Infinite Day (100 page)

Merral didn't feel he could skip the inevitable tea, and then, while the others collected their things, he walked slowly with his friend out into the long, descending garden deeply inset between enclosing stone walls and planted with a selection of trees and shrubs. By now, the sun was low in the sky and the air was cool.

Merral caught Jorgio looking hard at him. “Mister Merral, it is good to see you. You've done a lot of good here.”

“I suspect that your prayers had a lot to do with any good I did.”

“
Tut
. It's not prayers as makes the difference; it's the One as you pray to. What good has been done, has been done by the Lord.”

“True.”

They walked on, and Merral admired the vines that ran up to bare wires that stretched overhead.

“These will give shade in summer. And grapes.”

The idea was dismissed with an almost savage shake of the head.

Merral looked at the old man, trying to gauge what lay behind his gesture. “You are . . . concerned about the future?”

“I don't care for the way things are.”

“None of us does.”

Then he stopped and gave Merral a puzzled look. “Mister Merral, I really don't know why I'm here. I can't do anything.”

“I'm sure you are here for a purpose.”
But I don't know what.
“Perhaps to pray for us.”

“Well, I do that. But other than that—” the puzzlement remained—“I don't know.”

“I was ordered to bring you.”

“And I felt it right to come. But what lies ahead . . .” There was an awkward, lopsided shrug. “It's a mystery.”

“But then if the paths of life were clearly marked, we wouldn't walk by faith,” Merral said.

“Well said, Mister Merral. You're teaching me.”

From somewhere beyond the walls came a somber peal of bells. They walked slowly down the garden to a tree on which a great mass of white blossoms was emerging.

“An almond tree,” Merral commented. “Spring is on the way.”

At the far end of the garden was a rockery, and on it were clusters of red cyclamen. Merral bent down to look at them.
Like spilled blood.
“What do you feel, my old friend?”

The mismatched eyes turned to him, full of alarm. “You remember how—at Farholme—I felt there was that ship. Before it surfaced.”

“And you feel the same now?”

“Well . . . it's similar. Only it's not just a ship; something bigger and badder.”

“A fleet, perhaps.”

“Perhaps so, Mister Merral.”

Behind them, they heard the others emerge from the house. As they joined them and Vero and Anya began talking to Jorgio, Merral took Lloyd to one side.

“Lloyd, it occurs to me that you are due some leave. You've had a rough few days. I could find you a training post. We could get rid of that increasingly inappropriate ‘Sergeant' title, too. How does Captain Enomoto sound? Or Master-at-Arms Enomoto?”

“No better than Sergeant. But thank you, sir. The leave is a generous offer, and I can't say that I don't find it attractive. But not now.” Lloyd rubbed his chin and Merral saw sorrow in the blue eyes. “You don't have to be gifted at seeing things—” he nodded at Jorgio—“to reckon things are coming to a head. I wouldn't want to be on holiday when it happened. It wouldn't be . . .
professional
.”

“I understand.” He looked at Lloyd and noticed something. “Sergeant, are you carrying a weapon?”

Lloyd flushed. “Er . . . no, sir. I will. I just . . .” He looked miserable.

How do I respond here?
Lloyd is scarred by the shooting.
“Sergeant, I'm truly sorry about what happened. . . .”

Lloyd hesitated. “Not your fault. I should have watched her.”

“Don't blame yourself. But stay armed. That's an order.”

“Thanks, sir.” There was a look of gratitude.

Merral looked down the garden to see that Vero had walked on some way alone and that Anya was talking with Jorgio. She looked up and saw him. He saw her make an excuse to Jorgio and walk over to him. As she did, a slight wind gusted and Merral found himself shivering.

Anya took his arm. “Time to get indoors, Tree Man. Think how morale would be damaged if you died of pneumonia.”

They drove back to the ADF building with the darkness falling quickly about them.

Vero spoke. “I had an interesting chat with Jorgio. I asked him about those formulae.”

“And?”

“He's no clearer. But I was wondering if it was a sign. That there might be a way in which we could use . . . I don't know . . . formulae or algebra. Something against the Dominion.”

“Well, if you can come up with a bright idea, let me know,” Merral replied. “My math isn't up to recognizing that sort of thing.” He paused as they passed a towered building with an elegantly carved stone facade of evident antiquity.
There is too much history here.
“And did he say anything else?”

Vero shifted awkwardly. “He said . . . that he thought
you
had passed the most severe test. But he wasn't sure about himself. Or anyone else.” The subsequent pause was lengthy. “He thought that both he and I had dark paths to walk.” Vero turned and stared out the window before he continued. “He wasn't sure that either of us would come out at the other end.”

“Aah.”

Two hours later, as Merral was arranging things in the tiny cubicle that had been given him, he was given an urgent summons to the main event room.

The room was in a state of intense and nervous activity, with people hunched over desks, flicking urgently from screen to screen. He heard anxious and unhappy mutterings broken by groans.

By the door, Ethan was leaning on the back of a chair in a way that made it appear that he was being propped up.

“What is it?” Merral asked.

“Ah, Commander. Bad. Simultaneous attacks on Ramult and Harufcan, I'm afraid.” Ethan was handed a sheet of paper, glanced at it, shook his head, and handed it back. He turned to Merral with a solemn face. “And they aren't going to hold.”

They fell within three hours.

Near midnight, Merral went to an emergency meeting with the ADF leadership. He was introduced to the newly returned Commander Seymour. There was a strange blankness to the face. “D'Avanos?
Hmm
. Good to have you with us.” The tone was cold. Seymour walked away, then a few paces away he turned on his heel.

“D'Avanos. Sorry. That was very rude.” The man rubbed his cheek. “
Sorry.
Daughter was piloting the frigate
Eternal Hope
above Ramult.” He bit his lip. “The last reports said it had exploded . . . under cannon fire.”

Then he shook himself, walked away, and with an almost mechanical motion sat down at the end of the table.

The discussions that followed were dark-hued with disappointment, grief, and foreboding. Three of the new silverfish ships had been seen just before the Gates were shut down and all signals lost. Seymour, seemingly trapped in his little bubble of grief, made little contribution to the planning, and Merral saw how once more eyes turned to him. The conclusions were to speed up the dispersal of the ADF, hasten the preparations at Tahuma, and to have every possible ship in the Solar system armed and ready.

Finally, Ethan stared around the table. “Anybody disagree that we're going to be next?”

The only response was the silent shaking of heads.

The next morning, Ethan received a terse, text-only transmission from the lord-emperor. Written in Communal and barely a hundred words long, it made just three demands. First, the lord-emperor was to retain control of the worlds he had taken. Second, Ancient Earth and all settlements and colonies in the Solar system were to be surrendered to him. Third, he was to be given unhindered control over the entire Assembly Gate and communication systems. In return, he would cease attacks and allow any who wished to leave Assembly space and go elsewhere.

Ethan had it displayed on a wallscreen in front of his advisors.

“So,” he said slowly, and Merral saw his face was gray, “he does give us the option of setting up a new Assembly. Comments?”

A woman advisor spoke. “It's a symbolic reversal of the result of the War of the Rebellion. It is we who are now to go into exile.”

Ethan gave a grunt of agreement. “And, more fundamentally, as the Gates
are
the Assembly, he is effectively asking for a total surrender.”

His words were greeted by nods of assent.

“Where is he?” Ethan's question was sharp, and his eyes scanned around looking for answers. “With this battle fleet, somewhere in Below-Space?”

“He could be back at the Blade of Night
,
” a man suggested. “Maybe he now has a Gate-like communications network. The simultaneous nature of the attacks suggests they have some instantaneous communication.”

Merral, aware of people looking at him, shrugged. “I have no data on that.”

“So we just don't know where he is?” Ethan said.

“No,” said someone. “Well, not within six hundred light-years.” The few smiles were strained.

Eventually they prayed, and then, by universal agreement, Ethan sent a reply saying the offer was rejected.

“So help me, God,” he muttered.