Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  Merral prayed, Lord, give my words grace and power. Then he pressed the microphone stud and spoke again. “Lord-Emperor, I address you. I use the title you have chosen, although I deny its relevance to me or any of these people. You are neither our lord nor our emperor and never will be. I have been authorized by the legitimate powers of Farholme to come here and bring these our citizens back. They were taken by trickery, and I propose to take them back openly. I therefore ask, in the name of the One who rules over all, that you let them go.”

  The lord-emperor leaned forward.

  “How nice of you to ask. What a well-brought-up boy you are.” Sarcasm discolored the words. “I hope you are not too disappointed if I tell you that I have not the slightest intention of releasing them.”

  “Didn’t think that would work,” muttered Lloyd. “Nice try, though.”

  “You have to ask.”

  Lloyd leaned forward. “Permission to try to kill this man, sir? I can get him with a rocket.”

  “Permission refused . . . for the moment.”

  The lord-emperor raised a hand to his chin as if considering something. “Now, if I remember, the normal response by people like you at this point is to try weaponry. But please do not consider that you will fight me. You are substantially outnumbered.”

  He waved his hand languidly, and on each side of him, the doors slid up on the lower three ledges. Through the doors came a mixture of men in armor bearing weapons and creatures. Merral recognized some of these: Krallen—there must have been several hundred—ape-creatures, and cockroach-beasts. Other creatures were unfamiliar: great black insects with long, multisegmented legs and claws; huge, narrow, gray creatures like giant centipedes; and things with tentacles and plates that defied description. The forces moved out to form a great arc facing them. Merral heard an unnervingly familiar rippling noise above and looked to see a stream of slitherwings tumble out from between the hanging pipes like great bats.

  Merral heard gasps of horror from the hostages. “Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into,” Lloyd muttered.

  “Complaining, Sergeant?” Merral said, aware that he was strangely calm, as if somehow he had been pushed beyond fear.

  “Quoting, sir. Laurel and Hardy.”

  “Ah, yes. We watched them last week.”

  “But you know, sir, I think I really should have brought some more ammunition.”

  “Let’s be positive, Sergeant; I don’t see a baziliarch.”

  “Well said, sir. For a moment there I thought we were in trouble.”

  Merral turned toward the throne and flicked the microphone on again.

  “Very well. Lord-Emperor, I want to offer you a trade.”

  “What sort of trade?”

  “I am not sure you have yet been fully briefed by Fleet-Commander Lezaroth, so let me remind you of events. You were defeated at Farholme, a world that had long forgotten war. There, your full-suppression complex, the Triumph of Sarata, was destroyed. There were two land battles. You lost heavily at Tezekal Ridge and even more heavily at Ynysmant, where a baziliarch was destroyed. You sent massive power to our world, and all that you have left is a freighter, a dozen or so men, and thirty hostages. The rest is just dust.” Merral paused, letting the words that Vero and Luke had helped him put together sink in. “Do you know what I think happened at Farholme, Lord-Emperor?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think you met the one man you fear. The great adversary of legend. The one destined to frustrate your plans.”

  “I fear no man.”

  “But is he a man?”

  The only answer was a brooding silence.

  “Lord-Emperor, many thousands of years ago, the prototype of your Dominion was created by William Jannafy. He was brought low by a man, and all he had created was destroyed. Or, as we now know, almost all. Around my neck I bear an ancient identity disk. Would you like to guess, Lord-Emperor, whose name it bears?” Vero suggested Ringell be mentioned. Let’s hope it has the effect he wanted.

  “Lucas Ringell,” Merral said.

  He heard something that might have been a hiss come from the throne.

  “You are probably making a deduction by now. Especially as I was in charge of the Farholme defenses and I fought at both Tezekal and Ynysmant. And what’s perhaps intriguing you is the striking fact that we came here by freighter and yet, within days of arriving in your home system, we had stolen one of your new destroyers. And now we are here. I have managed to lead my soldiers before your very throne.” I would never have gone so far in boasting, but Vero encouraged it.

  There was a long pause before the lord-emperor spoke. “Fascinating. So, why shouldn’t I kill you now? I can do it with a word.”

  “Because you have a problem.” This is the tricky bit.

  “Please explain, Commander.”

  “By now, the Dove of Dawn—you knew we had seized that, didn’t you?—will have been at Bannermene for at least a week. Its crew and passengers will be on Earth with the records of those events and battles. By now, the news will be spreading throughout the worlds.” Perhaps. If Delastro and Clemant haven’t rewritten history.

  The man on the throne was silent.

  “You know what will be happening now, don’t you?” Merral paused, bracing himself for something else that Vero had suggested. Lord, forgive my presumption. “Now as we speak, on a thousand worlds, a trillion people are talking about me. The Assembly leaders are encouraging it because it gives people hope that victory can be achieved. They are probably making statues of me. Filming reenactments of the battles. Naming their children Merral.” Are they? If I believed that, it might turn my head. But I must play up my part here.

  The lord-emperor seemed to give a smile. “So, all the more reason to kill you.”

  “Ah, but if you kill me now, that would simply end the story in the neatest manner possible for the Assembly.” He paused. “That’s the way to go! My death in a desperate rescue venture to the very foot of your throne. That would be the crowning glory to my life. You have no doubt studied the Assembly; you know how much we appreciate self-sacrifice.”

  “Indeed. But how would they ever find out, Commander? You are a long way away.”

  And now I’m going to lie. Well, if any man has forfeited the right to hear the truth, it’s this man.

  He tapped his shoulder near where the camera sat. “As it happens, everything here is being transmitted back to the Sacrifice. And the Rahllman’s Star. And from there it is transmitted directly to Farholme through quantum-linked photon communication devices that we developed and sent to Earth on the Dove.” Merral tried to sound confident. “So this is going out live to Earth. Within minutes. To kill me here would just enhance my reputation.”

  “An interesting analysis. I shall enjoy watching the imagery when I take Earth. But I do not see the trade you suggested.”

  “You let these people go, and I stay with you. As a ransom.”

  “And what am I supposed to do with you?”

  “That is up to you. Imprison me until the war is over? Kill me privately? Seek to bend me to your will? You might find it best to keep me safe as a prisoner so that you could trade me for your own people.” Merral paused. “So if you promise to release my people, I promise to stay.”

  The lord-emperor was silent for a moment in which Merral glanced upward, only to feel crushed by the appalling height of the roof above him. Below it, the slitherwings flapped around in leisurely circles.

  “But I could just seize you now,” Nezhuala said in almost a conversational tone.

  Merral gripped his gun. “I will not be taken alive. And my dead body is worth little. I do not fear death.”

  There was another silence before the lord-emperor spoke.

  “So, Commander, if I let these people go, you would stay here?”

  “Yes. On your solemn oath that they would be safe.”

  “Very well. I will set them free.”

  “Give me your oath first, Lord-Empe
ror.” Luke had insisted on that.

  “As you wish.” Nezhuala stood up and raised a hand. “By the Dominion, by the Final Emblem, by the great serpent himself, I promise to accept you as a ransom for your people. They are set free to return safely to their own world.”

  “And by the living God, I promise to surrender peacefully to you.”

  Merral turned around. “Citizens of Farholme, I would ask you to leave promptly. Go!” With his hands he signaled them to move away. He was gratified to see the soldiers of the team moving out from around the wall and begin guiding the hostages to the doors.

  His gaze turned to Lloyd.

  “I’m afraid, Sergeant, this seems to be the end of our road together.”

  Lloyd just nodded. Merral handed him his gun, then unbuckled his sword and passed it over.

  Lloyd’s face creased up with emotion. “It doesn’t seem right. They could kill you here.”

  “They could. But I would only die at home some way. I’m not afraid of death, Sergeant. Not even here.” I just about believe that too.

  He was aware that two soldiers in heavy gray armor were approaching across the wide floor.

  “Better go, Lloyd. Leave me the flag.” He paused. “Have a good trip.”

  Lloyd shook his head in a gesture of misery and frustration. He pressed a button on the flag and six short legs extended, anchoring it to the floor. “The Lamb, sir.” The words were clotted with emotion.

  “The Lamb, Lloyd.”

  They saluted each other.

  Then, as if he feared showing emotion, Lloyd turned quickly away. Merral watched him go and saw him shepherd the last hostages out through the doorway. There he stopped and turned. Another shorter figure joined him; Merral knew it was Vero and sensed the pair staring at him.

  The doors closed with a heavy final clunk.

  I am alone. Merral tried to correct the thought. The Lord is with me.

  He turned and raised his hands in surrender. The two soldiers circled him as if wary about how to tackle him.

  Merral glanced up to the podium to see that the lord-emperor was seated and someone else was now alongside him. The other, a man clad in armor, was taller than Nezhuala and had a military bearing. Merral felt certain that it was Lezaroth. The lord-emperor was talking to him, apparently giving him instructions. The other man bowed deeply, turned, and left quickly.

  Amid his own fears, Merral felt a new concern. Lezaroth has been given a mission.

  The lord-emperor rose and pointed to Merral. “You two,” he said in Saratan, “have that man searched and brought here.” As the soldiers on either side of Merral moved toward him, he saw the lord-emperor gesture to his forces on the levels on the walls. “You! Pursue those people. If you can, bring them here alive. If not, tear them to pieces.”

  “Cheat!” Merral shouted in fury.

  “Commander, you understand Saratan! What an accomplishment.” The lord-emperor’s tone was sarcastic.

  Merral saw that around him, on the levels, the men and creatures were walking, loping, and slithering toward the doors.

  “You promised! On solemn oath!” he shouted up at Nezhuala.

  The men laid heavy hands on Merral, but he wrestled free.

  “Commander, you misunderstand me.” The words from the throne showed no irritation. “I am lord-emperor. I am above petty formalities like oaths. I obey no law. I am—”

  There was a flash of golden light and the floor seemed to shake. From the levels came shouts and cries, some of them not human. Merral saw that the lord-emperor had half risen and his intent gaze was focused on a point behind him.

  Twisting his head around, Merral saw that a figure stood at the great doors. He was a tall, black-clad man with a broad-brimmed hat, and in his right hand he bore a gleaming golden sword lifted high above his head.

  The envoy walked forward into the vault with an unhurried and commanding air. On either side, the men and creatures retreated, edging back up stairways in a confused mass.

  “Who is this that enters the Vault of the Final Emblem unbidden?” Nezhuala cried.

  The answer came edged with sharp authority. “I do not give my name, but you know my Master and you fear his name.”

  “You cannot intervene here. This deal is between humans.”

  The envoy, now close to Merral, seemed to tilt his head as if staring at the lord-emperor. “So you recognize some rules set by the Most High. But only, it seems, those that suit you.” The voice was loud and clear but was without the echo that the gigantic chamber gave to other voices.

  “The matter is no affair of yours,” said Nezhuala, but Merral sensed protest in the words.

  The envoy stopped, almost within touching distance of Merral. “My Master thinks it is,” he said, and his voice rang with an unshakable confidence.

  “How so?” Nezhuala replied.

  “This man made you a simple offer. His life for his people’s. You accepted the agreement?”

  The lord-emperor seemed to consider something before he spoke. “Yes. And then I changed my mind.”

  “You made a solemn oath.”

  “And what of it?” The tone was haughty.

  “By breaking your oath, you have ended the agreement.”

  The lord-emperor snorted and waved his hands wide in exasperation. “A technicality.”

  “Far from it. The Lord of all—the One who does not lie—is much concerned with statements made on oath. He himself is the Lord of the Covenant. And, as you know, he takes a particular and personal interest in cases where one man acts as a ransom for others.” The words seemed to hang heavy with significance. “In such matters, he will tolerate no violations of agreement.”

  “Will he, now?”

  “Indeed. And as you have broken the conditions imposed on you by the agreement, I declare that it is now void for both parties. This man is set free.”

  The lord-emperor gave a frozen smile. “Very well; set him free. But he will have to fight his way out.” He made a leisurely gesture to the forces aligned around the walls. “He may be the great adversary, but he will find defeating them a tough task.”

  The envoy sheathed his sword and then seemed to lean forward slightly. “Indeed. But I have another purpose in being here.”

  “What?”

  “My presence is an act of grace. The Most High wishes to give you a warning.”

  “How kind!”

  “Nezhuala, you have been spared over a great length of time, but the King’s patience is not limitless. This is the last caution you will get. It is this.” He paused, and when he spoke again his words seem to ring out with an almost physical force. “If you attack the Assembly, you will be destroyed.”

  Merral saw movement among the forces assembled along the ledges. The men were looking around at each other, and some shifted on their feet as if trying to edge away. They are nervous.

  “Words, words!” Nezhuala’s tone was haughty.

  “So you say. But the warning is given. And as a sign that the King’s words are true and as a token of your destruction, the One who died and rose gives you a sign. He will both deliver this man and judge your might in one action.”

  “I reject it. Thus.” The lord-emperor spat on the floor.

  The envoy turned to Merral and, for the first time, spoke to him. “Stand close to me, servant of the Most High.” Merral moved closer to the envoy. Am I indeed, against all odds, now safe? It seemed too great a hope to hold on to, and he found himself reluctant to trust it.

  The face, whose features were still shrouded in darkness, turned to him, and he sensed eyes watching him. “Do you remember reading in the Word how, at the command of the Most High, my kind brought loss of life to the enemies of God’s people?”

  “Yes.” The angel of death!

  “It is a role I have not taken for long ages, but I take it now!” Then the envoy slid the glove off his right hand and a golden light dazzled Merral.

  The envoy turned to the left to face one half of the
forces assembled on the ledges. They moved uneasily. He whispered soft, incomprehensible words and then stretched out his gleaming fingers and lifted his hand to his mouth. Merral glimpsed pursed cheeks in the darkness. To his side, he saw the flag move and twist as if caught by the breeze, and as it did, he saw the Lamb move as if it was a living thing. And as he tried to focus on it, it seemed to be more a proud and fearsome lion than a lamb. The envoy blew, as gently as a child might over a dandelion head. Merral heard the faintest, most delicate whisper of sound.

  In an instant, something like a colossal, unseen hammer struck the men and the creatures. The figures imploded as though sucked into some internal vacuum: armor, flesh, and carapaces all buckling and crumpling. There were screams and shrieks of terror that rose and then died away in a moment, as if all breath was sucked from the lungs. The Krallen collapsed inward as though they had been made of metal foil.

  Merral gasped.

  Wails of terror rose on the other side of the podium, and the men there began to run away. But in the panicked chaos, they collided with each other and became entangled.

  The envoy turned to the right and blew softly again. There were new screams and howls, again cut short. In barely a second, the ledges were covered by the still and crushed forms of Krallen, beasts, and men.

  Now the envoy turned his face upward and blew for the third time. And the slitherwings stalled in midflight and tumbled down to smash on the floor with hollow, brittle, cracking sounds.

  The envoy raised a dazzling finger, pointed it above the lord-emperor, and drew it downward. With a loud ripping sound, the great banner was slashed from top to bottom, tearing the coiled symbol into two.

  A silence descended, broken briefly by a clattering crash as the empty shell of an armor suit tumbled down. Merral knew that he, the lord-emperor, and the envoy were the only beings left alive in the vast room.

  “The warning and the sign have been delivered,” said the envoy.

  “You wasted your effort,” the lord-emperor replied, and Merral saw he had his hands folded in a gesture of defiance. “I am unmoved. The fleets will depart within days.”

  Above his head, Merral was aware of soft, deep, discordant chords beginning to ring out from the cylinders.