Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  “I am the great adversary come to challenge you,” he repeated.

  “You are not D’Avanos! You’re just a fool!” The answer slashed at him like a knife blade.

  In a moment of utter terror, Vero knew that he had miscalculated. No—worse. I have done wrong. “Lord Jesus, have mercy!”

  I need to get back into the land of the living. I’ve been an idiot. My cunning has betrayed me just as they always said it would.

  Vero fled.

  But the darkness chased him, and the shadows overwhelmed him.

  As Merral heard Lezaroth pronounce his sentence of death, an extraordinary resolve flooded over him. I will fight. I will not have death come to me. Lord, give me strength!

  Another deluge of flashes and blasts lashed through the sky, and he felt the bridge tremble. Almost without thinking, Merral threw the blade at Lezaroth’s face. As it spun up and caught the vivid moonlight, he launched himself at the man’s gun.

  “The Lamb!” he cried.

  The sword blade struck the helmet’s edge and clattered down harmlessly. But Lezaroth had stepped back, and for a second Merral had the advantage. He leaped at his opponent, pushing and grappling for the gun.

  There was a bang, and something flashed. But the round hit his armor and he was unharmed.

  Merral’s gloved fingers failed to grasp the pistol, but it was somehow dislodged from Lezaroth’s grasp. It hit Merral’s foot and he kicked it clear.

  He tried to seize Lezaroth’s helmet and pull it over his head. As he did, his enemy twisted, and for a second the moonlight caught his face so that the flesh looked like pale clay. The eyes, immersed in dark pits of shadow, were inscrutable.

  They were locked together now, and Merral felt Lezaroth’s hands going for his neck. My enemy is both heavier and more powerful. I do not have long!

  Lezaroth jerked hard against him. “I have you now. And I will kill you with my bare hands.” The words were spat out.

  Merral, trying to free his head, glimpsed the time on his helmet datastrip. 11:17:45. Less than a minute. They will be sending out the solar flare warnings now.

  An idea came to him. Feeling the gloved hands tighten around his neck, Merral swayed and moved around slowly. He was aware of the audience of the silent, immobile Krallen, the still form of Lloyd, and the flexing of the bridge under his feet.

  Merral jerked his head forward, trying to hit Lezaroth in the face with his helmet. His opponent ducked back, and as he did, Merral twisted. Lezaroth’s face was struck by the full light of the moon, revealing the scars and the veins under the skin.

  Merral felt Lezaroth’s hands finding their way beyond the collar of the chest armor so they could press unrestrained against flesh. The hands tightened and Merral felt his breathing become labored.

  The moonlight glinted off his opponent’s eyes. If Amethyst is to work, it must be now.

  “Lezaroth,” he gasped, “your fate is sealed. Look up at the moon.”

  With a grunt, Lezaroth tightened his grip. Then he looked up.

  Merral stared down at the ground and closed his eyes.

  Light stabbed into his world. A light so stunningly bright that Merral thought he had not closed his eyes in time. A light so dazzling that it seemed to be solid, to have an almost physical presence.

  A terrible scream of anguish came from Lezaroth, and he snatched his hands free. As he did, Merral kicked hard at his foe’s legs and pushed. He felt the man stagger.

  He dared to half open his eyes. It was as if the sun were shining in its midday power over a world covered in snow. Everything gleamed and sparkled with an eye-watering brilliance. Every detail—the immobile Krallen, the prone figure of Lloyd, the ravaged bridge, and the battered landscape beyond—seemed etched in detail by the eerie, flickering, dazzling silver light.

  Suddenly, the static Krallen circle seemed to bend and twist into life. Each one lifted its nose skyward, and they uttered a united howl.

  On some whim of instinct, Merral froze into immobility. He saw the Krallen swing their heads from side to side in an oddly hesitant way, and it registered that there was no red gleam to their eyes.

  They are blinded!

  Lezaroth, his hands clawing at his eyes, was reeling. Merral saw how the heads of the Krallen tracked his movements.

  They hear him. I dare not speak to warn him.

  Lezaroth groaned, and the pack moved toward him. A Krallen slid past Merral, touching his leg.

  Lezaroth staggered again and gave another heavy moan.

  Whistles sounded, and in a second, every Krallen bounded forward to seize Lezaroth. In a flurry of brutal ferocity, the air was filled with dreadful screams.

  Lezaroth reeled about, with at least five Krallen tearing at his arms and face. Blood gushing down his armor, he staggered blindly backward—one, two, three steps.

  Then, still screaming, he struck a cable and, covered in snapping and tearing Krallen, toppled over.

  As he fell away off the bridge, his screams fading after him, the remaining Krallen unhesitatingly followed him.

  Merral watched in the weird silver light as they tumbled and spun down into the rocks and flames far below.

  Merral gawked at the scene for a second in disbelief. Then, cautiously screening his eyes with his hands, he looked up to the sky. The moon was a dark disk with an extraordinary halo of shimmering silver illumination around it as if the light was streaming off its surface into space.

  We did it! The Blade was destroyed. But at a price.

  And as he thought of the cost, he thought of Lloyd. He walked over to his aide, bracing himself for the worst. As he approached, the man stirred.

  Merral knelt down by him. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” He groaned and got to his knees. “A stun weapon.” He looked around. “It’s daytime. What happened? The Krallen?”

  “They fell off the bridge. You were quite right, Sergeant; it is a hazard.”

  Anya met Merral at the door on the side of the bridge, and after helping the dazed Lloyd through, they embraced.

  “Is it over?” she whispered.

  “Yes. I think so.” And I can take Ringell’s tag off forever.

  It came to Merral that a future that he hadn’t dare think of was beginning to be born.

  He turned to look back over the battlefield; it had fallen strangely silent. He remembered his role, and he walked inside to the crowded core center.

  “Welcome, Commander,” Betafor said. “You did not tell me about this surprise.” There was what sounded like irritation in her voice.

  “In our place, would you have?”

  “I am not human.”

  “I’m sure that continues to be a comfort. Any signals?” I want to hear from Vero.

  “Commander, almost nothing is getting through. There is so much static and radiation. . . . It could be hours before some links are restored. Wire signals work. Just.”

  “Can you get me the chairman? Then let’s get the reserves out.”

  Merral saw Lloyd slumping in a chair, looking very pale. “Sir . . . ?” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “If this is all over, can I resign?”

  Shortly after one in the morning, a crackling message from a space telescope was relayed to Merral: the Blade of Night was destroyed. The vast column of dust had been replaced by a glowing cloud of debris with an enormous amount of associated electrical activity and various other perturbations. There had been losses: despite the solar flare drill, few ships had survived even a million kilometers away. There was no word from the lunar bases on the far side, but the predictions were not good. More positively, Laura and the Sacrifice had surfaced from Below-Space after a turbulent journey. At the last news, Merral gave a little heartfelt prayer of thanks.

  Command and control appeared to have utterly failed in the Dominion forces everywhere. Whether on the ground or in space, they appeared to be in chaos. Some ships and units with humans had surrendered, while others had fought on in a lacklust
er way until overwhelmed. In places the Krallen had ceased functioning, while in other cases they were blinded and easily killed.

  Over the next few hours, as the reserves swept in and destroyed the remaining Dominion forces, extraordinary manifestations of the aurora in the outer atmosphere started, and the sky began to glow and flame with strange lights.

  Around three, Merral received a message in text. “My friend! We won. Talk to you tomorrow when signal is better. Exhausted. Long live the Greater Assembly. Vero.”

  Merral walked out to the spire of rock at the top of Tahuma-B, and as the heavens seemed to swirl and glow above, he gave thanks to God.

  After some time, Anya joined him and, heedless of the cold, sat down next to him.

  “I thought it was the end,” Merral said. “I really thought it was.”

  “I failed again last night,” Anya said in a burst of words.

  “And did you realize that it doesn’t bother me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I ask you what you’ve been trying to prove?”

  Overhead the sky began to shimmer into pink and orange ripples.

  “Yes.” There was a sigh. “It’s all very silly. You were the great adversary. . . . I wanted to be worthy of you.”

  “And that’s what you wanted to prove?” How extraordinary.

  “Yes.”

  “That is very silly. Very, very silly.” He sighed. “I would have loved you anyway.” He sighed again. “Actually, I’m glad you failed. One warrior in the family is enough.”

  36

  Now, you who have followed this tale so far, I offer you a choice. You may make an ending here. After all, the strands of the plot are all but tied up, and you can imagine the rest:

  Nezhuala, the Blade, and the Dominion are destroyed, and peace is at hand.

  Anya and Merral will declare their love for each other, marry, and return to Farholme.

  Vero, now a much wiser man, will become the first historian of the Great War.

  Lloyd will take up nursing, and Jorgio will return to Farholme and a garden.

  Ethan will retire and get his new heart in time.

  Betafor will be released from her obligations, given a ship by a grateful Assembly, and, as dismissive of humanity as ever, will leave.

  And what of the Assembly itself? It will resolve that the Dominion must never arise again. Teams will be sent to its worlds, and the long and demanding task of pacifying them will begin. At the same time, Dominion technology will be mastered and travels in shallow Below-Space will be allowed for exploration and seeding vessels. Soon, a reinvigorated Assembly will begin to expand at a far faster rate than ever before. The day of the Greater Assembly will dawn.

  All this you may choose to imagine.

  Or you may continue and read what did happen. Because the reality was far stranger, more horrific, and ultimately, far more glorious.

  Just after a spectacular dawn, Merral made a quick rotorcraft survey of the battlefield. The fighting was over, and they were beginning the doleful work of recovering the dead. My task is done here. I can begin to look to the future.

  Back at the core center, he contacted Ethan, who somehow managed to look drained but happy at the same time.

  “So resistance is over with you. The Blade is confirmed destroyed. All their ships seem accounted for.” He nodded as if to himself. “Very well, I’m going to open the Gates and let the Assembly know that we have been delivered. And, Commander, do come back soon from the wilderness. There is much to plan.”

  Ten minutes later, Merral was watching the lights on the Gate control core come alive when he received a short and grainy message from Vero.

  “Merral, I am heading to Jerusalem.” His friend’s face flickered in and out of focus. “I think it is vital that we lay the right foundations for what happens next. We thought we were at the end of the story; I now believe that all we have seen is but the prologue. Real history is beginning. I want us to gather in the Chamber of the Great King. At five today. Please be there.”

  Setting up a committee to run the Tahuma site, Merral made plans to fly to Jerusalem with Lloyd, who had recovered, and Anya. As he did, Betafor came over.

  “Commander, I have a request. You and Sentinel Enand promised me that I would be released from my duties to you when this was over.”

  “Indeed we did. And there was the matter of citizenship.” Merral thought of something. “I am meeting Vero at the Chamber of the Great King this afternoon; we will formally do it there. You have served us well.” Merral saw a flicker of dissent on Lloyd’s face but ignored it. We should take Jorgio with us too.

  They took off early in the afternoon, flying low over the broken and scarred ground and then the great desert, before crossing the valley of the Jordan and descending into Jerusalem.

  A mood of gathering jubilation was in the air, although Merral sensed the tone was tempered by the realization of the losses. The war against the Dominion has cost us dearly. And some of the costs are as yet unknown. The old Assembly is dead and Vero is surely right: a new, and hopefully greater, Assembly must emerge. Yet much needs to be planned, and there are still matters that must be sorted out. Like memorial services . . . and the trial of Delastro.

  Deep in thought, Merral went straight to the defense center and there gratefully took off his armor. “That will do for a museum,” he said aloud, and as he said it his hand found the ancient identity disk around his neck. I can take it off now; the war is over. Yet he paused. It could wait. The symbolism of taking it off in the Chamber of the Great King was irresistible. A new thought came to him, and he went and collected something. It was the Flag of the True Freeborn that Azeras had borne.

  “Take it to Earth and present it wherever you present such things,” he said. Well, I will now do just that.

  Merral then called Jorgio. To his surprise the gardener seemed depressed and barely coherent, but he agreed to come with them.

  Late in the afternoon, with shadows lengthening, Merral, dressed in a clean uniform, found Anya, Lloyd, and Betafor and took a vehicle to Adeeb’s. Jorgio was waiting and his face was troubled.

  “What’s the problem?” Merral asked as he helped him into the vehicle.

  “Me is the problem. I just can’t believe as it’s all over, Mister Merral. I really can’t.” Then he fell silent and stared morosely out of the window as they drove on.

  They found the chamber still surrounded by troops, but the chief of the guard recognized Merral.

  “Chairman Malunal and Dr. Andreas Hmong are waiting for you.”

  “Thank you,” Merral said, trying to hide his surprise.

  They walked up to the building, and Merral saw Ethan and Andreas standing by the high doors. There were introductions, not least Jorgio and Betafor, on whose tunic sides the emblem of the Lamb and Stars now gleamed brightly. What will she display when we set her free?

  “Vero is already inside,” Ethan said. “He was waiting. I let him in.”

  “How is he?”

  “Tired. As we all are.”

  Together they walked in through the doors, which were then shut behind them. Inside it was darker than Merral had expected from the images he’d seen. The darkness drew attention to the single, slight figure at the front of the high, bare space, standing before the installation of the chair, the scepter, and the crown.

  As they walked forward, Merral saw that the darkness was thickest by the window embayments with their blast shielding. He heard a strange noise from his side. Jorgio was muttering, “It’s all wrong. Wrong. Lord, have mercy!”

  Lloyd’s eyes, swiveling around the chamber, came to rest on Merral’s face. “Something is wrong, sir,” he hissed, and Merral saw his hand slide into his jacket.

  He has a gun. Merral started to protest. Not here, not in this place. Then he felt his spine tingle as though the temperature had dropped.

  The party stopped a few paces away from the figure in the suit.

  “Vero!” Merral called out.
A terrible fear was edging into his mind.

  The figure turned slowly toward him. It is Vero’s face.

  “My friends.” It is Vero’s voice.

  Betafor squealed and stepped back as if she had identified some dreadful horror. Is it Vero?

  Merral stepped forward and reached out his hand. He saw the figure wore dark gloves. On a strange impulse, Merral raised his fingers to touch Vero’s face. The flesh was cold.

  He stepped back, his hand shaking.

  “It’s not him, Mister Merral!” Jorgio rasped in fear. “Not him!”

  It isn’t. “Lloyd! Kill him!” Merral shouted.

  Lloyd’s gun was already out. Vero’s face was changing, its shape flexing and bowing.

  The gun barrel wobbled. “Can’t, sir. Can’t!” Lloyd wailed.

  The face twisted as though some strange creature was pushing underneath. The mouth split wide in a smile that kept going. As the figure walked over to Lloyd and the waving gun, dark skin spalled off the face. The figure that wasn’t Vero took hold of the gun, turned it around, pointed it at Lloyd’s chest, and fired.

  Lloyd gasped and slumped heavily to the ground, blood pumping out of his chest.

  “Even if you had fired,” the figure said with a sneer, “you wouldn’t have hurt me. I am beyond such harm now.”

  Merral was bending over Lloyd. “Hang on!” he shouted to him, but he knew it was helpless. There was too much blood.

  Merral looked up to see that pale flesh was emerging on the face of the figure that had pretended to be Vero. The head tossed from side to side, and the skin fell off in great, dark flakes.

  The face underneath became recognizable. The mouth moved, and this time the voice was not Vero’s. It was recognizable too. Merral remembered both voice and face from over six hundred light-years away.

  “I am the lord-emperor Nezhuala.” The tone was taunting. “I have come here to inaugurate a new universe.”

  “No!” It was Ethan’s voice.

  “What did you do with Vero?” Merral demanded, standing up, fury, grief, and fear all merging in his mind.

  Nezhuala threw the gun away carelessly, and it clattered along the floor. Then, with gloved fingers, he slowly peeled away the last fragments of skin from his face. Merral looked down to see Anya staring at Lloyd and shaking her head in a way that told him that he was dead. Beyond her, Betafor was staring at Lloyd’s form with an unfathomable look.