Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  “No disrespect, Isabella, but perhaps . . . just perhaps,” Lola Munez murmured, “we ought to have decided ourselves whom we wanted.”

  Isabella noted that comment in her diary. She also recorded how within eight hours of her appointment, colors were beginning to fade away and how, four hours later, all sense of color had gone so that all that remained was a spectrum ranging from white to black. Soon Isabella was noting that she felt a deadening, darkening of her spirit. There though, she was not alone. Soon, as the central focus of all the other delegates, she received reports that others felt something similar. Some mentioned that it was like a cloud coming in front of the sun, others like a chill on the mind. One of the more spiritual men said it was as if he had become separated from God.

  Isabella did her best to resist dwelling on her emotions. I have things to do; I cannot be distracted. Between dealing with the growing number of complaints and requests, she tried to consider how to deal with Lezaroth. I must be wary about giving in to his authority. I must constantly remind myself that he too is vulnerable. He probably needs me as much as I need him. I must extract the best possible deal from him.

  Twenty-four hours after her appointment, she was curtly summoned to Lezaroth. She picked up a written list she had made and, aware of twenty-nine pairs of eyes watching her, followed the guard.

  Outside, she tried to adjust her hair as she walked along.

  “Have we been introduced?” she asked the guard, hoping that it might open up a conversation, but he remained silent. She was led down a long corridor, passing a cross junction where she saw six motionless, gray, doglike forms lined up on either side.

  She shivered. “Krallen?”

  “Yes.”

  She was shown into the room, well lit as far as the ship went but sparsely furnished with just a table and two chairs. There was, however, carpet. She decided she was reconciled to everything being in gray.

  Lezaroth, in uniform, was standing at the far end of the room, facing away and apparently scrutinizing a wallscreen. He seemed an erect, tall, and isolated figure.

  As the door closed, he turned and stared at her.

  “Isabella. How are you today?” She detected an awkwardness in his tone.

  “As well as can be expected,” she said.

  “I understand.” He gestured her to a chair. “It must be very difficult for you. Please be seated.”

  She sat down, but he remained standing. A physical expression of his superiority over me; well, intimidation won’t work.

  “Isabella, can I get you anything? a drink perhaps?”

  She was tempted to ask him to turn the ship around but refrained. Humor of any sort was best avoided. “Nothing, thank you.”

  Abruptly he walked over and sat down facing her. She glimpsed pain in the severe face.

  “I want you to know . . .” There was a pause. “No, let me begin again. At the start I wish you to know that there is much about this that I am not happy with. Not at all.”

  His voice was accented, and in the way he spoke Communal she heard a clear lack of practice; yet his voice retained a ring of command. Remember, this is a man with problems. If I can find out where those lie, I may put myself in a better position to negotiate with him.

  She said nothing.

  Lezaroth leaned forward. “However, I have a job to do. I am loyal to my superior but I wanted you to know that. At the start.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, how are your people?”

  The expression “your people” somehow pleased her.

  “Surviving. No one likes this gloom. The loss of color is unnerving.”

  “Yes, I remember my first time.” The tone was softer. “I was forcibly recruited into the military as a teenager. I had little preparation; no one had told me this would happen. I thought I was going blind.” He sighed and gave a resigned shake of his head. “War. But let me promise you, you’ll get used to it. It does have one positive point: you will never, ever take color for granted again. And there will be two short breaks where we surface for calibration.” He gave her a tense, awkward smile. “Now, how can we make life more bearable for you all?”

  Isabella put her diary on the table. “I have a list of . . . requests.” She had considered using the word demands but felt that this might not be the best way to start.

  “We need to be told what we are eating. We want warm water. We want to be able to share books and programs we have on our diaries. We want more room for exercise. We have some requests for medical assistance: a case of heart palpitations, a lot of stress. We want more information. We want—”

  A hand was raised. “One by one, Isabella.”

  As she repeated them, he listened and said simply, “Approved,” “Denied,” or “I will consider it.” She was pleased, though, that few requests were denied outright.

  On the question of “more information,” he hesitated and rubbed his chin. “Let me tell you something. In private. You were not chosen by accident.”

  “I see.”

  “It was a slight deceit of mine.” He stared at her. “I read the ambassadors’ dossiers on all the team. Alas; they are a sad loss.” He stopped as if overcome by emotion. “They were impressed by your ability. Your quick-wittedness. And—I need to translate this carefully—your flexibility.”

  “Flexibility?” she said, feeling warmed at the praise.

  “Adaptability? That may be better—the ability to come to terms with a new situation.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes. Yours is a difficult task. If you succeed, who knows?”

  “We do need to know more about what happened.”

  Lezaroth put his face between his hands as if in the deepest thought. “Isabella, I would tell you more, but I must know that you can keep secrets.”

  “For whose sake?”

  “Mine. My career.” There was an urgency in his voice. “You have no idea what would happen to me. Dominion military discipline is . . . ferocious.”

  “I can keep secrets.”

  She was conscious of his eyes staring at her with an enormous intensity.

  “No!” The word was unexpected. “Not today. I must consider matters.”

  She suddenly realized that the meeting was over.

  Over the next forty-eight hours, Isabella was pleasantly surprised that, with regard to the requests, Lezaroth was true to his word. What he had approved was granted. She had hoped that this might placate those liaison delegates who were uneasy about her role. Yet while there was praise on the surface for the concessions she had achieved, she detected that an undercurrent of disquiet remained. She considered the matter and dismissed it. I have done what I had to do and I have done it well. Let them grumble! What do I care?

  However, whatever satisfaction anyone felt at the concessions was soon dampened by the appearance of the first of the extra-physical entities. This was a black sheet-like vertical ribbon as long as a table that swam—or was it flew?—through the hold. There was uproar, in some cases bordering on terror, and Isabella was summoned to Lezaroth, who explained with some apology how such things might be handled. Isabella relayed the information and nerves were, for the most part, soothed.

  She started meeting with Lezaroth on a brief but almost daily basis. He retained his distant, aloof, and rather ill-at-ease attitude. Yet he was consistent and calm-spoken, and she felt he was as sympathetic as he could be. “I, too, am under constraints,” he said once, and she had felt the resentment in his voice. It can’t be easy working for the Dominion.

  Furthermore, from stray comments he had made, she felt she was beginning to understand him. Indeed, given his background it was quite hard not to feel a twinge of sympathy for him. Lezaroth—she had learned his first name was Sentius but couldn’t imagine ever using it—had been orphaned, brought up in poverty by strangers, forced into the military as the only career path, and once there persistently either outpromoted by those from the great families or placed in danger by them. Hadn’t
such situations occurred on Earth in the past?

  As the meetings progressed, Isabella began to take pride in the way she was handling this hard man. At first I found him utterly intimidating, but now I am able to challenge him. Indeed, on several occasions I have put him on the defensive.

  One of these had to do with the social system of the Dominion. “What is the role of women?” she had asked and had received a very unsatisfactory answer.

  She had pursued the matter. “Are you married?”

  He had hesitated. “No. Military men are only allowed to . . . marry at a certain rank. Or after a certain number of years. My time will come.”

  “What would a woman do in your Dominion?”

  “We are . . . more conservative than you. Our women stay at home.” He had looked awkwardly away for a moment. “But that too may change. Isabella, this encounter between Dominion and Assembly may change both societies.” And then he had shifted the subject.

  Rather to her irritation though, Lezaroth had said nothing more about any “secret.” At their fifth meeting, feeling that she needed to take a risk, she decided to raise the subject.

  “At an early meeting you asked me about keeping secrets.”

  “I did.” He looked hard at her. “So do you promise to keep a secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, Isabella, I gather Assembly people keep their word.”

  “Yes.”

  For a long time he said nothing. When he spoke again his tone was quiet and confiding.

  “Very well. The fact is, there was more fighting than I talked about. I came with very substantial military forces—a massive battleship and hundreds of soldiers.” He made a gesture of futility with his open hands. “Now all I have left is this ship and a dozen men. We lost the lot.”

  The pain in his voice struck her. This has got to be true. Why would he admit to a colossal defeat?

  “It was a space battle, a trick—not entirely fair by the rules of war—that caught us unaware. The fighting was bitter. Here . . . let me show you some images.”

  He pulled out a databoard. “One was not far from Langerstrand.” Images appeared on the wallscreen. It was hard to make anything out clearly, but there were explosions, men shooting each other, these strange robotic dogs leaping and biting, flames, and piles of bodies.

  “And I’m afraid the other was at Ynysmant.”

  “Ynysmant!”

  “I’m sorry. Merral D’Avanos lured us there. A cunning, ruthless fighter. He—”

  “My parents! My home!”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know any details. He thought it was a good place to ambush us. The damage inflicted on my forces was so enormous that even now I do not fully know what happened.” Struggling to take in the news, she was aware of his eyes relentlessly watching hers. “What I can tell you is that D’Avanos survived.”

  He would, wouldn’t he? she thought and was momentarily appalled at the bitterness of her sentiment.

  She leaned forward. “So, Commander, why are you telling me this?”

  “You’re quite sharp, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be.”

  “Let me explain. I—we—expected Farholme to be an easy world to conquer. What’s the word? A ‘pushover’?”

  She nodded.

  “Isabella, it was not a pushover. It was a bloodbath. Thousands died. And what’s worse, somehow someone on your side has learned to manipulate the extra-physical—supernatural—powers. Whether it was Merral D’Avanos or someone else, we do not know.”

  “So you got your fingers burned.”

  Lezaroth seemed to ponder her words. “Yes. More than fingers. And some of the dead were my friends. Now I am telling you all this not for your sympathy. It is for this reason: the Assembly and the Dominion now face each other.” Here his face became extraordinarily solemn. “And it has become desperately apparent to me that we have the power to destroy each other.”

  “I see,” she said, and her voice sounded faint and weak.

  “Isabella, what is haunting me on this journey back is the fact that we are now on the verge of an utterly calamitous war that is capable of plunging the entire human race either back to the Stone Age or into utter oblivion.”

  “This is dreadful, but why are you telling me?”

  He took a deep breath. “Remember the vow of secrecy?”

  She nodded.

  “I want you to help me stop it.”

  The next time they met he explained a little more. “We need to build bridges. We need to encourage talk not action. We need to defuse the situation.”

  “Will that be difficult?” Isabella asked and she heard doubt in her voice.

  “Yes. The lord-emperor is a fine, fine man.” He hesitated, apparently troubled by something. “But he is determined. He is not . . . easy to dissuade.”

  She said nothing.

  “But we need to know what happened. I was wondering about Merral. A lot seems to have centered on him.” Lezaroth sat back in his chair. “I met him a couple of times. He seemed . . . an unlikely warrior. You and he were from the same town. Did you know him?”

  A sudden stab of alarm struck her. Why does he want to know? He seemed to sense her hesitation.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I am not trying to get—what?—military information. No, my concern is that he is being used.”

  “Used? By whom?”

  There was a shrug of the stiff shoulders. “I do not know. But somehow things have gotten out of control.”

  “Well, I do know Merral. And well.” But I am not going to give the information away. She let a silence grow that eventually Lezaroth seemed to feel obliged to break.

  “Do you think he might have been influenced by someone?”

  “It is possible.”

  Lezaroth glanced at a clock. “Well, another time we can talk about this. But in regard to the lord-emperor—on whom be peace and blessing—let me leave you with this thought: I hope you will be able to speak to him.”

  “Me?”

  “Who else?”

  Indeed, now it is mentioned, who else? “And what would I say?”

  “You would simply say what your worlds were like.” He looked away for a moment and his next words were barely audible. “Some people see monsters where there are none.”

  Then, as was his pattern, he rose from his seat to indicate the meeting was ended. But as she was leaving he said, “Isabella, one other thing. I need briefly to interview all the delegates individually. It’s a tiresome bit of bureaucracy. So from tomorrow I will be summoning them, one by one. Any problems?”

  “No.”

  Over the next week, as the Comet continued its way through the weary and often eerie grayness of Below-Space, Isabella and Lezaroth continued to meet. Much of their conversation involved the routine negotiation of concessions, but two topics repeatedly surfaced. One was whether she might represent the Assembly before the lord-emperor, and the other was whether Merral had been “twisted.” On each subject, she was cautious in what she said, yet secretly both topics intrigued her. Who could not be excited at the idea of playing a vital role in the great events that were affecting humanity? Perhaps Merral was persuaded to do what was wrong; didn’t I say something similar myself?

  The one matter that troubled her was that, as her colleagues were interviewed by Lezaroth, she detected a growing and ill-defined resentment toward her.

  “It seems like we are growing apart,” she noted in her diary. “They don’t seem to understand or even trust me. But then, they can’t realize the significance of my position. How can they?”

  Then a strange thought came to her. Sometimes I think the only person on this ship who understands me is Lezaroth.

  9

  Of the three vessels that left Farholme, the one with the shortest journey was the white-painted Dove of Dawn. Under the ultimate command of the man who still preferred to be called Advisor Lucian Clemant (although former advisor would have been more truthful), this vessel headed towar
d the Made World of Bannermene and its star, Anthraman. The captain of the Dove, Serena Huang-Li, was cautious and kept the ship in relatively shallow Below-Space to reduce the extra-physical effects. Yet despite this, Clemant found the voyage far from trouble free.

  A week after the journey had started, Clemant walked to the door of Gerry Habbentz’s work cabin on the fourth floor of the ship. There he paused, reading in the all-embracing grayness the scrawled note that read “Physicist at work! Please knock.” The matter that he had to raise was very sensitive and he was unsure how the discussion would go.

  He hesitated, arguing with himself. This mission, with its warnings, its knowledge, and the treasure trove of technology that this ship bears, must succeed—or the Assembly will fall. I have been entrusted with leading this mission, and I must not fail. We are already a third of the way through this voyage, and we must agree on what happens when we reach Bannermene. The prebendant is obsessed with his spiritual crusade, Gerry with her weapons, Zak with his training. I—and I alone—must lead.

  He knocked.

  Gerry, her long, black, wavy hair tied back, opened the door and smiled. “Hey, Lucian, come in!”

  Reflecting sadly that Gerry was the only person on the ship who called him by his first name, Clemant entered the cabin.

  It was a small, cramped room, and the physicist’s tall form seemed to fill most of it. She motioned him to the spare chair and leaned back against a desk, which bore a large screen flanked by untidy mounds of paper and empty plastic cups. On the wall, a picture of a man had been posted. Her fiancé: Amin Ryhan.

  He realized that her face seemed leaner these days; was she eating enough? Whenever he had checked up on her, she was working. She is still a driven woman. Even now that any separation from the man she loves is likely to be temporary, she is still motivated by a fierce desire to destroy the Dominion.

  He saw curiosity in her eyes. “I came to see you because I heard a hint that you might be close to a breakthrough.” That is at best a half-truth. How half-truths seem to flourish in Below-Space!

  “Yes. I reckon I’ve done it. The big, bad bomb will work. The last round of simulations succeeded!” There was extraordinary energy in her voice. Almost as if she were a teenager not a university professor. Gerry spun around and gestured at the screen. “Watch this. It’d be much better in color, but you’ll get the point.”