Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

The replies were all negative.

  In an instant, Merral was reminded of the struggle at Carson’s Sill and the two battles at Farholme. In all cases they had lost signals, and in the last two cases the silence had been caused by the presence of . . .

  A baziliarch!

  The thought had barely come to him when Merral felt an astonishing sensation of terror and dread. He realized he was physically shaking. He looked at the others to see through their visors white faces with widened eyes.

  “Quick! Quick!” he shouted, with a wild gesture. “Get back to the ship.” Lezaroth was just trying to delay us!

  They began to run, but Merral soon realized that Lloyd was not with him. Letting Slee, Anya, and Vero run on ahead, Merral stopped and turned round to see that Lloyd was pulling one of the meter-long rockets off his back.

  “Come on!” Merral shouted. If it’s a baziliarch, no weapon will be of any use. Together they ran on after the others.

  Something enormous and black crossed the left-hand window, blocking out the light. A moment later, the whole length of the passageway shook with such force that Merral stumbled.

  A loud clanging and clacking noise came from above them. For an instant, Merral felt that the roof was about to cave in.

  “It’s above us!” Merral heard himself cry, and he could hear the terror in his voice. There were more loud, grotesque clicks from above.

  Without warning, the roof a few meters ahead of them exploded. Something black and hard ripped downward through it with a terrible, splintering crash. Fragments of metal and polymer wall covering exploded around them. A tile bounced past Merral, striking his armor.

  There was a scream and Merral saw that Slee lay on the ground with a shaft of metal penetrating his armor. Vero and Anya stared at their colleague, their faces blanched with horror.

  The black thing—he now realized that it was a gigantic, clawed limb—ripped down again, only this time it grabbed the shattered edge of the roof and began tearing it away.

  Slee was lying just beyond the growing hole. Merral could see Vero edging his way toward him along the side of the passageway. Beyond him, frozen into immobility, was Anya.

  In one part of Merral’s brain a question thundered: What should we do? In another, he felt the growing despair. This is the end. We are outmatched. Destruction is imminent.

  More fragments flew as the hole in the roof was enlarged. Then something immense and as dark as night inserted itself carefully into the space. It was a monstrous insectlike head, gleaming dully as if made of some polished wood, with eyes that glittered and shimmered in weird fashion. High on the crest of the head was a small, glittering, silver crown and, rubbing against the slashed edges of the hole, the top of the tunic that clothed the baziliarch’s body. Merral glimpsed night black wings extended so wide that they brushed against the roof.

  It is going to eat us. Or rip the passageway to bits and we will drop to our deaths in the loading bay. Either way, we’re finished.

  The head stared at Merral and the jaws opened, and he saw only emptiness and stars and all at once became aware of the infinity that lay inside the skull. Now the head pivoted on the segmented body—made difficult due to the limited space—and turned to peer in the other direction.

  Beyond the awful head, Merral could see Vero. He had pressed himself tight into a recess in the wall. Some way behind him was Anya, her face frozen into a white mask. Suddenly, she turned and ran. Amid the raging sea of his fear, Merral was aware of new and conflicting emotions. He wanted her safe but was appalled that she had run.

  The head withdrew, striking new slivers off the ceiling and shaking the whole structure again.

  Merral looked up to see that near where he and Lloyd stood was a massive steel rib that clearly extended up to the roof. It can’t quite get at us. We are protected for a moment.

  The claws began ripping away at the roof, but with more care now.

  Merral began to feel something pushing its way into his mind. It was like sped-up imagery of roots growing into soil. The creature is beginning to probe my mind.

  You are D’Avanos?

  Merral tried to resist. Go away!

  Then in the real world outside his brain, he saw that Vero, looking warily upward, had edged his way to Slee’s still form. There he bent down, made a brief examination, and then stepped back against the wall. His face sought Merral’s gaze and gave a solemn shake of his head.

  Dead! Slee’s dead! We have lost a man.

  A tidal wave of grief and anger—and guilt—surged into Merral’s mind and as it did he felt the baziliarch’s grip loosen as if it was unable to handle the emotions.

  Slee’s paintings came to mind. They were animated and life giving, but the one who made them is dead.

  The grief didn’t disguise the growing despair that he had come to associate with the baziliarch’s presence. This is the end. We are not equally matched. Only destruction awaits us.

  Merral saw Vero running toward them along the far side of the passageway, weaving around or jumping over debris. A claw swung toward him but missed and smashed against a window.

  Why is he coming to join us when, like Anya, he could find safety beyond?

  Then Vero was beyond the reach of the baziliarch. He grabbed Merral. “Slee’s d-dead. Some debris went right through him.” He paused for breath. “That thing—is it probing your mind?”

  “Yes. But it doesn’t seem to care for . . . grief.”

  “I can imagine.” Vero looked hard at Merral. “Please, challenge it! You must keep it engaged! Mock it!” Behind him, another section of roof was peeled away and vanished. The head was peering down now. I know what an animal in a glass tank must feel like when someone looks in.

  Vero reached up and, without explanation, checked Merral’s helmet. “Challenge him!” he whispered, then ran over to Lloyd.

  “Baziliarch! You empty shell of a creature, are you there?”

  In Merral’s mind something stirred.

  Address me with dignity. I am a baziliarch. I am ancient and mighty.

  Merral realized he was angry. Dignity is it you want? Well, you won’t get it from me.

  “You have no dignity. You are a big . . . lizard. What’s your name? I want to name you. Like a pet!” As he shouted the words, he realized how reckless they were.

  There was a hissing sound from the great head. “I do not yield my name to men.”

  Merral laughed aloud; he heard it as a cold, artificial sound. “Really? You just don’t want to be humiliated. Not like Lord Nar-Barratri.”

  An explosive hiss, as if steam were escaping, erupted from the great head.

  “The late Lord Nar-Barratri.” Merral saw the skull staring at him. “The one who perished in such a sad and shameful way.”

  “You were there?” The eyes glinted strangely.

  Merral could see Vero talking urgently with Lloyd. Don’t think about them. He focused his mind on the baziliarch.

  “Oh yes. I saw him tumble into hell. All the way.”

  He sensed fear from his enemy now. There was a renewed angry clattering and rattling on the roof.

  “But that wasn’t the worst. I saw Lord Nar-Barratri slain by a little girl. About this height.” He made a gesture with his hand at chest height. “With his own sword. A tiny thing. She could hardly lift it.”

  Merral was aware of a new emotion in his mind and he struggled to identify it. It is . . . shame.

  “It’s a lie!” The words were a furious hiss.

  “Oh, we have it on imagery. It’s gone to Earth. By now they are watching it all around the Assembly. All sitting there, chewing sweets, sipping at drinks, and laughing like crazy as the little girl chops his head off.”

  He saw the baziliarch send madly arcing claws into a wall section and an entire panel with windows was ripped off and spun down into the bay. He caught a glimpse of wings and a tunic. It’s furious. It cannot bear shame.

  He began taunting the beast. “A girl. A young cousin of min
e. She chopped his head off. Just like that! Not even a mighty warrior!”

  Now the reptilian head swung toward him and the void-filled eyes seemed to glitter with an extraordinary light. The wings flapped back with such energy that a fitting on the ceiling was snapped off.

  Merral saw Lloyd crouching down and aiming upward with the rocket launcher.

  That’s no use; we tried that at Farholme. Baziliarchs are invulnerable to weapons.

  Yes, we are! The response in his mind was sharp. We are the oldest and strongest.

  Merral flung back his riposte out loud. “The ‘oldest and strongest’? ‘Invulnerable to weapons’? Huh. Unless wielded by little girls. He didn’t even put up a fight. I saw the seven become six! There was a crowd of men and women there. You should have seen how they laughed and cheered!”

  The head was closer now. Merral saw a monstrous hand reach into the tunic and pull out a long silver sword with a weirdly twisted blade. As it did it stretched out its wings so that they towered above.

  “Die!” The creature hissed. The blade began to move.

  Lloyd fired.

  A streak of red flame filled the corridor; its long, roaring boom hit Merral. The line of hot, red fire streaked past the baziliarch’s head and hit the roof just above the wings.

  Lloyd missed. Unusual for him.

  Merral saw the explosion blossom into a fiery, dirty yellow and black sphere of flame and smoke. Then suddenly, the globe was gone as if it had been torn away. As fragments rained down he saw the flames trailing backward and upward toward blackness and stars.

  Merral realized there was a wind blowing about him. He saw debris spinning in a wild coil and noticed finer fragments were tugged upward.

  What’s happening?

  “Run, sir!” Lloyd shouted. “Run!”

  Merral glanced up to see where the rocket had hit and saw a torn disk into which debris was being sucked. There was a loud and growing whistling sound, and air tugged at his suit. He remembered the Heinrich Schütz and the explosion.

  A vacuum. Lloyd had deliberately penetrated the hull.

  Merral was aware of flashing red lights running across his visor. The emergency air supply coming on. That’s why Vero checked the helmet. I have ten minutes.

  He began running. The baziliarch lunged toward him with the sword but was yanked upward and the sword stroke went awry. The wings were being sucked back to the gaping hole.

  Merral saw the baziliarch try to grasp the top of the corridor with its polished black claws, but the top section gave way as the creature was blown up against the roof in a thrashing fury. Merral distantly sensed the bitter anger and frustration.

  They ran on, hearing the furious clacking and rattling from the roof. Merral saw his suit was now on augmentation mode rather than full supply. The air pressure has risen.

  They paused at Slee’s still body and he saw the shattered suit and the blood-filled visor. Lloyd grabbed a stiff arm and began dragging the form after him. “Not leaving him behind,” he said, and Merral heard both grief and anger in his voice.

  Then they were off the passageway and through the arch. Merral closed the door behind them and locked it. The sense of depression and failure that the baziliarch had produced seemed to be lifting but he felt nothing other than grief. Slee’s death hurt.

  Ten meters on they came to the site of fighting. There were four corpses of men in Dominion uniform but without armor; their discarded weapons lay around. The walls nearby were chipped and pitted.

  They moved onward and as they did Merral saw that the floor was marked by a heavy trail of blood. As if the team was carrying someone heavily wounded back with them. Another casualty?

  The doorway to the air lock came in sight. Merral saw it was closed.

  He found the switch pad and saw the word locked in Saratan flashing on a small screen.

  He flicked and tapped switches but nothing worked.

  In desperation, he found the microphone switch.

  “Laura, do you read me?” He repeated the question and on the third time he had a faint answer.

  “Commander. Good to hear you. But the signal is weak.”

  “We have a problem. The door has been sealed.”

  “We know. The Blade appears to be recovering its systems. We need to leave.” Merral heard alarm in her voice and wondered what else was going wrong. There was some unintelligible background chatter and then Laura spoke again. “I’m trying to get Betafor to override it. But that doesn’t look like it will work. Who is with you?”

  “Lloyd and Vero. . . . Slee . . . Slee’s dead.”

  “Sorry.”

  Merral looked at the door in the hope of seeing a weakness, but everything about it spoke of a massive and unyielding construction.

  “Lloyd, any ideas?”

  “Sir, I have a rocket left. But it will damage the ship on the other side.”

  Vero tapped him on the shoulder. “My friend, tell Laura to undock and stand clear. We’ll blow the door and jump across.”

  “Vero, it’s a vacuum.”

  “Th-these armor suits still have enough air for at least five minutes.”

  Merral checked the status. “Seven minutes here.”

  He called the Sacrifice. “Laura, can you undock?”

  “They froze the release bolts for a bit, but after that explosion they lost control. So yes.”

  “Good. Undock and then go above or below the door. We’re going to blast it open. When that’s done move the ship back and open the door. We are going to jump across.”

  “Okay. But let’s do it quickly. We need to get out of here. Fast.” Her voice revealed a new urgency.

  What’s up?

  He heard a series of heavy thuds and the walls vibrated. Undocking.

  He and Vero walked behind and to the side of Lloyd, who had taken up position behind a solid buttress and was sighting the doorway with the last of his rockets.

  Lloyd turned to them. “Better brace yourselves in case you get pulled out. Don’t wanna be like the baziliarch.”

  A moment later, Merral heard Laura’s voice. “Holding position twenty meters away. And above you.”

  “Firing now.”

  Lloyd sighted down the tube. “Here we go.”

  There was a flash, and a second later the doorway disintegrated into a cloud of fragments. After a brief and short-lived roar of sound, a silent wind swept down the corridor, tugging things into the star-filled void where the door had been.

  On his visor, red warnings appeared with flashing numbers, counting down.

  Carefully, Merral moved toward the fragmented door.

  “We’re ready, Laura.”

  “No time to lose, Commander. I’m moving back into place. Don’t jump too hard. There’s no gravity or atmosphere to brake you. Just jump soon.” What else is happening?

  Her words had barely finished when the matte-gray bulk of the Sacrifice slowly dropped down. In a few moments an open air lock doorway was opposite.

  Merral stepped out to the middle of the corridor, took a strangely silent run forward, and jumped through the blasted doorway.

  It’s like flying. He was aware of stars and space all around him, and then he was through the door of the Sacrifice. He tried to stop himself but began tumbling and hit the side wall heavily, bounced, and violently careered to a halt against the far side of the air lock.

  Vero was next and crashed clumsily into Merral. Lloyd jumped last, and as he did they saw that he was towing a length of cable. He bounced around the air lock in a bruising manner and then began pulling the suited corpse of Slee over. The still form slid into the chamber with a horrible rigidity and Merral wanted to look away. Another death! Lorrin Venn at Fallambet, the many at Tezekal, Istana the pilot and Balancal at Ynysmant.

  “Welcome aboard.” Laura’s voice was urgent. The doors closed and the air vents opened. The ship was moving now.

  “Commander, can you get up to the bridge quickly? We have a problem.”

&nb
sp; 20

  Merral ran up to the bridge. As he pounded along the corridor, he realized that he felt exhausted by the events of the past hour—had it been merely that? I want to get out of this armor. I want, too, to know that everyone else is safe and that Slee was the only fatality. I want . . .

  But then he was at the bridge, and the image through the glass port told its own story. It should have been sky and stars; instead, it was something large, gray, and metallic and made up of turrets, missile bays, and weapons ports.

  “That’s incredibly close,” he said, transfixed by the sight.

  “It’s barely two kilometers away,” Laura said. She gestured to a screen, and Merral was suddenly aware of the sound of a statement, in slow Communal, coming from a speaker.

  “Do not move, go to offensive mode, or begin preparations for Nether-Realm insertion. We will be boarding you shortly. Resistance will bring retribution. We repeat: Do not move, go to offensive mode, or begin preparations . . .”

  Some sort of destroyer. On the ship, he saw bay doors slide open and smaller ships emerge.

  “Tethercraft.” It was a familiar voice, and Merral turned round.

  “Luke!” He was still in armor, and Merral noticed that it was smeared with drying blood. “Are you okay?” He saw there were others in the room.

  The sad face looked down. “I’m fine. I’m afraid . . . Ilyas was killed.”

  “No!”

  “Another guard was hiding at the end. As he walked past . . .” He gave a weary shrug.

  That was the later shooting I heard.

  Luke gazed at the port. “We thought we might be able to save him, but he died as we got him on board. And Slee, too?”

  “Yes. Is that it? Two dead?”

  “And some wounds. Not life threatening, I gather. The hostages—”

  “Do we have them all?”

  “Yes. The hostages need checkups but seem to be okay. A certain very scared lady made it through just before the air lock door closed. She—”

  “Commander, can you give me some advice?” Laura interrupted, her voice agitated. “That ship is the Twisted Spear. It’s an older ship than this, but it is fully crewed and armed. Those tethercraft will be on the hull in ten minutes.”