by Chris Walley
“I see no reason to change plans. Do you?”
The answer was a low grunt. “It occurs to me that having this ship changes everything.”
“How?”
“This—all this—is a tremendous prize. It has the latest technology of weapons and countermeasures and a vast amount of vital data, including battle plans. I would be tempted to make a hard decision and take it and run now.”
“What! And leave our people?”
“Commander, push your Assembly values—and your emotions—to one side for a moment. Consider the greater good. This fleet is ready to leave; time is not on your—on our—side. Leave with this ship now, and you may outrun Nezhuala’s ships and get to the Assembly before them. Who knows but that this may prove, like the capture of the Krallen at Farholme, to be the key to a weapon that may yield victory?”
Merral said nothing, and eventually Azeras continued. “You have done all you can for the hostages. But think of the greater good. A speedy return may save many lives.”
“But the hostages?”
“A hard matter.” His lips tightened. “They may be already dead. But if they live, let us ask, what would they themselves say?” There was a pause. “I suspect they would say, ‘Let us perish that the many might live.’”
Merral walked a few paces away, his mind struggling to think through what he had heard. The logic is appealing. Despite the success of the attack on the Sacrifice, I have little enthusiasm for another assault; this has been too close a matter. And every day we stay here, the risk of being discovered and attacked grows. Merral wondered if he should talk to Luke or Vero, but it came to him that this was a decision he had to make.
He walked back to Azeras. “No, I will not change my mind. Not for the moment.”
“As you wish.” Then there was a twist of the lip. “But as you admitted with that drone and Nithloss, you are a man who loves the symbolic gesture. Commander, be careful that others do not pay the price for your gestures.”
“I will try.”
Azeras rose to his feet and then made a dismissive grunt. “I’m sorry, Commander. I’m a weary and bitter man. I obey your ruling. I’ll make myself useful.”
Tempted as he was to brood over both Azeras’s comments and the deaths of the day, Merral forced himself to stay focused on the tasks at hand. Just off the bridge was the captain’s suite—a small office and a sleeping compartment. It might have been a new ship, but both rooms were already cluttered, and Merral found himself unimpressed by the vicious-looking lizard in a glass cage. Lloyd took it away, leaving Merral to rip a particularly oppressive image of Nezhuala off the wall. The fuller cleansing of the suite, let alone the ship, would have to wait. There were more pressing issues, he thought as he sat down at the dead captain’s desk.
Concerned that the Comet might arrive while his limited forces were preoccupied with managing prisoners and spread over two ships, Merral called up Helena to see how the captured crew were.
“Slabodal wants to speak to you,” she said. “Urgently. He has apparently been designated as spokesperson by the rest of the captives. Luke thinks you ought to talk to him.”
“Okay, send him up.”
“Oh, and one more thing, Commander,” she added in a quieter tone. “I need you to talk to Anya . . . about what happened on the ferry craft.”
“I intended to do that as soon as possible, Helena, but thanks for the reminder.” A problem I really don’t need!
Merral had Betafor brought to him to aid in the conversation with Slabodal. When, escorted by Luke, the man arrived, Merral made him sit in front of the desk under the unyielding gaze of Lloyd. Merral asked Luke to stay.
“So, Slabodal, you wanted to see me?”
He responded through Betafor. “The men used me as an intermediary for dealing with Captain Haq. It seems they wish me to continue in that role with you.”
Merral, feeling concerned that he was considered the captain’s replacement, replied, “Very well, I accept you as an intermediary.”
“We want to know what you plan to do with us.”
“I am preparing a way that will involve you being put in the ship’s lifeboat with the communication system disabled and enough food for three weeks and put in a slow route to Khalamaja. How does that sound?”
“No!” Slabodal gave an urgent and unhappy shake of his head. “You do not understand how the Dominion works. We will be held responsible for the loss of the ship, as the captain said. The best we can expect is a swift death. But we fear being thrown off the Blade of Night. Like the high priests.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The high priests were summoned to the top of the Blade of Night. To the Vault of the Final Emblem. The lord-emperor just stood there and dropped them all down. Or the powers came up and seized them. I have heard both stories.”
“That really happened?” Merral heard incredulity in his voice.
“Yes. And you promised me life.”
“I did.”
“We assume you are planning to leave this system and go back to the Assembly. We wish to go with you.”
Merral exchanged glances with Luke but found little guidance in the chaplain’s face.
“I’ll be honest, Slabodal,” Merral said. “We are not planning to go immediately. The only reason we’re here is because Lezaroth took some of our people hostage. We value them enough that we have come this far to rescue them. Before they get taken to the Blade of Night. We anticipate that they will be here very soon; we wish to seize that ship and rescue them. Only then will we depart.”
There was a shrug. “We will wait with you.”
Merral got up and walked over to Luke and led him outside the room. “Nothing is going according to plan today,” he whispered. “I need some help with this. What do I do?”
He received a soft smile of rebuke. “Merral, you are the commander of this mission. What ideas have you got?”
“I suspected you would say that. Well, my reaction is to say no, but I don’t know what to do with them instead. Even assuming we managed to get the hostages back, we would not greatly outnumber them. We’d be a prison ship, and I don’t want to take one of those through the Nether-Realms for five weeks. There, that’s my statement. Now what do you think?”
“There I’d agree. We’ve had enough trouble with Azeras. I think we would be asking for problems with these people. There’s a lot of nastiness on this ship.”
“We are in agreement there. So what should we do?”
“Let me make a suggestion, which is different from telling you the answer.” Luke pointed a finger out of the window and Merral saw amid the stars a small, dusty brown disk.
Merral nodded. “Ah, Nithloss. An excellent idea.”
He returned to the room where Slabodal sat bent over in the chair. “My decision is this: We cannot take you back. But I will arrange for the lifeboat to be reprogrammed and to land you on Nithloss.”
The eyes flashed. “But that’s a death sentence! You promised not to kill us.”
“That is a promise I intend to keep. But Nithloss has been overlooked. There are people living there. We’ve seen them. Life is possible. We will put as much equipment as we can into the vessel. There you and your crew may be able to survive many years.” Then from nowhere an idea came to him. “But I will make a further promise: if the matter between us and the lord-emperor can be resolved either peacefully or by his destruction, I will ensure that you and all others on that world are brought safely off.”
As he said the words, doubt struck him. What right have I to talk about events beyond the war? Is this another one of the symbolic gestures that Azeras sneers at?
“I would like something better.”
“No doubt. But there is no further deal.”
“Then let me ask one favor. All of us have some belongings we value—clothes, personal items. Can we not take them with us?”
“Yes, I will arrange it. A single small bag. No weapons. Nothing that could trans
mit a signal.”
“Commander, I thank you for this mercy.”
“Slabodal, don’t thank me.” I don’t feel merciful. “The Assembly is grounded on the mercy of the One God. We who live under that mercy are bound to share it.”
The man gave a shrug of incomprehension.
Luke spoke, and Betafor translated. “A question, Slabodal. Why do you fight?”
A look of angry bewilderment flashed across the face. “Is there a choice? Most of us fight because we have to. Because unless we fight, our enemies kill us. Because unless we fight, our leaders starve us, torture us, or have our children thrown to the gods.”
“Are there other reasons?”
“Some fight for the glory of the lord-emperor and the Dominion. Some fight because they hate others. Some fight because they are driven by the powers.” There was a tired pause. “Some of us fight because we have known nothing else.”
After Slabodal had been taken away, Merral consulted with the crew and soldiers and made a number of decisions to make the transfer from the Star to the Sacrifice as swift and smooth as possible. In the end, it was agreed that they would try to transfer everyone and as much equipment as possible from the Star in the next few hours. For speed, the transferred material would be placed in a single large hold; sorting it out, arranging sleeping compartments, and tidying up the huge ship would have to wait. To make the task more manageable, Merral ordered the empty rear compartments and holds of the Sacrifice off-limits and had them sealed.
Then, with a heavy heart, Merral called Anya into the office. As Lloyd made a stealthy departure, he placed a chair in front of the desk, then sat down behind it. I am physically distancing myself from her; I have to. I mustn’t be tempted to embrace or comfort her when I ought to discipline her.
As Anya sat in front of his desk, Merral saw her face was clouded by a melancholy that seemed mixed with defiance.
“What happened there, on the ferry craft?”
Anya looked away. “If you have to know—and you do—I was nervous. Somehow . . . I dropped the gun.”
“I see,” Merral replied after a long pause. “As it happened, Anya, I don’t think it changed the outcome. But it might have. Theoretically . . .”
“But I’m sorry.”
“We all are.” He stared at her blue eyes and for a moment, other, more attractive thoughts came to mind. He brushed them aside. What does the Word say? “For everything there is a season.” And this is my season to be commander.
“Anya,” he said, “are you cut out for this?”
“Merral, none of us is,” came the tart response. “Or hadn’t you noticed? But we have to make ourselves do these things.”
Merral found himself staring at the gap on the wall where the picture of Nezhuala had hung. What do I do? What is best for her? What is best for the team?
She said nothing further, and eventually Merral said, “Hopefully, there will only be one more brief assault and then we can be heading back to Farholme. But I’m putting you on the reserve list. And—”
“That’s not fair!” she interrupted, her face flushing with anger. “Utterly unfair. I need to prove myself.”
“Why do you need to prove yourself?”
“I do; that’s all. And there are no reserves.”
“I’ve just invented them. If Helena and Ilyas can make do without any of us, then it ought to be you.”
“I think that is unfair.” She was half out of her seat.
“Think it over. It’s my decision, and I am in charge. If you want me to deal with this publicly . . .”
“No.”
“Now we have work to do. The meeting is over.”
“Thank you . . . sir.” Anya rose and left.
Merral stared after her. What had the envoy said? “You must be prepared for things to go other than as you planned.” How true. How very true!
An hour later Merral had a message that the loading of the lifeboat with the crew of the Sacrifice was about to start. He walked down and watched silently as the men, under careful guard, were ordered aboard. Clutching their few belongings in their shackled hands, they seemed to radiate a sense of bitter defeat, and Merral saw many surly glances cast his way. He recognized that he felt very ambivalent about what was happening. Today I have killed a man and I am now marooning his colleagues. Yet, had we lost today they would have doubtless killed us all.
Slabodal was at the end of the line and Merral walked over to him. They faced each other.
“You wanted your freedom,” Merral said in Saratan. “In a way, I am giving it to you. You have a world of your own.”
“A poor world.”
“True. But worlds can be made better.”
No answer was made.
“So you got what you wanted,” Merral said, gesturing to the transparent bag full of objects that Slabodal held.
“Yes. Mostly images.”
“Of your family?”
“Yes.”
On impulse, Merral held out his hand. “May I see?”
Slabodal reached in and pulled out a folder. He hesitated. “It is not the custom for us to show images of our women to others. But you are not of us.”
Merral saw that the folder opened in two unequal parts. He opened the broader left-hand side to see two young boys, their dark-eyed faces peering uneasily at the lens. He lifted the narrower right-hand segment to see a woman, her black-cowled face deeply shadowed, her expression impenetrable.
Struggling with a sudden and unexpected emotion of distress, he closed it gently and handed it back. “Thank you. I have learned a lot.”
Slabodal began to move away. On impulse, Merral gave him a salute. Slabodal looked mystified for a moment, then returned the salute.
“May God go with them,” he said under his breath and turned to Helena. “Get them on their way. We’ve got work to do.”
Ten hours later, they had completed the transfer, and the weary soldiers and crew were finding empty rooms to catch up with sleep. The Star, now empty, had been put in a matching orbit under a tight communications link that allowed it to be controlled from the Sacrifice.
Merral was tidying up the captain’s cabin with Lloyd’s help and thinking about bed when he sensed that his aide was preoccupied.
Merral turned to him. “Okay, Lloyd?”
“Yes.” There was hesitancy in the word.
“You don’t sound okay. It’s not been an easy day, has it?”
Lloyd seemed to consider something for a moment. “It’s my job, sir. I had to do it.”
“True, but putting duty aside, you don’t like what happened today?”
“No. I fired at a man at Tezekal. I don’t know whether I hit him. But it didn’t bother me. He was attacking us. And that priest fellow today. He was attacking you. So I reckon that was fair.”
“But not the captain?”
“No.” Lloyd shook his head. “He was unarmed.” He looked down at his hands. “A dirty business.”
“But Luke was right, wasn’t he? It had to be done.”
“Sir, I didn’t say otherwise. It just . . .” He shrugged.
They looked at each other. “Lloyd, I know exactly what you feel. But head off and get some sleep.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll be next door if you need me.”
Ten minutes later, Merral was making a final tidy-up of the captain’s office when there was a knock at the door and Luke entered.
“Just doing my rounds before I fall asleep, Merral. You okay?”
Merral sat on the edge of the desk. “I just asked Lloyd that. No, Chaplain. I’m tidying up after a remarkably messy day.”
Luke leaned back against the wall with the easy nonchalance that was his hallmark and motioned him to continue.
“Superficially,” Merral said, and he heard the bitterness in his voice, “it’s been a great day. We won a battle, Luke. We stole a warship. If we get back, this will be a famous tale.”
Luke gave a rueful smile. “For generations, chil
dren will play out these events in their games. They will squabble over who gets to play Merral.”
“Hah. I take no credit there. The way was prepared. We had a greedy captain. The crew was all in one place. They were all preoccupied. Luke, the hand of the Most High was on this.”
“You say that because it was obvious. Yet isn’t his hand on all things?”
“True.”
“The way was indeed prepared, Merral. But you don’t seem to be celebrating.”
“I’m not. For a start, there were four deaths today, Luke. Four nasty deaths. And I shot one man myself. I feel tainted. I can still see the face of that man Munt just before I shot him. I feel as though there is a smell attached to me that I cannot lose.”
“I understand. The time to worry about killing in warfare is when it doesn’t worry you.”
“I find that cold comfort.”
“Maybe. But as I said to Lloyd, what other option was there?”
“Luke, in the previous battles I never killed men. I have done so now.”
“You killed before. Men of the Dominion died at the lake and at the ridge of Tezekal and at Ynysmant. But you were only aware of it secondhand. What else is there?”
“What else?”
“You said, ‘For a start.’”
“So I did. Well, let’s see . . . I’m unsatisfied with how we dealt with the crew, but I can see no better way. I’ve had a row with Anya. I’ve argued with Azeras. Lloyd is unhappy. And I am unable to get through to Vero, who seems locked into permanent data acquisition mode. By the way, does that bother you?”
“I am a chaplain. I keep my concerns about others to myself. If I feel it becomes mission threatening, I will tell you.” Yet for all the studied neutrality, Merral sensed unease in Luke’s eyes.
“So it’s not been a good day.”
“It’s been a good day, but not an easy one.”
“Maybe. But, Luke, what do you think of those we have met?”
“What do you think?”
“Evil, of course. That unspeakable dog match showed that. As barbaric as anything I can imagine. And that ghastly priest. And all the statues and images.”
