Infinite Day (40 page)

“Commander, your plan
is
reckless, but I support it.”

Merral realized that Azeras was holding back on something.
He has changed his mind. But why?

“I have my reasons,” Azeras said, as if sensing his frustration.

“And those reasons are . . . private?”

“Exactly. And as I am attached to your team rather than part of it, I do not feel I have to give them.”

“I need to know. They may conflict with the safety of my team.”

“They do not. But let me explain my interest. That ship should have military data. It should allow me to finally know the fate of my own people.”

“I see.” Merral was unconvinced but decided to let the matter go. “Very well, Sarudar, you are excused.”

After he had left, Merral turned to Lloyd, who shook his head. “I don't like it, sir. There's more going on here than him just getting information.”

“I agree.”

“Sir, this all relies on him and Betafor. That's not a combination I like.”

“True, but what else can we do?” Merral paused. “Sergeant, do you think I can pass for Lezaroth?”

“Azeras thinks it's unlikely they will have met.”

“But I think my Saratan's poor.”

“Sir, Azeras seems to think it will pass. Remember what he said. Saratan isn't like Communal; it's a rough-and ready-tongue. And with Mr. V's idea of faking a time gap, there'll be few seconds for Betafor to prompt you. And even for her to adjust what you say.”

“I still don't like it.”

“Can't say as I do either, sir. But I've seen enough old films with this sort of trick, I reckon it may work. It's a powerful offer.”

“I hope it's powerful enough.”

On the
Sacrifice of Blood
, Adjutant Azaret Slabodal slowed his pace as he came to the door marked “Captain Haqzintal. PRIVATE.”
What is he going to call me today? Oaf? Cretin? or just ‘Slabbo'? By all the powers, I hate this man!

Reluctantly he knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” It was an irritated, heavy voice.
The voice of Haq; the voice of a bully
.

“Liegeman Slabodal, my lord.”

“Ah,
buffoon
! Come in.”

Slabodal entered and stood before the desk. Behind it, the captain, a deep-jowled, balding man whose bulging neck barely fit inside his uniform, was slumped in his large chair. He held a large Nomuran fighting lizard on his lap and was examining its forelimbs.

“Laxan is fully recovered, I reckon,” Haq said without looking up. “Be ready for another bout when we return.” As the captain checked the muzzle over the creature's mouth, Slabodal caught a glimpse of the needle-sharp teeth underneath.

The captain tossed the lizard onto the floor. It landed on its feet, hissed in anger, and then scampered away, taking refuge on the ledge just below the portrait of the lord-emperor.

Typical; he pays more attention to his sporting animals than to me.

Haqzintal turned his ruddy face to Slabodal; the small, round, blue eyes seemed to glare with contempt.

“So, Slabbo, got them all?”

Slabodal handed over the large envelope he was holding. The captain opened the envelope and took out the sheaf of papers inside.

“And all of them paid up?”

“All, my lord.”

Haqzintal counted the salary deduction slips. “Twenty-nine. So the priest paid too.”

“Hewnface made no complaint, my lord.”

“I should think not. Not after what happened to the high priests the other week. He has his own reasons for being away from Khalamaja. So, twenty-nine. And you, my eternal liegeman, are the thirtieth, and you didn't have to pay to come on this trip. Aren't you lucky?”

Call this luck?
“As ever, my lord. Very grateful.”

“Were there any complaints?”

“Minor grumbles—nothing of note, my lord.”

“Grumbles?” The heavy eyes stared angrily at him. “Scum, the lot of them. They should be more grateful for the privilege of being on this ship. It's not easy to get an arrangement like this: a nice, cushy post testing a ship. Some of this lot might have been posted to the front-line vessels. And a fat chance they'd have of returning to Sarata with all their vital organs in the right place.
Scum!
” The lizard hissed as if agreeing.

Haqzintal put the envelope in his desk, closed the drawer, and pressed his thumbprint on the keypad to lock it. Then he gave a nod toward the drawer. “But, Slabgob, thank you for collecting this. You are very useful.”

“Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your praise.”
Yes, I am useful. Life-bonding has its advantages, as you well know.

The captain slumped even lower in his chair and gave a tight grin. “Things, my poxy liegeman, are coming to a head. But even you know that. The first wave of the fleet is ready to sail. And you know my strategy about the first wave, don't you, Slabface?”

“Never be on it, my lord.”

“Why not?”

“You get killed.”

“For an oaf, you have learned something about strategy. What about the third wave?”

“Never be on that either, my lord.”

“Why not?”

“Because by then, all the spoils have been taken.”

“Therefore?”

“Be on the second wave; that way you stay alive and get some loot.”

“Excellent! A principle I have subscribed to all my life.”

The personal manifesto of the man known throughout the fleets as Second-Wave Haq. The great survivor, the man who has had a thirty-year career in the military based on the principle of doing absolutely nothing and making sure that whenever there is a battle he is always legitimately occupied elsewhere
.

Haqzintal looked toward the portrait of Nezhuala and gave him a mocking salute. “We all believe that we will win against the Assembly. . . . We have been told that the Assembly are unarmed, that they have no ships of war, that they are unprepared. All such things are, of course, true. But this ship is crewed entirely by those who aren't totally sure. Their doubts are such they just don't want to be on the first wave. And to make sure that their names are not posted on the lord-emperor's shortly forthcoming list of ‘Valiant Heroes Who Died for the Dominion,' they have each paid me a modest sum so that I would pick their names for this proving flight.” Haq raised a pudgy finger. “Now, with the men, were there any comments that I was greedy?”

“Some observations, my lord, were along the lines that the price was higher than last time.”

“Life, Slabchops, is expensive; death is much cheaper. I have estates to keep, men from my household that I have to support in His Majesty's services. And the taxes! You have no idea how much some of these things cost. And paying the priests!” There was a reflective pause. “Well, that's much less now; a pity really—some of those top priests had useful contacts. And there's other things.”

Exactly, like the unmentionable costs of entertaining the chief of testing so you can choose whom you want on this ship. So that we sit around throwing metal lumps and particle beams at this wretched world rather than heading out to be blasted by whatever the Assembly has in store for us.

Suddenly Haq looked at the back of his left hand. Slabodal saw that his screen implant was glowing.

“Odd,” the captain muttered. “A tight laser-link signal direct to me. Relatively local, too. Who . . . ?” He looked up. “Get out of the camera, Slabby. I'm going to full screen.”

Slabodal stepped swiftly out of the view of the lens as the wallscreen shimmered into life. He waited, expecting to be dismissed. Just in case, though, he made sure that he could see the screen and its grainy image of a man in the uniform of a fleet-commander.
Who is he?

“Captain Haqzintal,” said the figure, “this is Margrave Sentius Lezaroth, Fleet-Commander, by appointment of His Majesty Lord-Emperor Nezhuala, on whom may prosperity dwell now and forever more.”

Lezaroth, the man who brought final victory over the True Freeborn at Tellzanur.
Slabodal noted the crackling signal and also his master's confusion.

“Indeed. May it be our life's purpose to serve him.”
Very wise, Haq; this could be a test of loyalty
. “Commander Lezaroth? I had heard you had been sent to Farholme. I was unaware of your return. Where are you?”

“Captain, I am not far away, and I am speaking to you in haste.” The man paused. “On the subject of some . . .—should we say, delicacy?”
What was the response gap? Three seconds? That would put him a million kilometers away. Not far, really
.

Slabodal started to tiptoe toward the door
.
Then he saw that off camera, Haq's left hand was making a flapping gesture.
Stay!

Of course; he smells a deal and wants me to act as the go-between
. It was not a happy thought.

“Margrave, if it's delicacy you want, I am your man.”
Haq at his oiliest
. “How can I help?”

“Thank you. I'm sorry this is such a bad line. I am in the topmost Nether-Realms in the civilian ship the
Nanmaxat's Comet
. The technology is sadly lacking. The lord-emperor is well, I trust?”

Slabodal found himself wondering at Lezaroth's accented Saratan.
But then if you win wars, who cares if you mangle the language?

“In excellent health, I gather. Busy preparing the fleet for the great event.”

“Good. I trust we will be involved in that. Captain, can I have your assurance this is a private conversation? Between just the two of us?”

The accent
was
odd
.
Slabodal tried to remember if he had ever heard which planet Lezaroth was a margrave of. One knew so little about the generals and commanders; Nezhuala took all the credit.

“Of course you can, Margrave. Just us two.” He wasn't lying; Slabodal knew he barely rated above his commander's blasted lizard.

“The fact is, Captain, I am returning from Farholme with spoils of war for the lord-emperor.”

“So the campaign there was lucrative?” Even from his vantage point, Slabodal could see the glint of greed in Haq's eyes.

“Lucrative? Oh yes. However, we have left the
Triumph of Sarata
there as a deterrence. So I'm here with my spoils and with orders that I should proceed at once to the Blade of Night and the lord-emperor.”

Slabodal found it curious that Lezaroth sounded so hesitant. But then again, a fleet-commander would not have been chosen unless he was a man of utter dedication to the lord-emperor—and if such a man was going to cut a deal, he would sound awkward.

“So how can I help you?”

“I was wondering, Captain . . . if I could very quickly—and discreetly—off-load some items for you to look after. On the basis that they might eventually find their way back to me at Cam Nisua.”

Cam Nisua! That's where he is from. The back of beyond
.

“I see. And what sort of items might we be talking about?”

“People. A couple of females. I do not wish to spell out the details.”

He sounds guilty. Hardly surprising: the lord-emperor's dream soldier doing a shabby little deal with old Second-Wave Haq. Who'd have thought it?

“How very interesting. And what would be in it for me? Sorry to be blunt.”

The figure on the screen hesitated as if struggling to understand. “Oh, I see. . . . What would you get out of it? Captain, you would get my appreciation. I'm sure you realize that that is not to be treated lightly.”

“No, indeed. You would be a . . . most valuable friend. But there would be costs incurred. And a risk.”

The screen flickered and a series of spitting noises echoed in the room. It took five seconds before the image returned.

“My apologies, Captain. We took some damage at Farholme. Tricky little brutes they were there. You wanted an offer? Well, if I brought three women over, I wouldn't notice if the third were to vanish. Plus a thousand standards on safe delivery to my estate.”

That's a fortune.

“Four thousand.”

Haq, you are so greedy!

Lezaroth shook his head. “Two thousand.”

“Very well. These are Farholme stock?”

The screen flickered again and there were more spitting noises.

“Yes. Farholme. All females. None older than twenty-four. I have pictures. See?”

A head-and-shoulders shot of a woman appeared, pretty with short blonde hair and a definitely sullen look.
Hardly surprising, that
. “Mine,” said Lezaroth's voice.

Another image appeared, a woman with tightly cropped black hair and a narrow, fine-boned face; one cheek had bruising on it.
Hardly surprising, that, either
.