by Chris Walley
“No answer, sir.”
“Any idea why there is no answer?”
“Fleet-Commander, the lower control is giving orders to enable a shift in the Nether-Realms boundary within the Blade. Such events can badly affect electronics.”
Maybe. But I sense that something is wrong. But what? “There must be cameras on the corridors to the dock. Let me see imagery.”
“Cameras here are limited. You must be aware that the lord-emperor values his privacy.”
“Indeed. May he live and prosper forever. But get me what you have.”
“I need authority.” The lieutenant’s defiance flared up again.
“I am authority. Just get me what you have!”
“Very well. Over there.” He pointed to a spare desk.
Lezaroth sat down at the screen. He found an immense number of images of empty corridors. He scanned backward and forward through pages of images.
This is a waste of time. There can hardly be any enemies here. Not here at the heart of the Dominion, at the very center of Lord-Emperor Nezhuala’s power. Who would dare? The True Freeborn are all dead, and I left the nearest Assembly soldiers at Farholme over three hundred light-years away.
Wait!
On one pane, a line of men in armor moved past a camera. Lezaroth paused the sequence and reran it. It was barely two seconds long, and all he saw was men in standard Dominion armor with standard weapons. Nothing untoward. And yet . . .
He peered at the screen.
Their manner is odd. What sort of training did these people go through? They are too close together, the line is ragged, they are not keeping pace. Their drillmaster needs flaying. And their physique seems all wrong; they are all shapes and sizes.
He ordered the image enlarged to the maximum. They must be ours; they bear the Final Emblem on their chests. Yet there was something strange; he froze a frame, enlarged it, and stared at an angle shot of a chest piece.
He gasped. On the armor, an incised cross had cut the Final Emblem into four.
Blasphemy!
Lezaroth sat back in his chair, aware of the lieutenant’s cold, curious gaze on him. He forced himself to blank his expression. If this is handled well, I could look good and recover from some of the damage at Farholme; if this is handled badly, I could perish in the pit.
There could be only one explanation. Somehow, impossibly, the Assembly were here. Anyone else would have left the Final Emblem intact. Only they would have overprinted it with that obscene emblem of weakness.
In less than a second everything had tumbled into place.
I had assumed they had indeed destroyed the Rahllman’s Star; I had assumed they had no way of finding the master vessel; I had assumed they didn’t even know of it. I assumed far too much. Somehow they found the parent vessel and have come here. Somehow they stole a new Ritual Class vessel en route. Only one man could do that.
D’Avanos!
He sat upright with a jolt. And he is here.
Merral turned to address the team. “We’re going after them. Fast. I’m going to call out for them to stop when we get close. Pretend I have some new order from the lord-emperor.”
He caught nods and muttered assent.
Merral set off at a trot down the corridor, the others following him. He didn’t pause at the junction but, making sure another signal relay was posted, turned right to pursue the hostages. The corridor continued to curve and they were already out of sight ahead, but Merral could still hear the shouts.
As he ran, he found Vero tugging at his shoulder and gesturing to a passageway that appeared to the right. The stairway. Well, we might yet need it.
As he jogged on, he was aware that something about the corridor was changing. The architecture now seemed much more gigantic and overbearing than elsewhere, and the air, heavy and oppressive. The darkness too was greater. We are closer to the center.
Merral peered ahead to see, in the distance, something opening to reveal an enormous space of strange light.
Doors! They are sliding doors open.
He could see silhouettes now, pushing, and being pushed, forward.
He began to run and prepared to shout, “Stop!” but the great high doors were closing. By the time he reached them, the doors were shut tight with only a narrow vertical crack to show where they met.
Now what?
With the team gathered round him, Merral ran his fingers over one of the doors and tried to think. Feeling a strange roughness, he stared at it in the brooding light.
There were images graven deep into the metal. He caught his breath, recognizing naked men and women with arms flailing wide, mouths agape as if screaming in agony.
We are going to get our people back, or we will die trying. But how?
The unfocused ideas drifting in his mind gave him little encouragement. Instead they brought only an ominous feeling.
“How do we get this open?” he whispered.
“You want me to blast it?” Lloyd’s voice was somewhat breathless.
“Let’s try subtlety first, Sergeant.”
“Sir, better come here.” Slee’s light voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to touch it.”
Merral walked over. He saw a broad, slitlike screen on a wall and a handle below it. Merral tapped the screen and an image appeared on it—a panoramic view of a wide, glassy disk on which huddles of people were gathered. Above and around the disk, men with weapons were taking their place on one of three walkways. On the far side was a raised platform of some sort with a somber throne on it; behind that, on the curved wall, was the alien and disturbing symbol that seemed to constantly move. High above, huge open-mouthed pipes hung down.
The Vault of the Final Emblem—that’s what it is called. Where the priesthood vanished. They are waiting. For what?
The answer came instantly. For the lord-emperor, of course. He will speak on the platform.
Then as Merral stood there, the ominous and unfocused thoughts that had been drifting in his mind came together. One moment he had a pile of disconnected thoughts; the next everything was assembled. He knew what he had to do and even knew—in some measure—what he had to say.
And he was terrified.
Lord, he prayed, is this for me? Is this dark road the one I must tread?
The answer was an unmistakable and unavoidable affirmative.
I know what I have to do; I just need to do it. Merral looked at the screen. The throne was still empty. They were waiting for the lord-emperor to appear. We have some moments yet. He will make a speech.
He beckoned Luke and Vero close to him.
“I have a plan,” he hissed. “You won’t like it. I don’t. But I now see that the envoy warned me of it.” He also gave me permission to lie.
“What are you going to do?” Luke asked.
“I am going to lie a little and boast a lot.”
19
A scant fifty meters away from Merral, Lezaroth suppressed an urge to stand up and order a full alert. I have the luxury of being forewarned, and I must make the best use of it. He teased out the problem.
There are two issues here. D’Avanos must be trapped or killed, and I must take the credit. This matter must be played to my advantage. After all, the core of my defense is that what happened at Farholme was the unsuspected presence of the great adversary. First of all, I must close the escape routes. Then I must ensure that we take him.
He got up and walked to the front of the lieutenant’s desk.
“What ships are closest?”
The man looked up at him with insolence. “Fleet-Commander, this is Support Services, not military. This isn’t the front line.”
Lezaroth leaned forward. “Really?”
The man paled. “Very well.” His fingers played over the screen.
Lezaroth peered past him at the list. Although the names were largely unfamiliar, one stuck out. “Third down: Twisted Spear. Three thousand kilometers away. Is Lord Karlazat-Damanaz still captain?” He reme
mbered the stiff-backed, stubborn figure, twenty years his senior, from when they had fought together at the cleansing of Alana. KD—as he is never known to his face—isn’t the easiest man to manipulate. But at least I am superior in both military rank and nobility.
“Yes. That’s public knowledge.”
“Get him online for me.”
The response was a hard frown. “Fleet-Commander, I can’t do that. I have my orders. There are channels I have to go through.”
Aware that everybody was observing the battle of wills, Lezaroth leaned farther over the desk so that his face was just centimeters away from that of the lieutenant.
“Get me that man. This is a crisis.” He stamped every word with insistency.
The answer was defiant. “I have my orders. This is a support services center.”
In the brief pause that followed, Lezaroth decided to take drastic action. Feigning defeat, he stood upright, shrugged, and said, “As you wish.”
Then, in an instant, Lezaroth pulled out his gun, pointed it in the man’s face, and without hesitating, pulled the trigger.
There was a loud report, an eruption of blood, and the lieutenant tumbled off the chair and crashed heavily to the ground.
Lezaroth turned to the white faces that stared wildly at him. “The recently deceased lieutenant was wrong; this is the front line. Now listen. You, Ensign, get me the lord-emperor.”
The face paled with terror. “He’s about to make an address. He’s not easy to get. It’s—” The words rattled out.
“Shut up or I will have you dropped down the Blade.” He saw the man’s hands shake. “Tell him it’s me. Tell him it’s vital.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked beyond the comms desk. “You! You’re docking officer, aren’t you?”
The officer gave a frightened nod.
“Freeze the release bolts on the Sacrifice. And try to see what onboard systems you can access. Quietly. I want to take control. Can you do it?”
There was another terrified nod.
“Good. The rest of you, back to work.”
How can I get KD to obey me? Everyone has a weakness you can use; what’s his? Then it came to him. KD was a lesser earl from Brazatar, where the noble houses were in permanent crisis. His cherished rank is vulnerable.
Lezaroth walked round to the back of the desk, pulled the still-bleeding corpse away, wiped his bloodied hands on the man’s jacket sleeve, and set to work on the communications. Within a few seconds he had connected to the Twisted Spear, and he switched to his neuro-augments.
“Captain the Earl of Karlazat-Damanaz; this is Fleet-Commander the Margrave Lezaroth with an urgent call from the Blade of Night.”
“Margrave?” In his head, he heard KD’s voice with its very formal tones. “A privilege to hear from you—I thought you were still out in the—”
“Well, I’m back,” Lezaroth interrupted. “Now, Captain, there’s an issue here. The lord-emperor—on whom be peace—has an urgent task for a reliable man. A task that cannot be trusted to someone inferior.”
“Well, Margrave, I’m supposed to be training a young man here. But if it’s urgent and for His Highness . . .”
“It’s both. His favor has alighted on you as a man of honor and breeding. Someone he can trust in a crisis.”
“As a loyal member of both aristocracy and fleet, I am happy to oblige.” The voice was a smooth purr. Thank the powers.
“Good. Now, fire your engines up. We want you here at the Blade as fast as you can. There is a new destroyer docked here—the Sacrifice of Blood. I want you covering it closely so it can’t leave. Have tethercraft link to it. Have your weapons systems warmed up and a boarding party ready.”
“Margrave, is this real or an exercise?” The tone was concerned.
“Very real.”
“And if it tries to leave?” The concern was deeper.
“Blast it to bits.”
“Margrave, I’m not very happy about that. Not without a formal command.”
“I will try to get you one, but it may be retroactive. Remember, Captain, there are favors being granted soon. New territories being added to the Dominion. I can’t say any more.”
“Very well. But I’d prefer a formal command. It’s the trainee. Got to do things by the book.”
“This is a crisis. As for your trainee, this is your chance to show him you are not just a title. Show him style and initiative, a touch of class. How quickly can you be here?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes if we pull high-G.”
“Do it, please. The lord-emperor will hear of your reaction.”
“I am honored to serve. I am issuing the orders now.”
“Well done. Don’t let the trainee bother you. Let him see how smoothly an earl handles a crisis.” Lezaroth decided to tighten the screw one more turn. “Remember, it’s a matter of honor.”
“Margrave, you are so right. Honor’s the thing.”
Lezaroth terminated the call.
Fear, money, or pride: men all respond to one or another. You just have to know which button to press.
Stepping carefully around the spreading blood, he walked quickly to the comms desk.
“I’m trying, sir. I’m trying. I really am.” The man was shaking.
“Try harder.” Lezaroth looked over at the docking officer. “Any progress?”
“The release bolts are now being held tight, sir. As for the onboard systems, I can’t access any of them.”
“None?”
“That is correct. They’re locked down. Presumably by the ship’s captain. I’m trying codes, but it could take days.”
“Is that usual?” Of course it isn’t. It’s a battlefield technique to prevent some enemy taking over your ship and venting the air. The Sacrifice is under enemy control.
“Unprecedented in my experience.”
“See if there is anything you can access. Try—”
The ensign at the comms desk was waving him urgently over. Lezaroth ran. He caught the submissive words, “Yes, my lord. It is urgent. He is here. I am handing you over to him now.”
The ensign vacated his desk, and Lezaroth took his seat. O great Zahlman-Hoth, god of soldiers, bless my words. He located the camera and bowed. I must observe the niceties.
“My lord, my life’s purpose is to serve you. I have an urgent message.”
The face on the screen was pale and devoid of expression. The tight, focused eyes seemed as unyielding as if they were made of metal.
“My margrave, you disturb me.” The tone was irritated. “Just as I am about to speak to my guests and give them a brief farewell speech. Do you wish to join them?”
Lezaroth persisted; he had no way back now. “Sir, I believe that—as we speak—the Blade is being infiltrated by an Assembly task force. No doubt intent on releasing the hostages.”
The bland expression slipped into one of consternation. “Can this be possible?”
“I think they found the parent vessel Rahllman’s Star. And once here, they stole a warship.”
The look of consternation seemed to twist into one of alarm. “They stole a warship! You believe that the one you consider to be the great adversary is behind this?”
“My lord, yes. It is an attack of such daring that this would seem to be the obvious conclusion. I am certain D’Avanos is here.”
The lord-emperor’s expression was now one of utter preoccupation. “And you have taken action?”
“Of course, my lord. But quietly. I have put in place mechanisms to stop the ship from leaving.”
The lord-emperor looked away, apparently staring into the distance in thought. “I know his sort. I have studied them. He will follow his compatriots even into the Vault of the Final Emblem. I will have forces awaiting him.” The lord-emperor turned to the screen and leaned forward. “Is that blood on your uniform, my margrave?”
“My efforts to deal with the intruders met an obstacle here.”
“Which you dealt with. E
xcellent.” There was a lean smile. “You are a most useful man, Margrave. If forgiveness were in my nature, I might almost be prepared to forgive you the disaster at Farholme.” He paused. “Find some armor and join me over here. I would prefer D’Avanos alive. I have . . . a personal interest in learning his background.”
The screen went blank.
Lezaroth stood up. He still holds me responsible for the Farholme catastrophe. I must tread warily.
He gestured at a man who was watching him with nervous eyes. “You!” The man almost ran over. Violence may be distasteful and it may damage your uniform, but it does get such gratifying results.
“Armor and weapons. Fast. Or you are dead too.”
As the man fled, Lezaroth walked over to the desk of the docking officer.
“Sir, here you are.” The note of jittery deference in the man’s voice was pleasing.
Lezaroth scrolled down the screen. There was a long list of items, and against each was a big red square. Atmosphere management, gravity modification, propulsion, docking, steering . . . all the main systems and subsystems were marked as inaccessible. He ran down several more pages hoping that he might find control of at least a hatchway. He struck lucky on the fifth page. Under cargo, amid endless red-squared items, was a single one with an open green box: “Aft hold, Container S16: Krallen (ship model); one pack, 12. State: Stasis.”
Lezaroth stared at it. How odd. That these of all things should not have been locked down by the captain.
He saw that the docking officer was staring intently at him. As if his life depends on obeying me; which it does. He pointed at the item.
“Send a message to them. Get them to wake up. On the list of available Krallen programs you will find vessel sterilization mode. Initiate it.”
The man swallowed and began executing the commands.
Lezaroth looked up to see two men walking in with an urgent gait. One carried a suit of armor in a storage container, while the other labored under a selection of weapons.
Without a word, Lezaroth began to suit up.
Prepare to meet me, D’Avanos.
