Infinite Day (92 page)

Another silence fell.

“Till tomorrow,” the prebendant said, swung on his heel, and then strode away.

Ethan walked away and found a chair. There he prayed. “Have your way tomorrow, Lord. Evil comes close to taking power. I will do what I can, but you must help.”

30

E
arly the following afternoon, Ethan, seated behind the chairman's desk in the Chamber of the High Stewards sipped at a glass of water and tried to prepare himself for losing the first vote. He felt tense, his head ached, and he could feel a tightness in his chest that worried him.
I ought to relax . . . but that's wishful thinking.

After two hours of discussion on the proposal for a chancellor, the high stewards had just voted, and Ethan could sense the tension in the low whispers and the uneasy looks. It would take time for the votes to be counted; the system—meant for untroubled times—was deliberately archaic. The outcome, though, was certain.

He found himself looking across the hall to where the delegates sat in the tiered arcs of seats. As he did, he was aware that he had allowed himself to unfocus his vision so that the individuals blurred into anonymity.
It is perhaps better this way: there is less danger that I will see them as personal enemies
.

Ethan had surmised what the outcome would be when he had seen how many of the high stewards bore the little silver lapel badges. Any lingering doubts had evaporated when those opposing the motion had spoken with lukewarm and leaden words, while those in favor had been determined and eloquent. Although Delastro was oddly absent—indeed, he had not been mentioned by name in the debate—Ethan had sensed the prebendant's guiding hand in the regimented support for having a chancellor.

Yet as he reviewed what had happened, Ethan found that he was not entirely disappointed. It had been a hard and bruising debate, but he had said what had to be said.
I stood my ground. I fought for what is right; my conscience is clear.

As he looked around, his gaze fell on the three figures on the long bench at his right reserved for observers or invited speakers. Andreas sat at the far end, wearing his clerical robes, stroking his beard and looking uneasy. In the middle sat K, whose flicking eyes seemed to constantly scan the high stewards. Every so often she would tilt her head as some message came into her earpiece and would nod or whisper in response. On Ethan's side of her was Clemant, dressed in the trimmest of dark suits; he had his hands folded neatly in front of him and stared into space with a blank expression. During the debate, Ethan had tried unsuccessfully to make eye contact with both men. Andreas had seemed ashamed and often looked away, whereas Clemant's gaze had never even seemed to focus on him.

To Clemant's left was a single empty seat, and as he looked at it, Ethan again felt a great sense of loss.
Eliza should be sitting there
. Her presence would have been invaluable. But she was dead, and internal divisions within the sentinels meant that no replacement had yet been appointed.

Ethan had half expected that the prebendant would take her place. But for some reason, the man was missing.
Perhaps he knows that his presence could be seen as unseemly, given that this whole debate is about him.

A few minutes later the results were declared: the proposal for a chancellor had been carried by just over the necessary majority. Ethan was unsurprised. But what did take him aback was the supplementary motion, proposed immediately afterward, that Prebendant Delastro be appointed to the post immediately. He tried to neutralize the motion by asking that it be looked at by constitutional experts, but after ten minutes of adjournment, one of them returned by the side door and handed his secretary a piece of paper—another archaism!—which stated that there were no constitutional objections. So this new motion was debated, and within half an hour of its being proposed and seconded, it had been voted through.

Within a minute of its passage, the double doors at the end of the debating chamber swung open and the prebendant walked in, clad in black, bearing his staff.

Ethan, struggling to avoid making a protest, rose to his feet. As he did, the cry of
“Delastro! Delastro!”
began and, amid clapping from some quarters, spread round the hall.

Trying not to show any emotion, Ethan did the only thing he could do. He gestured for the prebendant to be seated to his right. A chair was brought and the prebendant bowed, sat down, and gave Ethan a cold, unyielding smile.

Ethan spoke. “We will now take twenty minutes' recess. On return we will discuss the motion before us on the authorization for the immediate use of the weapons system known as Project Daybreak.”

By the time the flight with Merral and the others landed on the runway north of Jerusalem, it was midafternoon. In the terminal, a tall man with Asian features and keen eyes came over and embraced Vero. They exchanged whispers, and then they were led outside into the bright, cool sunshine before making introductions.

Adeeb shook hands, made a poor attempt at concealing his puzzlement at the presence of Jorgio, then turned to Vero. “A real surprise to see you. Rumor was you were trapped on Farholme.”

“I was. I'll explain everything. But not here.”

“No. Of course.” Adeeb led them to a large vehicle and drove them away.

“First time here for you Made-Worlders?” he asked as the bell towers, spires, and domes came into view.

“Yes,” Merral replied.

“Then, apologies. It should not be thus. The city of peace—the mother of us all—is at war. Not literally. At least not yet. And you Made-Worlders make sure you aren't overwhelmed by history here.”

“Where are you taking us?” Vero asked.

“My house. Normally my aunt and uncle would be there, but they have left. A lot of people are leaving in case of attack. Nonessential personnel are being evacuated.” He gestured to a line of heavy, eight-wheeled transports in dirty brown paint on the opposite lane. “The military are everywhere. New vehicles.”

Merral spoke. “Tell me about the Guards of the Lord. Have any sentinels joined?”

“None. They don't like us; we return the sentiment.”

Vero nodded. “Has Eliza made any formal rulings on the subject?”

“
Oh!
” Adeeb flashed Vero a look in which sorrow and embarrassment were mixed. “You don't know?”

“What?”

“She died suddenly. Three weeks ago.”

Vero started. “Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know her personally. I just heard her speak. But she always struck me as being full of life.”

“She was. It was a shock to all of us. She was very much against Delastro.”

“What happened to her?” Merral asked.

“A heart attack; she had some undiagnosed condition.”

Merral saw Vero give him a troubled look.
A convenient death. But surely no more than that?

Adeeb was continuing. “We haven't got round to electing a successor yet—these are odd times. A pity. We could have used her today, by all accounts.”

“Why today?”

Adeeb turned to them again. “Didn't you know? There's a major meeting. All the high stewards have flown in. A constitutional change has been proposed. It will almost certainly give Delastro a lot of power. The rest of the agenda is secret.”

Vero looked puzzled. “
All
the high stewards. A secret agenda. What's that about?”

In a flash of insight, Merral realized the implications. He turned to Vero. “It's today. It's now. The debate. Gerry's bomb!”

Vero grunted assent. “Adeeb, change of plan. The Chamber of the High Stewards.
Fast
.”

On the way to the chamber, Merral made some decisions. Adeeb would drop him, Vero, Lloyd, and Anya off at the rear of the building before taking Jorgio to his house.

He checked that everyone was wearing the pin badges.
More deception.

“Soon be there,” Adeeb said, “but there's an awful lot of traffic. Odd.” Merral looked out the window, seeing that all around them were four- and eight-seaters, even coaches.
And every one of them
full of people
.

Vero gave a grunt of alarm. “They are all wearing badges, too!”

Merral followed his gaze. The eight-seater next to them was full of young, stern-faced troops neatly dressed in jackets with a glint of silver on the lapel.

“What's going on, Vero?” Merral asked.

“I think . . . Delastro is bringing in supporters.”

“But how can that affect a vote of the stewards?”

“It can't. Unless . . . unless he's prepared to bypass the voting system. But he wouldn't dare . . . would he?”

Merral stared at his friend. “He would dare. Adeeb,
faster!
”

Back in the chamber after the recess, Ethan Malunal addressed the high stewards. “You have all read this confidential report given to you twenty-four hours ago. But before we go to the debate proper, I think it is important that we hear the technical description of it by Dr. Gerry Habbentz. She will take questions at the end.”

The side door opened and Gerry, dressed in a formal suit with a long skirt, entered. Ethan had not seen the physicist for some time and was surprised by how gaunt she had become. He motioned for her to stand in the zone marked with yellow, where the sound amplification worked best.

With only the briefest of introductions, Gerry plunged into a description of the weapon and what it would achieve. She made it plain that it was now in place and could be detonated within forty-eight hours of their approval. Then she outlined the effects.

As he listened, Ethan realized that here, too, he had failed to predict what would happen. Somehow, he had expected that this would be a cool and neutral presentation. It was neither. Gerry was passionate, persuasive, and eloquent. Her delivery was animated, her eyes flashed, and her long hair shook wildly as, at every point, she pleaded for the weapon's use.

At length she stopped and was applauded. She answered questions clearly and well, but in every case, her verdict was unshakable and plain: this weapon must be used and used now. There could be no delay.

There was more applause and she sat down.

Ethan felt himself alarmed at what Gerry had said. Something in her thin face and fiery eyes troubled him. His uneasiness was deepened by the way that she seemed unable to give a fact without using it to justify using the bomb.
Facts have now become fuel for her crusade.
I heard rumors that Delastro has influenced her; I now believe them
.

Next came a speaker against, a mumbling ethicist from one of the ancient European universities who did the opposition no favors. Advisor Clemant then spoke in favor of Project Daybreak. Clemant's dry, factual words made a strong case. Its ignition would destroy the heart of the Dominion, the Blade of Night and its industrial complexes, and probably the lord-emperor himself. The approaching fleet would have to turn back. He then gave a damning indictment of the Dominion, not simply as a conquering power but as a force of chaos that could—and would—unravel the entire Assembly unless it was ended immediately, utterly, and finally. Ethan felt Clemant was no great speaker, but what he said was both gripping and disconcerting.