Infinite Day (53 page)

Lezaroth chose his answer and his tone with care.

“Lieutenant, I am Fleet-Commander the Margave Sentius Lezaroth, newly returned from fighting at Farholme. I am here at the lord-emperor's command.”
That should put him in his place
.

Lezaroth saw everyone in the room look up at him with the nervous manner of those who worked close to death—and worse—on a daily basis.

The man merely scowled. “Fleet-Commander, we are all here at the lord-emperor's command. So how can I help?”

This is a man who thinks proximity to the lord-emperor grants privilege and power. Well, if I have my way, I will teach him a lesson.

“I have no need of help,
Lieutenant
.” He put a stress on the man's rank. “I am waiting here until the lord-emperor is free to see me. That is all.”

Lezaroth walked past the desk and over to the slitlike window that looked down through the armored glass to the Vault of the Final Emblem. He saw that the chamber was empty. The floor of the disk gleamed and flickered like ice under starlight.

Soon the delegates would be herded onto it, and the lord-emperor would address them. And then? He understood the basic mechanics now. A local disturbance in the deepest Nether-Realms would be allowed to rise up the core of the Blade to consume whoever was on the disk. And it would all be over.

Will I watch?
He considered the matter.
Probably. Out of curiosity
.

But as yet there was nothing to see, so after a glance up at the vast dome that capped the vault and the cylinders suspended from it, Lezaroth walked back to the nearest desk. He had matters to organize. He had little baggage, but he wanted it taken off the
Comet
.

Without apology, he walked over to what was clearly the comms desk; it was staffed by a young man with a single shoulder band on his uniform. “Ensign, I want someone to pick some things up for me from my ship.”

The man looked up at him with an apprehensive face. “Yes, sir. I can manage to organize that. Er, which ship is yours?”

“Which ship?”

The man quailed. “Sir, two ships docked in the last twenty minutes.” The words came out as a rapid babble of sound. “The
Nanmaxat's Comet
and the
Sacrifice of Blood
.”

Lezaroth felt that faint prickle of alarm that had often forewarned him of danger. The
Sacrifice of Blood
! That was the ship that had wanted to dock at Gerazon-Far. It must have followed them.
Does the lord-emperor not trust me?

“The
Sacrifice
,” he asked quietly. “What's its mission here?”

“I don't know, sir. . . . Apparently . . .” Urgent, frightened eyes skimmed the screen. “It's on the lord-emperor's business. That's what it says.”

“Who says that?”

“It's what I read here.” The man wet his lips with his tongue. “Better ask the chief.” He nodded at the lieutenant.

Lezaroth walked over. The man looked up, his expression defiant. “The ship said they had had orders to escort you, sir. From the lord-emperor.”

“I see.” For a moment Lezaroth said nothing while he considered matters. He was in dangerous territory. The lord-emperor was unpredictable, and if this was a genuine command, even to query it would be to invite disaster. But if it wasn't genuine, to ignore it might be catastrophic.

I am certain that something is wrong here.

“You spoke to the captain?”

“It was his Allenix, Fleet-Commander.” There was a hint of defensiveness.

Odd. There is definitely something wrong here.

“Is there anybody down by the ship now?”

“Fleet-Commander, this place is lightly staffed. But an administrative assistant was dispatched to check them in.”

“Get him for me. Immediately.”

Lezaroth turned to the window slit. On the floor below, he could see the hostages cautiously walking forward. Some, pale faces upturned, were staring up at the cavernous roof.
Fools! That isn't where the peril lies!

“No answer, sir.”

“Any idea why there is no answer?”

“Fleet-Commander, the lower control is giving orders to enable a shift in the Nether-Realms boundary within the Blade. Such events can badly affect electronics.”

Maybe. But I sense that something is wrong. But what?
“There must be cameras on the corridors to the dock. Let me see imagery.”

“Cameras here are limited. You must be aware that the lord-emperor values his privacy.”

“Indeed. May he live and prosper forever. But get me what you have.”

“I need authority.” The lieutenant's defiance flared up again.

“I
am
authority. Just get me what you have!”

“Very well. Over there.” He pointed to a spare desk.

Lezaroth sat down at the screen. He found an immense number of images of empty corridors. He scanned backward and forward through pages of images.

This is a waste of time. There can hardly be any enemies here. Not here at the heart of the Dominion, at the very center of Lord-Emperor Nezhuala's power. Who would dare? The True Freeborn are all dead, and I left the nearest Assembly soldiers at Farholme over three hundred light-years away.

Wait!

On one pane, a line of men in armor moved past a camera. Lezaroth paused the sequence and reran it. It was barely two seconds long, and all he saw was men in standard Dominion armor with standard weapons. Nothing untoward.
And yet . . .

He peered at the screen.

Their manner is odd. What sort of training did these people go through? They are too close together, the line is ragged, they are not keeping pace. Their drillmaster needs flaying. And their physique seems all wrong; they are all shapes and sizes.

He ordered the image enlarged to the maximum.
They must be ours; they bear the Final Emblem on their chests.
Yet there was something strange; he froze a frame, enlarged it, and stared at an angle shot of a chest piece.

He gasped. On the armor, an incised cross had cut the Final Emblem into four.

Blasphemy!

Lezaroth sat back in his chair, aware of the lieutenant's cold, curious gaze on him. He forced himself to blank his expression.
If this is handled well, I could look good and recover from some of the damage at Farholme; if this is handled badly, I could perish in the pit
.

There could be only one explanation. Somehow, impossibly, the Assembly were here. Anyone else would have left the Final Emblem intact. Only they would have overprinted it with that obscene emblem of weakness.

In less than a second everything had tumbled into place.

I had assumed they had indeed destroyed the
Rahllman's Star
; I had assumed they had no way of finding the master vessel; I had assumed they didn't even know of it. I assumed far too much. Somehow they found the parent vessel and have come here. Somehow they stole a new Ritual Class vessel en route. Only one man could do that.

D'Avanos!

He sat upright with a jolt.
And he is here
.

Merral turned to address the team. “We're going after them.
Fast.
I'm going to call out for them to stop when we get close. Pretend I have some new order from the lord-emperor.”

He caught nods and muttered assent.

Merral set off at a trot down the corridor, the others following him. He didn't pause at the junction but, making sure another signal relay was posted, turned right to pursue the hostages. The corridor continued to curve and they were already out of sight ahead, but Merral could still hear the shouts.

As he ran, he found Vero tugging at his shoulder and gesturing to a passageway that appeared to the right.
The stairway. Well, we might yet need it.

As he jogged on, he was aware that something about the corridor was changing. The architecture now seemed much more gigantic and overbearing than elsewhere, and the air, heavy and oppressive. The darkness too was greater.
We are closer to the center
.

Merral peered ahead to see, in the distance, something opening to reveal an enormous space of strange light.

Doors! They are sliding doors open.

He could see silhouettes now, pushing, and being pushed, forward.

He began to run and prepared to shout, “Stop!” but the great high doors were closing. By the time he reached them, the doors were shut tight with only a narrow vertical crack to show where they met.

Now what?

With the team gathered round him, Merral ran his fingers over one of the doors and tried to think. Feeling a strange roughness, he stared at it in the brooding light.

There were images graven deep into the metal. He caught his breath, recognizing naked men and women with arms flailing wide, mouths agape as if screaming in agony.

We are going to get our people back, or we will die trying. But how?

The unfocused ideas drifting in his mind gave him little encouragement. Instead they brought only an ominous feeling.

“How do we get this open?” he whispered.

“You want me to blast it?” Lloyd's voice was somewhat breathless.

“Let's try subtlety first, Sergeant.”

“Sir, better come here.” Slee's light voice was barely above a whisper. “I don't want to touch it.”

Merral walked over. He saw a broad, slitlike screen on a wall and a handle below it. Merral tapped the screen and an image appeared on it—a panoramic view of a wide, glassy disk on which huddles of people were gathered. Above and around the disk, men with weapons were taking their place on one of three walkways. On the far side was a raised platform of some sort with a somber throne on it; behind that, on the curved wall, was the alien and disturbing symbol that seemed to constantly move. High above, huge open-mouthed pipes hung down.

The Vault of the Final Emblem—that's what it is called. Where the priesthood vanished. They are waiting. For what?

The answer came instantly.
For the lord-emperor, of course. He will speak on the platform
.

Then as Merral stood there, the ominous and unfocused thoughts that had been drifting in his mind came together. One moment he had a pile of disconnected thoughts; the next everything was assembled. He knew what he had to do and even knew—in some measure—what he had to say.

And he was terrified.

Lord,
he prayed,
is this for me? Is this dark road the one I must tread?

The answer was an unmistakable and unavoidable affirmative.

I know what I have to do; I just need to do it.
Merral looked at the screen. The throne was still empty. They were waiting for the lord-emperor to appear.
We have some moments yet. He will make a speech.

He beckoned Luke and Vero close to him.

“I have a plan,” he hissed. “You won't like it. I don't. But I now see that the envoy warned me of it.”
He also gave me permission to lie
.

“What are you going to do?” Luke asked.

“I am going to lie a little and boast a lot.”

19

A
scant fifty meters away from Merral, Lezaroth suppressed an urge to stand up and order a full alert.
I have the luxury of being forewarned, and I must make the best use of it
. He teased out the problem.

There are two issues here. D'Avanos must be trapped or killed, and I must take the credit. This matter must be played to my advantage. After all, the core of my defense is that what happened at Farholme was the unsuspected presence of the great adversary. First of all, I must close the escape routes. Then I must ensure that we take him.

He got up and walked to the front of the lieutenant's desk.

“What ships are closest?”