Infinite Day (15 page)

I must come over as trustworthy. It is not impossible; these delegates have been kept in isolation. They do not know of the
Triumph
, the Krallen armies, or the destruction we wrought at that village
. He realized he had already forgotten the name of the place they had annihilated.
They know nothing of the battles at Tezekal Ridge and Ynysmant. I may be able to win some over if they can be isolated and dealt with one by one. Perhaps this one
.

Then he pushed these thoughts away and turned to the ambassadors' report. At the end he found their terse evaluation. It was as he had remembered it. “Unusually ambitious. Can be critical of Assembly. Sympathetic to us. Most promising.”

How encouraging. He looked at the picture again. She was, he decided, not unattractive.
If the lord-emperor is pleased with me, then when she has served her purpose I might have her for a while. And when she bores me—as she will—I will throw her to the crew
.

Then Lezaroth turned his mind to what he was going to say to the prisoners when he addressed them in the hold. He found speeches hard, and he began to write down key phrases.

At the tone of an incoming message, he acknowledged it and saw Zetafive's image appear on-screen.

“That was fast,” Lezaroth said. “Barely fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you. Humans always find it remarkable that we are so much superior in this area, but the ability for simultaneous multichannel analysis was built into all Allenix units precisely to counter this major human failing.”

“Of course.”
I hate their arrogance
.

“What I have is just a first finding, but I thought . . . you might find it valuable.”

“Show me.”

The screen image changed. It was now of two women talking under an awning, the grainy shots taken from such an odd high angle that the faces were hidden. One of the women had long dark hair, and Lezaroth recognized her as Isabella. The other was unfamiliar and was speaking. “It's dreadful about the ambassadors. Both dead.” He paused. “I hope you don't mind my asking, Isabella, but do you think it's really possible that your Merral could have . . . killed them? You knew him so well.”

Isabella seemed to shrug her shoulders. “Not personally. The Merral I know wouldn't have. . . . But then he has changed. I shouldn't really say it, . . . but he is easily influenced. He needs a good adviser.” Then she flicked her head in bewilderment and they moved on, and the words “But let's not talk about death. . . .” could be heard fading away.

Lezaroth felt his mouth twitch and realized that he was smiling.
“Your Merral.” Couldn't be better. An acknowledgment of familiarity and contempt almost in the same breath.

“Thank you, Zetafive.”

He finished writing his short speech and then ordered the wallscreen to give him the rear of the ferry craft passenger compartment. When he last looked, he had seen Isabella at the back. A quick glance showed that, in defiance of orders, she had moved forward and was sitting next to Lola Munez.

“‘Ambitious'?” he murmured. “Very promising, Isabella. And you have made my job so much easier.”

Ten minutes later, Lezaroth stood at the front of the hold. Neither he nor the two soldiers on either side of him wore combat uniform or displayed weapons. Outside, hidden from view, were the remaining soldiers and a Krallen pack. Just in case.

In front of him, seated on the floor, were the thirty prisoners. They were quiet, but every eye seemed to stare at him. Lezaroth looked around, trying to read their expressions, and detected sullen anger and fear. But he sensed no threat.
They are Assembly still; violence comes slowly to them.

Encouraged, he began to speak. Not trusting himself to orate extempore, he had uploaded the speech to his neuro-augmented circuits so that the words were overlaid on the image from his left eye. That made it easier, but he knew he still had to hit the right note.
The ambassadors would no doubt have done this better, but they are dead
.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Farholme, let me begin with two apologies. The first is this: I am a military man and not a diplomat, and this is not my native language. So what I say to you may be rough and unpolished. But it is frank.”
They value frankness; we have no word for it
. He paused. “The second apology is for your detention here. Matters are . . . very problematic.”

Here he made another deliberate pause. “As you know there has been fighting, but an internal power struggle is now under way on Farholme.” Lezaroth paused, seeing in the wild shared looks their shock and disbelief. “The facts are unclear, but Representative Corradon has been killed and Deputy Clemant and Prebendant Delastro have fled Isterrane.”
The old rule: it's easier to distort the truth than create new lies
.

Urgent hands rose, but he ignored them. “A new committee run by a Dr. Ludovica Bortellat is trying to exert control.”

“We don't believe you!” It was a shout from the back—a bald-headed man.
I expected this
.

Lezaroth raised a finger and the image of Ludovica Bortellat came on-screen. It was a minimally altered clip of her broadcast announcing that the Council of Representatives was no more and that Farholme was now governed by a committee of a dozen men and women. She went on to add that “in the heat of the crisis, too much power was allowed into the hands of one person. It was a mistake.” Lezaroth heard sharp intakes of breath. “Please obey the ruling authorities. We value your prayers at this time.” Ludovica bowed and the screen blanked out.

“I am truly sorry,” Lezaroth said quietly, staring at the floor.
I must try to look embarrassed
. He shook his head as if to register his disbelief and then continued. “I have standard operating rules that I must adhere to. One of those rules is that we cannot intervene in civil strife. We—and you—were no longer safe at Langerstrand. So we are withdrawing. I'm afraid our mission has been a failure.”

“Withdrawing
where
?” It was the bald-headed man again, but this time his shout was subdued.

“I have to tell you that we are going back to the Dominion.” He heard shocked and angry muttering.
Inevitable
. “There, I have no doubt the lord-emperor will see you all and decide what we can do. We have a long journey ahead. I should also warn you that Below-Space travel often produces psychological disturbances. As we descend in order to pick up speed, you will lose the sense of color; this is a well-known phenomenon. At deeper levels, various forms may appear. These are what we call extra-physical entities; you may have other names for them. Although initially alarming, they are generally harmless. However, if you touch them you may get a slight stinging or burning sensation.”

Silence ensued; they were stunned.

“Now for your safety and ours, we have created certain rules. We will keep you isolated from the main part of the ship in allocated rooms at the rear of this hold. We will keep Central Menaya Time to minimize disorientation. You will be allowed to meet together here from eight to ten in the morning and from four to eight in the evening. I would be grateful if you would keep to these rules. A final warning: please do not attempt to leave this hold. There are artificial beasts, what we call Krallen, guarding the corridors and any other passageways.” He sent a signal through his neuro-augmented circuits. Above the ceiling, the sound of numerous light and rapid footfalls like an army of giant mice could be heard moving over the room.

Thirty faces, the color ebbing from them, looked upward.

“I will be in touch with you all personally.”
Now let's see what they say
.

A torrent of questions and protests began.

“This is an outrage!”

“How long—?”

“What guarantees—?”

“Can't we leave messages?”

Lezaroth shook his head and raised a hand. “Silence, please. I will not deal with a rabble. I shall designate a single spokesperson—a contact officer—to liaise with me personally.”

He looked around, as if evaluating all of them. He let his eyes swing toward the front, allowing them to drift over and past Isabella. Then he swung his gaze back and stared at her. “
You
. Will you be the spokesperson?”

“Yes.” She didn't even hesitate.

“Name?”

“Isabella Danol.”

“Very well. Isabella Danol is to be the contact officer. Isabella, I will summon you tomorrow. Thank you.”

And with that, Lezaroth snapped an order, turned on his heel, and with his men following him, left the hold. As he did, a single thought came to him and it gave him satisfaction.

I am fighting back.

6

T
he cabin of the inter-system freight shuttle
Water
Hyacinth
was crowded but quiet. Merral glanced around, seeing an intent, silent curve of people at the back of the cabin: Betafor, Laura Bezemov, Lloyd, Ludovica, Luke, and Azeras. Most were staring out the large front ports and Merral turned to join them. He saw nothing but the same infinitude of stars and blackness they had seen for hours. Now though, on the extreme left edge of his vision, lay the small crescent of Farholme, a precious jewel of glistening green, white, and blue.

Here, the whole idea of summoning up a ship in this vast emptiness seemed utterly ludicrous.
We could be anywhere. Suppose Azeras or Betafor got just a digit wrong?

A moment later, Azeras leaned over and peered at the numbers on the screen. Then he flexed his left hand and looked at the glowing images revealed on its back.

“They match,” he grunted. “Within a hundred kilometers maximum; more likely twenty. Betafor, you concur?”

The green head pivoted toward him. “Sarudar, I agree. Any closer and we risk impact.”

Azeras straightened up and nodded to Merral. “Here.”

“Captain,” Merral snapped, “have the signal transmitted.”
Now we will see if there is a ship
.

He saw pulses of cold yellow light flash on the screens in front of the comms officer. But there were no sounds.
What did I expect? Whistles?

“How long do we—?”

Azeras gave an irritated grunt and raised a silencing finger.

Merral glimpsed Lloyd, squeezed into a corner, watching Azeras with tight eyes that would flick over to Betafor for brief moments and then flick back.
He is on alert
.

The long silence seemed to become deeper. Merral could hear the whisper of electronics, the faint
shush-shush
of fluid moving in pipes, and even his own breathing.

“Something happening to port.” The comms officer's voice was—amazingly—devoid of excitement.

They all turned, peering through the panes, and for a moment Merral could see nothing new. Then he saw the stars were being eclipsed as a solid, angular blackness manifested itself and came slowly into focus.

Merral tried to analyze the shape.
It is as if someone has tried to make a cylinder without using curved lines
.

A blinding lacework of blue light stabbed over and around the structure.

The
Rahllman's Star
. It exists!

There were gasps. A few people clapped their hands.

“Well done, Sarudar.” Merral realized he was patting Azeras on the back.

“Yeah. Bit closer than I'd care for.” He heard relief in his voice and the expression in his face read,
Now do you trust me?

“Captain Bezemov,” Ludovica said, relief deep in her voice, “your new command. Possibly.”

Laura wrinkled her face and laughed. “After the
Triumph of Sarata
, the ugliest vessel I've ever seen.”

Merral had to agree. The harsh light accentuated the angles, but there seemed to have been a brutal disregard for such virtues as line, form, and subtlety. Objects that could have been fused to or molded against the line of the body were just stuck on. A smooth, snub nose was a bizarre, mismatched protuberance on the hull.