Dark Foundations (31 page)

“I'll be back. I have a visit to make,” Lezaroth said. “Tell no one.” He caught the man's tired eyes and nodded toward the screen. “You really wouldn't want to be that better food, would you?”

The handler took a step back and touched the wall as if for reassurance. He shook his head rapidly.

“Good.” Lezaroth turned and walked to the spine of the ship where he took a transport pod that whisked him back to the bridge. There he checked the ship's position—they were where they ought to be—frowned at the appalling results from the timed target acquisition drills, and checked on the state of the baziliarch. After a moment's deliberation about what to wear on his visit, he put on his battlefield armored jacket and leggings. He ordered the crew (apart from Hanax) to stand down and get some sleep. Then, after having given the under-captain specific—and very limited—authority, he boarded the shuttle.

For much of the ten-minute flight to the
Dove of Dawn,
Lezaroth, fighting tiredness, reviewed on screen the specifics of the
Rahllman's Star
. Like the
Nanmaxat's Comet
it was—or had been—a star series freighter with the fairly standard pattern of a large and clumsy main master unit coupled with a smaller more streamlined slave unit capable of planetary landing. He reasoned that if the
Rahllman's Star
had remained in space, then the steersman would have been in the master unit. On the other hand if—as was most likely—they had landed on Farholme, then it would have been in the smaller steersman compartment of the slave unit. This suggested that at least one, or possibly both, elements of the
Rahllman's Star
had fallen into Assembly hands.

The lord-emperor isn't going to like that
.

He also recognized something else, something very troubling. Intelligence had suggested that as many as thirty renegades might have been on the
Rahllman's Star
. Lezaroth had no sympathy for them, but by any reckoning, they were brave, tough, and innovative men. And they had not been defenseless. In addition to their own arms, the
Rahllman's Star
as a freighter in a war zone carried some weapons and a Krallen pack. Yet, for all this, something had gone badly wrong. Somehow unarmed people from a peaceful planet had managed to slay a steersman. That meant someone had entered the ship either on Farholme, or in space, got past all the defenses, and done something very remarkable.

The lord-emperor's warning was wise
.
The Assembly is not to be treated lightly
. He wondered what to tell the ambassadors, but decided that the steersman's information was a card he might better play with more profit at another time. For now he would tell them nothing.

Through the glass of the airlock of the
Dove
, Lezaroth saw Captain Benek-Hal waiting for him. Although he had not been on board the
Dove
before, Lezaroth had met Benek-Hal before and knew him to be a long-haul convoy pilot with no frontline experience. He understood why the man had been chosen; the lord-emperor wanted someone who would fit with the civilian profile of the ambassadors' mission.
Well, there are no civilians
in our war society.
But a freight-hauling pilot might pass as one
.

As the door slid open, Benek-Hal seemed to start at Lezaroth's armored jacket and leggings. He visibly paled.

As I intended
.
I want them to know I mean business.

The captain, clean-shaven and well groomed in an immaculate white uniform, saluted with precision. “Welcome to the
Dove of Dawn
, sir,” he said in a deferential tone and motioned Lezaroth to a small anteroom.

Lezaroth was surprised at how light and airy the
Dove
was. There was white paint everywhere and the ship smelled almost medicinal in its sterility.

“It's an honor to have you, sir,” Captain Benek-Hal added.

“Thanks.”
Let's not waste time
. “Captain, I've come to tell you that we will be shifting the baziliarch over in two hours' time.”

“Over where?” Benek-Hal's neck wobbled nervously.

“Here. More specifically, your forward hold.”

“Sir . . . was this agreed?” Benek-Hal's voice registered unease and his brown eyes held fear.

“Not at this stage in the voyage, true, but an earlier transfer has become a military necessity.”

“How so?”

“The thing's affecting crew performance. I just ran a drill on my men. Fifteen seconds average for targeting. A mere 92 percent accuracy. Quite unacceptable, Captain. If we do run into trouble in the Farholme system, we need to do better than that.”

“What about putting him on the
Comet
?”

“No. A baziliarch needs managing. We will send you the intermediary as well.”

“Sir, I'm unhappy about all this.”

Lezaroth took the man's arm in a gesture that could be interpreted as one of friendship or threat.

“Captain,” he said in a low, insistent tone that he often found himself using these days, “you don't want me as an enemy, do you?”

Benek-Hal paused, then looked away. “No, sir.”

Suddenly a wallscreen blinked on. A pale face, puffy on one side and heavily bandaged on the other, appeared. Only a single, bloodshot gray eye was visible. Lezaroth glimpsed medical tubes behind the face.

“Ah, Margrave!” It was a man's voice, light, smooth, and polite. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I don't think we have been introduced.”

“No, we haven't. You may call me . . .” He paused as if remembering something. “Ambassador Hazderzal. My colleague, who is also undergoing a little reconstruction, is Ambassador Tinternli.”

Not their real names of course.
I'll never know those.
They are no doubt people from the lord-emperor's trusted inner circle
.

“Ambassador Hazderzal, a pleasure.” Lezaroth bowed. “I'm sorry that our hasty departure prevented us from meeting earlier.”

“A sad necessity. But this surfacing? And your visit? There is no problem, I trust.”

“I just came over to inform you that there has been a slight change of plan. From now on you are taking the baziliarch.”

A glimmer of fear shone in the single eye. “No. The agreement was the transfer would take place just outside the system. I refuse.” His defiance seemed hollow.

I was afraid of this
.
The ambassadors no doubt see themselves as in control of this trip
.
That is an issue of principle that needs dealing with firmly and now.
“I think we need to talk personally,” he said, then switched the screen off. “Take me to them, Captain.”

Benek-Hal looked unhappy. “Sir, they are in a sterile setting—flesh sculpting. The doctor will not allow a visit.”

Lezaroth leaned toward him. “Captain,” he said with a deliberate slowness, “just take me.”

“Very well.” Benek-Hal looked away again. “This way.”

Lezaroth was led down a series of corridors. As they walked, he found himself struck by the differences between the
Dove
and the
Triumph
. It wasn't just the white paint and greater illumination; there were other things. Particularly striking was the absence of shrines or images. Some of the alcoves where there would have normally been statues of gods or powers were empty; others had other statues or even vases of flowers. He saw only one image of Lord-Emperor Nezhuala.

On one wall was a mural of trees and woods. Lezaroth paused to read the caption:
The forests of central Narazdov.

Someone has a grim sense of humor
.
Central Narazdov is so radiation blasted that it glows at night.

Finally the captain led the way through tightly sealed doors to a room with two beds and a multitude of medical equipment. The air was cool and sanitized.

As the doors opened, an angry man in a white coat strode forward with determined steps. “This is impossible! It's a breach of—” He stopped and seemed to take in Lezaroth's armor and badges of rank. “My apologies, sir,” the doctor added, his face emptying of color. He stepped back awkwardly.

“Thank you.” Lezaroth turned to the captain. “I like a man who knows his place in the great scheme of things.”

On the left-hand bed lay a still figure covered in bandages and with tubing entering and exiting at various points. Only the fact that the chest rose and fell gently indicated life. To the right, a figure slowly rose from the bed with inflexible movements.

Lezaroth strode over. “Ambassador Hazderzal,” he said, hearing the mockery in his voice, “please don't feel you have to get up.”

The bandaged figure slumped back onto the bed.

Lezaroth pulled up a chair and sat down. “I thought that you and I should talk face-to-face.”

“I think it is unnecessary. You should keep the baziliarch,” the ambassador quavered.

Lezaroth glanced at a large diagram on the wall labeled
Ambassador Hazderzal
that had a series of summary tissue-sculpting diagrams underneath. In one corner was a picture of a man with a short, neatly pointed gray beard and a lean face with soft gray-brown eyes and wispy white hair.

“Ah, what you will be. The acceptable face of the Dominion. . . . Tissue grafts, new cheekbones, new eyes. Very nice.”

“Margrave—Fleet-Commander—” A bandaged jaw opened to reveal a half-completed array of teeth. “I really would prefer that the baziliarch remain on your ship. You have the space.”

“Ambassador, we need to get one thing straight. This operation is fundamentally a military one. It has a diplomatic preamble that may—or may not—succeed. But the chances are that we will use the full-suppression complex that I command. So, my task is to make sure my men are at peak efficiency. And in order to maintain that efficiency, I have made the decision to transfer the baziliarch to this ship.”

“I still disagree.”

“Oh, dear.” Lezaroth looked slowly and deliberately around at the half dozen tubes running into the man's body. “You know, Ambassador, tissue programming and flesh sculpture always carries risks.” He suddenly grasped a tube with red fluid in it. “On a ship, it is riskier still.” His fingers tightened around the tube. “And in the Nether-Realms, it's
very
risky. No colors to guide you in surgery. Accidents do happen.”

The ambassador's head twisted around, as if he looked for help. But the doctor and Captain Benek-Hal had vanished. “You wouldn't dare, Lezaroth!” His voice seethed with hatred.

“Margrave or Fleet-Commander, if you please. . . . Oh, I would. We only need one ambassador really. She will do fine. And the doctor would sign the death certificate.”

“Margrave, if you as much as touch me, the lord-emperor will send you to the far end of the Blade of Night. There are things there that can keep you in torment forever.”

“Ambassador, if we mess up this mission, we will all get sent down the Blade together. My job is to make it succeed. Trust me. My men need to be fighting fit. Take the baziliarch.”

The ambassador's jaw opened and closed. “Very well. We will take the baziliarch. But don't think the lord-emperor won't hear about your threats.”

“What threats? Do I bear a gun? Ambassador, since we have to work together, we need some working rules. So learn a rule:
I'm
in charge. Agreed?”

He tweaked the tube.

“Agreed.” The word was a gasp.

“Good-bye. The baziliarch will be on his way soon. We will be en route in twenty hours or so. See you and the lady ambassador in a month's time.” He leaned close to the ambassador's face. “Sweet dreams.”