Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  “First time here for you Made-Worlders?” he asked as the bell towers, spires, and domes came into view.

  “Yes,” Merral replied.

  “Then, apologies. It should not be thus. The city of peace—the mother of us all—is at war. Not literally. At least not yet. And you Made-Worlders make sure you aren’t overwhelmed by history here.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Vero asked.

  “My house. Normally my aunt and uncle would be there, but they have left. A lot of people are leaving in case of attack. Nonessential personnel are being evacuated.” He gestured to a line of heavy, eight-wheeled transports in dirty brown paint on the opposite lane. “The military are everywhere. New vehicles.”

  Merral spoke. “Tell me about the Guards of the Lord. Have any sentinels joined?”

  “None. They don’t like us; we return the sentiment.”

  Vero nodded. “Has Eliza made any formal rulings on the subject?”

  “Oh!” Adeeb flashed Vero a look in which sorrow and embarrassment were mixed. “You don’t know?”

  “What?”

  “She died suddenly. Three weeks ago.”

  Vero started. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know her personally. I just heard her speak. But she always struck me as being full of life.”

  “She was. It was a shock to all of us. She was very much against Delastro.”

  “What happened to her?” Merral asked.

  “A heart attack; she had some undiagnosed condition.”

  Merral saw Vero give him a troubled look. A convenient death. But surely no more than that?

  Adeeb was continuing. “We haven’t got round to electing a successor yet—these are odd times. A pity. We could have used her today, by all accounts.”

  “Why today?”

  Adeeb turned to them again. “Didn’t you know? There’s a major meeting. All the high stewards have flown in. A constitutional change has been proposed. It will almost certainly give Delastro a lot of power. The rest of the agenda is secret.”

  Vero looked puzzled. “All the high stewards. A secret agenda. What’s that about?”

  In a flash of insight, Merral realized the implications. He turned to Vero. “It’s today. It’s now. The debate. Gerry’s bomb!”

  Vero grunted assent. “Adeeb, change of plan. The Chamber of the High Stewards. Fast.”

  On the way to the chamber, Merral made some decisions. Adeeb would drop him, Vero, Lloyd, and Anya off at the rear of the building before taking Jorgio to his house.

  He checked that everyone was wearing the pin badges. More deception.

  “Soon be there,” Adeeb said, “but there’s an awful lot of traffic. Odd.” Merral looked out the window, seeing that all around them were four- and eight-seaters, even coaches. And every one of them full of people.

  Vero gave a grunt of alarm. “They are all wearing badges, too!”

  Merral followed his gaze. The eight-seater next to them was full of young, stern-faced troops neatly dressed in jackets with a glint of silver on the lapel.

  “What’s going on, Vero?” Merral asked.

  “I think . . . Delastro is bringing in supporters.”

  “But how can that affect a vote of the stewards?”

  “It can’t. Unless . . . unless he’s prepared to bypass the voting system. But he wouldn’t dare . . . would he?”

  Merral stared at his friend. “He would dare. Adeeb, faster!”

  Back in the chamber after the recess, Ethan Malunal addressed the high stewards. “You have all read this confidential report given to you twenty-four hours ago. But before we go to the debate proper, I think it is important that we hear the technical description of it by Dr. Gerry Habbentz. She will take questions at the end.”

  The side door opened and Gerry, dressed in a formal suit with a long skirt, entered. Ethan had not seen the physicist for some time and was surprised by how gaunt she had become. He motioned for her to stand in the zone marked with yellow, where the sound amplification worked best.

  With only the briefest of introductions, Gerry plunged into a description of the weapon and what it would achieve. She made it plain that it was now in place and could be detonated within forty-eight hours of their approval. Then she outlined the effects.

  As he listened, Ethan realized that here, too, he had failed to predict what would happen. Somehow, he had expected that this would be a cool and neutral presentation. It was neither. Gerry was passionate, persuasive, and eloquent. Her delivery was animated, her eyes flashed, and her long hair shook wildly as, at every point, she pleaded for the weapon’s use.

  At length she stopped and was applauded. She answered questions clearly and well, but in every case, her verdict was unshakable and plain: this weapon must be used and used now. There could be no delay.

  There was more applause and she sat down.

  Ethan felt himself alarmed at what Gerry had said. Something in her thin face and fiery eyes troubled him. His uneasiness was deepened by the way that she seemed unable to give a fact without using it to justify using the bomb. Facts have now become fuel for her crusade. I heard rumors that Delastro has influenced her; I now believe them.

  Next came a speaker against, a mumbling ethicist from one of the ancient European universities who did the opposition no favors. Advisor Clemant then spoke in favor of Project Daybreak. Clemant’s dry, factual words made a strong case. Its ignition would destroy the heart of the Dominion, the Blade of Night and its industrial complexes, and probably the lord-emperor himself. The approaching fleet would have to turn back. He then gave a damning indictment of the Dominion, not simply as a conquering power but as a force of chaos that could—and would—unravel the entire Assembly unless it was ended immediately, utterly, and finally. Ethan felt Clemant was no great speaker, but what he said was both gripping and disconcerting.

  Now Andreas spoke. He had been scheduled to speak against the project, but as his very literary and often obscure talk progressed, Ethan realized that his one-time friend was ambivalent. He seemed barely able to criticize the idea of the bomb but instead spent time pointing out the difficulties of ethics in time of war. Faced with awesome evil, history had shown that good people had frequently been compelled to do bad things. Yet even with his obscurity and vagueness, Andreas made some telling points, and Ethan could see uncomfortable looks being shared between the stewards. After a conclusion that was almost incomprehensible, Andreas sat down to desultory applause.

  Ethan struggled to hide his dismay. This vote too is surely lost.

  Adeeb parked at the back of the large sprawling building that hosted the Chamber of the High Stewards, and Merral and the others left the vehicle with as much urgency as they could manage without drawing attention to themselves. Merral glimpsed Lloyd pulling a dark, metallic object from his bag and slipping it inside his jacket. Catching his gaze, his aide shrugged apologetically. “It’s only a little gun, sir.”

  The city of peace? “Very well. But try not to use it.” Merral turned to Jorgio. “Pray for us, old friend.”

  “I will indeed. That’s a dangerous place.”

  Everywhere is dangerous now, Merral thought as Adeeb pulled away.

  At the rear door of the building, two uniformed men barred the way. Merral noticed the silver pin badges and threw up a hasty prayer.

  “Gentlemen, the lord-prebendant is expecting us.”

  “The password.”

  Please, Lord, let it still be the same. “Refining fire.”

  “Enter.”

  The men stepped back from the door, and the four entered the building. Vero, who had visited it before and had some idea of the layout, led the way. They walked briskly down a winding corridor and came to two doors.

  Vero hesitated. “Let’s take a gamble.”

  “A gamble?”

  “Never mind.” Vero cautiously pushed the right-hand door open a little and looked in. “Aah, sorry. Wrong room,” he said quickly and pulled the door closed. “This way. Fast!” he his
sed, motioning them through the left door.

  As they moved rapidly down another corridor, Vero turned to Merral. “Men with guns. Sitting, waiting. I think I saw Zak.”

  He heard the sound of running feet behind them and a shout. “Stop!”

  Merral turned to see the tall, uniformed figure of Zak running toward them, tugging a weapon out of a holster.

  “We really don’t need him,” Vero muttered.

  “Stop!” repeated Zak. “Or I’ll shoot.”

  To Merral’s surprise, Lloyd, who was bringing up the rear, stopped, stood back against the wall, and raised his hands as if in surrender.

  Zak, ignoring him, began to run past toward Merral. As he did, Lloyd, moving with surprising speed, stuck a foot out. Zak flew forward and crashed to the ground, the gun clattering across the stone floor.

  As Zak began to struggle to his feet, Lloyd grabbed him, pushing him flat against the ground. Vero grabbed the gun.

  “Leave him to me, sir,” Lloyd said, already twisting Zak’s arm up against his back. “You get in there.”

  Merral gave an order. “Anya, Vero, help Lloyd tie Zak up somewhere. Find a closet or something. Make sure he can’t escape, and then follow me in.” Then a thought struck him. “And see if he will confess . . . to anything.”

  Alone, Merral walked on as fast as he could. He turned a corner and saw a door ahead of him. He opened it a fraction and saw that it led into the upper tier of a large, partially darkened chamber full of people. A man in clerical robes had apparently just finished speaking and was taking his seat at a side bench with a man and a woman, while at the very far end of the chamber three men sat behind a wooden table. On one side sat a man who was clearly a secretary. In the center was an older man with a thin, deeply lined face whom Merral recognized from images as Chairman Ethan Malunal; in the chairman’s posture Merral sensed a tired and defeated resignation. To the left, black-robed and balding, sat Delastro.

  Merral slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and moved into the shadows at the back, trying to make himself inconspicuous. I need to be certain what is going on.

  There was a spare seat, and Merral sat down.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he whispered to a man next to him who was eyeing him with curiosity.

  “Come a long way?”

  “Yes. A very long way. Got . . . detained en route. What’s happened?”

  The man glanced at Merral’s lapel badge and gave a smile. “Our man’s now chancellor.”

  “Ah.” Merral tried to make his tone neutral. “Is he?”

  “Yes. And we are now on this matter of the bomb. Professor Hmong has just finished speaking. Against, I believe. So we’re about to—hello, what’s this?”

  A sudden murmuring of anticipation had broken out, and Merral looked to the front of the chamber.

  The prebendant had risen to his feet and was about to speak.

  Ethan was aware that it was up to him to bring matters to the vote. Yet as he began to rise to his feet, Delastro abruptly gestured for him to stay seated and rose instead. Too stunned to respond, Ethan stayed in his chair.

  As the prebendant looked around, a sudden silence descended on the room. Then, grasping the lapels of his gown, he began to speak. “As chancellor—albeit a newly appointed chancellor—I feel I should comment on this matter. This might be irregular, but these strange and urgent days permit irregularity.”

  He paused, and Ethan heard only silence.

  He began to speak again. “I have today—most sadly—to speak to you of the solemn, tragic, but vital duty of destruction. The task of the Assembly, possibly its purpose, is the extermination of evil.”

  Delastro paused, seemingly unafraid of the silence, gazing around with his strange eyes as the light played in the wild, white wreath of his hair. “The Lord has delivered them into our hands. Against all hope, a means of salvation has been given us. You—we—have no choice. We must use this gift. To deny it would be an abomination. To use it against the desecration that is the Dominion would be an act of cleansing. Project Daybreak it is called, and indeed daybreak it will be. Into these worlds of darkness, death, and demonism, we will bring the cleansing light of infinite day.”

  He continued on in this vein for many minutes, and he held his audience rapt. Ethan tried to analyze what he was doing; the words were plain but moving; well chosen, and yet comprehensible; accurate but filled with energy. Yet he sensed something more than skill: a compelling magic in his oratory.

  Eventually Delastro came, with great skill, to his conclusion. “We can now vote. It is a free vote. Yet how can it be? Faced with this evil, there can be no option but to decide for this project.” The voice began to rise in strength. “You have called me to the highest office. I now plead with you in the name of the blessed Assembly: Vote for this weapon to be used and used now! Unleash the purging fires of hell now! Let daybreak fall on the Dominion!”

  Men and women rose, and there was a roar of applause and the stamping of feet.

  Ethan, hands at his side, stood up and asked for silence. He tried to hide his dismay. It’s all over. We have lost both votes. “We will now vote on the—”

  He stopped midsentence.

  As Merral listened to Delastro, noting the skill of his delivery, he found a piece of paper and began writing hastily.

  Dr. Malunal,

  Delastro is planning a coup. Have your secretary arrange for all diary calls out of here to be blocked. Have the doors guarded so that no one can leave, but please allow my friends in when they arrive. Summon several military units to surround the building.

  Merral D’Avanos, Commander, Farholme Defense Force

  Then he folded the paper and sat back, listening to the prebendant’s speech, noticing the effect on his hearers, and preparing his own words.

  Eventually, Delastro ended with his final dramatic appeal and sat down. Merral waited for the moment when the chairman stood and began asking for the vote. Then he threw up a brief prayer, took off the pin badge, rose to his feet, and began walking down the aisle to the front.

  Slowly, unhurriedly, aware that every eye was turning toward him and hearing a rising surge of whispering, Merral strode toward the front of the chamber. He saw Delastro stare at him with an expression of indignant anger that turned to astonishment and then horror.

  Merral walked over to the prebendant. “Good afternoon, Prebendant,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like my turn to speak.”

  “D’Avanos, is it you? Why, it is!” The pale face began to flush with anger. “Why, I’ll denounce you as a sorcerer, a rebel, a—”

  Merral leaned toward him and spoke quietly. “You will do no such thing. Try it, and I will do the same to you. I want to speak. You may find it strange, but you are not my prime concern.” Not yet.

  Then Merral walked over to the chairman, who was staring at him with a look of bemused outrage. “Who are you? I shall call the guards.”

  “My apologies, Dr. Malunal. I am Merral D’Avanos of Farholme, and I have just arrived. As one of the few people to have visited the Dominion worlds, I would like to address the meeting.”

  He gaped slightly in astonishment and then his mouth closed. “This is . . . unorthodox. Very. I have many questions. . . . But you’d better go ahead.” There was the flicker of a smile. “For myself, you are very welcome.”

  Merral passed him the note he’d written and walked back into the amplification zone. The prebendant, a look of cold fury on his face, rose from his seat and stalked rapidly to the long side bench, where he sat down next to a white-faced Clemant and began whispering urgently to him.

  Merral turned to the meeting and took a deep breath. Lord, guide my words now.

  “I am Merral D’Avanos, commander of the forces of Farholme.”

  There were renewed murmurs and exclamations, many of astonishment.

  “I apologize for the delay in getting here. I was forced to carry out a rescue of our people in the very heart of the Dominion. That�
��and other matters—” here he could not resist a glance at Delastro—“have unfortunately delayed me.” Don’t rush it.

  “I have listened to only the last part of this debate, but better than most, I am aware of the issues raised by Project Daybreak. I want to give some reasons why we should not—indeed, we must not—use this terrible weapon.” He was abruptly aware of Gerry on the front row, staring at him with a strange and smoldering hatred. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the secretary was leaving the chamber with his note. Good.

  He continued. “My crew and I spent about ten days at the heart of the Dominion, orbiting around this star, Sarata, that you wish to destroy. We entered the very heart of Lord Nezhuala’s power, the Blade of Night. By the gracious intervention of the Most High, we were enabled to rescue those who had been taken captive, and we fought our way out, although in the process, two of my unit were killed.”

  The silence was now almost overwhelming in its intensity. Has ever any speaker had such attention?

  “In the course of that venture, we were able to seize a military ship of the Dominion. We took many prisoners. We did our best to keep those we captured safe and sent them to a deserted world within the Saratan system. But before we did, I met and talked with one of these men.”

  He paused again, looking around, sensing an overwhelming hunger for his words. “I know the Dominion is evil—utterly evil; no one knows it better than I. But many of those who serve the lord-emperor are not dissimilar in many ways to us. In some cases, they serve Nezhuala because they believe in him; in other cases, they serve him under pain of death. At least some of them have wives and families, and they share something of our hopes and desires. There is evil there, yes. But I cannot agree to the wholesale and random destruction of all. Indeed, I made a promise to one of these men that I would do all I could to preserve his life. I feel still bound by the promise.”

  Merral saw the look of total fury on Delastro’s face. The prebendant raised his fist. “You are one of them,” he hissed, but Merral ignored the comment. I must not let him distract me.