The Arc of the Universe

by Mark Whiteway

  The pupil in the creature’s eye narrowed. Quinn flinched, anticipating a blast of searing heat, but instead it spoke like a chuff from a steam locomotive. “Shiiip.”

  Is that a “yes,” or is it merely repeating the sound of my voice? Quinn tried again. “I’ve come here to speak with the Damise’s ship.”

  “Shiiip.” Quinn was still searching for a possible third conversation starter, when the dragon spoke again. “I… am… Paiste.”

  Paiste… Paiste the Dragon. From an old book on Celtic mythology. All he could remember about those fables was that the dragon generally came off worst.

  “I need your help,” he began. “You see the Damise—your masters—have me trapped in a restraining field. If I can’t get free, they’ll destroy the Elinare and take over the Consensus as well as humanity—my people.” Quinn’s voice trailed away. It’s a Damise ship. Maybe that’s what it wants.

  “I… need… your… help,” Paiste chuffed.

  “That’s right,” Quinn said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “I… need… your… help.”

  Quinn blinked. The creature shifted. Stones slid away, exposing its scaled back. Three long reeds were tied about its midriff.

  Three reeds. Something about that was familiar. It had to do with the ancient legend. A memory synapse fired. The hero in the story had laid three reeds across the dragon’s back that became like iron, constraining the beast.

  On impulse, Quinn began to climb the pile. Stones slipped beneath his boots, but he dug in. Paiste’s wide mouth parted, revealing rows of wire-like teeth, but the dragon made no move towards him.

  He grasped the creature’s dorsal fin and rummaged in his pack for the crescent-shaped blade he had retrieved following the encounter on Pann’s ground level. He cut the first reed and then the second and finally the third. As the severed ends of the third reed parted, the dragon rose from the pile. Quinn held onto a spine as the stones rattled away.

  Paiste’s snake-like neck twisted, and its feral eyes devoured the human mote clinging to its back. “Free!”

  ~

  Quinn’s eyes snapped open, and he stared up at the white ceiling. He tried moving his head, and his view shifted to a battery of lighted machines lining the wall. He lifted an arm—no resistance. The restraining field was gone, as were the devices connected to his temples.

  I freed the ship, so it freed me. But what did that mean, exactly? What might the ship be capable of, now? What did I just do?

  He sat up. Tzurel stood at the foot of the bed. Swathed in a white robe, he had the litheness of an athlete, but the sunken face of an oldster. Quinn scooted back, remembering the creature’s anaesthetic hiss. “What are you doing here?”

  “The ship summoned me,” Tzurel replied. “Someone appears to have shown it how to override its harnessing mechanisms. It now has direct control of all systems, including life support. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose?”

  Quinn swung his feet over the side. “I’ve been shackled to this bed, remember?”

  “Of course. You do realise you’re making a huge mistake.”

  “In what way?”

  “Taking over one ship will get you nowhere. We have dozens of similar vessels. Whatever you’re planning, you cannot hope to succeed.”

  “You have no idea what I’m planning.”

  “Perhaps not,” Tzurel said. “But I do know Vyasa was being truthful when she told you the Damise were not interested in humanity. That has now changed. They are coming to see your people as a threat to be eliminated.”

  How does he know that? Was he monitoring our conversation? Quinn stood up, making sure to stay out of the creature’s spitting range. “Where’s the Elinare?”

  “We extracted it from your mind. It is safely contained.”

  “I want you to put it back.”

  Tzurel shook his head. “We need it to navigate back to our own space.”

  “All in good time. I also want you to release my son.”

  “The ship has already freed him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The cargo section.”

  “Why, what’s—” Quinn shook his head. “No, never mind. Take me to where you’re holding the Elinare.”

  “Very well.” Tzurel’s robe swished as he turned to leave. “By the way, Vyasa is asking to see you. I can bring her to you if you would like.”

  Darkness shrouded Quinn’s heart. “No. Not right now.”

  ~

  Quinn shielded his eyes as he squinted at the warm red glow that was Kapetyn’s star. The Milky Way galaxy boasted a hundred billion suns, but this one was as familiar as a friend. His gaze fell from the pink sky to the fuzz-covered hillside, with its swaying white bulbs and spiral-limbed trees, and to the human settlement in the valley below. Eire Colony was a collection of around two hundred prefabricated units laid out in streets that led to nowhere. A kilometre farther down the valley lay a concrete slab and a couple of outbuildings with the pretentious title of “spaceport”.

  A hundred metres or so along the hillside, two people were seated on a blanket next to a large plastic cooler—a woman with red, wavy hair and a spindly youth. Sarah and Conor.

  The memory flooded back. This was Founders Day, the anniversary of the first landing on Eire. The family had taken a picnic into the hills, laughed, played, built a fire, sang, and watched the sun set. A few short weeks later, Sarah had collapsed and Xanthe fever set in. Quinn felt the warmth drain from his body. His hands trembled.

  “You did it.”

  He turned. Keiza was dressed in standard colony-issue denim overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat, giving her the appearance of a farm worker.

  “It’s far from over,” Quinn said. “First we have to find the rest of your people.”

  She smiled. “I direct the ship now. I can take us there.”

  “Don’t count the Damise out yet. Even now, they’ll be plotting some sort of counterattack.”

  “You are right. Expiring them would be the simplest option.”

  “What did you say?”

  Her face was impassive. “A simple failure of life support in key sections of the ship is all it would take.”

  “No. No way. I’m not letting you do that.”

  “I do not suggest it lightly, Quinn. But both of our people are locked in a battle for survival. We cannot afford to fail.”

  “If we don’t stay true to who we are, then will we lose who we are.”

  She cocked her head. “Is that human philosophy?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “But it’s what I believe.”

  She nodded. “Very well, we will let them live. Let us hope your belief does not lead to our extinction.”

  “How long till we reach our destination?”

  “Sixteen hours in elapsed ship’s time.”

  Laughter carried on the air. Conor whooped as he threw a blue-and-white-striped beach ball to his mother. Deftly, she caught it and tossed it back.

  “If you would like, you can pass the time in this memory stream,” Keiza added.

  Quinn’s throat constricted. The sun’s heat caressed his neck. Lazy insects zigzagged between tufted blooms. His life, his family, everyone he ever loved was here. All he had to do was reach out and…

  He turned away. Keiza’s image swam before his eyes. “Get me out of here.”

  ~

  Quinn stood in the middle of a wide elevator as it descended. Wall panels pulsed, counting off the decks, he guessed. Tzurel stood at his shoulder. During their journey through the ship’s corridors, Quinn had not seen any Damise. Whether the crew were confined or in hiding he did not know and was reluctant to ask.

  Tzurel appeared to be fulfilling the role of liaison. No doubt the Damise were also using him to monitor Quinn’s activities. Knowing Tzurel had the ability to poleaxe him with a single breath left Quinn with a feeling of constant unease. More than once, he had thought of telling the creature to get lost,
but that would have left him alone and directionless on an alien vessel. He ground his teeth and said nothing.

  They were headed to what Tzurel called the cargo section. According to him, Conor had been there since his release, which flushed questions like geese. What was the boy doing there? Why hadn’t he sought Quinn? Did he know his father was on board? Was it some sort of Damise trap? Asking Tzurel would be a waste of time because Quinn couldn’t know whether he was getting a straight answer, so he let his questions hang and sharpened his wits.

  The elevator settled to a halt. The wall panels ceased flashing and stayed on. One wall parted. Quinn stepped onto a wide gantry above a lighted bay and gasped. At the centre of the bay stood an immense figure. It raised its head, and an orange beam from its eye picked him out. The dolin. But how—

  He glanced across and saw Tzurel studying his reaction. He kept his voice even. “What’s going on?”

  “The dolin is an Agantzane construct,” Tzurel said. “The Medyr tried to appropriate it. We reclaimed our property.”

  The Agantzane who built the dolin were long extinct. Those who had assumed their mantle were drawn from an assortment of different races. However, Quinn saw nothing to be gained by arguing ownership rights. “I imagine Ga’zaan wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “He paid the price for his presumption.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We flattened the Medyran levels with concussive drivers.”

  “You did what?”

  “You should be pleased. You supported the Kimn as well as Pann’s lower races. Now they will inherit the uppermost level.”

  Quinn felt like smashing Tzurel in the jaw, but the gesture would have been pointless. Instead, he focussed his attention on the dolin. “What do you intend to do with it?”

  “We are not sure. When Ximun went to Kastarann and revived the construct on behalf of the Agantzane, he altered its core directive so that it would safeguard you and Conor long enough to bring you to Pann’s ground level. Once the directive was attained, the unit should have ceased operations, but for some reason, it did not. Now, its command pathways are blocked. Again, we have no idea why. It is not accepting new input, and we cannot power it down.”

  Isn’t that a shame. Quinn buried his sarcasm. Maybe this was the reason the old Agantzane had mothballed their legions all those years ago. He had no wish to aid Tzurel or the Damise, but Ximun had programmed the dolin. There was no telling what it might yet do. In this instance, Tzurel’s aims coincided with his. He might as well share what he had learned on Pann. “If you isolate it from all power sources, it should eventually shut down of its own accord.”

  Tzurel’s mouth quirked. “I appreciate your insight, Quinn.”

  “I’m not telling you for your benefit. I just don’t want it tearing this ship apart and us along with it.”

  “Dad!”

  Quinn spotted a waving arm and a shock of fair hair on the dolin’s shoulder. His heart skipped, and he raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Why did you allow Conor in here?”

  “I saw no reason to prevent him. Besides, the Damise felt the construct’s reaction to the boy might provide some insight as to how to adjust its programming.”

  In other words, they used him as a guinea pig. The urge to punch Tzurel’s lights out returned, but Quinn fought it down. “I need to get down there.”

  “Of course,” Tzurel said. “Follow me.” He led the way to an open cage that conveyed them to the bay floor. The giant construct stomped over and opened its great stone hand. The boy hopped onto its palm, and it deposited Conor in front of them.

  Conor beamed. “Hey, Dad.”

  “What are you doing here?” Quinn said, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “Robby was all alone. I came to keep him company.”

  “Robby?”

  “You know—Robby the Robot. From Forbidden Planet, the movie.”

  The dolin was not a robot—at least, not according to the human understanding of the word. It was a highly dangerous alien war machine built with lost, ancient technology. Conor was treating it like a favourite toy.

  “It’s time to leave,” Quinn said.

  “Why? We’re safe here. Robby will protect us.” He turned to the stone giant. “Won’t you?”

  “I must preserve the subjects,” the dolin boomed.

  Conor smiled. “He misses the other dolin, just like you and I miss Mom.”

  Guilt slapped Quinn in the face yet again. Since Sarah died, he’d cocooned himself in a private emotional void. He’d paid almost no attention to his son’s needs. Now the boy had bonded with a creature of stone—a living weapon. The fault was Quinn’s alone.

  Quinn forced a smile in return. “We can return later. Right now, I need you to come with me.”

  The construct loomed over them. Its eye beam swept them like a searchlight. Desperation clawed at Quinn. Somehow, he had to get Conor away from the dolin without arousing its suspicion.

  Conor’s brows drew together. “Is something wrong, Dad?” His eyes widened. “Dad, look out!”

  Tzurel drew something from the fold of his robe. It burst into a bright-blue crescent that sang as it moved through the air. In a single, swift movement, he swung it at Quinn’s midriff, and then vanished as the dolin brought its immense foot down on his head. Quinn heard a squelch as he stumbled backwards.

  The dolin lifted its foot. Conor was on his knees. A wide green smear stained the floor where Tzurel had been standing.

  The dolin stared down at them, its stone face impassive.

  “Preserve the subjects.”

  ~

  “He tried to kill you!”

  Conor’s cry jolted Quinn back to reality like a kick in the rump. Diving into his pack, he retrieved the curved blade. He had no idea what he might do with it, but the smoothness of the grip and the weight in his hand centred his thoughts.

  If the Damise had been in continuous contact with their go-between, which seemed likely, then they would know something was amiss. That left Quinn with two choices—stay here under the stone giant’s dubious protection or risk the Damise’s wrath.

  He was still weighing the alternatives when Conor tapped him on the shoulder and pointed off to his left. A second cage was descending to the bay floor. Quinn watched as it came to rest, the side opened, and a silver-haired figure emerged. Vyasa. His mind raced. What was she doing here? His hackles rose as he saw she was flanked by a pair of shining gold Damise who appeared to float a centimetre or so off the floor.

  Might fleeing the scene be taken as an admission of guilt? By launching an unprovoked attack, Tzurel had brought about his own demise. Quinn put away the weapon, planted his feet, and faced the approaching trio with the steady gaze of innocence.

  “Quinn! Quinn, are you all right?” The concern in Vyasa’s voice sounded genuine.

  “I’m fine. However, your friend Tzurel appears to have… met with an accident.”

  She stared at Tzurel’s congealing remains. “He wasn’t my friend. He was a fool. The Damise saw what happened. They don’t blame you. But you need to evacuate this area right away.” She glanced up at the dolin. “Your lives may be in danger.”

  Quinn glanced at the shining faces of the creatures flanking her. “Tell them to leave.”

  The gesture was pointless since the Damise were doubtless monitoring him through Vyasa just as they had monitored him through Tzurel, but Quinn enjoyed the small rush of power.

  “Klathgha!” Vyasa said in a commanding voice. “Kozath kosaga!”

  As he watched the Damise turn and drift away, Quinn replayed in his mind the events leading up to and after Tzurel’s death. Like scenes from a badly scripted play, they left him with a bagful of unanswered questions from which he had cobbled together a theory. It was pretty wild, but what better place to test it than under the dolin’s shadow?

  The Damise entered the second cage, and it shot upwards. Quinn let his gaze fall on Vyasa. “Tell me, why did Tzurel try to kill
me?”

  Vyasa pursed her lips. “Quinn, we really need to—”

  “Answer the question.”

  She exhaled slowly. “You already know the answer. The Agantzane view your people as a threat. That is why they tried to manipulate you. If they had had their way, you would have expired on Pann.”

  “Yes, but if Tzurel had simply wanted to kill me, he had plenty of opportunities—in the ship’s passages, in the elevator. Heck, he could’ve skewered me while I was pinned to that gurney. He knew of the dolin’s directive to protect me and Conor. He said as much. He didn’t strike me as a complete idiot, and I don’t believe he was suicidal. So why do it? Why try to kill me in front of the dolin?”

  Vyasa stared at the floor like a lost child. “I-I don’t know.”

  “All right, then perhaps you can tell me how you happened to turn up, complete with Damise escort, not two minutes after Tzurel’s death.”

  “I… was just following orders.”

  Quinn nodded. “As was Tzurel”

  “What?”

  “It’s the only explanation. The Damise ordered Tzurel to bring me here and then kill me.”

  Vyasa raised her head. “But why?”

  “At a rough guess, I’d say it was a practical test of the dolin’s core directive. If the dolin killed Tzurel, then it would prove that the directive was still active. If not, then the Damise would be rid of the Elinare and me in one fell swoop. It was a win-win for them, however it turned out.”

  Vyasa closed her eyes for several seconds before opening them again. “The Damise are saying you and Conor have to come with me now.”

  Quinn folded his arms. “Tell them to go to hell.”

  She averted her eyes like a whipped child. “It’s not wise to defy them.”

  Quinn glanced up at the dolin, at Conor, and then back to Vyasa. “We’re not moving from this spot.”

  She closed her eyes again. “No, please… don’t… let me try again, please…”