by Chris Walley
“We’re starting a clean-out tomorrow, by the way.”
“Good.”
“But I sense some doubt about the evil.”
“Yes. But I’m too tired, Luke, to express it. They are evil, but . . .”
“But not wholly so,” Luke added, and Merral found himself nodding.
Luke continued. “All of mankind is fallen, Merral. They and us, Dominion and Assembly. There are the military monsters like Lezaroth, true, but elsewhere . . . there are the remains of good things: Haq’s courage at the last, Slabodal’s longing to be free, the men’s desire to have memories of their families. An old saying—older, I fancy, even than spaceflight— was that human beings are like some majestic building fallen into ruin. With the Assembly, the Lord of Grace has allowed much rebuilding. But the Dominion has spurned the grace that might have healed them.”
Merral sighed. “You give me much to reflect on. But you and I must get some sleep. We need to prepare for the appearance of the Comet.”
“Let’s hope that is soon.”
“Not too soon, Luke. We need to learn how to operate this ship.”
The next day was spent trying to put the Sacrifice in order and learn how it worked. They made Helga Jones, a slender, pale-faced woman with a flair for engineering and technology, the ship’s weapons officer and gave her a mandate to work out how defense and attack mechanisms worked. Some of the soldiers were designated as weapons systems trainees and began to learn the rudiments of the defensive equipment. Everyone was designated a task. Luke, for example, was given a position monitoring engineering systems in a blister on the upper hull.
Lloyd, engaged in a survey of weaponry, reported to Merral that one of the holds held a pair of heavily armed atmosphere skimmers capable of attacking ground targets.
“Massive firepower, sir. Rocket launchers and multiple-barrel cannon!” Lloyd’s eyes sparkled.
“Sergeant, just don’t play with them. We don’t want anything going off by mistake. You are on our side.”
“Yes, sir. Anyway, Mr. V. says there’s a simulation.”
“Just practice with that.”
On the bridge there was frequent confusion between the two Allenix; this offended Betafor, who very obviously saw herself as the superior. The result was that she made some changes. One was that Kappaten was given a higher-pitched voice. As she rarely spoke—or was allowed to speak—this was an almost insignificant change. More useful was the fact that Betafor made her tunic display her name on the side in large letters while Kappaten’s simply bore a chessboard pattern. Merral felt the symbolism was obvious. Betafor is to be treated as an individual, Kappaten as a thing.
Between them, the Allenix units reassigned all the systems menus to Communal, which made matters easier. Nevertheless, people were still tripping over equipment, finding themselves in the wrong place, and pressing the wrong controls. Merral tried to be positive. After all, he reasoned, Lezaroth might not turn up for some days, by which time they might be much better masters of the ship.
At one particular moment of high confusion on the bridge, Merral felt such a pang of strong discouragement that he sighed. We are stretched beyond our limits; we can’t fight like this.
Slee, standing next to him, looked up from a chart and stared at him. “You okay, sir?”
“Sorry, Slee; the worries of the world have descended on me.” Merral thought of something. “By the way, I meant to ask: are you planning to do any paintings on this ship?”
A frown slipped across Slee’s face. “Sir, I was thinking about it. I have good records of the ones I did. I did think that I would try redoing them, but . . .” His voice trailed off.
“What’s the problem?”
“They were images of . . . what we once were.”
“And?”
“Now, I can’t remember what we once were, sir. This—” he gestured around—“is what my world is, and what it seems to have always been. Ships, space, armor, weapons.”
“I know, Slee. I can barely remember what a tree was like. But hopefully we’ll be on our way back soon.”
Later in the day, as Merral made his rounds, Vero found him. Merral noticed the bleary, bloodshot eyes and the drained look to his face. He wondered if Vero had made time to eat.
“How are you?”
“My friend, my brain’s in overload. I have learned so much. Yet I’m barely scraping the surface.” Vero gave a deep sigh. “It’s exploration. I feel I am searching a limitless landscape of data. And then I have to integrate the data in order to sort out the wheat from the chaff. To find what is truly useful to us.”
“I hope you find what you’re seeking.”
“I hope I know what I’m seeking when I find it. But I need a favor.”
“Please.”
“You’ll be starting to clear up the ship soon. That is good.” He paused and for a moment seemed to talk to himself. “Yes, very good.” Then he looked up. “But I just want to make a plea. I’ve been realizing that all the stuff I’ve got from the computer is not the total sum of knowledge on the ship. There are private data files and folders. Even bound books. I’d like you to issue an order that anything like that be preserved. And to be honest, I need an office of my own. A large room in which I can put files, datapaks, accumulations of anything.”
“There’s no shortage of space. Help yourself. And I’ll issue an order to preserve data.”
Vero looked strangely pleased. “Good. Very good. Yes, that’s all. I must get back. There’s something about the history I need to think about.” He shook his head. “It’s Nezhuala—it all focuses on him. All the time. Nezhuala.”
As he walked away, Merral heard his friend muttering something under his breath. Merral watched him with a strange sadness. The old Vero would have asked how I was; the new one is too preoccupied. A shadow has fallen between us.
Three hours later, Vero was at the edge of the bridge staring at a screen, skimming rapidly over page after page of data to do with the economics of the Dominion. He tagged it for further reading with a note: “Even if it’s true, I don’t understand it.”
Just as he was moving to a new folder, he heard voices behind him and turned round to see Luke and a soldier pulling a statue out of a niche and dropping it into a bulging sack. Luke caught his gaze and gave him a wave.
“Good work, Chaplain,” Vero responded.
Luke wiped the dust off his hands and came over. “We are on cleanup, going through rooms removing all these statues.” He nodded at a gold-framed painting of a bloodstained creature devouring someone or something that hung on a column. “And that sort of thing.”
“That is, let me think . . . yes, Qunitastarzal, the devourer of the lives of cowards.”
“I admire your knowledge, Sentinel.”
“Thank you. But a good idea to get rid of him. Not a nice fellow. You got Merral’s order about preserving anything that might be relevant?”
“Yes. We are filing it for you, but some things we think are just too nasty. If they were to fall into . . . careless hands, who knows?” Luke gave a shrug. “So we’re erring on the side of caution. We saw that priest Lloyd killed. That’s a pretty strong indication of what we are faced with.”
Vero was suddenly struck by something. The priest . . . What had Slabodal said about him? “Likes his books.” He was struck by a stab of realization. I need to get to the priest’s room before Luke gets there!
Vero saw that Luke was looking at him.
“Quite,” Vero said. “Good work, Luke. Good work.” He noticed that Luke’s face bore an expression of concern.
The chaplain patted him on the arm. “Just don’t get too dragged in by all this stuff,” he said with a troubled smile. “And get some sleep. You’re only human.”
“I’ll try. But being human is a luxury I’m not sure I can afford.”
A minute later, Vero saw Luke and the soldier leaving by the starboard door with the bag containing the statue and the painting.
Ve
ro waited for a couple of minutes and checked the room number on a file: the floor below. Then he grabbed his bag, walked to the port door, made sure the corridor was empty, and walked down the stairway.
The room he wanted was not hard to find. On the door, a lurid red Saratan script said simply Priest, and underneath something that looked to be the sign of the Dominion was painted in what might easily have been blood.
Vero slid open the door with caution. As the lights came on, he was aware of a sweet but nauseous smell. Looking around in disgust, he saw walls hung with bizarre images and long scrolls, cupboards laden with bottles, and shelves heavy with books.
Sorcery! But I feel no fear, just disgust and curiosity.
His eyes alighted on a bottle of fluid with something suspended inside. He peered at it, horrified to see a pair of human ears.
Shuddering, his eye moved to the shelf with the bound books, most of an apparently great age. Vero read the titles on the spines carefully, struggling with the spidery Saratan script: Hezaqant’s Deadly Invocations and Curses, On the Binding of Powers, A Summary of Necromancy, On the Summoning from the Depths, Dram-Hajaq on the Appeasement of the Powers.
At the far end of the bookshelf was a slim, and apparently new, book. Vero reached for it, in the process dislodging another volume entitled Self-Mutilation as a Priestly Duty. It fell open at a page of color images.
“Oh, gross!” Vero said as he hastily put it back on the shelf.
Cautiously he selected the slim book and looked at the title. The New Code for Priests, issued by Lord-Emperor Nezhuala.
At the bottom was the date: 16th Camesh-Takez, Year 515. Vero did a rough calculation to convert the date.
“Four weeks ago!” he said under his breath. The new ruling on the priests. How valuable! I wonder why that was made?
He stood back, staring at the books. I need these. I need them to understand what is going on in the magic. Luke would no doubt consign them all into space. He has a point. No doubt in lesser hands they might be dangerous. To those who seek power, they would indeed be perilous. But I do not seek power. I seek their knowledge for good.
Thus reassured, Vero helped himself to the ruling of the lord-emperor and six of the most promising other titles and put them in his bag.
As he stood by the door, a thought came to him. I really ought to tell Merral what I’ve done. But then it came to him how that would probably lead to having to justify himself to Luke and he didn’t fancy that.
“Some other time,” he said to himself and slid the door open, listening to make sure no one was going past. He had a strong sense that he was doing something furtive but he fought it.
“It is for the Assembly,” he said to no one but himself and, laden with the books, walked away rapidly down the corridor.
17
Aboard the Comet, Lezaroth was sitting in his room running a test program on the ship’s computer. He had made his final preparations for arrival in the Saratan system, and the most recent calculations put emergence at Gerazon-Far around thirty-eight hours away. Suddenly he felt cold.
He checked the room sensors and found that the temperature was normal. When the sensation persisted, he used the neuroswitch in his mind to check his bio-augment systems; again there was no explanation. Aware that it was no natural phenomenon and fearing the approach of some sort of new and possibly hostile extra-physical manifestation, Lezaroth rose and stepped back into the corner of the room.
As he stood there, he saw the opposite corner darken as wings of blackness emerged from nowhere and started to combine into something large and dark. Lezaroth blinked, trying to make out a shape that seemed to be moving in and out of focus. Whatever it was, he decided, it was some sort of illusion rather than the normal Nether-Realms appearance: he could still see the outline of the door behind the figure.
It slowly became apparent that it was the figure of a man. As the edges of the form hardened, he saw it was the lord-emperor, clothed in robes of dark blue-black.
“My lord!” Lezaroth said in solemn awe, bowing deeply. “It is you!”
“My margrave, it is indeed.” The figure seemed to stabilize, but as Lezaroth looked up, he realized that there was no question that it could ever be mistaken for reality. “I am your lord. I am the most high over men.”
The new title registered with Lezaroth. I will call him whatever he wishes. But what does he know?
“I came to find you,” the lord-emperor said, his voice oddly resonant. “I have the power to extend myself. I have visited Ancient Earth and Bannermene, and now I came to find you.”
“My lord, I bow before you and give you all honor. My life’s purpose is to serve you.”
“I gather the encounter at Farholme was not a success?”
He knows and he isn’t furious! Lezaroth’s heart skipped a beat. But I must be so careful. Great Zahlman-Hoth, god of soldiers, protect me! I must deliver my defense earlier than I had planned.
“My lord, we met unexpected opposition there. An envoy of your enemy appeared. I am also convinced we met this great adversary. A man called Merral D’Avanos. He defeated the ambassadors and I barely escaped with my life, this ship, and these hostages.” He heard his words sound hasty and nervous.
The figure before him was still fading in and out of focus, and Lezaroth was suddenly aware that it was costing the emperor energy to appear before him and that he was tiring.
“We will talk more of this. How many hostages do you have?”
“Thirty, my lord, of all ages. At least one has the potential to work for us. I have been manipulating her.”
“Excellent. I have a purpose for them all. The fleet is about to leave and I need a blessing from the powers. They know I am the most high over men but they withhold it. They want payment before they bless me. They enjoyed the priests I gave them—oh, you don’t know about that yet—but I think they felt cheated. Priests are worth little to them. I understand that people from the Assembly would be of far greater value.”
So that is to be the fate of the hostages. Well, so be it. “They are yours, my lord, to do with as you will.”
“My margrave, how long before you are inside the Saratan system?”
“We should emerge near Gerazon-Far in less than two days, my lord.”
“Good. But don’t stop there. Head straight in for the Blade of Night. I need the hostages immediately.”
The figure of the lord-emperor began to sharply flicker in and out of focus. “I must go. I await you at the Blade of Night.”
There was a strange sputter of light, as if a bolt of black lightning had flashed through the room, and the figure was gone.
Lezaroth, suddenly alone, walked over to his chair and sat down. He felt his brow and saw his shaking hand come away moist with sweat.
But the lord-emperor is not angry with me! He breathed out a great sigh of relief. For once, the lord-emperor’s unpredictable moods have worked in my favor. I am safe!
Then a new thought struck him. And all my efforts on Isabella have been wasted! He smiled. Well, I will play the game to the last. I will see her tomorrow and promise her a meeting with the lord-emperor.
Thirty-six hours later, Merral was in bed when the Comet emerged into Normal-Space. He had gone to sleep in a tracksuit precisely in case of such an eventuality and was up at the bridge within a minute.
“We are picking up signals from Below-Space.” The engineer’s voice was precise. “Something is about to emerge.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The detectors on this ship are better than those on the Star.”
Merral took the microphone and addressed the entire ship. “Calling all crew and soldiers. It looks like the Comet is emerging. I want you to go to action stations as swiftly as possible. All being well, we will be moving into operational mode within minutes. This is what we’ve come for; let’s do it right!”
Then as quickly as he could, Merral went into the captain’s office and put on the jacket hanging on the
wall. The captain had been far bulkier, and despite some hasty alterations, the jacket didn’t really fit properly, but Laura had assured Merral that as long as he didn’t move too much on the chair no one would notice.
Vero came in, his face tired and waxlike. There was a look of something like embarrassment on his face. “I just wanted to say . . . to wish you the best. I’ve been rather busy of late.” He looked at the ground. “Sort of let things get in the way of our friendship. But this is it. Go for it.”
Laura’s cheerful voice broke in on their conversation. “We have the ship on visual; Captain, it is the Comet.” Through the open door Merral heard cheers.
Vero sat down facing Merral, angling a second screen toward him.
Merral ordered the seizure team to take up positions in the ferry craft and moved to the desk in front of the camera.
“Let’s go!” he ordered.
A green light came on. He swallowed and spoke. “This is Captain Haqzintal of the Sacrifice of Blood to inbound freighter. Please identify yourself and your mission.”
The only answer was silence.
Are we on the right wavelength?
Merral looked at Vero, who returned a look of frustrated bemusement.
After two minutes Merral repeated the message, but again they were greeted by silence.
They must answer us! Everything depends on them responding!
There was a crackle in the screen static, but no image appeared. Then a voice spoke. “This is Fleet-Commander the Margrave Lezaroth on Dominion vessel Nanmaxat’s Comet.” The curt voice suddenly threw Merral back to the taut moments at Langerstrand. As he replied, he hoped that Betafor’s voice modification worked.
“Welcome back, Margrave. You have been away some time. There are new rules. We need to check that you fulfill quarantine regulations. I have a medical team on board.”
A long pause followed. Too long!
“Thank you, Captain Haqzintal, but I have received orders from the lord-emperor himself. I am to proceed full speed to the Blade of Night. You may wish to check with High Command. Good-bye.”
