Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  “There!” he said. “Be interesting to know what’s there in fifty years’ time.”

  Azeras gave a grunt that suggested skepticism.

  “An action is right whether or not it has results,” Luke said. “But you think there’s hope the seeds may take root?”

  “I have no idea. But there’s water and some sort of soil.” Merral adjusted the course again. “Now let’s find those cliffs.”

  Abruptly, Azeras leaned forward and pointed at the smudge in the sky. “See that! That’s smoke.”

  Merral saw the dark smear rising into the sky from a cleft in the cliffs and turned the craft towards it.

  “It does look like it.” Merral agreed. His eye was caught by something else—small black dots circling round the smoke column with an odd, un-birdlike motion.

  “What are they?” Luke asked.

  In a second, Merral had no doubt as he saw the wide, black wings with their rippling motion and the long, whiplike tails. “Slitherwings,” he said with a shudder. “Four of them.” As he watched, he saw them dive toward the ground.

  Azeras made an expression of disgust. Luke peered forward at the image. “See there!”

  On the ground, running for the cleft, were three tiny figures. Merral increased the magnification. In the unsteady image he saw that the figures were thin, dressed in rags, but unquestionably human.

  So it is inhabited. And the slitherwings are attacking them.

  “Azeras, Nithloss is a world of the living.”

  “I merely repeated what is believed. But it may not be much longer.”

  The slitherwings were just above the party now, and as one turned Merral caught a glimpse of the gaping, slitlike mouth on the underside. “Luke, Azeras, I think we need to intervene. But how?”

  As he spoke Merral nosed the machine down. In seconds he was so low that he could see the stones on the ground and the sharp, black shadows of the men—was one a woman?—and even little puffs of dust around their feet.

  Azeras was tapping screens. “Your fuel is almost out, Commander. That limits your options.”

  “Do I have any weapons?” I know the answer.

  “No. This was a symbolic mission.” The sarcasm was sharp.

  Luke moved forward. “Merral, can you fly just above them? Try to circle around them. It may act as protection.”

  “I don’t think I can get that slow.” There were already warnings flashing on the screen.

  “Try it! Just do it gently,” Azeras said, his hands beginning to move confidently over the screen. “I’m taking over some auxiliary controls to reconfigure the lifting surfaces. It’ll push the stall speed down.” Merral turned the drone clockwise; he banked too steeply but managed to recover and kept on turning. Trying to focus on the party below, he glimpsed a slitherwing to one side, angled vertical as if trying to avoid a collision. They have seen us.

  “How far have they got to go, anyone?”

  Azeras, who was looking at another screen, replied, “Barely a hundred meters to the cliff. They may do it.”

  “I think they will.” Luke said. “You seem to have scared those things off. They are keeping their distance now.”

  Merral banked again and caught the briefest glimpse of three pitiable, bloodstained faces on the ground.

  “Another couple of turns, Commander. Keep the nose up.”

  As he turned the craft again the cliff loomed into view, and deep in the cleft that split it, he glimpsed brickwork walls with tiny windows. Not just people but a place. Do they call it home?

  “They are going to make it!” Luke yelled.

  “Pull up! Straighten out. More throttle!” Azeras’s fingers flew over the screen. Aware that the cliff was just meters away, Merral pulled up. Seconds later he saw the nose sliding over the cliff with almost nothing to spare.

  “We did it,” he said, aware his hands were sweating.

  Azeras’s voice was gruff. “Commander, you have only ten minutes’ fuel. What do you want to do about mission termination?”

  Merral swung the drone into a gentle curve. “Sarudar, I want to see if we can get some of those slitherwings. Can you start the self-destruct?”

  “As you wish.” He began tapping at the screen. “Say when, and the blast will be in five seconds.”

  Merral let the drone rise and turned it gently until he could see the party of slitherwings swinging round in a slow spiral. He headed toward them. He gauged the distance and glanced at Azeras, who gave a nod of agreement.

  “Now,” he said and sighted on the group.

  With a beep, a mechanical voice confirmed in Saratan, “Initiating self-destruct procedure.”

  The probe was among them now and he could see black, sheet-like wings rippling in the sun.

  “Three, two, one, zero!”

  The screen flashed and went blank, apart from a snow of static that faded away into blackness.

  Merral sat back in his chair, stretched tense arm muscles, and looked at Luke. “Does that make me their guardian angel?”

  “You could well be their answer to prayer.”

  Azeras gave something that might have been a sniff of disagreement.

  “But what were they doing there?” Merral wondered aloud.

  Luke shook his head. “Azeras, what do you think?”

  “Who knows? An old mining team? Prisoners? Escapees?” He stared at the screen with an expression suggesting that the matter held no interest for him.

  “Oh, what a miserable existence!” There was pity in Luke’s voice. “Harried by monsters on a planet that bakes and freezes and knowing that any day you may be accidentally vaporized as part of military testing.”

  “Do you think the Dominion knows of them?”

  “I doubt it. They are the mice in the cathedral, overlooked and forgotten.” Luke seemed to reflect on something for a moment. “Interesting. An episode in which you may have done some good. But also an enlightening one. We have learned that the lord-emperor seeks to conquer all, but there are places, even on his doorstep, that he does not rule.”

  Suddenly Merral heard running feet outside and was gripped by a feeling of anticipation. He leaped from his seat.

  The door burst open. It was Vero.

  “The Comet?”

  Vero shook his head violently. “B-better get to the bridge. It’s a w-warship. H-heading straight for us.”

  14

  Twenty minutes later, Merral stood in the conference room and looked around, taking in the drawn, anxious faces before him. Only Lloyd, sitting at the far end of the table, seemed unperturbed.

  Merral clicked on the wallscreen. I may as well try to be confident; I don’t feel it. The image of the slab-fronted space vessel appeared. The protruding weapons pods and the host of aerials said that it was no civilian vessel.

  “Very well,” he said. “This is the situation we have at the moment, and Betafor is listening to everything she can get, so it may change. The ship is the Sacrifice of Blood—these people have a nice line in names, eh?”

  Azeras grunted. “A Ritual Class destroyer.”

  “Better explain.”

  “Fast, new. Capable of taking on space vessels and also, to some extent, planetary attack. Much smaller than the Triumph of Sarata but still a potent weapon.”

  “Anyway, it is not, it seems, after us. Which is what we first feared. Sarudar, again.”

  Azeras stared at the image. “It’s brand-new. It’s on a proving and weapons calibration flight. So my guess is that it’s going to go into orbit round Nithloss and fire its kinetic energy weapons. It will pass within fifty thousand kilometers of us in two hours. In a day, she will be in orbit. But still close enough to hit us with beam weapons within two or three seconds.”

  Ilyas looked up at Azeras. “How long will she be in orbit?”

  There was a resigned shrug. “Three days, minimum. Perhaps a week.”

  People gazed at each other with surmise. Every thought is the same: she will be here when the Comet arrives.<
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  Anya spoke up. “Can we trust this information from Betafor?”

  Merral caught a knowing glance from Lloyd that seemed to say, “See? I’m not the only one who has doubts about her.”

  “She seems to know a lot.” Merral chose his words carefully. “Apparently they aren’t bothering to encrypt most of their internal traffic.”

  Vero nodded. “Th-that is extremely significant. It suggests that they are not afraid of an attack or even an infiltration. Even in their own system.”

  Merral tried not to look at Azeras, but in a moment the man spoke, his voice both abrupt and sad. “I can read the significance of that as well as you can. If there was the slightest chance of a True Freeborn vessel appearing, they would not allow their communications to be quite so transparent. But that isn’t the issue now.”

  Merral said nothing for a moment. “We also know that the ship is run by a Captain Haqzintal with thirty crew.”

  “Full complement is fifty,” Azeras added.

  A long pause followed.

  “So let me spell it out,” Merral said. “There is a high probability that this armed military vessel is going to be around when the Comet emerges. Anyone dissent?”

  A new silence descended.

  “That will make an already difficult maneuver almost impossible. So what do we do?”

  No one said anything, and Merral continued. “Speaking personally, I do not intend on giving up and going home. We have come a long way. We have to do something. I want some ideas.”

  No one said anything. Finally Vero clasped his hands in his lap and looked up at the ceiling. “Let’s do some wishful thinking. And in the absence of any sensible alternatives, let’s come up with an insane one.”

  Aware that all eyes were on his friend, Merral said, “Go on, Sentinel. Give us an insane idea.”

  “Easy. We seize the Sacrifice of Blood and then use that to grab the Comet when it turns up.”

  “Hah!” spluttered Azeras, slamming a fist on the table. “Insane? I agree! You’d better come up with a better idea than that.”

  Vero turned toward Azeras, a muscle twitching in his face. “I-ironically, Sarudar, the strength of my s-suggestion lies in the fact that it is so inconceivable. What ship would expect to be boarded and taken in home territory at a time of security?”

  Azeras waved a hand in a gesture of utter dismissal and looked to Merral. “Fantasy!” he said.

  Merral raised a hand. “Maybe. But until anyone has a better one, let’s take Vero’s idea—however wild it may be—a little further. Can anyone produce a coherent plan for getting on board? Obviously, the quarantine trick will not work.”

  The silence fell again and Merral looked at Vero. “This is your idea; can you develop it?”

  “Hmm. I always say that we need to think like our opponents.” Vero’s voice was little more than a murmur. “We do need something like the quarantine plan to get on board. We need to be invited.”

  Azeras shook his head. “This is a military vessel!”

  No one answered him for some moments; then Luke looked at Azeras. “Sarudar, some of the things you’ve said suggest there is corruption within the Dominion. You bribed a captain, didn’t you?”

  “Corruption is widespread. But we used bribery and threats.”

  Vero smiled. “Okay, then, let’s play dirty.”

  “Meaning?” Merral asked.

  “W-we think too much like nice Assembly people. Let’s imagine a world of corruption. And maybe we can come up with something.”

  Under Vero’s guidance, they did. They came up with the possibility that Merral, pretending to be Lezaroth, would offer Haqzintal a private deal. And after another hour—and a long interview with Betafor—that possibility was firmed up into a plan. Merral, though, was far from happy. Morally, it is more deception; practically, it is fraught with problems.

  Soon it was evident that they had to make a decision.

  “I have many reservations,” Merral said as he gazed around the table. “For one thing, this depends too much on my acting ability. But let’s take a vote. All those in favor?”

  Slowly, he saw everyone except Azeras lift hands. Then the man shrugged heavy shoulders and said, “I’m not sure whether I should have a vote, but here you are.” He raised his hand. “I support the plan.”

  With a heavy heart, Merral raised his own hand.

  “Carried. Unanimously,” he said and stood up. “A reminder of timings: I want to contact the Sacrifice in two hours. If Haqzintal bites, we’ll launch an hour later, with a rendezvous in four hours. You all have tasks to do. Let’s get it under way. Azeras, can you stay behind?”

  While the others left, Lloyd hung around at the end of the room, making a show of tidying up. Finally, Merral closed the door and turned to Azeras. “Sarudar, I was pleased to see you support the plan but also puzzled. I had assumed you had considered it reckless.”

  “Commander, your plan is reckless, but I support it.”

  Merral realized that Azeras was holding back on something. He has changed his mind. But why?

  “I have my reasons,” Azeras said, as if sensing his frustration.

  “And those reasons are . . . private?”

  “Exactly. And as I am attached to your team rather than part of it, I do not feel I have to give them.”

  “I need to know. They may conflict with the safety of my team.”

  “They do not. But let me explain my interest. That ship should have military data. It should allow me to finally know the fate of my own people.”

  “I see.” Merral was unconvinced but decided to let the matter go. “Very well, Sarudar, you are excused.”

  After he had left, Merral turned to Lloyd, who shook his head. “I don’t like it, sir. There’s more going on here than him just getting information.”

  “I agree.”

  “Sir, this all relies on him and Betafor. That’s not a combination I like.”

  “True, but what else can we do?” Merral paused. “Sergeant, do you think I can pass for Lezaroth?”

  “Azeras thinks it’s unlikely they will have met.”

  “But I think my Saratan’s poor.”

  “Sir, Azeras seems to think it will pass. Remember what he said. Saratan isn’t like Communal; it’s a rough-and ready-tongue. And with Mr. V’s idea of faking a time gap, there’ll be few seconds for Betafor to prompt you. And even for her to adjust what you say.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “Can’t say as I do either, sir. But I’ve seen enough old films with this sort of trick, I reckon it may work. It’s a powerful offer.”

  “I hope it’s powerful enough.”

  On the Sacrifice of Blood, Adjutant Azaret Slabodal slowed his pace as he came to the door marked “Captain Haqzintal. PRIVATE.” What is he going to call me today? Oaf? Cretin? or just ‘Slabbo’? By all the powers, I hate this man!

  Reluctantly he knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” It was an irritated, heavy voice. The voice of Haq; the voice of a bully.

  “Liegeman Slabodal, my lord.”

  “Ah, buffoon! Come in.”

  Slabodal entered and stood before the desk. Behind it, the captain, a deep-jowled, balding man whose bulging neck barely fit inside his uniform, was slumped in his large chair. He held a large Nomuran fighting lizard on his lap and was examining its forelimbs.

  “Laxan is fully recovered, I reckon,” Haq said without looking up. “Be ready for another bout when we return.” As the captain checked the muzzle over the creature’s mouth, Slabodal caught a glimpse of the needle-sharp teeth underneath.

  The captain tossed the lizard onto the floor. It landed on its feet, hissed in anger, and then scampered away, taking refuge on the ledge just below the portrait of the lord-emperor.

  Typical; he pays more attention to his sporting animals than to me.

  Haqzintal turned his ruddy face to Slabodal; the small, round, blue eyes seemed to glare with contempt.

&
nbsp; “So, Slabbo, got them all?”

  Slabodal handed over the large envelope he was holding. The captain opened the envelope and took out the sheaf of papers inside.

  “And all of them paid up?”

  “All, my lord.”

  Haqzintal counted the salary deduction slips. “Twenty-nine. So the priest paid too.”

  “Hewnface made no complaint, my lord.”

  “I should think not. Not after what happened to the high priests the other week. He has his own reasons for being away from Khalamaja. So, twenty-nine. And you, my eternal liegeman, are the thirtieth, and you didn’t have to pay to come on this trip. Aren’t you lucky?”

  Call this luck? “As ever, my lord. Very grateful.”

  “Were there any complaints?”

  “Minor grumbles—nothing of note, my lord.”

  “Grumbles?” The heavy eyes stared angrily at him. “Scum, the lot of them. They should be more grateful for the privilege of being on this ship. It’s not easy to get an arrangement like this: a nice, cushy post testing a ship. Some of this lot might have been posted to the front-line vessels. And a fat chance they’d have of returning to Sarata with all their vital organs in the right place. Scum!” The lizard hissed as if agreeing.

  Haqzintal put the envelope in his desk, closed the drawer, and pressed his thumbprint on the keypad to lock it. Then he gave a nod toward the drawer. “But, Slabgob, thank you for collecting this. You are very useful.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your praise.” Yes, I am useful. Life-bonding has its advantages, as you well know.

  The captain slumped even lower in his chair and gave a tight grin. “Things, my poxy liegeman, are coming to a head. But even you know that. The first wave of the fleet is ready to sail. And you know my strategy about the first wave, don’t you, Slabface?”

  “Never be on it, my lord.”

  “Why not?”