Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  Confused and angry, Merral turned to the envoy. “You’ve left him alive!” he protested.

  “And why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because he will kill . . . thousands.”

  “Far more than that. But what is that to you?”

  “You could end the war. Just like that.”

  The envoy seemed to scrutinize Merral. “How human! You are delivered and yet you complain! Be warned: to criticize me is to criticize the One who sent me.”

  Merral realized that the energy his fears had generated now fueled his bitterness, yet he could not rein in his words. “You could have spared the Assembly! Just taken one more life!”

  The envoy put his glove back on his hand. “You are an ungrateful race. Instead of thanking the Most High for his mercy, you question his will.”

  The sound of the chiming from above was louder now, the notes urgent, angry, and restless.

  “It makes no sense!”

  But it was Nezhuala, not the envoy, who spoke next. He gave an icy laugh that was almost a cackle. “Go on, Commander! Ask on! That’s how I started.” He pointed sharply at the envoy. “Ask him! Query the One who sent him. I’ll tell you what you will find. You’ll find that he doesn’t care for you. You are just little pawns in his great game. Pieces he moves about, hither and thither, just to do his will. You think I am merciless, cruel, and capricious?” He pointed upward. “Oh, I’m nothing compared to him. Anyway, I’m going. Don’t think you will have an easy journey home. I have far more servants than these.”

  Then, as if he was making some strange sign, he stamped his foot on the floor, turned, and left.

  Merral felt a strange, irregular vibration under his feet. Like an earthquake; but this is no planet. The air pressure in the chamber seemed to change. The dissonant chiming began to increase in volume.

  “Man!” the envoy intoned. “The Most High keeps his own timing and purposes. He does not take kindly to orders. He, after all, is the Lord.”

  As the noise grew from above, so the vibration in the floor seemed to increase in strength. What is happening?

  “Now run,” the envoy commanded. “The ‘powers’ of this place are rising. Escape while you can. But beware the seeds of rebellion. In this, the accursed Nezhuala speaks truly—you and he have much in common.”

  In an instant, he was gone. Merral looked around, seeing that the floor was changing. It was no longer white but translucent.

  Suddenly a new fear seized Merral; he was possessed by a dread of something that he could not—or dared not—name.

  On impulse, Merral picked up the flag and began to run with it toward the door. As he did, he saw that the floor was turning transparent as if morphing into glass. And beneath it were things that moved and writhed.

  Something dark and enormous coiled and uncoiled below him and Merral was reminded of a great fish. A shark beneath the ice. He ran faster.

  A loud crack was heard, and then another. The floor began to heave up and splinter.

  He stumbled on the twisting floor and put out a hand to stop himself falling over. As he did he realized that the floor was not just cracking and becoming clearer. It was thinning rapidly and beneath it was a bottomless void. As Merral pushed himself to his feet he saw that what was beneath was not empty but increasingly full of indescribable shapes.

  There was a renewed surge of cracking sounds, and looking ahead he saw, with a stab of utter horror, that something was emerging from the fractured surface a few meters ahead of him. It was a massive, leathery brown tube, easily the width of the trunk of a mature oak, and it swayed to and fro. He made to run past it when the tube, now looming above him, snaked around and he was faced with a feature like a heavy, black crescent. In an instant, the crescent yawned open to reveal two arcs of jagged teeth with a fringe of tentacles behind.

  Aware of his weaponless state, Merral did the only thing he could and hurled the standard into the gaping mouth.

  The staff flew in deep but the fabric seemed to catch on the teeth. The creature writhed furiously as if in utter agony and then plunged down beneath the fragmented surface.

  From all around him came a furious clattering and crackling, but not daring to look, he sped on toward the door. The chiming discords from the cylinders boomed and clanged around. Although the surface ahead of him was unbroken, Merral was increasingly aware that it was creaking under his feet.

  Suddenly a memory came back to Merral of how, when he was ten, Ynysmere had frozen solid and he had been reckless and gone out too far and found himself on a point where the ice was thin. The alarm he had felt then was now multiplied a hundredfold.

  To his right, first one and then a number of writhing brown tentacles emerged and groped toward him. To his left, a grotesque head covered in a multiplicity of horns lurched up from the disintegrating floor. He was aware of fear, the presence of death, and over it all, a sense of utter horror.

  Merral ran as hard as he could, his feet slipping now. Barely a meter from the door his right foot slipped through the surface and he dragged it out and ran forward.

  He saw the handle by the door. He skidded toward it, crashed against the frame, and yanked the lever down.

  The doors slid open and he staggered through onto the blessedly solid, blessedly opaque metal.

  Feeling his heart thump crazily and hearing his breath come as sobs, he turned to see a sight of such horror that he could barely take it in. The floor of the great vault had completely disintegrated and the pale fragments were tumbling down into space. In their place, a score or more of brown massive things were thrashing against each other. There was something like a scorpion with fangs and another form like a spider with spines and great claws. There were things with teeth and suckers, tubes and talons, gaping mouths and piercing parts and forms that his eyes could only identify as collections of components—an aggregation of plates, an array of swaying fronds, a cluster of tentacles.

  The horror of it all overwhelmed him and he ran to the handle at the side of the door and pulled it shut. The jarring commotion of the cylinders faded away.

  Merral bent down against the wall, trying to recover. He felt the sweat dripping down his back. Something soft and weighty thrashed against the door behind him and he shuddered. Reminding himself that he had to get out fast, he began to run on down the dark corridor.

  I’d better not meet anything. I am completely vulnerable.

  As Merral ran, he listened for other noises beyond his own labored breathing and his rapid footsteps. He thought he could hear shouts and what might have been orders, but they seemed some distance away.

  They will have gone without me, leaving me here. He was aware that the bravado with which he had entered the ghastly vault had now completely evaporated.

  Ahead of him, a large dark form stepped out to block the corridor.

  “Commander?”

  “Lloyd!” Merral shouted in delight, and a moment later a second, smaller figure stepped out from behind him.

  “Vero!” Merral said, words running away with themselves. “I can’t tell you . . . how glad I am . . . the horrors I’ve just seen . . .”

  “No time, sir,” Lloyd shouted. “Just got to keep moving. Here’s your weapons.” Merral snatched up the sword and the gun. Lloyd gestured to the right and Merral saw the stairway.

  “We planted the charges,” Vero said. “We decided we’d wait just a bit for you. The others are ahead.”

  Lloyd tugged at Merral. “Gotta run, sir. They may come after you.”

  “Nothing’s coming out of there. The envoy . . . destroyed them all. But not Nezhuala or Lezaroth. Yes. Let’s run.”

  They had run for fifty meters when Vero called out, “Now, Lloyd!”

  “Okay, Mr. V.” Lloyd pressed something he was holding in his hand.

  An intense flash of orange light overtook them from behind, followed almost immediately by a juddering wave of force that nearly made Merral stumble and a blast that, despite his suit’s ear protectors, mad
e his head ring. The lights grayed for a moment before flickering back and a gust of warm, dust-laden air blew over them.

  “We’re hoping for a fire,” he heard Vero shout as they ran. “To burn this whole monstrosity down. Please.”

  There were sirens and alarms now but they were soon at the junction and they turned off and ran down toward the ship.

  Not far now. But the passageway above the loading bay worries me. We’ll be vulnerable there.

  Merral realized he could hear the sharp crack of gunfire.

  We have met opposition.

  Edgy shouts sounded ahead of them. “Who is it? Identify yourselves!”

  “Me!” Merral shouted, raising his arms. “Lloyd, Vero.”

  There were welcoming shouts from a group of perhaps five soldiers in armor, with weapons at the ready; behind them stood the mass of hostages. Merral realized that they were close to the passageway over the loading area.

  Someone pushed forward and he recognized it to be Ilyas. “You’re safe!” he cried. “Thank God!”

  “What’s happening?” Merral gasped, flicking his visor up to get more air.

  “A number of guards ahead. Five, six. On the other side of the passageway section.”

  As a new crackle of gunfire echoed down the corridor, Merral saw that among the soldiers was Anya. Her eyes met his, and he saw her close her eyes and shake her head as if overcome by emotion.

  “Sir, we thought about rushing them, but we’re trying not to take casualties. The snipers are taking them out one by one. Wait.” Ilyas gestured to his ear. “Good.” He replied to the unheard message. “Keep up the pressure. We have to move in a minute. Whatever the risk.”

  He looked up at Merral. “Two more of them down. Just two left. But after that it’s a straight run to the air lock. I was in touch with the ship a minute or so ago and Laura has everything ready. But we don’t want to stick around. Not here.”

  Merral could hear a flurry of renewed shooting. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Reckon anything is following you?”

  “It’s likely. But I haven’t seen anything.”

  Merral glimpsed behind him some of the hostages and sensed in their pale, unsmiling faces a disinclination to believe that, against all odds, they were now safe. He knew that he shared their reluctance. In their midst, he saw Luke, cradling his gun and giving him a thumbs-up.

  “We need a rearguard,” Ilyas grunted. “We need to get these people on board just as soon as the last of the defenses is cleared. Without armor, they are vulnerable. Ah, wait.” Merral caught a fleeting smile. “That’s it. Just heard the last guard is down. Look, I’ll go to the front; you bring up the rear. Take who you need. Right?”

  “Right.”

  Merral looked around and motioned to himself, Lloyd, Vero, Slee, and—after a fraction of hesitation—Anya. “We are rearguard. Keep eyes, ears open. Slee, left. Anya, right. Put visors on image enhancement mode. Get those swords ready too.” Realizing his own visor was still open, he slid it down and locked it.

  As Ilyas and two other soldiers began moving the hostages forward, Merral gazed back up the darkness of the corridor they had come along. I think something follows us.

  He turned to see Vero was staring at him with a quizzical look. “You okay?”

  Merral bent his helmet toward him. “I don’t like it, Vero,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “The envoy has destroyed a lot of our enemies. But not Nezhuala or Lezaroth. I’m sure there will be some attempt at an attack.” But how? And with what weapons?

  “My friend, we aren’t out of the woods yet.”

  “Vero, I like woods.”

  Vero shrugged. “Remember the archway with the door? Just where the corridor goes over the loading area?”

  “Yes.”

  “If w-we could seal that off I’d be happier.”

  “A good idea.”

  With the hostages now clear, Merral organized a steady withdrawal. The five of them backed slowly toward the passageway and the ship, with guns at the ready and the safety catches off. Merral insisted on total silence to give them the best chance of hearing anything.

  For a minute or two they heard nothing. Merral glanced ahead and saw that the archway was just a meter or so away. Beyond that the bare but lighter passageway beckoned.

  Then he felt something. Was the floor quivering?

  He reached out to the wall and could feel the structure vibrate rapidly, as if an uncountable army of tiny people were running toward them.

  “Krallen! Run! Beyond the door!”

  They ran back through the archway onto the cylindrical passageway. In seconds, Slee was at the door handle, levering it down.

  Close! Oh, close!

  The doors, thick and transparent, began to slide shut. Ahead, through the crack, Merral could see, glinting in the half-light, a flowing, turbulent, silver-gray stream.

  The front Krallen saw the closing gap and seemed to bound forward.

  “Swords!” Merral cried. “Krallen drill!” Let’s hope that what we practiced works.

  Even as he spoke, the first two Krallen, their red eyes aflame in the gloom, squeezed through and bounded up. More followed.

  A Krallen leaped high at Merral’s head. He slashed at it but, forced to cut upward instead of down, his blade struck badly and bounced ineffectively off the flank.

  “Cut true!” he shouted, as much to himself as to those alongside.

  He felt claws scrabbling harmlessly against his chest armor and then something looped around his neck. Suddenly he saw, just a handbreadth away beyond the visor, the glowing eyes like stars and the open jaw with its gleaming teeth.

  He felt the front claws grope around the helmet, reaching for the catch. That’s their strategy; get the helmets off and punch into the face.

  Merral stabbed upward but once more the blade did no damage. It’s too close to strike at!

  A confusion of sounds fell on his ears: gasps and yells from his colleagues, his own heavy breathing, muffled yells and howls from the Krallen beyond the door, and worryingly, a savage gust of gunfire from farther along the passageway.

  Reeling around with the Krallen on his helmet, Merral realized that he was close to one of the angular ribs that held up the passageway. He gauged the distance and then sharply twisted around. The Krallen smashed into the beam and tumbled off. It fell on the ground and turned to leap up, but before it could, Merral had slashed down hard and almost severed its head.

  Kicking the body away, he swung around, rapidly taking in the situation. The door was now shut with the writhing front half of a trapped Krallen protruding from the gap. Behind it, a score or more of its fellows were rearing up and clawing at the hyperglass. Merral was struck by the thought that they had never seemed so doglike. Around him the others were still grappling with Krallen.

  Near him was Anya. She was on her knees as two creatures tore at her helmet. Merral swung down hard and one Krallen fell off, silver fluid bubbling out of it. As it fell, Anya threw herself back, shaking the second one off, and Merral smashed down with the sword upon its head. The blade cut in, the creature writhed and a moment later was still.

  Merral turned to Vero, who was next to Anya, but saw that he needed no help. He was holding a dripping blade over a still, gray form and looking very pleased with himself.

  Slee, however, did look to be in trouble. He was almost horizontal with a Krallen clasped tight to his head. As Merral ran over to help he saw that beyond him, by a window, Lloyd was rolling and twisting in a ferocious wrestle with two Krallen. His sword was on the floor and he had pulled out a short-barreled pistol.

  He fired twice at the mouth of one; the first blast missed its target and hit the window; the glass crazed into fragments but held firm. The second shot was a direct hit; the Krallen’s head erupted into a smoky spray of silver-gray fragments.

  Deciding that Lloyd could look after himself, Merral went to Slee’s aid. As he did, the man rolled smoothly away, bounded to hi
s feet and then with an almost balletic elegance, swung the sword deep into his enemy’s belly.

  “A true artist,” Merral said, and Slee grinned and gave a theatrical bow.

  Merral turned back to Lloyd to see that he had slashed the remaining Krallen so hard across the neck that the head was dangling loose. Lloyd grimaced. “Oh, how I hate those things!”

  “All okay?” Merral asked.

  There were nods and gasps. He saw that Anya looked terrified.

  “I killed one. M-myself,” Vero said, looking in wonderment at the gray fluid staining his gloves.

  Lloyd began wedging the door handle firmly closed. “Anyone else hear shooting?” Merral asked.

  Any answers were lost, as above the door a screen came alive with the flickering image of a man in armor with an open visor.

  Lezaroth.

  “Commander D’Avanos,” the man said, “I want to praise you sincerely.” The look was cold. “You are a man of extraordinary qualities. You have vision and skill. You have come here. You have learned Saratan. You even offered yourself for your people. I am impressed.”

  Lloyd muttered something.

  “You haven’t escaped,” Lezaroth continued. “You could properly surrender while there is time. We are closing on you.”

  The image vanished into static and then returned.

  “D’Avanos, why not come and join us? The lord-emperor likes your courage. He can be persuaded to offer you what he offers to all his faithful servants.”

  “Which is?”

  “Life. We will live forever.”

  “You’d better read the small print on that,” Lloyd muttered acidly.

  “No deal, Lezaroth. Lloyd, switch him off.”

  As Lloyd raised his gun toward the image, the lights flickered and the screen went dead. “Must have known what was coming,” the big man said.

  “Odd.” Merral felt a new and peculiar sense of unease. “Are we ready to go? Let me get a confirmation from either Laura or Ilyas that things are okay.”

  He tried the headset but there was only silence.

  “Anybody have a signal?” he asked.