Infinite Day (42 page)

The prayer was solemn but hopeful. But as he heard it, a strange thought seized Merral.
Here, so far from the Assembly, are prayers answered?
The idea was ludicrous, but somehow unsettling.

With Azeras squeezed beside him, Merral sat in the tiny cockpit as Laura powered up the craft. Then they opened the bay doors and slid outside into the empty grayness.

15

M
erral braced himself as the ferry craft emerged from Below-Space just behind the
Sacrifice
, the dazzling white light of the engines so piercing that they had to engage a shutter on the screen.
The theory is fine: there is so much radiation from the
Sacrifice
's torchjets that we will be invisible to anyone watching the ship from Gerazon-Far or elsewhere. But will it work?

Soon they dipped below the glare to see ahead—and above them—the long, matte, silver-gray arrow with its weapons pods, cowls, and antennae glinting in the light of Sarata.
It's big. It's very big. How dare we try to seize it?
Merral prayed silently.
O Lord, you commanded us to be brave and daring. Go ahead of us on this most dangerous venture. Help us to succeed.

“There they are,” Laura said, and Merral heard relief in her voice.

“What?”

“The lights.” Merral looked up at where she was pointing and saw brilliantly illuminated green lines pointing them toward a large gray funnel on the end of a short gantry.

“We are expected. And the starboard docking element is being extended.” Laura gestured at a screen. “They are offering to guide us in.” She smiled. “Suits me, Captain. Docking one strange vessel with another strange vessel is tough; I'm happy to let the computers do it.”

“How long before we dock?”

“Five minutes.”

“Okay, I'm going back there. As we agreed, keep the doors closed once we dock and stay out of sight. A female pilot would arouse suspicion.”

“Will do.”

Merral looked at Azeras and saw the man was pale. “I shouldn't have come here, Captain,” he said almost under his breath and Merral glimpsed his chipped teeth. “Here, so near the heart of the Dominion.” There was unashamed fear in his words.

Trying to hide his own concerns, Merral patted him on his armor. “Sarudar, I don't care for it either. But we are going to do what we have to do.”

If a warrior like him is scared, am I foolish not to be terrified?
Merral moved back into the main compartment. “Docking in five minutes,” he said in a low tone to the four occupants. “Get into action mode now. Sergeant, glare at them. Or something.”

Lloyd puckered his face into a fierce look and stared at the three women. The first glared back, the second put her head in her hands, and the last, Miranda, stared straight ahead with a pale-faced look of blank despair.

Merral sat down, suddenly feeling very nervous. He slid his hand to the holstered pistol in a practice move and realized that his hands were sticky with sweat. He wiped them on the seat and gazed beyond the women to where the heavy fabric sheets closed off the compartment. He felt deeply troubled and questions edged into his mind.
Are we being reckless?
Have I overlooked something? Will we need to fire?

Five minutes later, there was an almost imperceptible jolt and immediately afterward a sense of the ferry craft being slightly rotated. After a minute or so of gentle motion, Merral heard a soft thud and a gentle clang as something clamped over the hatch.

Merral stood up, slid his hand to the pistol butt one more time, then strode to the hatch. There he peered through the porthole. Beyond, he saw that a short passageway was attached and at its far end was another door.

A green status light came on.

Merral adjusted his cap. The realization came to him that there comes a point when you go beyond fear—you just go and do the job. He rehearsed what he had to do one more time.
My task is simple: greet, invite, and above all, play my part. I am Lezaroth—superior, cold, but now compromised.

He pressed the hatch button and, with an almost inaudible hum, the door slid open. As he took a step down the passageway, he saw the far door open and two men enter. The first was a large figure, heavily built to the point of fatness, whom he recognized as Haqzintal. The second, walking two paces behind him, was a much smaller man with a thin frame and an awkward gait.
His aide.

When they were around five paces away, both men saluted, Haqzintal in a rather sloppy manner, his subordinate with an almost panicky rapidity.

Merral stopped and returned the salute. “Captain Haqzintal, thank you for helping me . . . with my problem. Follow me.”

The captain opened his big, soft hands in a gesture of generosity and gave a barely concealed smirk. But as Merral turned to walk back, he glimpsed the expression on the white face of the aide. It was an unmistakable, almost defiant look of nervous disbelief.
He knows it's a trap!

Trying to avoid panic, Merral walked back inside the ferry craft. He stood close to Lloyd at the very front of the compartment. As the two men entered, Lloyd snapped to attention and gave them a terse salute. Haqzintal just grunted.

The captain and his aide stopped just inside the hatch.

Not far enough in!
Merral saw in dismay that the pale-faced aide was so close to the door as to be almost sheltered by its frame.
He's ready to make a run for it.
That must not happen.

Merral gestured to the women with what he hoped was scorn.

“Captain Haqzintal, these are the women. Yours is on the back row.” He felt he sounded hesitant.

Haqzintal stared at them but did not move. Instead, he glanced around as if looking for something.
He seems edgy. Has he caught the nervousness of his silent aide?

“Do you wish to take a look?” Merral asked, willing the man to step farther in.

Haq hesitated, seemed to consider something, and made as if to step forward. Without warning, a noise came from beyond the fabric at the back of the compartment—the unmistakable sound of something heavy and metallic hitting the floor.

Haqzintal looked up, alarm dawning on his face. “
That!
What was that?”

“
Now!
” Merral yelled. He snatched at his pistol, got his finger inside the trigger guard, and swung the gun up to cover the aide. “
Hands up! Both of you!
” he shouted in Saratan.

Haqzintal gasped and the aide raised his hands above his head with a gratifying speed.

Merral gestured with the gun barrel for the man to move away from the door and get closer to the captain. He heard the sound of the fabric being pulled away and people tumbling out. He tried to fight back the dismaying sense that things were going out of control.

Not daring to take his eyes away from the aide—now sidling with unsteady legs farther into the compartment—Merral spoke again, struggling to remember the right words. “Keep your hands up and step back. We don't want . . .” He fumbled for the Saratan expression. “We don't want anyone to get hurt.”

The aide had moved over so far now that Merral dared throw a glance at the captain. Haqzintal's round face was flushed red. Behind him, Merral saw a number of gun barrels pointing down the compartment from the emerging soldiers.

If there's shooting here, then a lot of us could get hurt
.

Then he glimpsed Anya picking up a weapon from the floor and had a sudden presentiment of another problem that was going to need dealing with.

Haqzintal turned to him. “Who in the name of the powers are you?” he snapped.

“I am Commander Merral D'Avanos of the Assembly of Worlds. You are both under arrest.”

He saw that the captain's hands were wide rather than high.

“Hands up. Higher. And
step back!
” Merral shouted. “Don't attempt to . . . communicate.”

Merral saw the captain was at least two paces away from the point at which he would certainly be unable to contact the ship.
He may still be able to communicate. And supposing he does call for help? What do I do?

On the edge of his field of view, Merral could see that the three women of the bait team were freeing their hands and reaching under seats for weapons.

Haqzintal took a step back. “What do you want? Money? Information? A deal?” he asked.

“We want this ship.”

The captain arched the back of the left hand and flexed his fingers like a pianist.
He's trying to communicate.
But an instant later a look of frustration crossed the man's face. “Blocked. Of course!”

Haqzintal turned to his aide. “Slabbo, go for help. Now!”

The smaller man hesitated, and his fearful black eyes looked at Merral's face and slid down to the gun. He didn't move.

“Lloyd,” Merral said out of the corner of his mouth, “if either of them tries to get out, shoot.”
Did I really say that? Did I really mean that?

“Yes, sir.”

The captain began waving his fist at his aide and shouting in fast, curse-filled Saratan. “Slabbo, they are bluffing. They are soft, weak Assembly cowards. They don't kill people. Go! That's an order.”

The man called Slabbo just shook his head.

Merral spoke. “Captain, we do not wish to hurt you. We just want this ship to rescue our friends. You can help us. But if you try to leave this room my—” Merral could not remember the word for
aide
—“this man here will shoot you.”

Haqzintal gave Merral a ferocious glare. “Captain, let me speak slowly so you fully understand. You want my ship? Then I will not help you. You say you would not hurt me. I believe you.” He shook his head and Merral saw he was sweating. “But how do you think the lord-emperor would treat a captain who lost a warship without a fight? What fate would you expect?”

Merral realized that he had never expected this reaction. But Haqzintal was continuing. “Commander Whoever-you-are, listen. In a second, I am going to walk out that door and call my men. You may do as you wish. As for my liegeman—my assistant—he is what we call life-bonded to me. If I die, he will die shortly afterward.”

He turned to his aide. “Remember, Slabbo, if they do shoot me, you follow me to the gray lands.” Then he turned to Merral. “I'm going for help.”

The captain shook himself, adjusted his jacket, brushed something off a lapel with a fat hand, stood erect, and began walking to the door with a measured pace. He raised his left hand and began to flex his fingers.

A double flash of light erupted and two loud, heavy spitting sounds rang out.

The captain jerked, toppled over, and crashed to the ground. His large form lay facedown, bright red blood gushing onto the floor from his head. He twitched once and then lay still.

We've killed him!

Merral heard low gasps from the rear of the compartment. Slabbo was staring wide-eyed at the body.

Now what do we do? We were going to use the captain to force a surrender. I need to act, or we face disaster.

“Lloyd . . . thanks,” Merral said, feeling an enormous gulf between the flat gratitude of his words and the seething dismay he felt.
I gave the order. I thought Haqzintal would pay attention. But he didn't, and he is now dead.

He kept the pistol trained on the aide and was relieved to see that the barrel didn't waver.

Is this how war works? That we pretend to be aggressive and brutal and then all of sudden we find our words have birthed dreadful deeds?
Then recognizing the introspection that Luke had warned him about, Merral pushed the thought away.
I must lead!

Merral glanced quickly down to the far end of the compartment and saw twenty wide-eyed faces. “Abilana, Ilyas, up here!” he yelled and turned to look at the aide. “What's your name? Slabbo?”

“Slabodal. I am Haq's adjutant. I
was
 . . .” He gazed at the body and Merral saw an aghast wonderment in his expression. “Do you know that was the only brave thing I ever saw him do? In twenty years.” He shook his head. “I can't believe it.”

Abilana was running forward with her medical bag, and Ilyas was behind her.

“Ilyas, check this man for weapons,” Merral ordered, pointing at Slabodal. Abilana needed no instruction and squatted down next to the body. She put out a gloved hand to the head. Merral looked away.

“Well, let me see,” he heard the doctor say a moment later, her voice dry and emotionless.
The
pretense of routine
. “Two bullets to the head. Has to be brain death, 'cause there's a lot of brain missing.” She gave a cluck of distaste. “No. You really don't want to see those exit wounds. Not at all. No pulse, of course.” She paused. “All in all, a bad and terminal case of sudden death.”