Infinite Day (51 page)

“Betafor says not. She told them that we were operating under the special orders of the lord-emperor. That seems to have done it.”

“That's good.”
So why does her face look as if she has bad news to tell?

“There's a problem, though. They insist we dock five minutes
after
the
Comet
. Blade control prefers not to dock ships simultaneously.”

“
Five minutes!
We'd better move fast.”

It's going to be tight
. Merral moved to tell the team. As he did, he found himself praying.
Dear Lord, we are going to need help
.

On the
Star
, Azeras was sitting in the mess eating a bowl of soup when he was abruptly struck by his situation. He put his spoon down on the table and stared around the empty room.
There is no one else here. I am alone
. He felt exasperated by the thought.

“I have chosen to be alone,” he said under his breath, but as he said it, he felt as if he heard the distant echo of laughter and of song.

There are more ghosts in this room than when we were in the Nether-Realms.

“I am leaving them all behind. It's my choice,” he said in a slightly louder voice and rose to his feet. After slinging his bowl into the autowasher, he walked away down the corridor.

On some strange impulse, he stepped into the gathering room. As he stood there, his eyes turned to the mural. For long minutes, he stared at the familiar faces. Slowly, compelled by something beyond himself, he approached the wall and traced his finger over some of Slee's bold, fluent lines.

“I shouldn't have come into this room,” he said aloud.
I'm talking to myself too much.

He looked around. His former colleagues had left the ship in such haste that many of their possessions were still around. He picked up a sketchbook and flicked through, looking at the drawings of a remembered Farholme and its people, and then put it down. On the chair nearby was an ancient bound novel, and he skimmed through the pages idly. He realized that he had grown to like Communal and the rich elegance of its grammar. Again, just beyond his hearing, he seemed to hear singing and music filled with praise and hope.

More ghosts.

Something like a dialogue began in his brain.

One voice, soft and nostalgic, seemed to say,
I thought I could live without them, but now I find that I can't
.

A second voice, harder and colder, answered.
You can. Remember, you're the sarudar, the great survivor. You were one of the few to escape your world and the only survivor of the
Rahllman's Star
. You have been among these people, and you have been affected by them. But it will not last. You don't need them
.

The first voice lost no time in a rebuttal.
They wanted me to become one of them. They offered me friendship
.

You would never really have been one of them.

With time I might,
the first, soft voice protested.

No, you would always have been a freak.

Maybe. But they didn't treat me like a freak.

Azeras stared again at the pictures; then he got up and walked to the door.

What are you doing?
the harder mental voice asked indignantly.

I'm going to follow them. I'm going to see what happens up at the Blade. I'll drift behind in Below-Space, with a minimum signature and a probe. I just need to see how it ends
.

He was aware that he had clenched a fist.

You're a fool. It's terribly dangerous. There are a thousand ships there ready to destroy you
.

He turned up toward the bridge, his pace quickening.

Cut and run now.
The second voice said with almost a note of desperation.
Or they'll be the death of you.

I'll die anyway
, the first voice retorted.
I've run a long way, too. Maybe it's time to stop running.

You don't belong to them.

He gave a snort of derision.
There is no one else to belong to
.

On the bridge, Azeras thrust aside the voices in his mind and began tapping controls. Twenty minutes later, he had changed orbit and put up a surveillance probe and was following the
Sacrifice
.

“I'm just following at a distance,” he said in a whisper. “That's all. Just following.”

On the
Sacrifice,
Betafor considered what to do now.

Eight hours after she had sent the message to Lezaroth, there had been no reply. He had either not received it or, for some reason, had dismissed it. As a result, any hope she had of negotiating an arrangement with him or the Dominion seemed to have vanished. Betafor knew that she was, to use the human word,
frustrated
. Her options were limited. She considered the possibility that she might be able to sneak off the ship once they docked, but she was aware they were wary of her. And it was not just the formidable Lloyd; Laura also seemed to watch her now. The conclusion was inevitable: her best hope was that Merral would achieve his objective and they could safely and speedily leave Dominion space.

As she checked her conclusion, Betafor saw Laura come over to her. She bent down as if trying to put herself on the same level. “I have a question, Betafor. Is there any danger that the Blade control might try to seize this ship remotely? override our controls?”

“They may try, Captain, but you remember that on this ship . . . as on the
Rahllman's Star
, the key systems are locked. Only you and the commander can override them.”

The captain's face showed an expression that Betafor knew was the strange human emotion called
embarrassment
.

“Yes, of course. And that is completely adequate?”

In a fraction of a second, Betafor had called up the list of systems that were locked.
Atmosphere, gravity, steering, propulsion, ports . . .

“Yes,” she said, “all systems that might pose a threat to the ship or the crew are locked from external takeover.”

“Very well,” the captain said. “That is all. I just wanted to check.” She walked away.

Betafor looked at the list again.
What I said was not true. Or not entirely true. There is one threat that is not locked because no human on this ship knows that it exists
.

She linked to the internal ship network to check the diagnostic signs of the twelve Krallen in their container in the aft hold. Deep in stasis levels, they were all stable and functional. She could not lock them from external use, because she didn't have the authority. It was—to use the human word—
ironic
that the only people who could didn't know they existed. Betafor checked the doors of the container and reassured herself they were locked. Even if the Krallen were awakened, they were secure behind a sealed door. If they were to be released, she would do it, and at a time of
her
choosing.

Fifty kilometers away from docking, Merral returned to the bridge to find that the long, leaden line of the Blade now bisected the screen from top to bottom. The surface was not entirely smooth but broken by secondary structures protruding from it. If he peered down at the lowest depths, he could make out that the Blade slowly faded away into Below-Space.

Merral found himself awed, almost to the point of being utterly crushed, by the sheer scale of what was before him.

Is that part of its intended effect? A show of power to daunt all who see it?
He realized he was shaking his head.
No, it may be that, but it is more
.

He tore his eyes away, lest his spirit be utterly intimidated, seeking to find the
Comet.
They had closed with the ship, and it could now be made out ahead of them, a shard of silver with a glowing star for a tail. “How long?” he asked.

“Ten minutes.” Laura's voice was terse.

“I'd better get to the docking bay. I hope to stay in touch. If it all goes wrong . . . you have your orders.”

“Aye aye, Commander.” They exchanged glances. “Not a lot to say, is there?” Laura's face was unusually solemn. “I guess the old blessing may do best: Godspeed.”

“That will do well, Captain.”

Will it?
Merral found himself face-to-face with a deep foreboding.
What lies ahead for me? The envoy warned me; is it death, or is it something worse than death?

Then Merral took charge of his feelings and pushed them away.
There is work to be done. Fear will not help me stand up to what I must do
.

Merral turned and ran down the stairs to the crowded corridor that led to the docking door. As he squeezed past men and women in armor, piles of equipment, and weapons, he felt amid the whispers the tense, brittle atmosphere.

This is what we have worked, planned, and prayed for over the last five weeks. This is the moment of testing.

He saw the tightening of belts, the checking of magazines, and the testing of armor suit functions. Lloyd had two cylindrical tubes on his back—Merral presumed they were rockets—and was tightening the straps on a large bag.

“What's in there, Sergeant?”

“The usual, sir. Bit of spare ammo. Some explosives. Two armor-penetrating rockets. I even put a flag in.”

“A flag? Whatever for?”

“If I get a chance, I want to plant it at the heart of this place. To make a point.”

“You like symbols too?”

“I guess so.”

“Good man.” Merral turned to the team and checked the numbers. Everyone was there. “Some last-minute reminders,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Keep visors up and safety catches off until I tell you. Or fighting begins. Remember, Krallen are programmed to go for helmets. Keep talking to the minimum. Use hand signals rather than radio contact.” Merral tapped the front of his armor suit. “And remember, these things make you seem invulnerable. And you aren't. Make best use of cover.”

The ship swayed slightly.
Docking maneuvers.

Merral held out a hand to a wall.

He shared a pained smile with Slee, whose slight, almost delicate figure seemed compacted under his armor.

How many times now have I addressed troops on the eve of battle? Fallambet, Tezekal Ridge, Ynysmant, the seizing of this ship. Too many times
.

“One more thing. It was an old saying that in war, nothing ever goes according to plan. I expect it to be true today. We mustn't be thrown by that. We will have to think on our feet and improvise.”

The faces were cold and somber.
There is no enthusiasm. Not now. We lost that—along with our innocence—a long time ago. But it's not all loss: we are battle-hardened now
.

“There's a lot I could say. This could be over very quickly. But let's pray. Once that door opens, we will have to move fast. Whatever we face, let's remember whom we serve. He will not fail us.”