Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  “And which is more deadly?”

  She gave a sniff. “Oh, that’s easy: both at once.”

  Ethan stared away. I wish others were dealing with this. Then, as always, he heard a phrase in his mind: Ethan, this is your task, your burden, your mission. You have no right to drop this.

  Where does this response come from? The Spirit? My conscience? Some twist in my genes?

  Ethan decided to change the subject. “Oh, Eliza, some news. Seymour has set up a military intelligence unit, and they are concerned about the Gate system. The Gates, they say, are both a strength and weakness. They unite us, yet an enemy that seized control of the Gate system would spread through the Assembly in days. You follow the logic?”

  “Yes. That has been a sentinel concern as well. The Gate system offers an almost instantaneous transmission for evil in any form.”

  “Anyway, as a result, the ADF has asked for a new lockdown system—something that would freeze all the Gates so that they could not be opened. Except with some utterly unique key. I gather that those who are rediscovering cryptography think we can do it fairly soon. It would be a desperate measure, but it might be essential. Would we have your support?”

  “On that, at least, I can guarantee you support.”

  “One other matter. I have been pressured into creating a Department of Assembly Security—DAS. An intelligence agency.”

  “To do what?” The eyes were searching.

  “Primarily to keep an eye on all these internal issues, like rumors and so on, but also to look out for external threats. It’s to advise the high stewards and to liaise with the ADF.”

  There was a quizzical look. “I hadn’t heard of it.”

  “The DAS is to be low-key.”

  “Headed up by?”

  “K.”

  “K?”

  “It’s sort of a joke. Kirana Malent; she’s the controller.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “She headed up the Inter-World Communications Agency; highly recommended. But she says it was a tradition that the heads of intelligence bodies were anonymous. So in the minutes, she is just down as K.”

  “Kirana Malent . . . I will remember her name.”

  “Don’t shout it out. She wants anonymity.” And knowing Kirana, she will get it.

  Just then a door slid open on an upper deck cabin. A woman with a cable in her hand stepped through it and sang out, “Sir, secure comm link to Nairobi up and running.”

  Ethan looked at Eliza. “Well, let’s see what the senior elder of the Custodians of the Faith has to say.”

  Five minutes later they were seated before a wallscreen in a room that badly adjusted air-conditioning had made both too cool and stuffy. Ethan saw the face of a balding and bearded man appear, vanish, and then reappear. How gray the beard seems. We are all aging fast.

  “Andreas! Can you hear me?”

  “Aah, Chairman Malunal.” Ethan saw a grainy finger reach out to tap some adjustment near the screen. “That’s better. Oh, and Eliza. We three again.” Ethan perceived distance and coolness in the smile Andreas gave. We were once friends; now Andreas is simply a man whose views I need to listen to. And, if I am honest, he is another man whom I would prefer not to face, for his criticisms sting me. Eliza is right; I am not built for conflict.

  “Greetings, both, from Nairobi, where there’s a remarkable and rather spectacular electrical storm going on outside. Quite symbolic, really. Anyway, I have been able to snatch some time away to discuss this report. And let me thank you for the speed with which you have forwarded it.” The green eyes were excited, and Ethan was suddenly struck by the realization that the theologian had been waiting for something like this. Why?

  Andreas stared quizzically at them. “I take it that, so far, it’s confidential?”

  “Yes. All that is being circulated so far is that there was a collision.”

  “So, Ethan, you have a decision to make on what to announce?”

  “Exactly.” Andreas has lost none of his sharpness. “And before I do, I wanted to know what you think.”

  Andreas leaned back and stared at them with half-closed, brooding eyes. “What I think? Ironically, I am relieved. On many levels. We have had an attack, and at last the enemy has come out of the shadows. He has walked onto the stage.” Andreas gave a thin smile. “Any possibility that this could all be a mistake is over.”

  “Yes; the situation has been . . . clarified.”

  “I’ll say. And most interestingly. I was fascinated—as a theologian and a writer—by the fact that the crew felt that it was death personified that threatened them.” He gestured with his hands. “Death! All very dramatic. And, possibly, very significant.”

  “Why significant?”

  “Let me explain. If you wanted to scare someone, how would you do it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I’ll tell you. You’d try to scare them with what scared you.”

  “Interesting,” Ethan responded.

  “Isn’t it? Perhaps we will find that death is what scares them.”

  “A suggestive thought. Look, Andreas, I have just talked to some of the members of the military intelligence, and their view is that the attack on the picket line project confirms that the enemy does have Below-Space capability and that its fleet is either preparing to move or already on the move through the Bannermene area. Perhaps.”

  “That makes sense to my nontechnical mind.”

  “Good.” This much agreement is welcome. Ethan continued, “Andreas, I have heard . . . rumors that your people have decided what is going on. ‘The big picture.’ Is that true?”

  Andreas toyed with his beard. “‘What is going on’? Oh, now that’s a challenge. Well, if I may summarize, there’s a growing feeling that what we are seeing is some sort of fluctuation in the presence of Holy Spirit in the Assembly. It’s a theological assumption that God’s presence with his people through the Spirit is not constant. It is presumed that in ancient times it was pulses of the Spirit that gave rise to the periods of revivals. The last and greatest of such revivals was the Great Intervention, and since then, we have become used to God’s presence among us at a high level. Now . . .” He paused.

  For effect? Ethan wondered.

  “Now we believe that we are moving into a period where that presence may be more distant.” A finger was solemnly raised. “In the great ebbing and flowing of the Lord’s Spirit, the tide is now on the wane. It is winter in the worlds.”

  “So is it the end?”

  “Perhaps. Or the end of the beginning.”

  “That’s too cryptic for an engineer.”

  “It could be a refining of the Assembly. Or maybe it is a rebuke to us. A wake-up call. Perhaps we have all been complacent too long?”

  That is interesting but of very little help.

  “Any other observations?”

  “Yes.” There was urgency in the word. “I think this incident may be a blessing. If you handle it right, then what happened at Bannermene will strengthen your position.”

  “How?”

  Andreas gave a cool smile. “You know why I am here, Ethan?”

  “I saw it somewhere. A regional gathering of the congregations. I’m afraid it didn’t strike me as being that significant.”

  “It shouldn’t have been. But it’s becoming a head-on confrontation between the Counter-Current and the Preparationists.”

  “I’ve not heard those terms.”

  “The titles are freshly coined, but the groupings have been forming for the last month or so. Quite simply, the Counter-Current opposes the arming of the Assembly. They believe that we should do nothing. ‘This is the Lord’s Assembly and he will take care of us.’ Quote, unquote.” He raised his hands in frustration. “They are my present enemies. Actually, it’s a diverse group. Some members of the Counter-Current have a genuine theology of divine deliverance. Others feel that the expansion of the Assembly is our sacred mission and resent the military expansio
n taking resources from it.

  “And, Ethan, I know why you are in Chicago. Whether they use the term or not, you will have to defeat the Counter-Current today.”

  Ethan nodded. So my opponents—I will not use the word enemies—have a name. “I see the attraction of the Counter-Current views. Adopting them would make my job easier.”

  “Doing nothing always is.” The words stung.

  “Doing the wrong thing is not a good idea either.”

  “How true.” Andreas waved a finger. “You need to watch out that they don’t become neo-Millerites. Now, does that term mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?” Ethan answered, aware that Eliza was nodding.

  “I think you need to know it. The first Millerites lived just over two centuries before the Great Intervention. They believed the end was at hand and gave up everything to await the coming of Christ. The neo-Millerites were a quarter of a millennium later, at the time of the Rebellion. They held that Jannafy was the Antichrist, Scripture’s man of lawlessness, and that his advent meant the return of Christ was imminent. So they decided to do nothing.” Andreas shook his head in bemusement. “Nothing at all. They would have let Jannafy take Earth had he not been turned back at Mars. The neo-Millerites were never a major group, but they were outlawed. Of course, the victory in 2110 and the death of Jannafy meant that they became an obscure footnote to a war that everyone wanted to forget. But can you see the concern that any such views should be revived?”

  “Yes. By the way, on what basis were they outlawed?”

  “It was simple: it was held that by refusing to take a stand against evil they were actually supporting it.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, the Counter-Current are not neo-Millerites. Not yet. But the Preparationists feel it is both wise and our duty to prepare for war. My own view. And yours.” An intent look came across his face. “This news, sad and concerning though it is, gives us the weapon we need to strike at the Counter-Current.”

  Eliza gave an urgent, irritated shake of her head and leaned her head toward Ethan. “I don’t like the language—striking at, enemies,” she confided in a barely audible whisper.

  Nor do I.

  “So you want me to go public.” I might have known.

  “Yes. Ethan, you must address the worlds on this. This macabre masquerade, this pretense of being Death is diabolical. In the most literal sense of the word. It must be exposed and proclaimed.” Andreas’s eyes sparkled with a strange intensity. “The other week—in Jerusalem—I asked you to go public on the satellite data that suggested there were other human worlds and that they were warlike. You refused. I was . . . perhaps too blunt about that. But now you must. That was theoretical; this is fact. That merely suggested they were inclined to war; this proves they are utterly evil. Do you disagree?”

  “No.”

  “Now, think what the announcement will allow you to do! No one will resist you. Take my advice; make a list of all the motions and decisions you want approved, then release the information about this encounter at Bannermene. I guarantee there will be no opposition.”

  He is right, of course. He generally is. Of course, such a strategy would suit Andreas.

  “I will consider your counsel.” Ethan heard the coolness in his voice.

  Andreas gestured a warning. “Ethan, you’d better. There is just one set of congregations at the moment, but any delay, and there may be two. And no one will like that. Revealing the nature of the enemy will unite us in a way nothing else can.” He let the words hang there for a moment. “Now, I have to return to my meeting. I await your decision with interest. Eliza, Ethan, blessings.”

  “And blessings to you.”

  The screen faded to an empty grayness.

  Ethan and Eliza walked outside. There they leaned on the rail and stared at the skyscape beginning to shimmer in and out of focus in the late summer heat. Ethan could feel his heart beating too fast.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” he said. Defer the decision.

  So for a few minutes, they discussed their families. Eliza’s husband had been seconded from general transport to evacuation and her two sons were now out on the fleet. Ethan recounted his own family news more quickly. His only son was doing defense admin work; as students, his two grandsons were exempt for the moment from the temptation to become soldiers.

  As Ethan spoke, he realized that more of his loneliness and ill health surfaced than he had intended. And in the gaze of Eliza’s brown eyes, he sensed a tender sympathy.

  “My burdens, Eliza, seem to broaden and deepen. In mythology, Atlas bore the weight of just one world on his shoulders; I now seem to bear that of a thousand. And a trillion men and women.”

  “It may seem that you bear it alone, but it is not so,” she murmured.

  “Not long ago, it was a surprisingly easy matter. I was borne up by colleagues, things were done for me, I could accept advice without wondering what party would benefit.”

  Suddenly he realized he had made his decision. There is no other option. “Eliza, I will make the broadcast.”

  “So you agree with Andreas?”

  “Yes. But I have my own reasons. The evidence has reached the point where not to declare to the worlds what happened would be to lie. That I cannot do.”

  “Good. What about his very pragmatic thrust—that such news will unite us?”

  “It is an undeniable attraction.” Ethan was now aware that he was going to win the debate that afternoon. They will not be able to resist me. “What a terrible, terrible irony,” he said and gave a long, humorless laugh.

  Eliza raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “We need the enemy to keep us together.”

  5

  Isabella Danol’s journey to the Dominion was already under way as Merral was making his preparations. Seated at the back of the packed and claustrophobic cabin of the Dominion ferry craft, she was not enjoying it.

  She unbuckled her safety belt, stretched herself upright, and peered over the headrest in front of her. The air was stale and fetid; someone near her had been sick. In the dull green light—was it meant to be soothing?—she could see that nothing was happening in the six lines of seats ahead. The rest of the delegates seemed to be doing exactly what those around her were; some were having whispered conversations, some were reading, and some were clearly praying. She detected an air of concern and resignation but nothing more. Remarkable, given that no one has the slightest idea what is in store for us. Is it a virtue or a vice that we are so passive? Surely, it is a vice.

  From the row ahead of her, she heard a man’s voice use the word hostage.

  No! I reject that word. Isabella remembered the advice of those early-twenty-first-century books on personal management that she had downloaded from the Library back in Ynysmant. “You must be positive about yourself. Avoid anything that portrays you as a victim of fate. You are not a victim. Despise weakness!”

  She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. I am not a hostage. I will not use that term. I am the Ynysmant delegate on the liaison team. She realized she was talking a lot to herself these days. Not audibly, of course, although some of the team were muttering. But privately. I have to defend who I really am.

  She heard a chime and braced herself for a new statement, but the message was a repeat. “This is to inform you that we have docked with the parent ship. You will shortly be transferring into it. You may use the washroom cubicles at the rear of the cabin. Otherwise, please keep to your seats for your own security.”

  “‘This is to inform you’?” The words infuriated her; the reality was that for three weeks, they had been told almost nothing. With the sudden ending of diplomacy, they had been peremptorily confined to their rooms and relieved of their diaries. When, after two days, the diaries had been returned, they were useless for any communication. The next information had been shortly after the outbreak of fighting, when explosions had shaken the liaison base and debris had clattered down on
the roof. Then a Commander Lezaroth (where had he come from?) had sent out a terse note in which he regretted to announce that, without warning, the Farholme forces had started hostilities and that, in an act of outrageous treachery, both ambassadors had been assassinated.

  There had been a week of silence before yesterday evening, when they had been summoned, told to pack for traveling, and then in near darkness hustled aboard this ferry craft, and the gut-churning journey had begun.

  And now what? Isabella asked herself. Must we be pushed around again?

  She heard someone crying on the far side of the cabin. Isabella didn’t open her eyes. She gave herself new orders. I will not go down that road. I will avoid both self-pity and apathy.

  She felt a faint surge of acceleration. It was far more distant and without the wild and frightening vibration that there had been when they blasted off. We are still moving, but where to? and why?

  She recalled the whispered rumors that Merral and the Farholme Defense Force were advancing and that, as a result, the Dominion forces were retreating back to space. As she recalled the rumors, she remembered the way that whenever Merral’s name came up, her colleagues had thrown her inquiring glances as if she knew what he was up to.

  An accusing thought came to her. I abused my friendship with Merral; I traded on his name. But she rejected the thought with anger. It had been inevitable that, when she came to Langerstrand, they would all know that she and the commander of the Farholme Defense Force were more than friends. And why shouldn’t she have used that relationship? After all, he had messed with her, so why shouldn’t she derive some benefit from what had hurt her so much? She restrained a sigh. Nevertheless, for all his weaknesses, I would be glad to see Merral and his troops burst right through that door.