join in your conflict with the Damise.” He rose to full height. “As you have spoken, so shall it be.”
Quinn bowed. “So shall it be.”
The zathaar reseated himself. “Gormgast have been spotted in the hill region. Our omesku must get underway. We will not wait for you.”
“We will join you shortly.”
The zathaar barked guttural commands. The three skimmers rose amid clouds of sand and sped back towards the convoy.
“We should hurry,” Vyasa said.
Quinn’s mouth quirked. “I don’t think we need to worry. There’s a ship full of goodies at stake. Trust me—they won’t leave without us.”
“Nevertheless…” She spread her wings.
“Fine.”
Quinn wrapped his arms around her slender neck. Moments later, they were airborne.
“Your negotiating skills were impressive. However…”
“Go ahead, say it!”
“Your promise to defeat the gormgast seems… ambitious.”
Quinn chuckled. “It was a no-risk strategy. They were never going to help us while they’re engaged in a life-and-death struggle for their world. All we have to do now is figure out a way to send the gormgast packing.”
“You have an idea on that?”
“Nope. Not a one. But we’re alive, and now we have an ally of sorts. Humans have a saying: while there’s life, there’s hope.”
“Harani say, ‘Hope is the last bastion of fools.’”
They swooped towards the column. Smoke billowed from the transports as their huge engines fired up.
“I guess we’ll see which one of us is right,” he said.
~
At Quinn’s direction, Vyasa angled towards the transport in the column’s vanguard. The last time Quinn had joined an omesku, that was where its chief had installed himself. He had a strong impression that rigid Nemazi protocol led to a similar structure in each of their nomadic communities.
The trade had gone better than he had hoped. If this chief was as good as his word, then a reasonable chance existed that the Nemazi network would locate Conor. Zothan’s backing would strengthen Quinn’s position, and together, they might actually come up with a strategy to turn the gormgast tide.
They were still some distance away when Quinn spotted rows of X shapes on each side of the transport’s deck. His
throat constricted. He had seen a similar device once before at the Esrach, the central complex of the Kimn Sisterhood on Pann. Conor had been spread-eagled on it.
He strained for a better view. As Vyasa slowed with strong wing beats, he saw a Shanata pilloried on each X. Their heads were bowed and unmoving. Conor did not appear to be among them. Quinn’s pang of relief quickly lapsed into guilt.
Vyasa alighted near the centre of the deck.
Quinn released his hold and hurried to the nearest X. The Shanata’s face mask was ripped away, revealing grey skin and sharp cheekbones. The eyes were closed, the mouth slightly open with a trickle of drying blood at one corner—alive or dead, he couldn’t tell. He swore under his breath.
“Survivors from our vessel,” Vyasa said.
Quinn scanned the front of the transport and located a dais. The zathaar was ascending his throne, flanked by guards. As he took his seat, a horn sounded, and the transport lurched into motion. Quinn started towards the dais.
“Be careful,” she called after him. “Nemazi are a proud people. They don’t take kindly to outside interference.”
Quinn did not break his stride. “Nuts to that.”
~
Quinn raced up the steps of the dais. Two guards lowered long, hooked weapons and moved to intercept him. The last time he had faced a Nemazi chieftain on his throne, a cultural misunderstanding had almost cost him his life. He halted three steps from the top. The zathaar waved a claw, and the guards stepped back.
“Release them,” Quinn said.
“You are a guest by virtue of trade,” the zathaar responded. “You do not make demands.”
“All right. What will you take for them?”
The zathaar looked left and right as though checking his audience. “You have nothing left to trade, but even if you did, it would make no difference. Nemazi do not trade for the lives of their enemies.”
Quinn wanted to ask why not, but the question seemed likely to lead to a circular argument. “I cannot allow them to be left to die.”
“I’m curious. They are Shanata. You claim to be the Shanata Tamah. Why would you care what happens to them?”
“Not all Shanata are bad, just as not all Nemazi are good. Or all humans, for that matter.”
The Crucible Page 16