Infinite Day (17 page)

“Here,” Luke ordered sharply, beckoning one of the big men to him. He pointed to a series of small green lights and turned urgent eyes to Merral. “Commander, permission to terminate this . . .
outrage
?”

“Yes.”

Luke took a gun and, an instant later, smashed the butt into the box. As splinters flew out, a red light throbbed in the roof. Luke snapped out more urgent orders to his men and wires were cut away. Inside the crystal chamber, the withered form moved again but in ever waning spasms.

Merral saw that inside the crystal cylinder a mist was gathering that masked the form. The light stopped flashing. Luke and his men, working with determined urgency, now tore away the drapes surrounding the lowest part of the cylinder to reveal handles.

“Grab them, men,” Luke ordered, his face bent with distaste. “Right-hand air lock.”

Bearing the cylinder, the party walked down the corridor and turned into an air lock. There the crystal object was placed on the floor and two small flasks like drink bottles were attached to the rear.

Back outside the air lock door, Luke gave more orders. “Decompression! Gravity modification to negative!”

Amid a faint hissing, the coffin slowly rose free of the floor.

“Outer door open!”

The outer port slid away to reveal a vision of stars, space, and nothingness that gave Merral vertigo.

“Fire jets now!”

The two flasks jetted out gas and the cylinder slowly accelerated out of the air lock. A few moments later, the crystal container was clear of the ship and glinting in the starlight.

Luke stood back, his loud voice seeming more dominant than ever in the confines of the corridor. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit, we commend this . . . soul to eternity.” And then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, “And your mercy.”

“Thanks, Luke. That needed doing,” Merral said, strangely relieved. Then he turned to Ludovica. “We need to talk.”

Ludovica gave him a terse nod. “Let's go back to the bridge,” she said.

As they padded their way back to the bridge, doubt tugged at the edges of Merral's mind.
Can we have come so far and not be allowed to proceed?

On the bridge, Merral listened as Ludovica interrogated the engineers and the seizure team. The conclusion was that although not all the rooms had been searched, so far nothing unexpected had been found. Completing a full search of areas such as the holds would take another dozen hours. Merral found himself staring at Ludovica's unexpressive face trying—and failing—to read any verdict there.

Eventually Ludovica shook her head and led Merral into an adjacent cabin and closed the door.

She tilted her head and looked hard at him. “I am interested in your impression. You were on the slave ship.”

“This is better than I thought it would be. I detect no sense of evil on this ship. I think—”

“Evil might be well hidden,” she interrupted.

“True. But I think it isn't. I think, Ludovica, that the loss of the steersman has made things better. It's an ugly and depressing ship, and I don't care for the steersman chamber or that disgusting body we ejected into space, but I have a feeling . . . it is harmless.”

“A feeling?” The eyes were sharp.

“Yes.”

“And would you stake the lives of thirty people on your ‘feeling'?”

“Ludovica, I have no choice. Realistically, what we need is to take this whole ship to pieces, mount a room-by-room search, work out where everything is. But we don't have the time.”

Ludovica walked over to a nearby port and looked out. Merral followed her gaze to the gleaming, multicolored arc that was Farholme.

“The other team is on its way,” she said. “The
White Birch
should be here in ten hours.” She scratched her nose for a moment with a gloved hand. “I have decided that I dislike space suits very much. Even with the visor open.”

She looked around. “So have
you
found any evidence of a discrepancy between what Azeras described and reality?”

“No.”

“Neither have the engineers. So I'm going to give you permission.”

For a moment Merral couldn't speak. “Thank you. . . . Thank you very much.”

Ludovica gave a dismissive shrug. “I shall probably get into trouble for this. You know my main concerns: Azeras and this Betafor. I'd watch both.”

Then, to his surprise, she reached into a long pocket on her space suit thigh, extracted a slender roll of paper, and passed it to him.

“What is it?”

“Don't try to open it with gloves on. It's Professor Elaxal's report on Betafor. I'm giving it to you.”

“But isn't there only one copy?”

“Yes. And Elaxal will stay quiet.” She pursed her lips in an expression of glum acceptance. “You know, Merral, we can try to make rules. But war makes a mockery of them. Maybe that's the worst part of it all.” There was a sigh. “Go with my blessing and my prayers.” Then she paused. “But be careful.
Please
.”

Twenty-four hours later, much had changed. No one on the
Star
—as it was now universally abbreviated—was wearing a space suit, the lighting was brighter, new signs in Communal were appearing, and the air had a clean, if disinfected, tang.

The
White Birch
had docked, and all those due to travel on the
Star
were on board and assigned—rather simplistically—into one of two camps: “crew” or “military.” The military—headed by Ilyas Malarka, the captain of the soldiers, and Helena Leonardy, the leader of the sniper unit—were already securing weapons and setting up training rooms in the lower parts of the ship. The crew were either familiarizing themselves with the ship or, under Vero's supervision, transferring the last supplies and equipment. The result was a ship that was alive with light, noise, and activity. Even Betafor was busy, reprogramming the
Star
's computer and command and navigation systems to use Communal rather than Saratan.

Not everyone seemed happy. On inspection tour with Azeras and Laura Bezemov, Merral saw the sarudar survey a corridor section with something close to a scowl.

“You'll be wanting to paint it next, Captain,” he said in a grumpy tone.

“Now it's funny you should say that,” Laura said with a grin. “I was thinking about it.”

The response was sour. “Oh, gentle pastel shades, I suppose?”

“Of course. With some plant pots and a few drapes.”

“That's enough!” Merral interrupted, laughing.

Later Merral and Vero toured the ship. They found Abilana Ghosn overseeing the accumulation of medical material in a large cabin.

“I intend setting up shop in the existing medical facilities once I have sterilized them. And understood what it all does.” She smiled. “I always think it's a good idea to find out how surgical equipment works
before
patients turn up. Don't you agree?”

Merral did.

They walked on, past cases packed along the corridor walls to be sorted out later.

“Vero, why didn't we put everything in a single large room? The one on the second level, for a start?”

“That's best used as a place where all can gather together. And . . .” His friend looked troubled.

“And?”

“Azeras has said the effects of Below-Space may be so bad that we may have to all stay together.”

“Aah.”
Finding this ship may have been the easy part
.

They walked on and, surveying the stores, Merral nudged Vero. “There's a lot of food here.”

“Yes. And it's the best quality I could get.” He gave Merral a look of subdued amusement. “Given the fact that every dish is going to be shades of gray, it seemed worth making sure it tastes good. And besides, with what we all face, it seemed worthwhile. ‘The condemned man ate a hearty meal.'”

“And are we condemned?”

Vero stared at him and then gave a halfhearted shrug. “No. That is to admit defeat. A figure of speech.”

Around a corner Merral stopped. “Vero, that looks just like a cello case.”

“My friend, it
is
a cello case.”

Merral stopped and looked around, realizing that there were more instrument cases. “Are we an orchestra on tour or a rescue party?”

“As we have time to pass, I assumed we ought to have a range of pastimes available. And as almost everybody on the team plays something, it seemed a good idea if we had the instruments. We have it on fairly good authority that the enemy of our souls does not like music.”

“Do we have scores?”

“Ah, something else that I didn't tell you about. Here, in this room. Let me show you.”

In the cabin was a metallic box the size of a small suitcase. Vero picked it up with something that approached reverence.

“What is
that
?”

“It's the data from the Library.”

“
All
of it?”

“No. We didn't copy a lot of trivia—old sports results, minutes of council meetings on obscure worlds, people's family details, and the like. But there are scores and films and almost all our music in here. And play scripts for any dramas we may want to put on. And I have things I want to research and compare with the limited databanks here.”

Merral stared at it.
And why not? We have to keep our minds occupied
.

Vero continued. “I've also added quite a lot of the material that Brenito had collected. I scanned it all in without really digesting. My friend, data is power.”

“I see.”

They moved down the corridor to another cabin. Inside were three large sealed crates.

“What are these?”

“This is the material brought in from Langerstrand. The inventory with this is basic, but it seems Lezaroth left in a hurry. There are files, notes, clothing, even some weapons.”

“I'll look at it on the flight. Perhaps it will help me understand him.”

“A good idea. You are going to have to think like him.”

“As long as I don't become like him.”

Vero intertwined his fingers in an odd, nervous gesture. “Ah;
that
is the real danger.”

Two hours later, they were ready to depart. Almost all the personnel of the
Water
Hyacinth
and
White Birch
were invited on board and, in what was now being called the gathering hall on level two, they grouped around a table with bread and wine and Luke celebrated a Communion meal. Betafor and Azeras were absent.

Merral found himself moved by the ceremony, yet he found the language and resonances of the Last Supper troubling.
These men and women are my responsibility.
He cast a furtive look around, a dark certainty growing in his mind.
Some of us gathered here will not come back alive.

The meal over, the crew of the Assembly freighters began to leave. Merral, struck by a thought, caught up with the chairman.