by Chris Walley
“Sir, we have one.” One of the engineering team interrupted him.
“What? Where?”
“Orbital Factory Four, sir,” she answered. “We made two for Project Daybreak. It’s such a complex procedure that we had to face the possibility that the bomb might be nonfunctional. So we made two—just in case. Only the one was sent to Sarata, and only that one was destroyed.” She paused. “We have a decommissioned bomb at Orbital Factory Four.”
Merral saw Vero glance at him and read the wild excitement in his eyes. That’s where the Sacrifice is.
Ethan turned to the engineer. “Why wasn’t I told? We could have used it.”
“Sir, because it wasn’t held to be significant.” The woman was flustered. “And because its use wasn’t—and isn’t—considered feasible.”
It’s too lethal to be used within the system.
“Are you sure?”
“Sir, it needs twenty hours of work to commission it and prime it. And even if we could deliver it, the blast wave would be strong enough to strip off the outer atmosphere of the Earth.”
“Hit us all with hard radiation,” someone else added.
“Would we survive?”
Merral saw Seymour gaze around with a distracted expression and wondered if the man had heard a word of what was being discussed.
The engineer continued. “Depends which hemisphere was facing the blast. The far side might survive for a few weeks until the wind and waves took the radiation around. Sir, it was a nonstarter. And now as it gets closer, it’s even less feasible.”
Ethan sighed.
Merral saw Vero rise from his seat and gesture him to the door. Making apologies, they left the room.
“My friend, I want to get some fresh air and to think.”
They climbed up the stairs and were allowed onto the roof by a guard. It was nearly midnight, and the city roofs were bathed in silver moonlight. Below them were pinpricks of orange light from the houses. The news would be out; even at this late hour most will be awake.
Merral breathed in the cold night air and was silent.
Finally his friend spoke. “One, we have a b-bomb that may do the trick. Two, we have—next to it—a ship that could d-deliver that bomb.”
“But three, we have a bomb we cannot fire.”
“I know. Somehow, it must just add up. But how?”
Merral said nothing and stared at the sky. To the west a patchy haze of cloud obscured the stars. There is rain coming in, they say. He turned his gaze up to the three-quarters moon, close to setting. I still find that extraordinary.
“As a child,” Merral said eventually, as much to himself as to Vero, “I used to envy people growing up on Earth being able to see the moon. Then when I was at college I used to ask myself why it had taken people on Earth so long to realize the way the Solar system worked when they had so obvious an orbiting satellite above them.”
Vero grunted. “I took the moon for granted until I went to Farholme. I was delighted to see it again the other night for the first time in over a year.”
“It’s hard to believe how scarred it is.”
“The Lord put it there to guard and protect us. Those scars might have been ours. It got in the way of a lot of meteors and comets.” The words were flat; Merral sensed a repetition of some long-remembered teaching. “It stopped the bullets.” Vero hesitated. “It stopped . . . the bullets,” he repeated. “Wait!”
Suddenly Vero was running for the doorway and the stairs. “Quick! Jorgio was right. It’s a formula. A formula! I need a physicist.” The words tumbled over each other. “And an orbital mechanics person. An atmospheric specialist, too. A radiation expert. Quick!”
In fifteen minutes, Vero had the people he needed. “Gentlemen, ladies, I have an idea and I want you to give me an answer as to whether it will work.”
After half an hour the table was overlain with bits of paper covered with formulae. Vero looked around. “So, will it work?”
The physicist frowned. “It’s a desperate venture, but it might. . . .”
The orbital mechanics expert hesitated. “If there’s no other option, I suppose . . .”
The atmospheric specialist scratched her nose. “I’m not enthusiastic. But, well, maybe . . .”
The radiation expert shook his head. “It’s an awful gamble. But . . .”
Vero smiled. “I t-take that as approval. So let me summarize. On its present trajectory and speed, the Blade of Night will pass behind the moon between 11:13 and 11:22 p.m. Jerusalem time on the night of the seventeenth of February. That’s four days away. It will be sufficiently close that the moon will fully cover the disk of the earth at 11:18. That’s vital.”
His words were greeted by cautious and hesitant nods of agreement. Vero continued. “If we can explode that polyvalent fusion weapon within twenty to thirty kilometers of the Blade, then Earth will be effectively protected.”
“Probably.”
“All being well.”
“We need to model it,” said the atmospheric specialist. “There will be atmospheric disturbances. Loss of radio signals. Possibly climatic effects.”
“How many of our people would be killed?” Merral asked.
The orbital mechanist spoke. “We’d lose the lunar far side bases—two hundred people there. Probably another couple of hundred on spaceships and stations. Most of the Gate axes are such that they would be sideways on to the radiation blast. They’ll survive.”
“We could minimize those losses by giving a solar flare warning five minutes earlier,” Vero said.
“That might halve your losses. Say a hundred dead.”
“You’d never get near enough. We haven’t the ships to protect a delivery vessel. Not anymore.”
“I only need one ship,” Vero looked at Merral. “And we have that. My friend, call in Ethan and Seymour.”
Merral watched the chairman and the commander stare at Vero as he explained the strategy. “We would use the Sacrifice, go into Below-Space, pop up, release the weapon, and then drop back down into Below-Space.”
They looked at each other. “It might work,” Ethan said.
Seymour, his face a sickly gray, shook his head. “I’m reluctant to believe it.”
Ethan, apparently ignoring him, simply said, “I think we give it a try. It’s my decision. I will issue the orders. We’ll get the bomb ready and onto the Sacrifice. But even if it works, it will be tight.”
Seymour shrugged. “We’ll try it.” He’s a broken man.
Vero turned to Ethan. “This would have the best chance of success if the lord-emperor could be distracted.”
“Any ideas?”
“There must be no hint that we are banking on a surprise move. It must look as if we are relying on our existing defenses.”
Ethan considered the idea. “We will do that. We will gather our remaining fleet around Earth. Have the Tahuma defenses prepared.”
Vero pointed out the need for secrecy, and they came up with a code name, Amethyst, and a list of who was to know about it. Merral was relieved that all of those close to him were allowed to know.
As Ethan and Seymour left the room, Vero looked at Merral. “This is going to be interesting.”
“That’s something of an understatement. Can we really hide this from the Dominion?”
“Distraction, my friend.”
“And what Ethan suggested will be enough?”
Vero shook his head and then gave Merral an odd, oblique look. “No. Other things may be needed.”
“What?” He’s planning something.
“Trust me.” Then with a brief and almost inaudible murmur of apology, Vero departed.
Left alone, Merral made a call to the freighter transporting Betafor and the skimmers to Earth and gave them an order to go straight to the landing strip at Tahuma. Then he found Anya, who like almost everyone else in the building was still awake and following the news.
He took her aside and explained the plan. “I’m headi
ng to Tahuma tomorrow,” he added. “We need not only to prepare the defenses but to be seen to prepare them.”
“But Amethyst will be launched before any attack begins?”
“We hope so. Currently, the earliest a land attack can be made is the Lord’s Day.”
For some minutes nothing was said between them.
“I want to come to Tahuma,” she said without warning.
What is the right way to offer her an alternative? Then he realized that there was no right way. “You could leave Earth,” he said slowly. “There are still flights out. I could arrange—”
“Stop right there,” she said, her face flushed with anger. “I’m tempted to slap you so hard that you won’t know what hit you.”
He shrugged. “I should have guessed you would say that. But it was an offer.”
“Book me on the flight with you.”
“I had to give you the choice.”
She gave him a patently forced smile. “And I turned it down. Now, good night.”
Early on Wednesday morning, Vero found himself summoned to meet Ethan. Outside, the rain lashed against the windows as they sat down together.
“Vero, I will shortly be moving out of the city. We are dispersing ADF and admin. I shall be somewhere round Jericho. Do you wish to come?”
“I am . . . making other plans.”
“I see. Anyway, I’m just taking essentials,” Ethan said, looking around at some half-filled cases. “There isn’t much space there. And I’m storing safely anything of value. Do you think Nezhuala’s forces will loot?”
“Not Krallen; I suppose that’s the only g-good thing about them. But they’ll smash everything up.”
Ethan made a face of disgust. “Monsters. Incidentally, we are arranging for the cathedral and the Chamber of the Great King to be sealed as tight as we can. Stop Nezhuala messing around with holy things.”
“A good idea.”
“Vero, you know that the Blade is now visible in small amateur astronomical telescopes? Where it’s not raining. A dull red glowing line in Cassiopeia.”
“How soon will it be visible to the naked eye?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“That’s when the p-public will get scared.”
“Exactly. Look, I called you here because Seymour wants his load lightened; the defeats and the loss of his daughter are taking a toll on him. So I’m considering Merral as his replacement, at least for land defenses. Essentially being in charge of Tahuma.”
A not unexpected development. Vero nodded for the chairman to continue.
“It’d be popular with the soldiers. And the public. He’s a legend. Of course.” Ethan stared at him with weary eyes. “What do you think? You know him.”
“A good idea. He’d need support, though. He doesn’t know the system.”
“He’d have it, of course. So do you have any objections?”
“No. But I have a suggestion. Don’t announce it now.” Vero hesitated as he juggled with dates. “It’s now Wednesday. Amethyst is late Saturday. Make the announcement midday Saturday. And broadcast any speech of acceptance he makes as widely as you can.”
The eyes tightened. “I see. Part of the ‘I want Nezhuala preoccupied’ strategy?”
“Exactly. I want him scared that the great adversary is here and in charge of the armies of the Lord. And make sure the story about him being healed by an angel gets around. That will fix Nezhuala’s eyes on Merral even more. Amethyst must be totally unexpected.”
“I see.” He seems skeptical.
“There’s a very old story, sir, about a dark lord that has to be overthrown. And two heroes are sent to sneak into the heart of his kingdom to destroy his power. So, in order to aid them, their friends mount a desperate attack in order to distract the dark lord’s attention. And it works.”
“I don’t know that story.”
“It’s very old. An Anglo-Saxon tale.”
A new gust of rain lashed against the window.
“And will this distraction be enough, or do you have something else?”
How much do I tell this man? “Perhaps, but I will not reveal it.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t approve.” No one ever does.
Shortly afterward, Merral himself met with Ethan.
“The situation is this,” the chairman said. “I need to lighten Seymour’s load; I want to keep him for space warfare. So I want you to take charge of land defense at Tahuma.”
“No. I can’t handle it. You have weapons I don’t even understand.”
“I suspected you would say that. You’d be based at Tahuma and be constantly advised by a defense coordinator and others.” Ethan made a dismissive gesture. “You tell them what you want, and they do it.”
Merral knew that he couldn’t refuse. The Lord has led me on this path from Ynysmant; to reject this now would be to rebel anew.
“As you wish.”
“Thank you.” Ethan looked uneasy. “But I . . . have been persuaded that this is not the right time to publicly announce the change. Nevertheless you will be treated as being in charge.”
Ethan rose from behind his desk. “I am being moved out. Dispersed. We should stay in contact, but I don’t know whether we will physically meet again this side of the Lamb’s throne. I want to thank you. And to wish you well.”
They embraced, and Merral, his mind darkened by foreboding and a sense of inadequacy, left him.
Outside, shielded from the furious rain by a porch, he found a private place and called Adeeb’s house. Adeeb was in and told him that Jorgio was well and planning to resume work on the garden the moment the weather improved. After giving strict instructions to keep Jorgio safe and to ensure his presence was unannounced, Merral talked to the old man.
“Since we last met, my old friend, things have moved fast.”
“Yes. He’s on his way here. Things are becoming clearer now.”
“You were right. Something terrible was coming. Look, Jorgio, I’m off. Probably to lead and possibly to fight. Pray for me.”
“That I will. Of course.” Jorgio raised a finger in a gesture of warning. “Now, please, a word. That Mister Vero. You need to watch him. I feel sure he’s planning on taking risks. Better warn him. He can be too clever, that man.”
“He’s heard that from many sources. But I’ll warn him. God bless you, old friend.”
Ten minutes later, Merral went up to the landing pad on the rain-washed roof of the already emptying ADF building, where a rotorcraft was waiting for them. He had expected to find Vero, but he had vanished, leaving only the terse message with Lloyd: “Gone south. See you at Tahuma.”
“Typical,” Merral said, somewhat disappointed, and then with Anya and Lloyd ran out through the swirling rain to the craft.
They headed south and east, but the cloud cover was so low they saw very little on the short flight except glimpses of wet, brown ground beneath them. Soon they descended, and Merral glimpsed through the drifting shreds of cloud and rain a strangely gouged land in which giant construction and earthmoving vehicles toiled in sodden sand and rock.
They ran out from the craft to where a tall, thin, dark-complexioned soldier stood at attention under some clearly temporary durapolymer sheeting. As they shook the rain off themselves, he saluted. “Major Clanadi, sir. It’s an honor.” The tone was deferential.
“At ease, Major. I thought this was the desert,” Merral said, seeing through a brief tear in drifting cloud a steep, pale brown slope rising up to a scarp capped with a wall of creamy brown rock. “And it’s cold, too.”
“Wettest storm this winter,” the major observed. “Just started here last night. Be over in a few days. There’s mud everywhere.”
Above the beating of the rain on the sheeting, Merral could hear the noise of engines, the shouts of commands, and a heavy rhythmic sound that was getting louder. He peered through the rain to see, behind a line of crates covered by dripping tarpaulins, lines of damp soldiers run
ning past.
“Is the rain causing a problem?”
The rainclouds shifted again, and he could now see cranes and machines with cabling and pipes.
The man grimaced. “Can’t spray the remaining mirror ice on. Stuff needs a dry surface. Forecast says we may get it Saturday afternoon.” Merral and Anya exchanged glances. “And it’s flooding our ditches, sir. Playing around with the electrics. But the defense coordinator figures it’s really a blessing.”
The cloud shifted again and Merral glimpsed, behind a wall of rubble and sand, a line of gun barrels angled skyward.
“A blessing?”
“DC says that if anyone’s watching, they aren’t going to see much under this.”
A loud rumble echoed around as a heavy freight flier landed.
“True. Have the new Mark 2 blades arrived?”
“Yesterday. They are being issued. We’ll have ten thousand troops here by Saturday noon. All will have the Mark 2, sir.”
“Good. Can you find someone to take Dr. Lewitz here to whoever is responsible for planning the defenses against the Krallen?”
A rotorcraft whistled loudly overhead; there were further shouts.
“Yes, sir.”
“And do you know this place well?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been here since day one.”
“Then let me put my things in whatever is going to be my quarters, and then I want you to walk me and Lloyd around.”
“Which bits, sir?”
“All of it.”
With the uncomplaining Lloyd in tow, Merral spent the next six hours with the persistently deferential Major Clanadi, inspecting and surveying the sprawling and waterlogged site. Merral offered little in the way of comment but watched carefully and occasionally made notes on his diary. Every so often they took shelter from the constant rain with the soldiers or construction workers, tired but willing men and women who watched him with curious eyes and who seemed determined to show him they were both committed and courageous.
Merral found much to see. He realized that in a part of his mind he had assumed that Tahuma was just a larger Tezekal Ridge. But it wasn’t. It was very much larger. Eight thousand soldiers were already in place, with another two thousand support and medical personnel and three thousand working desperately on the construction work.
