Infinite Day (3 page)

Nezhuala withdrew his focus, assessing with wonderment the extent of his power.
It is as
if I stand on some high mountain peak and all lies open before me.

As he gazed around, he realized that he had the power not only to see distant places but also to move toward them at will. Again he threw his consciousness out, and his mind and senses soared outward into the Sarata system. His vision focused on Buza-Mernaq, and—somehow—he flowed out to it. In seconds, he was plunging down through dirty, tattered clouds. He hastily paused his descent so that he hung over a blasted landscape of orange sand dunes dotted with sparse, wiry plants. There, just meters above the ground, he stayed immobile for some time, pivoting around and taking in the vast desolation, hearing the ceaseless whisper of the wind, sensing that he was no more visible than a swirling column of dust.

Then just below he saw a long-tailed reptile with reddish skin, moving with clumsy steps between tufts of forlorn vegetation.

Nezhuala realized in a moment of revelation that he could do more than just watch; he could take on physical form. Indeed, to do anything worth doing, he had to become solid.

He twisted his mind again, this time becoming denser and sinking lower. He saw his distorted shadow appear on the ground, then bent down, pushed a finger into the soft, gritty sand, and saw it move away.
I have a physical form!

Suddenly the reptile, perhaps a meter long, seemed to sense his presence. It swung its head toward him and, snuffling as though puzzled, waddled over. It opened its jaws wide, displaying a pink tongue and curves of sharp teeth.

Exulting in his new powers, Nezhuala waited until the creature had come within a pace of him. Then he leaned down and, seizing the snout with one hand and the base of the tail with the other, effortlessly picked up the creature. He held the squirming beast high in the air for a moment and then, in a single sharp movement, snapped its spine in two.

As he cast the limp form away, he laughed aloud.

I can be wherever I want to be. I can be whatever I want to be. I have exceeded humanity. I am the new man. The prototype of they-who-are-to-come. I transcend space now. One day I will transcend time.

Driven by a strange sudden urgency, he withdrew himself to the summit of the Blade of Night.

My powers are proven. Now I have a task to do.

In a flash he was back on the throne, in the darkness, feeling the hard, bare metal around him and sensing beads of sweat on his face.
I feel tired.
The realization that his abilities were not limitless irritated him.
I remain beholden to the powers.

He focused his mind.
Where am I to act? Here? No, not here; not even in this system. Elsewhere. But where?

The answer—or was it an order?—came to him.
Bannermene.

The lord-emperor hurled out his mind again. The room vanished and he flew, gliding through space as if borne along by some cosmic wave of energy. He slid between stars, their planets and comets flashing silently below him.

A star loomed, and before it hung a blue and green world.

Now I must enter this world, exert all my powers to become present, however briefly, as fragments of sound and smears of light. What will I become?

As a small spacecraft grew in his field of view, an idea struck him.
I will become the king of terrors.

Laughing again, he sang out an order.

“Become Death!”

Two million kilometers out from the turquoise ball that was Bannermene, the three-person logistic and construction tug
Xalanthos-B
was preparing to dock with the brand-new Assembly defense vessel (Landscape Class), the
Hills of Lanuane
.

Captain Kala Singh looked up from her screens and glanced out the side window at the spidery assemblage of columns and wires gleaming in the light of Anthraman, the system's sun.
The picket line—what does it really do? Will it work?

The cabin was silent apart from the faint purr of pumps, the soft tap of the copilot's fingers on keys, and the occasional footfall from George in the engineering cabin to the rear.

Kala felt tired.
For the first time in my life I want a trip to be over
.

She turned her gaze back to the tiny, glistening silver object hanging between the stars like a piece of jewelry and marveled again.
How extraordinary. A year ago this warcraft was not even thought of. Now twenty like it are in service with the Assembly Defense Force, and more are being built all the time
.

They were now barely a hundred kilometers away and approaching fast. Kala began her checklist for docking.

There is too much silence
. “Well, mission nearly accomplished,” she said to break the stillness.

Hanna, copilot and navigator, just grunted.

There's been a lot of both silence and grunting on this trip; I've never known anything like it
. George walked heavily forward from engineering. As he did, Kala glimpsed an expression of something that might have been irritation flicker across Hanna's face.

This ship is too small for three. How odd that in the thousands of years the basic L and C tug has been in service, no one has noticed it. Or has it just recently become too small?

“We are nearly docking,” Hanna said, her high voice shrill and tense. “I was wondering where you were, George.”

“Just been checking the picket line array.” Kala heard defensiveness in the engineer's gruff voice. “Looks good.”

“We have no idea whether it will work. None at all.” Hanna's irritation was plain.

George stroked his cropped pale hair. “Oh, Hanna, it's experimental. That's the point. But the theory is sound. If the filament is long enough—and we've strung out a thousand kilometers ourselves—and the detectors are sensitive enough, any high-mass ships passing nearby in Below-Space might register. This is the front line.”

“So you say. But we haven't been told that's what it is,” Hanna grunted. “Not formally. At least, I haven't.”

Kala intervened. “Nor I. But why should we be told, Hanna? The Assembly Defense Force gave us orders; we obey.”

Hanna gave a shrug of her slender shoulders. “It would have been nice to be told. To be treated like adults instead of having to rely on George's tales.” Her tone left no doubt what she thought of his tales.

“In Space Affairs, maybe; but we are military now,” Kala said as George leaned over a screen and made some adjustments
. I must try to keep the peace
. “In the military, there are secrets. We just obey.”

“Blind obedience, secrets . . . and his rumors. It's not . . . healthy.”

She's right about that
. Kala realized that now she couldn't avoid filing one of the new MD21 report forms headed Negative Personal Crew Interactions.
Oh yes, we've had those over the last week
.

Hanna was continuing. “And we don't even know they use Below-Space. That's just another rumor of George's.”

“That's what they are saying in the labs. It makes sense; we'd have seen Gates.” George sounded annoyed.

“George, for an engineer you are very credulous.”

“Really? You were pleased enough when I tipped you off that we were heading out here.”

“Enough! Both of you. I'm trying to dock.” Kala hesitated . . . and shivered. “Anybody else feel cold?”

George touched some on-screen toggles. She saw him frown. “Odd. Now that you mention it, yes. But there's no evidence of a temperature anomaly.”

“I must be imagining it. Hanna?”

She saw an angry shrug. “Yes, I feel cold.”

The details on the
Hills of Lanuane
were clear now. The approach angle emphasized how slender it was. The new warships had to be able to get through Gates—by all accounts, a challenging design constraint.

“We are going to do this on manual,” Kala announced. “With minimal pilot input from the
Lanuane
. For practice.”

Hanna sighed. “I read that bit too. ‘Under battle conditions, automatic systems may be unreliable.' Quote, unquote.” She shrugged again.

“And, crew, we need to do it smartish. Leisurely docking is frowned on.”

“We're in the army now,” George said with a forced amusement.

“Huh,” Hanna snorted.

Kala touched the controls. A moment later she heard something. There it was again—a faint noise, from her right. As if something had gently touched the hull. She looked around to see her crew staring at her. “You heard it too?”

There was a grunt and a nod. George's fingers began flicking over the keypad.

“Weird. All systems correct. But, Captain, I'm putting us on full diagnostics.”

“Good idea.”
Everything we do and say will be recorded. Just in case
. “No picket line filament loose?”

“None.”

The noise came again. This time it was repeated and came unmistakably from the hull above their heads. Kala felt there was a strange familiarity to it. A familiarity that made no conceivable sense.

Kala felt herself shiver again and saw that Hanna's brown eyes were wide.

George looked at the ceiling. “You know, if this wasn't space, and it wasn't a vacuum at minus one hundred C out there, and we weren't doing five hundred klicks an hour, I'd say . . .”

“What?” Kala asked.

“That someone was walking on the roof.”

He thought so too!
Kala was aware that her hand was trembling and she lowered it so that no one would see. She realized that it
was
cold.

A grimace appeared on Hanna's pale face. “I said you were too credulous. A strand of filament probably.”

Kala looked at the screens. They were closing on the
Lanuane
; you could see the fins, the detector pods, and the missile packs.
I ought to strap myself in
. She took hold of the steering arms and adjusted her feet on the control plate.

She snapped out a command. “Engineer, give me some explanation for those noises other than a . . . ghost.”

“Captain, I am running a computer identification on the sounds.” George sounded somehow both frightened and irritated. “It's checking the database of fifteen hundred years of L and Cs. There is no camera active that can image that part of the hull. Wait. . . .” George gave a strange yelp.

Of frustration? or something else?

“What is it?” She looked at him.

George's face was pale. “Hey . . . it's playing up. Says it is closest to . . . wait for it . . . ‘footsteps on the hull during servicing.'”

“N-nonsense!” Hanna snorted angrily. “I'm sick to death of your imaginings, George. Captain, I'm not crewing with this man again. Formal request.”

“Crew, crew . . . ,” Kala protested wearily.

“
My
imagining?” George snapped back. “Maybe. But the computer? Hardly.”

Kala could feel fear in the room.
I should call the
Lanuane
. But what would I say?

The noises began again. This time they moved at a slow, unhurried pace across the roof of the cabin toward the port side of the tug.

Now that we have used the word
footstep
, it is impossible not to imagine that these sounds are just that. But they can't be. They can't!

The tapping noises changed to something else. Kala felt her hands twitch again.

Can it really be that after eleven millennia of peace and light the old fears of the dark and spirits have not left us?
And as she posed the question, she answered it.
Yes
.

The noises stopped.

Hanna's head moved abruptly in nervous agitation. “Okay. I admit it. I don't mind . . . the d-diagnostics hearing me say . . . I'm s-scared.”

“I've joined the same club,” George said, his voice muted.

Kala was going to add something, but above them the noises started again, then changed direction, heading pace by pace toward their right.

“The starboard access ladder,” George whispered.

“The h-hatchway.” Hanna's voice was a tiny rustle.

They all turned toward the recess with the compartment hatch. Kala could see the stars through its square porthole.
I know the Xalanthos-B as well as my own apartment. There are twelve rungs of the ladder curved down the side to a narrow ledge. That ledge leads to the hatch.
Kala realized she was still shivering.
What do I do?

Above them the footsteps stopped; then she heard new noises.

It's going down the ladder.

A thought slid into her brain as brutally as if it had been stabbed in.
It is Death
. She felt herself tremble at the notion. This death was not the joyful, going-to-be-with-Jesus death that she had always known of but a death of darkness, loss, and endless, biting pain.