Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  She stood up and walked out of the structure, sliding the door closed behind her. In the middle of the hold, she stood and stretched her arms. It was good to have made a decision. She looked down the avenue to the aft of the ship, seeing the containers extending onward for at least another fifty meters.

  At some point, I will explore further down here.

  She was about to turn to leave when, from down the avenue, she heard a muffled noise. It sounded like a sequence of many closely spaced taps.

  Like a pack of disciplined rats.

  She shrugged. It’s Below-Space. It’s not just full of strange sights but also strange noises.

  Then she walked back out to join the others.

  Betafor had seen Isabella’s foray into the aft hold and had been alarmed by it. However, she found herself vexed over what to do. She considered alerting Merral or Laura, but she wanted the aft hold to be forgotten, not the subject of inquiry. So she said nothing to any of the humans but heightened her own surveillance of the area through the limited camera and audio links available.

  Over the next few days, Betafor recorded further journeys by Isabella into the aft hold but increasingly found them reassuring. The woman seemed to visit only the structure labeled as Edifice R19—some distance from Container S16—and go no further. Betafor felt that her activity fitted into the well-known (if incomprehensible) category of need-resolving actions among humans called “seeking privacy.” Why humans wanted at some times to be social and at others to be private was utterly beyond analysis; it appeared to be almost random. The result of Betafor’s analysis was to decide that Isabella’s explorations were at an end. She has found what she wants; she is unlikely to stray beyond this point.

  As the days passed, the journey home on the Sacrifice proceeded without any major problems. Laura and the small engineering and navigation team, aided by Betafor and the largely silent Kappaten, kept the ship running smoothly. They surfaced twice to check their position and each time were reassured that they were on the right course.

  The Below-Space manifestations remained nothing much more than irritants. In general, passenger morale stayed high, and only minor disagreements marred the voyage. Isabella, however, was the exception; her cool and aloof status remained. She ate with everyone else, attended the worship meetings, and even exchanged polite conversation with Merral, but she remained distanced from him—and from the others—at any sort of deep level. Merral had heard that she had taken to spending a lot of time on her own. He debated whether to try talking with her privately—Luke thought it might just help—but shied away from it. We are only two weeks away from Farholme; whatever is troubling Isabella can be sorted out there.

  Although Merral was kept busy, he always tried to make some time in the late afternoon, normally after his daily briefing with Laura, to work on the castle tree simulation. Two weeks after they had entered Below-Space, Laura said to him at the very end of the briefing, “There is one other thing.”

  “Namely?” Merral felt vaguely irritated. That morning he had had an inkling of how to solve a particularly awkward castle tree problem and was impatient to try it out.

  “We spotted someone exiting the aft hold area yesterday.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know. The camera set up there is very poor. Betafor says that’s typical for the holds; says she has no data either. Anyway, at first, we thought it was a manifestation, but we recognized it was a person.” She looked hard at him. “The area’s off-limits.”

  I know, I know. “You want me to have an inquiry and find out who did it?”

  Laura smiled. “You’re the commander. But the ship needs discipline.”

  And I hate imposing it over such a trivial matter.

  Merral considered the request. “Look, I’ll give everyone a reminder this evening. But no inquiry. They can voluntarily admit to it if they wish.”

  But when, feeling rather awkward, he raised the matter a few hours later, no hand was raised. Scanning the faces, Merral noticed that Isabella seemed to stare back at him with a look of almost theatrical blankness. I’m sure it was her. But what can I do if she denies it?

  He considered calling her for an interview but dropped the idea. He had other things to do.

  22

  Isabella had noted Merral’s discomfort when he mentioned the aft hold. That’s the General for you, making officious rules but too weak to follow through. But I will say nothing. It’s my place of sanctuary.

  Nevertheless, she avoided the area for another week, in case it was being watched. Eventually though, she had an angry exchange of words with Lola and, in a turbulent and surly mood, wandered off to be on her own. Almost to her surprise, she found herself in front of the door to the aft hold. She looked behind her and, when she saw that there was no one watching, slipped through the door.

  Feeling aggravated and tense, she shunned the place she had made her refuge and instead strode right down the avenue between the containers to the far end. There she leaned against the wall—she could hear the thrum-thrum of pumps and motors through it—and kicked her heels angrily.

  I hate them; I hate the lot of them.

  She stood there for some minutes, but her irritation did not go away. Rather, it seemed to grow. In her anger, she walked over to the nearest container and for no logical reason pulled down on the handle. The door swung open to reveal empty pallets. Rubbish! I hate this ship!

  She slammed the door shut and moved on to the next container. It registered with her that this was smaller and was made of a shinier metal with what seemed to be strengthening bars around it. There was no numbering or lettering on it. Not that I would have understood it. I hate this stupid ship!

  She stood before the hatch. It was almost her height and by its side was a recessed handle with a button below it. She grasped the handle and rotated it down. She had pulled it down halfway when she hesitated and stopped. I haven’t a clue what’s in here.

  The door opened a fraction. That moment, she heard noises and glimpsed that, in the darkness of the interior, steel gray things were moving.

  Panic gushed through Isabella’s mind. She tried to push the handle back up, but some unseen object was now jamming it.

  She gasped and pressed back hard against the hatch with all her weight. Her heart was pounding. What have I released?

  She felt the pressure against the hatch mounting and a rhythmic banging was beginning. There are many of them in there. She remembered what she had seen and recalled how they had moved with an organic urgency and a mechanical fluidity. Then a second thought came to her. They have to be Krallen. She remembered all she knew of them and her terror grew.

  It came to Isabella that she couldn’t hold the hatch shut for much longer. High whistles were coming from inside the compartment and in the shrill sounds, she heard hostility. Her terror was complete.

  If I run now I may make the main door and be able to seal it behind me.

  Suddenly five steel fingers emerged round the edge of the hatch. Below it another set of fingers pushed their way out and began groping blindly. For the locking button.

  Overwhelmed by panic, she ran.

  She dashed for the exit and, as she did, heard another burst of whistling behind her. As the air lock came in sight, she heard a bang followed by a loud, echoing hoot. She was aware of the sound of many feet bounding after her.

  In an instant, she realized she had no chance of making the exit. Instead, she flung herself to the left toward the small compartment she had made her own. As she flung the door wide, she caught a glimpse—terrible beyond words—of gray, doglike creatures, eyes gleaming like fire, loping after her with inexhaustible energy. The most terrible thing was the way they ran: three abreast, in four regimented lines.

  Isabella ran in and pressed the button to close the door. It began to slide shut but nowhere near fast enough.

  Trembling with terror she began to tug at it, trying to speed it up.

  It was almost closed when a
gleaming limb punched through the gap. The claw stabbed into her side. She felt it twist.

  The pain was unbearable. She screamed. Somehow, the claw withdrew and the door closed.

  Amid the agony, which licked around her like flames, Isabella saw that there was a dark gray fluid gushing down her side and legs. Blood!

  Racked by convulsions, she found the locking button and pressed it. Outside, things pounded and rattled against the door with a disciplined but ineffective fury.

  Isabella staggered back.

  I’m injured. I must try to stanch the blood. Get help. Lie down.

  She held her hand to her side and it came away streaming in warm, graphite gray fluid. Already she felt faint.

  Collapsing on a pile of fabric, she pulled out her diary and with bloodied hands tapped it on. “Emergency! Help! I’m in trouble. Help!” New waves of pain broke over her.

  “Isabella? This is Laura. I have you on audio. Getting location now.”

  “In the . . . hold.”

  “Aft hold. Starboard side. R19? Correct?” Beyond the pain, Isabella recognized that Laura’s voice was calm. Everything may be all right.

  “Yes,” she sobbed. “Don’t know the number. I’ve been attacked.” I feel cold.

  She had found a handkerchief and was using it in a futile attempt to stanch the wound. It was agonizing.

  “Attacked?” Far away a siren was sounding.

  Isabella felt everything was going gray. But it already is gray. “By things. Krallen.”

  “Okay.” The voice was flat and unflustered. “People are on their way. Tell me—how many?”

  Her vision was blurring. I’m not going to stay conscious long.

  “I’m wounded. Abd-abdominal wound. Blood loss.”

  A darkness seemed to be gathering around the edge of her vision, a darkness that extended an invitation to her. Come in! Come in!

  “Isabella, keep talking.” The voice was gentle now. “Help is on its way. How many Krallen? We need to know.”

  Isabella saw the diary tumble from her pale hand to the floor. She stretched out to try to pick it up, but the effort was too much. There were words but she couldn’t make them out anymore.

  She closed her eyes and accepted the invitation of the darkness.

  Betafor had seen Isabella entering the aft hold through one of the many digital feeds she watched. She had assumed that, as before, the woman was heading to Edifice R19. When she walked beyond that, Betafor’s alarm grew. Further analysis of the imagery suggested an odd posture and more rapid gait than usual. Her mood has changed; this could be dangerous.

  Betafor considered contacting Isabella on her diary but rejected it. Such a call would be logged. I will go down and see her personally. That, however, raised another problem: it would leave Kappaten alone on the bridge. That could not be allowed; Laura and the others might start dealing with her independently. How complex things are.

  “Captain,” she said to Laura, “I need to take Kappaten to check out some circuits. It’s not a problem, but we need to do it now.”

  Laura looked up from a screen. “As you wish.”

  It was, of course, unnecessary to give Kappaten any information; she just obeyed.

  Betafor moved as rapidly as she could without giving away the fact that she was very concerned. She maintained her video link and saw to her dismay that Isabella was now at the far end of the hold.

  They were soon at the aft hold entrance and Betafor, followed dutifully by Kappaten, went in, closing the door behind. They were just inside when the redirected imagery showed that Isabella was now standing in front of Container S16 and reaching out her hand.

  Betafor began to bound forward when she realized that the human had opened the hatch and the Krallen were beginning to pound against the door. I am too late.

  Betafor stopped dead, and Kappaten almost collided with her. In a fraction of a second she was aware that everything had changed terribly. The issue was no longer withholding the revelation of the Krallen on board; it now was far more serious. Krallen hate Allenix more than they hate humans. I have to ensure my own survival.

  Betafor switched her mind into emergency mode. Every intelligence circuit was thrown into decision making, all priorities adjusted to optimize the chances of survival.

  She considered running back out of the hold, but the Krallen were already emerging. It was too late; with their superior speed they might get there first.

  Instead, she slipped back and took cover in a gap between the containers. Kappaten followed behind, asking questions that were ignored. Betafor saw from the imagery that Isabella was now running toward her. The Krallen will follow her and kill her and we will be next. I need a strategy.

  Unsatisfied by the quality of the imagery she was getting, Betafor peered round the corner of the container and saw Isabella come into sight. She was relieved to see the woman veer into Edifice R19 with the Krallen pack at her heels.

  They are two containers and an air lock away. I do need a strategy. Urgently.

  The Krallen clustered round the door. Betafor saw one pull away a claw heavy with blood. Serious damage has been done.

  Four Krallen leaped onto the roof of the edifice; the rest slipped round the sides, leaving two banging away on the door. Standard procedure: two each side, four on the roof.

  Betafor ducked back into cover, her mind frantically processing a hundred scenarios looking for one that would save her. Can I get to the door and lock it behind me? No; I’m not fast enough. It will take time to open. I need to distract them.

  The analysis of scenarios came up with a result. She knew what she had to do. She contacted the ship’s computer and took remote control of the air lock. The computer made a protest, but she knew how to override it.

  Betafor heard a siren sounding now. Isabella must have contacted someone. Working through the electronic linkages, she found the right switch and opened the inner air lock hatch.

  She peered round the container carefully again. She could see the Krallen looking toward the door. It has opened and they heard it.

  She ordered Kappaten to go and run into the air lock.

  “They will chase me!” Kappaten protested.

  “Exactly.”

  “They will destroy me!”

  “You’ll be safe inside the air lock. Trust me.” Betafor said. “Now obey.”

  And being reassured—and a subordinate Allenix—Kappaten obeyed.

  “Now!” Betafor ordered, and the Allenix ran out round the container, her checkered tunic flapping about her flanks.

  Angry howls came from the Krallen and Kappaten issued a high-pitched yelp that, had it been translated into human speech, would have been very close to a scream.

  Betafor watched on the air lock camera as the four Krallen on the roof leaped down with a smooth agility and along with two more chased after Kappaten. Only six. Still, it might be enough.

  Betafor saw Kappaten race inside the air lock and turn around. Waiting for the hatch to close.

  “Close the hatch, Betafor!” It was a shriek.

  “In my own time.”

  Jaws wide, the six Krallen entered the air lock, two lines of three abreast. As Kappaten began to scream, Betafor turned the volume down. The camera image turned into a furious blur of gray forms ripping and tearing. A limb flew across the chamber.

  Careful to get the timing right, Betafor closed the inner hatch. The Krallen spun round in evident alarm. Now, overriding all the safety circuits, she opened the outer hatch. There was an audible hiss, panicked whistles, the sound of things bumping past the hatch, then the utter silence of vacuum.

  One Allenix on a ship is quite enough.

  She peered round the corner of the container to see that, evidently aware of what had happened, four of the remaining Krallen had raced round to the air lock hatch and were pawing desperately at it. She noticed in addition some sheetlike manifestation was beginning to descend from the ceiling. Such things do not bother me.

  No
w, through her circuit links, Betafor reached out and doused the lights in the entire aft hold.

  On the human optical range the darkness was now almost total. It would only slightly inconvenience the Krallen—they could see in infrared—but it would puzzle them.

  Next, Betafor closed the outer hatch and let the atmosphere back into the air lock. As the air noisily surged back, she began slipping away on tiptoe in the deepest darkness along the edge of the containers, toward the hold exit.

  Halfway along, she ordered the inner hatch open and switched to watch the view from the air lock camera. As she expected, the Krallen were not stupid enough to enter the trap that had destroyed their fellows, but she could see them cautiously peering around inside.

  Suddenly the input from the air lock camera and another four cameras ceased. Betafor, still moving on as quietly as she could, tried to renew the link to them but found that she could no longer access them or any other cameras. Someone—it had to be either the captain or the commander—had begun locking her out of the ship’s systems. That alarmed her. I did not know they had learned how to do that.

  She realized she had to open the hold door quickly. She gauged the distance to the door and ordered it to slide open a fraction. She was relieved when it began to open; to be trapped in here would have been disastrous.

  She ran as fast as she could. The Krallen spotted her and with furious howls turned to chase her.

  Betafor slithered through the door, skidding to a stop in front of a disorganized array of men and women with weapons.

  “It is I!” she yelled as the door closed behind her. “Friend! Betafor! Your colleague!”

  She saw Lloyd stepping forward, cradling a broad-barreled gun in his hand. The muzzle swung toward her head. “What’s going on in there?”

  “Krallen! A dozen. Isabella Danol found a crate of them and let them loose.”

  More people were arriving now: Merral, still tightening his armor jacket; Vero; some of the sniper women; and Abilana, the doctor.