“What all the buried races are after—energy. Those on the upper level bask in sunlight. It produces their food, drives their machinery, and powers their weapons. Down here, every photon, every electron, every joule is precious.”
“You must have a unique power source to run all of this.”
Vil-gar leaned forward as if imparting some intimate secret. “Vacuum energy.”
Quinn nodded. “I’ve heard of it. To humans, it’s nothing more than a theory.”
Vil-gar responded with a superior smirk.
“I’m curious,” Quinn went on. “Why are you giving them exactly what they want?”
Vil-gar’s smirk vanished. “What do you mean?”
“The Mogrey want energy, and you’re providing it.”
Vil-gar adopted a lecturer’s tone. “Power is necessary to maintain the outer defence perimeter. Without it, the Mogrey would overrun the complex. You’ve seen it for yourself.”
“But if there were no power here, they would have no reason to enter.”
“Power is essential to maintain the avatron. Without it, I would die.”
Quinn nodded. “Yes, but the avatron’s power requirements must be tiny compared to those of the facility as a whole.” He clutched his chin. “Do you have… a… a battery or something?”
“A what?”
“A battery. You know, some kind of independent power unit that isn’t tied into the main system.”
“There is such a portable device, but it has not been used in centuries, not since the complex was sealed.”
“Where is it?” Quinn asked.
“Central storage. Two levels up from the avatron chamber.”
“Right. Well, I’ll just have to fetch it, won’t I?”
“There are too many Mogrey,” Vil-gar said. “You’ll never make it.”
“Maybe there’s a way to shorten the odds. Can you shut down power in that section as well as all of the sections leading to it, while at the same time restoring power to the outermost areas?”
“To draw the Mogrey away. Ingenious! A moment.” Vil-gar closed his eyes. A three-dimensional schematic of the complex appeared in midair. The view zoomed in to show the centre. A series of blocks went dark. “I have reduced power output to emergency levels. Here’s your route to central storage.”
The image rotated slowly. Quinn frowned. “Seems a bit circuitous.” He traced a line with his finger. “Wouldn’t this way be more direct?”
“The shorter route would take you through Archival. That section has been subject to random discharges. I recommend you avoid it.”
But if you cut power, wouldn’t that solve the problem? Quinn felt too tired to argue. “Okay, fine. Just show me the way back to the avatron chamber.”
A shimmering curtain appeared next to the schematic, together with the image of a black ball with half a dozen spikes protruding from it. It looked like an old-fashioned naval mine. “This is the device you are seeking. I have activated an indicator, so you should be able to find it easily.” A red light winked lazily on its surface. “The Mogrey will evacuate the designated sections shortly. You should prepare.”
Quinn unhooked his pack and let it fall to the floor with a slight thump. “Preparations complete.”
Vil-gar blinked. “You’re taking nothing with you?”
“All the instruments I have use energy. Energy will attract the Mogrey like flies to a pile of…” Quinn smiled. “Never mind.”
“But if you encounter them, you will have no means of defending yourself.”
Quinn stared at the backs of his hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
~
Quinn squeezed through the gap between a stationary pair of sliding doors and entered the section Vil-gar had called Central Storage. Everything was bathed in green emergency lighting. It looked as if he were at the bottom of the sea. He crept forward between rows of low shelving that housed dozens of objects whose purpose he could not guess.
He had heard far-off squeals, but hadn’t seen any Mogrey. So far, the plan was working perfectly. As soon as the portable power device was hooked into Vil-gar’s life support, they could shut down power to the entire complex, and the Mogrey should then leave voluntarily. After that, it would be a simple case of waiting until Vil-gar was fit to travel, or if he were too infirm, Quinn could make his own way to the upper level with a promise to send help.
A red flash caught his eye. He doubled back and headed down another row until he came upon the black orb. Tiny holes occupied the place where spikes had protruded. Shrugging, he hefted the device. It weighed barely a kilo. Feeling like a triumphant quarterback, he crooked the ball in one arm and headed for the exit.
As he approached the doors, he heard susurration like leaves blowing in the wind. He squeezed through the gap in the doors, and a dozen yellow eyes greeted him. Tiny creatures, barely larger than salamanders, crawled over one much larger. A mother and her young? Why had they not left with the rest of the Mogrey? Perhaps the brood were not old enough to travel. Whatever the reason, they now blocked his path to the next section.
Quinn stared at the back of his free hand. His death touch could eliminate the adult, and the infants were too small to be a threat. On Nemazi, he had taken out a liquidation squad. This would be far easier. His hand closed into a fist.
I can’t do it. Even in war, there were rules—rules that probably meant nothing to these alien cultures, but they were a part of who he was. A part of being human.
He reentered the storage area and made his way to the corner that accessed Archival. Vil-gar had warned of random discharges in that area. Well, he would just have to be careful, wouldn’t he?
He bent his head and stepped into an elevator clearly designed for creatures of Vil-gar’s height. The elevator whisked him to the floor below, and he stepped into another area bathed in green.
He shivered. The air was as cold as a widow’s kiss. It felt as if no one had passed through here in centuries. At the centre of the room was a raised area. He approached and stared up at a massive globe. A recess at its base looked almost the right size for…
On impulse, he set the black orb in the recess and then jumped as tubes shot from it and connected to the globe. The globe warmed to a dull white. Images flickered over its surface.
A tiny voice at the back of his head repeated Vil-gar’s warning about discharges and reminded him that increased energy usage might very well attract the Mogrey, but he continued watching, transfixed by the moving images.
At first, he found it difficult to make out anything. Gradually, the picture became less grainy.
An edifice was undergoing construction, its size and shape consistent with the complex he was in. Far above, he could see the beginnings of another level, interspersed with patches of blue sky. Vil-gar said his people, the Farish, built this facility when they realised their days were numbered.
Quinn watched as the scene shifted to different angles and views of the project. Writing flashed up in an unknown script, and a high-pitched voice provided commentary. He could detect no hint of sadness or desperation. If anything, the voice held a note of pride.
He strolled around the globe to gain different perspectives before spotting a small ball set into a waist-high pedestal. The ball moved freely beneath his finger. He spun it, and the view shifted.
The complex was complete. Hundreds of Farish were assembled before a raised platform from where a blue-robed individual addressed them in booming tones. The orator could have been Vil-gar or someone else. Quinn knew no way of telling the creatures apart.
Artificial lights illuminated the gathering. At first, he assumed it was evening, but the few remaining strips of open sky were bright. The dark stretches in between represented the underside of the next level. A new race was in the ascendancy, and its hunger for living space was burying Vil-gar’s people alive.
He spun the ball. Images of the complex’s internal structure appeared, displayed section by section, until finally fix
ing on the central chamber and the avatron—Pharaoh’s sarcophagus, prepared for his journey to the afterlife. For the Pharaohs of Earth, it had been a pipe dream founded in superstitious belief. The science of Vil-gar’s people had made it a reality.
He spun the ball once more. The crowd was back, but it was no longer a peaceful gathering. A line of armoured figures formed a cordon in front of the complex while a mob railed against them, tossing primitive missiles.
He heard the crack and fizzle of weapons fire. The death throes of a society. People who know they are doomed will lash out at anyone or anything. It had happened often enough in human history, though the race as a whole had always survived. Still, it was reasonable to suppose humankind would one day reach its end. Will each of us go down finally with hands around our brother’s throat? He spun the ball.
He was back inside the facility. Armoured types flanked a ragged line of Farish. As they filed past open cylinders, the armoured creatures dragged an individual from the line, shoved him in a cylinder, and slammed the door shut.
The chamber started to fill with green fluid. The wide-eyed occupant pummelled at the glass, and the creatures in line wailed. Gradually, the green fluid filled the chamber, overtopping the creature’s head. The pounding slowed, his movements stilled, and he floated, inert, bubbles rising from his nose and mouth. Snaking tubes drilled into his back and neck.
Quinn’s stomach churned. He plucked the black orb from its receptacle, and the globe darkened. He stared at it, a final image of the helpless creature seared into his memory.
A lie. Vil-gar’s account of noble self-sacrifice—it had all been a lie. Vil-gar had played him. All that talk of an intelligent race’s true purpose had not been to test him, as Quinn supposed, but to interrogate him. Who were humans? What made them tick? What did they value above all else? Armed with that information, Vil-gar had spun a tale calculated to tug at the heartstrings and bend the human to his will. No wonder he had been so insistent that Quinn avoid this section. It had been the only way the human might stumble on the truth. Whether he was as intelligent as he claimed, Quinn didn’t know, but Vil-gar was a master manipulator—of that, he had no doubt.
Turning his back on the globe, Quinn headed for the section’s far corner, ducked into another alcove, and closed his eyes as it transported him to the avatron chamber. He felt the alcove come to a halt, opened his eyes, and stepped into silent stillness. The shimmering curtain that led to Vil-gar’s expanded subuniverse was gone. He made his way to the oval receptacle. Vil-gar’s physical body lay within, pale and unmoving. Was he dead?
Quinn spotted a recess at the base of the oval that appeared identical to the one in the Archival chamber. The black orb felt heavy in the crook of his arm. He should try and restore power. After all, that had been the purpose of his little jaunt. But that had been before he had exposed Vil-gar’s lies, before his worst fear—that he was aiding and abetting a mass murderer—had been realised. Do I really have the right to sit in judgement, to condemn the last surviving member of a sentient race to oblivion? He recalled the terror on the face of the trapped creature as the cylinder filled with green fluid. Damn right!
Turning his back on the oval, he headed for the exit, and then pulled up short. A familiar silhouette blocked his path. “Zothan?” The Nemazi stepped into the half-light. Quinn screwed his face up. “What are you doing here?”
Zothan lowered his head. “I have disobeyed your request. I beg forgiveness.”
Conor sprang from behind Zothan like a jack-in-the-box. “Dad! We saw this place go dark and those creatures leave. I insisted we go back and find you. We arrived a few minutes ago, but you were gone. Where did you go?”
Quinn felt like someone on a diet caught with cake in hand and cream around his mouth. “I… went to fetch this.” He held out the orb as if it were an offering.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a kind of portable power device.”
“Great! Let’s get it working!”
“Uh… right.” Quinn made his way back to the avatron and set the orb in its recess. Spikes shot from it and connected to the chamber’s underside. The compartment holding Vil-gar began to glow.
The image of Vil-gar appeared beside them and took in a deep breath, as if drawing air for the first time. “Thank you, Quinn! You were just in time. The avatron’s power output was nearing levels too low to sustain my vital functions.” He turned to the others. “Conor, and Zothan of the Nemazi—greetings! I am Vil-gar. I and my people are in your debt.”
A people you sacrificed to save your own hide. Quinn struggled to prevent the sour taste in his mouth from rising to his face.
Conor clapped Quinn on the back. “You did it, Dad! I should have listened to you, I’m sorry.”
“I have requested sanctuary among humans,” Vil-gar said. “In return, I can greatly advance your people’s understanding.”
“Of theoretical physics,” Quinn added.
Vil-gar raised a bony finger. “Theory is the foundation of progress. Comprehension is control. When you understand the nature of existence, it becomes yours to command. Observe!”
A glowing tesseract appeared in midair. Conor gasped as more tesseracts formed and swarmed around the first. Of course, Quinn had witnessed this particular parlour trick before. He felt as if he were in the company of a flimflam artist.
A bubble appeared around them. Its sides receded into the distance, and the four-space cubes piled together in the familiar helix shape.
“My body needs time to regain strength,” Vil-gar said. “This should provide adequate protection until I can leave the avatron.”
Quinn shook his head. “We can’t stay here. We have… important matters to deal with.”
“Where do you wish to go?”
“We must return to the upper level.”
“Of course. It’s the least I can do.” Vil-gar closed his eyes.
“Excuse me, Vil-gar,” Zothan said. Vil-gar opened his eyes. “The Agantzane saturated the lower levels with exotic matter. Transference through four-space carries extreme risk.”
“I know that,” Vil-gar said with a hint of irritation. “We shall not be travelling through four-space.”
“Then how—”
“I created the laws governing this subuniverse. I can change them. In this case, it’s a simple matter of adjusting the gravitational constant.”
“I do not understand,” Zothan said.
“Then watch.” Vil-gar closed his eyes once more.
The glowing helix started to shrink. The sides of the bubble rushed inwards. Quinn felt his body grow lighter. His feet parted from the floor. The others were also floating.
Conor stared at his father, wide-eyed. “The dolin—we can’t just leave it behind.”
“Not now,” Quinn said.
“But Dad!”
“I said, not now!”
Slowly, the bubble rose, along with the oval receptacle that held Vil-gar’s physical form. The bubble and its occupants passed through the ceiling and on up through the next section of the complex and the next, before finally emerging above the roof.
The complex receded and then disappeared as they phased through the floor of the next level. Quinn caught glimpses of abandoned cities and silent machines stilled by time as the bubble ascended through the refuse of Pann’s tumultuous past.
At the centre of it all, Vil-gar floated with eyes closed and knees crooked, like some pale Indian fakir.
Part Two: The Enclave
As they passed through Pann’s upper level, sunlight burst around the four-space bubble like dawn in the tropics of old Earth. Quinn screwed his eyes shut and then forced them open again as his feet struck the floor. He staggered before regaining his balance.
Crossing to where the sphere’s edge merged with the level, he peered through the lightly frosted barrier. They had emerged near the centre of a deserted thoroughfare littered with fallen masonry. He recognised the crowded disorder of Kimn architecture
. They were back in the enclave.
Zothan appeared at his shoulder. “What do you intend to do, Quinn?”
“Get off this planet,” Quinn muttered. “Though I’m not sure how.”
“What about the dolin?” Conor called.
“What about it?” Quinn countered.
“We have to go back for it.”
“That’s not possible. Besides, we’ve no more use for it.”
“How about Vyasa? You left her down there too. Have you no more use for her?”
It was the subject Quinn had been dreading. During their climb through Pann’s lower levels, he had been able to ignore it, like a mountain in the distance. Now, the mountain loomed before him. There was no getting around it.
“Vyasa is dead.”
“You don’t know that,” Conor challenged.
“I saw her die.”
“What? When was that?”
Vil-gar moved his head back and forth to the sound of the exchange, like someone enjoying a tennis match.
“She stumbled in during my meeting with Ximun,” Quinn said. “Your… counterpart murdered her. I’m sorry.”
Conor looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. Quinn winced.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Conor asked.
“There was no point. There was nothing you could’ve done. The Damise used their AI to absorb her body.”
“They what?”
“Like I said, there was nothing you could have done.”
“But why would they do that?”
Quinn shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“They must be intending to revive her.”
“In that case, she’d be a re-animate. Either way, she’s lost to us.”
“I’m a re-animate,” Conor reminded him.
Quinn boiled over. “No, you’re not! Not anymore.”
The Arc of the Universe Page 4