The Arc of the Universe

by Mark Whiteway

  “And if you should die, what then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What would happen to your interface?”

  “It draws from my conscious mind,” Vil-gar said. “Without an active consciousness, my interface would cease to function.”

  In other words, if Vil-gar dies, our exit strategy goes up in smoke. Terrific. Quinn leaned in. “Let’s work on getting out of here as quickly as possible, okay?”

  A commotion sounded from the far end of the ward.

  “A moment,” Vil-gar said. His large, lidless eyes squeezed shut beneath fleshy folds. Shouts and weapons fire drifted across from the area of the disturbance. The sounds faded. Vil-gar opened his eyes and broke out in a wide smile, as if he had already forgotten the talk of his death. “They are pursuing my doppelgängers. Come.”

  Cradling Conor in his arms, Quinn hurried after the shining image. “Let’s take the fastest route out of here.”

  “As opposed to what?” Vil-gar asked.

  Quinn let it drop. Probably best to keep chatter to a minimum anyway. Vil-gar led the way to a set of wide, transparent double doors that slid open at their approach. A distant whoosh and crack of weapons fire greeted them. Vil-gar halted and raised his head as if catching a scent on the wind, though neither scent nor wind impinged on these sterile corridors.

  Quinn’s patience ran out. “What’s the matter?”

  “Medyran security has eliminated two of my three doppelgängers,” Vil-gar replied.

  “I don’t understand. I thought the copies were like you—mere projections.”

  “They are, but if the Medyr realise that, they will ignore them, so I programmed them to dissipate under direct weapons fire. Now I must create and deploy replacements.” Vil-gar closed his eyes once more as if entering meditation.

  Quinn glanced at Zothan. Black skin stretched taut over the Nemazi’s wedge-shaped head gave little hint of expression. We’re never going to make it at this rate.

  A group of grey-clad Medyr rounded the end of the corridor. One of them pointed something, and a particle beam fizzed over Quinn’s head, exploding against the far wall in a spray of sparks.

  Vil-gar roused as if from a stupor. Quinn and Zothan backed through the ward’s double doors, followed by Vil-gar’s sphere. As the doors swished shut, Vil-gar’s image reappeared.

  “Now what?” Quinn demanded.

  “A moment,” Vil-gar said. “I will map a new safe route.”

  Conor’s pallor was grey, and his skin felt clammy. Through the transparent doors, Quinn could see the grey-suited Medyr bearing down on them.

  Vil-gar’s eyes snapped open. “I must leave right away.”

  “What?” Quinn exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn.” Vil-gar disappeared in a blinding flash. His sphere shimmered and vanished.

  ~

  Quinn stared at the empty space in disbelief. “I’m going to kill him!”

  “Kotetsu tamah, Quinn,” Zothan said. “Death is the end of revenge. Our task now is survival.”

  The doors burst open. The Medyr exhibited powerful shoulders and bare heads sprouting sparse growth. Quinn glanced at the tubes levelled at his chest and backed away, carrying Conor.

  Zothan cut across the squad’s path. His voice scraped like gravel against iron. “Kazokah zamichi, Medyrach!” The expression translated as a threat backed up by a promise of dismemberment. Quinn hoped it was meant figuratively.

  The squad halted, its members glancing at one another, uncertainty colouring their faces. Most Nemazi who ventured outside the nebula operated as contract assassins. Whether the Medyr understood his words or not, Zothan’s intention was clear. Their tube-like weapons wavered in their hands, and they retreated through the double doors.

  Quinn smirked. “Way to go!”

  Zothan regarded him. “There is a human expression… what are woods?” Caught in a time fragment on Nemazi, Zothan and Quinn had blended for an instant, leaving each with an imprint of the other’s language and culture.

  “Woods?” Quinn said. “You mean a collection of trees?”

  “Yes, but what are trees?”

  His world is desert. He’s never seen a tree. “Think of them as very tall plants.”

  Zothan nodded slightly. “I see. We are not yet out of them, Quinn.”

  Quinn put it together. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Got it.”

  “They will summon reinforcements. We have very little time.”

  Quinn turned slowly. “I don’t see any other way off this ward. How far are we from the building’s entrance?”

  “This is the second floor of the facility.”

  Too far. “Are you sure you can’t form a four-space conduit?”

  Zothan’s eyes closed for an instant. “The net prevents me.”

  “Then we have no choice. We’ll have to fight our way out before reinforcements get here.”

  “Our chances of survival are remote, even if you were to employ your death touch.” Zothan leaned on the word “if”.

  Quinn caught the hidden subtext. Aside from a single instance on Nemazi when he had eliminated a liquidation squad, he had resisted the temptation to use his Agantzane-granted ability. Then, as now, Conor’s life was under threat, yet Quinn was far from certain that he could become an implacable killing machine for a second time.

  Quinn gently laid Conor on a nearby bed. “Tell me about the disruption net.”

  “It is a field that strengthens the bonds of three-space, preventing the opening of a fourth spatial dimension inside a given area,” Zothan said.

  So far, the information wasn’t much help. “It must be powered somehow.”

  “By a dedicated generator, yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In a facility such as this, it would be located on the bottom floor,” Zothan replied.

  Again, too far.

  “The generator would occupy a considerable area,” Zothan offered. “Power requirements to sustain the field are enormous.”

  Quinn curled a forefinger over his chin. “If we can’t turn it off, could we overload it?”

  “Overload it? How?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the engineer. But we have all this… stuff.” He waved an all-encompassing arm. “What if we just turned everything on?”

  “The system is sure to have built-in redundancy,” Zothan replied. “Back-up cells would kick in as soon as they detected the power drain. However…”

  Quinn clung to Zothan’s last word as if it were a lifeline.

  “A brief power lag would occur at the switchover point,” Zothan continued. “If I were to time it precisely…”

  “All right,” Quinn said. “I’m going to light this place up. The moment you detect an opening, take Conor and go. Get to the conveyor and lift off. Don’t look back.”

  “What about you, Quinn?”

  “You can only transfer one of us. Ga’zaan will be irritated when he discovers we infiltrated his facility and staged a breakout, but he’s convinced I can program the dolin to serve him, so he has a vested interest in keeping me alive.”

  “And when he discovers you cannot do as he wishes?”

  Quinn turned away and began jabbing at every panel he could see.

  ~

  With some guidance from Zothan on the power systems, Quinn soon had half the ward burning with lights and buzzing with sounds. As he worked, he kept one eye on the large double doors and another on Zothan. The Nemazi stood wreathed in dark smoke with Conor in his arms. Zothan’s reactions were faster than any human’s, but the power drop would likely last no more than a fraction of a second. It was going to be tight.

  “Quinn,” Zothan said.

  “What is it?” Quinn asked, without looking up from his task.

  “It is not working.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We should have seen some effect by now. Something is wrong. Perhaps Medyran power transfer systems differ from those I am fam
iliar with.”

  “Then we’ll just have to keep at it until something gives, won’t we?”

  “You do not understand,” Zothan said in a low, even tone. “If I am right, the system will continue to compensate with incremental adjustments. You will never generate the effect you seek.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Quinn snapped,

  “Do you still have the weapon Vyasa gave you?”

  “Yes, why?”

  Zothan fixed him with a yellow-eyed stare. “You must use it on us.”

  ~

  Quinn blinked. His knowledge of the Nemazi didn’t extend to their mental health. Was it possible for one of Zothan’s kind to go crazy? Maybe association with humans had pushed him over the edge.

  Quinn screwed his face up, as if Zothan had just offered him a lemon. “What?”

  “I hesitated to mention it before because I anticipated an unfavourable reaction.”

  “Well, you were right about that. I’m not helping you commit suicide.”

  “I have no intention of invoking galatha-tamah for either myself or your son. I believe I can channel the energy discharge into four-space and temporarily overpower the net.”

  “You believe?”

  “You must trust me, Quinn.”

  Quinn balked. He trusted this Nemazi more than most humans. But this…

  The double doors opened with a whoosh, and fifteen grey-clad Medyr burst in, accompanied by four floating, metallic ovals lit with green and red lights. Each had what looked like a camera lens at its forward end. Quinn had never seen the machines before—some sort of defensive system, perhaps.

  A squall of black smoke whirled about Zothan and Conor. Without thinking, Quinn drew the double horn-shaped weapon from his pack. The Medyr drew their sidearms, and the oval devices pivoted, dipping their optics towards him.

  He pointed the horns and squeezed. A bolt seared over the heads of the Medyr, leaving a blackened patch on the doors behind them. As they covered their heads, he dived behind a bank of machinery and hunkered down.

  Distract them. Keep them off balance. It wasn’t much of a plan. A voice at the back of his head screamed that taking on fifteen armed goons and four defensive bots was about as crazy as you could get.

  Reaching around the bank of machinery, he fired blindly in the direction of the doors. A rushing sound filled his ears, and wisps of smoke drifted in front of his nose. He whirled and saw Zothan standing over him with Conor draped across his arms. They were enveloped in a dark tornado.

  Zothan gazed down at Quinn’s crouched form. “Now, Quinn.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I can’t!”

  “You must!”

  Gritting his teeth, Quinn pointed the twin horns and squeezed. The tornado filled with light and collapsed on itself. Zothan and Conor vanished.

  Quinn panted. Did they make it? He heard a steady hum and glanced up. One of the oval machines floated over his head. Its optic whirred as it focussed on him.

  Quinn tossed away his weapon and raised his hands. “I surrender.”

  ~

  Quinn sat in the corner of a white-walled, three-sided cell with his arms wrapped around his knees. An invisible barrier guarded the open side. When tested with his outstretched hand, it had delivered a respectable jolt—not an electric shock, more like a mule’s kick. He wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience.

  Entrusting Conor’s care to the Medyr had been a mistake, but the boy had been badly hurt, and their medical facilities were reputed to be among the most advanced in the Consensus. What father wouldn’t have made the same choice?

  Was Conor safe? Quinn could only hope. He stared at the corridor beyond his prison and waited for the tramp of feet.

  Instead, a small patch of air fizzed into a silver ball, and Vil-gar’s projection appeared in front of him. “Quinn!”

  Quinn’s fury at the little creature’s desertion had long since leaked away. He stared straight ahead and sighed. “What do you want?”

  Vil-gar’s ears flattened against his head in an expression that might have been mortification. “So sorry, but I had to leave. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “What… did your vast intellect conclude we weren’t worth saving?” The question was mean-spirited, but Quinn didn’t feel like apologising.

  “I was needed elsewhere.”

  “I’m sure you were.”

  “You don’t understand. A large force of AI-controlled vessels has entered the Pann system. It will be here shortly.”

  It took several moments for Vil-gar’s words to sink in. “What?”

  “Staying in one place too long is dangerous for the fleet.”

  Quinn leaned his back against the wall and pushed to his feet. “Fine. Tell them to leave without me.”

  “They won’t do that. They believe you are essential to their survival. And they are right.”

  Boom! A dull concussion rocked the floor. Quinn fought to keep his balance. “Your timing’s a little off. Looks like they’re here already.”

  “The bombardment isn’t from the AI ships,” Vil-gar said. “The fleet has deployed concussive drivers. If Ga’zaan doesn’t agree to release you, they will flatten this level.”

  “I told them not to do that.”

  “That was only whilst the Medyr held Conor. Your son is now safely aboard the Shanata control vessel.”

  Quinn felt a surge of relief. “How is he?”

  “The Osei are tending his injuries.”

  Like giant shuffling anemones, the Osei were about as distant from humans, anatomically speaking, as it was possible to get. However, Quinn had no time to debate their medical competence.

  Boom! The impact sounded closer this time. Quinn pressed his back to the wall and stared at the ceiling as the lights flickered. “Er… they do know which building I’m in, right?”

  Running feet approached. Vil-gar and his sphere vanished. A squad of surly Medyr halted outside the cell, fronted by a black-uniformed figure he recognised as Ga’zaan. The creature’s upturned collar gave him a regal appearance. The air shimmered and popped as the barrier fell.

  “Your friends have promised to flatten this level if I do not free you,” Ga’zaan said. “It seems I have no choice.”

  Quinn stepped into the passage and faced the self-styled Calix. Ga’zaan had duped Quinn’s group into carrying a toxin that had resulted in the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands. He felt like burying his fist in the creature’s pockmarked face, but he had concerns that overrode the desire for petty vengeance.

  Ga’zaan set off down the passage. Quinn followed, with the squad trailing behind. “I am disappointed in you, Quinn. I thought humans kept their word.”

  “You were holding my son hostage. I had no choice.”

  “So humans will sacrifice honour where family is concerned.”

  “Something like that.”

  Ga’zaan made a noise in his throat that might have been mockery or disgust. “No matter. I have dispatched a force to recover the dolin. I will learn its secrets without your help, and then I will use it to subjugate this world.”

  Quinn swallowed, bile rising in his throat. The fate of this world and its people was now out of his hands.

  Ga’zaan led the way onto a clear-sided elevator. He nodded to the squad. They turned away, and the elevator began to rise. “Your friends in orbit claim AI-controlled ships are on their way here. If I were suspicious, I might think you were trying to distract me from going after the dolin by inventing a greater danger.”

  “It’s no invention. You may not think it, Ga’zaan, but I’m doing you a favour. When we leave orbit, we’ll draw those incoming AI ships away from Pann. Right now, you’re in no position to combat them.”

  “The AI scourge has only affected races allied to the Agantzane. It’s no threat to us.”

  The elevator gathered speed as it whisked past floor after floor. “That will change,” Quinn said. “The AI is controlled by the Damise. They intend to use it to quell any
and all opposition within the Consensus.”

  “The Damise? Are you certain?”

  “I saw them.”

  “Kassa thokkar,” Ga’zaan said, his voice distant. “Their ancient title means ‘Lords of Order.’”

  “The Kimn and the lower races are prepared to offer you a pact,” Quinn went on. “You would be wise to accept.”

  Ga’zaan shook his head. “They would demand a greater share of the upper level. My people will not allow it.”

  “You have to persuade them. The races of Pann must learn to stand together. If you don’t, you’ll lose everything.”

  Ga’zaan’s brow furrowed. “When you embarked on your passage to the lower levels, you said you were seeking the Agantzane. It is rumoured that you claim to have found them.”

  “I did, in a manner of speaking.”

  The elevator deposited them on a flat, windy roof, touched by the last rays of sunlight. Nearby stood an open-sided tetrahedron. Above them hung a massive Shanata vessel. The air thrummed with the sound of its star drive.

  “What were they like?” Ga’zaan asked.

  Quinn saw nothing to be gained by lying. “The original Agantzane race is long gone. My understanding was that those who have taken on their mantle are drawn from many races.”

  Ga’zaan stared back as if weighing the truth of his statement. “That’s very interesting. Very interesting, indeed. Tell me, Quinn. Do you think I might become one of them?”

  Feeling sick to his stomach, Quinn turned his back and boarded the tetrahedron.

  ~

  Quinn entered the Shanata vessel’s control area, glanced up at the transparent ceiling, and saw stars, cold and hard in the unyielding black. They were already in space.

  He felt a slight rumble. The stars smeared against their velvet backdrop. We’re underway.

  Three figures stood around a circular table at the centre—Shanata, Osei, and Badhati. He crossed the floor, dodging swiftly moving Shanata and slithering Osei. Vil-gar’s sphere floated over his left shoulder like an ever-present Tinkerbell.