The Arc of the Universe: Book Two: The Search

Knuckles 3 1 2016-09-14T02:21:00Z 2023-03-14T02:24:00Z 43 70609 402473 3353 944 472138 14.0

The Arc of the Universe

Book Two

By Mark Whiteway

Science Fiction

Copyright © Mark Whiteway

All Rights Reserved.

Knuckles 3 1 2016-09-14T02:21:00Z 2023-03-14T02:24:00Z 43 70609 402473 3353 944 472138 14.0

By the same author

Lodestone Book One: The Sea of Storms

Lodestone Book Two: The World of Ice and Stars

Lodestone Book Three: The Crucible Of Dawn

Lodestone Book Four: Seeds Across the Sky

Lodestone Book Five: The Conquered Shore

Lodestone Book Six: Eternity’s Shadow

The Arc of the Universe: Book One

www.markwhiteway.weebly.com

Knuckles 3 1 2016-09-14T02:21:00Z 2023-03-14T02:24:00Z 43 70609 402473 3353 944 472138 14.0

Table of Contents

Part One: The Shanata

Part Two: The Osei

Part Three: The Elinare

Part Four: The Search

Part Five: The Medyr

Part Six: The Kimn

Part Seven: The Descent

Part Eight: The Agantzane

Knuckles 3 1 2016-09-14T02:21:00Z 2023-03-14T02:24:00Z 43 70609 402473 3353 944 472138 14.0

Part One: The Shanata

Regan Quinn sat and watched stars streak past like flaming tickertape. For the first time since he had witnessed the destruction of the colony fleet, he felt calm. Confident. In control.

He glanced across at Conor, who rewarded him with a smile. Quinn’s heart skipped. So much like your mother.

Conor had perished in the disaster. In a final fit of anguish, Quinn had yanked out his own airline, determined to die along with his son—and yet he had not died. Instead, he awoke in an antiseptic room where a single window showed a series of ever-changing scenes. Confused and disoriented, he watched until the window revealed a cityscape where a strange, winged creature delivered a cryptic message. When the scene shifted again, Conor had reappeared in the room, alive and healthy.

Later, Quinn learned the acid truth. The new Conor was a reanimate—an artificially regenerated copy, programmed to serve as an instrument of his faceless captors, the Agantzane. Trapped in an escape capsule on a frozen moon, his programming had kicked in. However, instead of killing them, Conor experienced emotional collapse. The self-assured servant of a race of powerful beings became his son once more—vulnerable, alone, and desperate for a father’s compassion.

Human folklore told of the changeling—the faerie child placed in a human baby’s crib to fool the mother into believing it was hers. Did anxious parents, confused by strange behaviour in their offspring, make up the story? Perhaps the Agantzane knew the strength of the human parental bond, which was why they had chosen that method to bend him to their will. Quinn didn’t know. All he knew was that when he looked into Conor’s eyes, science, reason, even the implacable logic of the universe itself all burned away. Tests be damned, this was his son.

Conor had begged that they return home, and Quinn would have liked nothing better. However, he could not ignore the consequences for Humanity. The Agantzane controlled the Consensus—a huge interplanetary alliance with vastly superior resources and technology. Following the genocide of the Japhet—one of the Founder races of the Consensus—the Agantzane had declared humans a valuable species and hence safe from conquest. But how could he trust a race content to murder and start a war and never even show its face? He would find them and rip away their masks. He would expose their crimes. They prided themselves on their unwavering system of justice, did they? I’ll teach you the meaning of justice.

He was on his way to Shana, the home world of the Shanata. Staunch allies of the Agantzane, the Shanata had served as wardens of the Japhet, charged with keeping them confined to the ruins of their world. The Japhet had demonstrated an ability to control space and time. They were gone now, but the other Founder races—the Damise and the Elinare—might still be out there somewhere. If so, then they too knew the secret. They also knew the nature of the elusive Agantzane and the truth of who had caused the cataclysm known as the Transformation. Perhaps they even knew how to remove the touch of death the Agantzane had cursed him with. If anyone knew where they might be found, it would be the Shanata.

Vyasa sat in the pilot’s seat, neatly folded wings clinging to her back like a leather cloak. Her slender fingers danced glissandos across the lighted panels. She was as passionate for the cause of her Mercy Faction as she was distrustful of outsiders. Quinn had roughly hewn out a working relationship with the Harani female, though the loss of her longtime comrade, Crenon of Samalia, had widened the gulf between them.

On Quinn’s other side sat the Nemazi, Zothan. Shiny black skin stretched over his emaciated limbs. A proud race, the Nemazi had been decimated in the Transformation. They lived as nomads, dismantling and rebuilding their towns to stay ahead of the time fractures that roamed the surface of their world like storm cells.

Thrown back to the time of the Transformation, Quinn had been irradiated with exotic matter and had become a Shade, sharing their ability to move through four-space. Keeping the secret from Vyasa had damaged their fragile relationship still further. He would have to work hard to rebuild it.

He leaned forward. How far to Shana?

We are not going to Shana, Vyasa said without turning.

Quinn blinked. Excuse me?

Shana’s three gateways are closely monitored. Ships coming through are routinely boarded and searched.

Then where are we—

There’s a fourth gateway close to one of Shana’s moons. It used to be part of a mining operation. The mines are long since abandoned, but certain traders still use it.

What sort of traders?

The sort who would prefer not to have their cargoes subject to official scrutiny.

It’s hard to believe the Shanata would be unaware of a gateway within their own system.

Oh, I’m sure they know all about it.

Then why—

Because from time to time they find it useful to look the other way.

Quinn made a sound in his throat. Quid pro quo.

What?

He shook his head. Forget it. So what’s the plan?

Vyasa swivelled and drilled him with a stare. Let’s get something straight, Human. You are not in charge of this operation. I am. I say where we go, where we land, whom we speak to, and when we pull out.

Quinn had to admit she knew the layout and the people. It’s her sandbox. He shrugged. Okay.

The storm in her eyes abated. She returned her gaze to the flow of stars beyond the window. Ximun maintains a network of contacts on Shana. One of them—a mid-ranked official in the Bureau of Assignments—claims to have information on the Founder races. We will set down in a section of the old quarter and await the prearranged signal. If I decide it is genuine, I will set up a meeting. You will follow my lead at all times. You will not speak or act unless directed. If you try to go it alone, I will abort the mission. Is that clear?

Quinn nodded. I understand. And I’m sorry.

Vyasa let out an exasperated sigh. Sorry about what?

I should’ve gone after Crenon—tried to free him from that… thing.

The Shanata would have killed you or, worse still, captured you and turned you into a reanimate. Her eyes strayed in Conor’s direction then snapped back. Your actions were correct. Ximun told you as much.

Nevertheless—

Crenon is gone. There is an end of it. She turned to face the window once more.

Something strange happened on that moon, he persisted, something no one seems able to explain.

Vyasa shook her head firmly. Nemazi fables.

Whatever took Crenon was no fable. I saw it with my own eyes.

It makes no sense, she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. Why would the Shanata destroy their own?

Maybe it wasn’t the Shanata.

Then who?

Zothan says the Agantzane use sophisticated AI. Maybe, given the right circumstances—

You’re saying their EV suits abandoned them and left them to die?

Either that or something else took them over. I’ve rattled it round in my head, and I can’t come up with any other explanation that fits the facts.

If true, it would mean the Shanata’s technology has turned against them.

It would also mean they don’t have Crenon.

She frowned. I’m not sure his being controlled by an unknown entity makes me feel any better.

‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Quinn smiled. It’s just something humans say. Next time you speak to Ximun, maybe you should suggest he search for any reports of rogue AI.

She nodded. If the Shanata have a vulnerability, we should know about it.

If we can find Crenon, maybe we can free him.

A flicker passed over her features. Humans take optimism to ridiculous levels. You must encounter a lot of disappointments.

True. But it makes for great art and literature.

Tension flowed from her face and shoulders, though Quinn didn’t get the smile he was hoping for.

She lowered her voice and glanced in Conor’s direction. Did Ximun tell you about him?

He shared the test results with me, yes.

Then you know what he is.

Yes. I also know that when the crisis came, he overrode his programming.

Just because a river hasn’t burst its banks doesn’t mean it never will. He’s a danger to everyone. I can’t understand why Ximun would insist on us taking him along.

Ximun said that keeping Conor close would lessen the chances of triggering another… incident.

Even if that were true, there are far safer alternatives—placing him in stasis, for example.

Then why didn’t you suggest it?

Because Ximun is the head of our cell, and…

And what? Quinn prompted.

You would never have agreed.

Suppose something had happened and Quinn were unable to return? Would they have dared risk awakening Conor? Better to let him slip into oblivion…

Quinn’s voice became a hoarse whisper. At the bottom of the lake, he… changed. I don’t care what the tests say. He won’t harm us.

I hope you’re right, she said, staring at the passing stars. Because if you are not—if the boy becomes a threat—then I will do what I must.

~

Quinn stared up and around at the ring of golden energy riding ahead of their craft. Within the ring was utter darkness.

Gateways were the primary method used by the Consensus to travel between systems in its vast alliance. He had watched their formation before but always found it fascinating. He imagined himself surrounded by a gang of human engineers who would grill him over every detail—every nuance of what he was now seeing. He considered asking questions about the physics involved, but was certain he wouldn’t understand the answers.

Vyasa swept a hand over the interface, their ship shot into the ring, and the stars vanished. A split second later, new stars burst forth.

An intermittent alarm sounded a plaintive wail. Quinn started to rise from his seat. What’s going on?

Proximity alert! Vyasa cried. Hold on.

Quinn peered at the forward screen and frowned. The stars were oddly distributed, with large regions of shadow. Vyasa’s fingers waltzed over the panels, and the shadows shifted.

We’ve emerged in the middle of a large asteroid field, Vyasa said.

How did that happen? Quinn demanded. Wasn’t the gateway supposed to be orbiting a moon at this end?

She shook her head. Coordinates match. The moon is gone… and so is the planet. Something’s pulverised the entire system.

Quinn felt his sanity slip. Th-That’s impossible!

Zothan stood at his shoulder. Vyasa speaks the truth, Quinn, though I do not understand how this has happened.

Quinn tried to gather his shattered wits. How many…?

Around eight billion, Vyasa replied.

Did the Nemazi do this?

Zothan gazed at the shattered worlds with smouldering amber eyes. I will not lie to you, Quinn. My people face annihilation by the Shanata. They would strike back any way they could. But this is far beyond their ability.

What about the other Shade races, Quinn asked, the Omaka, for example?

Zothan shook his head slowly. I do not think so.

A fantastical explanation glinted in the silence. Quinn picked it up and turned it over. Maybe it was us.

Vyasa veered the ship away from a dark mountain looming to their left. What’s that supposed to mean?

We broke the blockade—humiliated the Shanata. Ximun told us the Agantzane would exact a terrible price for their failure.

Vyasa snorted. That’s absurd. The Shanata are their principal ally. It’d be like… like chopping off a leg because you stubbed your toe!

Vyasa’s argument made perfect sense. Yet the Agantzane were capable of utter ruthlessness when it served their purpose.

We cannot stay here, Zothan said in his gravelly voice.

He’s right, Vyasa said. Coming about.

What are you doing? Quinn demanded.

I’m taking us back.

What? Why?

There’s nothing more to see.

What about survivors? Quinn asked.

She rounded on him. Don’t you get it? They’re gone—all of them. Their world’s been reduced to rubble. There are no survivors!

You don’t know that.

Perhaps we should take the opportunity to gather data, Zothan said. The others stared at him. We may discover clues as to the identity of the attacker—distribution patterns, shearing effects, residual energy traces. Your Ximun may be able to use that information.

Whoever did this might still be around, Vyasa pointed out.

What, are you afraid? Quinn instantly regretted the question as thunder rolled across her face.

I would not risk the lives of those in my charge.

We are not Mercy Faction, Quinn continued in a more conciliatory tone. Conor is my son, and Zothan owes allegiance to no one but himself. If we choose to stay and investigate, the risk and the responsibility are ours.

Vyasa turned away. Very well. We will collect whatever data we can, and then we will leave. Her tone carried an edge that left no room for argument.

Quinn resumed his seat and steepled his fingers. How would it be—to watch helplessly as the world broke up around you—to see the air you breathe ripped away and everyone you knew and loved torn apart or incinerated?

He had no love for the Shanata. At the Agantzane’s bidding, they had imprisoned and tortured the Japhet, yet when Nemazi boarded the transport on Zahava, he had stood between them and the cowering Shanata crew. No one deserves this… no one.

Zothan believed his people were not responsible. But the Nemazi were split into countless factions, and there were three other Shade races of which Quinn knew almost nothing. If one of them had gotten hold of a devastating new weapon, he had no doubt they would use it. They had been bottled up on their respective worlds until he and the others had smashed through the Shanata blockade. Had their group unwittingly given the Shades the opportunity to destroy Shana? Whether it was Shade vengeance or Agantzane retribution, the conclusion was the same—the four of them were the catalyst. His heart felt crushed beneath the weight of eight billion souls.

Zothan took the position next to Vyasa and stared at an ocean of flowing symbols. Vyasa glanced sideways but said nothing.

Conor stared straight ahead.

Quinn cast off his black mood and leaned towards his son. What do you think?

I’m… not sure, he replied.

Quinn smiled to himself. Before his breakdown, Conor would have staunchly defended his Agantzane masters. His newfound uncertainty was all human.

What are you going to do, Dad?

We’re going to search for clues as to who did this.

No, I mean how will you find the Founder races now that the Shanata are gone?

There’s always the Agantzane.

But no one knows who or where they are.

An idea sparked. He had been reluctant to press Conor about events during his incarceration in the white room, but perhaps the time had come. You do.

Dad?

When you were first… revived, you had direct contact with them.

Conor’s eyes grew distant. Right.

What can you tell me about them?

The boy’s smooth white brow furrowed. I… I don’t have those memories.

What do you mean? Quinn kept his voice even.

They’re like… like locked doors. I can go there, but I can’t enter. Conor’s face twisted.

An alarm sounded in Quinn’s head. Reanimate Conor was programmed with conditioned responses. I’ll trigger a reaction if I’m not careful.

He smiled. Forget it. It’s not important.

No, Conor said. No, I want to remember.

Maybe it’ll come to you if you don’t think about it.

Really?

It’s what I used to do when I mislaid my access chip.

A commotion in the control area caught Quinn’s attention. Zothan pointed a talon at the data stream. Vyasa nodded vigorously.

Quinn rose and joined them. Find anything?

Scans indicate this entire area of space has been subject to massive gravimetric distortion, Zothan said. Power is off the scale.

A distant memory hit home. What did you say?

The planet was broken up by a huge gravimetric disturbance, Zothan repeated.

My God!

What’s the matter? Vyasa demanded.

That was what destroyed the colony fleet.

Are you certain?

Quinn nodded. Th-The lifeboat detected an intense spatial distortion. It cracked us apart like an egg.

"Then it was the Agantzane who did this," Zothan growled.

You don’t know that, Vyasa insisted.

Vyasa’s right, Quinn said. All we know for certain is that the same type of weapon was used in both attacks. Let’s get the data back to Ximun and let him figure it out.

I would recommend gathering a few samples of the debris before we head back, Zothan said.

 All right, we’ll… Vyasa stared at the readouts. Wait, there’s something else… I’m getting a metallic signature. The symbols vanished, and the screen filled with a slowly rotating vessel schematic. A Shanata transport. It’s intact but heavily damaged. Moving in closer.

Zothan leaned over her shoulder. Power output is negligible. The hull shows multiple fractures.

That’s exactly what happened to us, Quinn said, his voice hoarse.

There’s no gas escaping, Vyasa said. All the air must’ve bled away into space.

I’m going over there, Quinn heard himself say.

What? Vyasa said. Why?

To check for survivors.

Her eyes were like pools swelled by spring rain. Weren’t you listening? There’s no air on that ship.

I will accompany you, Quinn, Zothan said.

Quinn smiled. I was hoping you’d say that.

You’ve both lost your minds! Vyasa exclaimed.

If you’re right and everyone’s dead over there, then we’ve nothing to fear.

Zothan crossed to a compartment near the rear of the cabin and produced a pair of EV belts. He tossed one to Quinn. The Shanata’s drive is leaking exotic particles. We should transfer to the forward section.

The ship’s suffered heavy damage, Vyasa pointed out. There might be all kinds of hazards.

We’ll take it easy, Quinn said. If we get in over our heads, we’ll just transfer back here. It’ll be fine. He strapped on the belt and nodded to Zothan. Ready?

I am ready, Quinn.

Quinn hit the buckle with the heel of his palm. Flexible plates emerged from the belt and flowed over his body, covering him in an interlocking black sheen. The area in front of his face became transparent. Belatedly, he remembered Vyasa’s veiled threat. He turned to Conor. I’ll be right back, he said through the faceplate. Just… don’t talk to her, okay?

Conor nodded meekly.

Vyasa’s expression was a storm of annoyance and frustration. Ignoring her, Quinn invoked a conduit though four-space, found the Shanata transport, and stepped over.

~

The tunnel swirled and vanished behind Quinn like water sucked through a plughole. The view before him was wreathed in shadow. A band of stars offered miserly illumination.

Quinn paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the half-light. A dozen shapes lay crumpled on the floor or draped over dark consoles like discarded sacks. He surveyed the transport’s control area—or what was left of it.

A bright beam snapped on behind him. Quinn whirled. Zothan stood at his shoulder, a beacon shining from his raised palm. He looked like a black-suited Statue of Liberty.

The Shanata were smaller than Nemazi and almost as thin limbed. They wore facemasks with single, narrow slits, which gave no clues about the creatures within. Quinn knelt beside one of the fallen.

Zothan’s beacon fell on a nearby console. Reserve power is being channelled into life support. Onboard temperature is being maintained, but no air remains.

The console was dark, so Quinn had no idea where Zothan was getting his data. Where’s the main compartment?

Quinn braced himself for a Why bother?, but Zothan merely led him away from the starlit view port to the rear of the control section.

Why am I bothering with this? Humans were stubborn creatures, and Quinn could compete with the best of them. But he was flying in the face of reason. Rescuers will carry on for days searching for earthquake survivors, he told himself. However, they had at least a faint hope of finding someone alive. What hope did he have on a ship with no air? Was he doing this for the sake of the Shanata, or to salve his own conscience?

Zothan halted before a bulkhead and stared at it for a moment. He tapped a wall panel. Nothing happened.

What’s up? Quinn asked.

The doors are without power.

How about phasing through them?

We cannot phase, Quinn. Our suits would breach.

Then let’s transfer over.

Zothan shook his narrow head. The Shanata’s engines are damaged. They are leaking high concentrations of dibaryons, skyrmions, and tetraquarks into the rear section. Quantum effects are unstable. We could end up anywhere.

You’re saying we’re locked out?

Zothan cocked his head. Perhaps there is a way.

He tapped his wrist, and a section of his suit slid aside to reveal a tiny, lighted array. From it, a tubule snaked out to penetrate the wall panel.

What are you doing? Quinn asked.

Supplying power to operate the door mechanism.

Won’t that compromise your suit?

I have lowered the suit’s power consumption to compensate. Nemazi can withstand adverse life support for a period.

Quinn balked. I’m putting lives in danger for the sake of this fool’s errand. Before he could open his mouth to tell Zothan to stop, the door jerked open a couple of centimetres. Quinn grabbed one jamb and heaved. Zothan grasped the other. Gradually, they prised the doors apart. Quinn squeezed through the gap.

Row after row of closely packed seating stretched into the distance, occupied by silent, unmoving figures. Quinn advanced up the central aisle. The passengers wore no headgear, though most had clear masks strapped to their faces. They showed no signs of life, their oxygen reserves apparently depleted.

Quinn stopped and stared at a row of different-sized creatures that might once have been a family grouping. Two youngsters nestled in the crooked arms of adults. He gazed for the first time on the faces of the Shanata. Almond eyes and a wide, downturned mouth dominated their narrow, hairless heads. Their skin bore a sallow complexion—was it their natural colour, or merely death pallor?

Quinn forced his feet forward. Each step brought him face to face with a fresh tableau of the last moment of life. Dozens—hundreds—were packed into the transport, all fleeing their world’s destruction. Had there been some warning of the impending disaster? Had panic set in—a desperate rush for a place on one of the last remaining transports? Here they were, then—the fortunate ones.

Why was he putting himself through this? Was it a form of penance? He recalled his sense of triumph when he and the others had smashed through the Shanata blockade. They had freed a people, delayed an invasion—maybe even turned the tide of a war. Now, witness the results.

Quinn sought a distraction—any distraction. How’s the suit?

It is functioning.

He caught the tightness in Zothan’s voice. Was it physical discomfort or emotional distress?

Thanks for supporting me, Quinn said.

Thanks are irrelevant. We are of the same nucleus.

"But this is not your people’s way, is it? Nemazi who are cut off from their nucleus use the arthishak—the ritual blade. If a Zathaar chieftain suggested forming a rescue party, the other Nemazi would take it as a sign of weakness."

That is true.

"Do you