Infinite Day (19 page)

Betafor hesitated. “I can only say that I cannot foresee a situation in which I would have the sort of . . . moral dilemma that you have.”

Merral looked at her. “And that makes you superior?”

“It makes action easier. And that is superior.”

Later, after Betafor had left, Merral and Anya separated themselves from the others and moved into a corner of the hall.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Depressed,” she said, pulling a strand of her hair in front of her face and staring at it with close-focused eyes. “I always loved having red hair. I have become gray.
Ghastly!
” She flicked the strand away and gave a forced smile. “But I accept my lot.”

“We're all gray. But beyond the loss of hair color?”

She looked away for a moment and then gave him a worried look. “I'm okay. I'm just trying to learn to be a hero. Everyone thinks I am. They think that I, too, want martyrdom. My sister casts a long shadow.”

Merral decided to change the subject. “What did you make of the conversation with Betafor?”

“She more or less told us what we already know. She operates on one principle only: personal survival.”

“I have had so many warnings about her. And Luke's talk?”

She looked over to where Luke was sitting talking with someone. “A remarkable man. I feel better about being here with him around.”

“Good. So do I.”

“But the emphasis on the danger of the subtle evil was striking.”

“I know something of that,” Merral said.
And that, Anya, is why we must keep a distance between us.

He made his way to the bridge, where Azeras and Laura were studying readouts. Azeras professed himself pleased with progress.

“So when do we see these manifestations?” Merral asked.

“We're still descending. I can only guess. Tomorrow morning, I'd say. And another few days before we get the worst sort.”

Eventually Merral went to the room he shared with Vero and Lloyd. There, belatedly, he unpacked his things. In a cupboard by his bed he put the egg that was his castle tree simulation and, next to it in a small tray, the cedar cone he had been given by Jorgio. Then he slipped into bed and fell asleep and dreamed.

Since the arrival of evil on Farholme, Merral had come to accept dreams, whether they were good, bad, or just confusing. But this was very different. Although he knew he was asleep, there was a solidity that he had never experienced before. He was in a great garden in high summer with a golden sun hanging in a cloudless sky of immaculate blue and shining across beds of roses and peonies. There was color and light and the air was full of birds that sang. And Merral realized that it was no place he had ever been to or imagined but a distillation of all that he knew was good and right. When he woke to a world that was all gray, his dream lingered in his mind.

The first manifestation of an extra-physical phenomenon occurred midmorning on the second day. A faint snakelike form the consistency of smoke and the length of a table appeared in a lower room, wriggled about silently, and then, after a score of minutes, vanished.

Twenty minutes later, in the middle of a coffee break, particles of dust, like specks of soot, appeared and began to coalesce just above a table. With murmurs of unease, everyone stood up and rapidly stepped away to form a wary circle around the table. The specks slowly fused until a shapeless mass the size and form of a small bundle of clothes hung slowly wriggling just above the table.

Vero went over and peered at it closely. “How strange. It's not really solid. It doesn't cast a shadow.” He picked up a spoon and pushed tentatively at the form with the handle. The spoon slid into the form without resistance. “Weird.”

Merral saw Azeras make the strange circling motion with his fingers that he knew to be the gesture to ward off evil. He realized that in this eerie grayness he had more sympathy with the superstition than he had under Farholme's sunlight.

Azeras pushed his way forward. “It's what we call a ghost slug. Let me show you how to deal with it.” Azeras picked up another spoon. “It's not really solid. Whatever it's made of allows it to flow slowly around objects. But if you hit it fast . . .” He flicked the spoon at the form and it spun away off the table and hung quivering in the air. People stepped back.

“Or, alternatively, you can bundle it into a bag and drag it away.” He pulled a bag out of his pocket, opened it, and carefully but firmly scooped up the slug with it. Then he sealed the container and put it down on the floor. “Eventually it will fade away.”

Keeping mistrustful eyes on the bag, everyone returned to the table. Azeras looked around. “But leave the bigger forms alone.”

Just after lunch Merral convened a meeting with Vero, Azeras, and Lloyd to start considering how, when they arrived in the Sarata system, they might seize the
Comet
. Merral had rejected the idea of bringing in Ilyas and Helena; he wanted to have some sort of a basic plan before he met with them.

As they sat around a table with databoards and notepads, Merral had Azeras call up a 3-D model of the Saratan system; it hung above them as a series of points of gray light around a paler sphere.

“Talk us through it, Sarudar,” Merral said.

Azeras stood up and stabbed at the model with a finger. “Here's what I know. The onboard files will fill in the details. An odd—maybe unique—system. Four—actually five—earth-type worlds: the ‘Worlds of the Living.' Khalamaja—here—is the closest to Sarata, only really habitable near the poles. The center of the lord-emperor's power. And this is the accursed Blade of Night. Near it are the two Worlds of the Dead—worlds with tomb cities.” He made the circling gesture with his fingers; then he gestured to a pale point of light. “Then, going outward, there is Buza-Mernaq, mostly hot sand and rock but some cities and military bases. And this is Farzircol; the rotation is too fast—ten-hour days—but again some cities and military bases exist. Most underground. Then further out still, Yeggarant-Mal; the axis is tilted. Result: long glacial winters and then a brief baking summer. Settlements underground. Of course.”

What a depressing list! Not a single world that you could love.
“And Gerazon-Far?” Merral asked.

“Out here.” Azeras pointed out a small flashing point next to another planet.

“What's the world next to it?”

“That is the fifth earth-type planet, Nithloss, the scarred world.”

“Is it habitable?”

“It is not considered one of the Worlds of the Living. Some O2 but too slow a rotation—I think it's a ten-year-long day—so one hemisphere faces Sarata while the other freezes. The high CO2 levels don't help.”

“You said it was scarred?” Vero's voice was soft.

“That's the term. It's been mined extensively. A lot of the material for the Blade came from it. Last I heard, it was being used for weapons testing.”

“Let's get back to Gerazon-Far. So we emerge near it?”

“Yes. The lord-emperor banned all flights in Below-Space any nearer the Blade of Night. That monstrosity distorts the boundaries between the Nether-Realms and Standard-Space so much that it caused accidents.”

Vero raised a finger. “And on F-Farholme you said Gerazon-Far is a military station. Aren't we going to be in big trouble?”

Azeras sat back in his chair and stared at Vero. “Trouble?” The smile was bemused and cold. “You—
we—
can't avoid that. But let's try to minimize it. First, Gerazon-Far: it's a largely automated station. And in reality all Dominion spaceflight is military. It served as a central point for the war against the True Freeborn. But now . . .” He gave a scowl and scratched the scar on his cheek.

But now the war against the True Freeborn is over. But no one will say it.

Azeras spoke again. “But now . . . it may be less used. Anyway, we don't emerge in a hurry. We stay in shallow Below-Space and launch a surveillance probe on a super-fine cable a hundred kilometers long. The probe is fist-sized and effectively invisible; we watch from that, maneuver ourselves to within a hundred thousand kilometers of Gerazon-Far, and wait.” He gestured to the model. “As it happens, at the moment, three of the four Worlds of the Living are currently on the far side of Sarata. That's good news. The bad news is that Khalamaja and the Blade of Night will be facing us on the Assembly side, as are the main factory and industrial complexes and the Worlds of the Dead; but they won't be a threat.” He shook his head, and gazed around with significance. “Whatever happens, we mustn't go beyond Gerazon-Far. To venture near the Blade or Khalamaja is to ask for death. Or worse.”

“Point taken. Which is why this seizure has to be fast. And smooth,” Merral answered and received supportive nods. “So, Sarudar, let's assume we do get there first and hang around hidden, waiting for them to surface. On my limited experience of spaceflight we can hardly sweep in, dock with the
Comet
, and seize it. You stole this ship we're in. How did you do it?”

Azeras grunted in amusement. “Commander, we bribed the captain. Not an option for this voyage.”

“True.” Merral pressed a button on the pad and the planetary model was replaced by a floating 3-D image of the
Rahllman's Star.

“The
Star
and
Comet
are sister ships. So how would a ship normally be seized? by the military?”

“By the military? It's a specialized task, especially if you want the passengers alive. Normally you'd match orbits and use tethercraft—small ships with strong filament cables and anchors—to catch the ship. Then you'd land a special assault craft with a flexible air lock, cut a hole about a meter across somewhere on the hull, and send in packs of Krallen until you have the ship.”

“That's also not an option,” Merral said. “Even if we had the equipment, it would take so much time that Lezaroth would be able to call for help. Give us an alternative, Azeras or Vero. Or you, Sergeant.”

Lloyd shook his head. “Sir, I've been reading about being a bodyguard, not carrying out in-space attacks. But I'd say if direct assault is out, then it would have to be a trick. A deception. We'd have to get invited in.”

Azeras nodded.

Vero looked up. “On our reckoning, Lezaroth can have no more than five or six armed men. And he will not be expecting us. Once we get on board, we have a chance.”

A deception?
The thought troubled Merral.
We abhorred the lie. Now we are forced to use it. Is this right?
He saw that they were looking at him. “I don't like deception.”

“But what else can we do?” Vero asked.

Merral heard himself sigh. “Okay, let's come up with a trick that will work.”

Azeras spoke. “We wait nearby. As soon as they appear, we make for them. And . . .” He shrugged. “We offer them assistance?”

Vero shook his head. “Lezaroth may not accept it. Unless . . .” He slowly raised a finger. “Unless it's an order from the lord-emperor. But why . . . ?”

Lloyd snapped his fingers. “The medical orderly trick!”

They looked at him. “I pretended to be a medical orderly to get Vero off the plane from Isterrane. That worked. So we get on board as a medical team.”

Merral considered the idea. “Nice, but that depends on him being in need of doctors.”

“No!” Vero was half out of his seat. “
Quarantine!
The lord-emperor has imposed a quarantine. Innoculations—inspections—are required!”

Merral gestured for Azeras to speak.

“It might work,” he responded without enthusiasm. “The panels on the side of this ship are active; we can change the name. And while I have never heard of an imposed quarantine, the lord-emperor is given to making decisions on a whim.”

Merral pushed on. “So we persuade them. Send a ferry craft over—with soldiers hidden on it—get access to the air lock hatch, enter, and seize control. Anyone see any problems?”