Infinite Day (96 page)

The only person there got up from a seat and a pile of folders and walked over toward him.

“Sentinel Enand. Or should I say Verofaza? Welcome.”

“If we are to be informal, then I'd prefer Vero.”

“We are to be informal, at least in this setting. And so please call me Ethan. Come and join me.” They sat down together. “First, I have just checked with the hospital on the commander's condition. They seem positive.”

“The bullet fragments tore up his lung badly, broke a rib, and just missed his heart.”

Ethan nodded. “That's what they told me, too. He lost a lot of blood.” A sigh escaped him. “He was very fortunate. I think Dr. Habbentz—that poor, poor woman—was so enraged that there was more passion than accuracy in the shooting.”

“I take some b-blame. I just . . . put the g-gun on the desk. I didn't feel it was right to have it in the debating chamber. I should have given it to Lloyd.”

“Lloyd. Yes, how is he?”

Vero thought of the haunted figure he had left sitting outside Merral's room. “Shaken. He is angry with h-himself for not having protected Merral and desperately unhappy that he had to kill Gerry—Dr. Habbentz.”

“My guards tell me that it was—as they say—a textbook response.”

Two shots to the head
. Vero shrugged.

“They think,” Ethan added, “that she would have turned the gun on me next.”

Vero stared across at the stone wall. “Lloyd's a good man. I don't think he's really cut out to be a bodyguard.”

“And the other woman—Dr. Lewitz. How is she?”

“Anya? She's upset too. She feels she should have warned him or intervened.”
There's no point in going into the history, but it's another thing that has confirmed Anya's sense of failure
.

“And you? How are you?”

“Fine. No, better than fine.”

Vero saw that the chairman was waiting for an explanation and continued. “We did what we had to yesterday. It could have been done better, but overall, the right thing was done. And . . . well, on a personal note, I called my family this morning. My father had been ill. I feared the worst, but he's hanging on.” He felt embarrassed. “Sorry. That's just family stuff.”

“That's important.”

They said nothing for a moment; then Ethan spoke, his tone reflective. “Yesterday was an extraordinarily tragic day. In so many ways.” He looked away, and Vero felt he was still struggling to come to terms with what had happened. “Yet I think I, too, did what I had to do, at last. The bomb's been destroyed, by the way.”

“It's for the best.”
I think.

Above them, the sliding door on a balcony opened, and a man in overalls came out to the railing and looked down at Ethan.

“Found two, sir,” he shouted, “but we need another half hour.” Then he went back inside.

“Oh dear,” Ethan said with a regretful shake of his head. “I'd better explain. With the collapse of the Guards of the Lord yesterday, I felt I could risk doing what I'd wanted to do for some time: order that my room be searched for hidden microphones. That's why we're out here. So, they have found at least two.” He seemed to ponder something, then continued. “Actually, let me fill you in on what's happening. I issued an ultimatum last night, after the meeting, that if the Guards of the Lord didn't immediately disband they would be outlawed. What's left of the leadership has been happy to disband the organization.” He sighed. “Zak is imprisoned here while we take a full testimony. Delastro is being sent to a remote island in the Mediterranean somewhere; it's about two kilometers square. He will be kept in isolation. We don't foresee a trial very soon. He is, after all, a cleric, and we are reluctant to bring him to trial.”

“Clemant?”

“They're sending him to the moon. A bit dramatic, but I'm told it's the ultimate in secure facilities. He is not, it seems, in a very good mental state.” He gave another shake of the head. “And the DAS is being restructured. That woman—Kirana—has been put under house arrest.” Ethan looked up at the building. “My guess is she set up all the listening devices.” He paused. “My aide, Hanif, confessed to passing on secrets. So he's fired too.” There was a weak smile. “Your arrival has caused an earthquake.”

Vero shrugged. “I wish we had been here earlier.”

“Me too; we have Delastro to blame for that. Anyway, along with most of the Assembly, we were looking at that package you brought from Farholme last night. An extraordinary tale. Fortunately, Delastro's deception didn't totally conceal the key military aspects of your victory. Those and the samples of Krallen were invaluable. We've been able to set some projects in motion that, if it comes to the worst, may be worthwhile.”

“May I ask what you have done?”

The weak smile recurred. “You most certainly may. In fact, I called you here to request that you work with the Assembly Defense Force as an advisor. I know we tried it with Clemant, but I trust you'll be different.”

“I'll be very glad to help.”

“Thanks. What have we done? The military, the ships, and the swords, of course. And you have encouraged us to look at the whole area of defensive fortifications. There are other things for you to learn about.”

“I will. Do you have sniper teams?”

Ethan frowned. “A few. The prebendant was never really enthusiastic.”

“Typical; he never liked the fact they were run by women. Anyway, I'd say we need more.”

“Raise it with them. If you need my support, you have it. But tell me, what do you see as our best hope?”

“Th-that's easy. That there is a long delay—months, perhaps a year, before they attack again. That the
Sacrifice
arrives here safely and we manage to duplicate the technology in ships that can defeat theirs.”

“Let's hope for that. But you gather we are preparing for the worst?”

“Yes. I know about the evacuations.”

“More than evacuations.”

Ethan stared away, looking above the walls at the tiled skyline of the city, with the pigeons circling above. “We don't want them to fight here. There is too much history in Jerusalem. Enough wars have been fought in the city of peace. There will be no replay of the battle of Ynysmant here.”

“Th-the battle of Ynysmant was an oddity.”

“Yes. Of course. But he will want Earth. Anyway, we are preparing to close the ADF command here and disperse it to a number of linked locations.” He gave Vero a keen look. “But what do
you
think they will want most?”

“Easy. Control of the Gates.”

There was a look of appreciation. “Good. That's our view too. So we are building a fortified Gate control center at Mount Tahuma; it's about twenty minutes' flying time to the southeast. Tahuma was a military base in some of the twenty-first century wars in the area, one of the few to survive intact and uncontaminated. Anyway, we've been refurbishing and extending it, and the Gate control core is at its heart.”

“So that's where any fighting is likely to be?”

“Hmm. I pray it can be avoided. But we need to prepare. Anyway, you'd best get down to the ADF offices. They are expecting you.”

Vero spent several hours with the ADF team, getting to know them and going over the information from Farholme. Then in the late afternoon, he headed to the hospital. There he found Lloyd seated at the door, his eyes running over everyone who approached. He looked pale.

They exchanged news. Merral was making steady progress, and Anya was in with him.

“And how are you?”

A look of angry shame crossed the man's face. “It shouldn't have had to be done, Mr. V. Should never have to shoot your own people.”

Vero sighed. “It's a sinful world, Lloyd; it always was. But there are enemies among us now.”

Then he went in to see Merral, who lay still in the bed, attached to a multitude of wires and tubes, his eyes closed.

Vero walked to the window with the tired Anya. “How is he?”

“Heavily sedated. On the mend. Slowly. It was a bad wound. The bullet was designed to fragment.”

Vero passed on what he had learned from Ethan and the ADF. “One other thing,” he said. “The imagery we brought back of the battles on Farholme has achieved an extraordinary circulation.” Vero nodded at the figure in the bed. “He would have been quite a hero anyway, but being shot in the Chamber of the High Stewards has made him a household name. And there's a rumor going around.”

“Which is?”

“That he was protecting Dr. Malunal. That he stopped the bullet for the chairman.”

“That's not true!” Anya gave Vero a wary look. “You didn't make that one up?”

She knows me too well.
“For once, no. But I'm not denying it. The worlds need a hero.”

“Vero, your handling of facts verges on duplicity.”

“Only
verges
? That's okay, then.” Vero turned to look at Merral. “I hope he's going to make a speedy recovery. It would be nice to think that when the Dominion did arrive, its great adversary was fit enough to lead.”

“It would be nice to think, Vero, that he wouldn't have to do any more fighting. That none of us would. But his recovery is likely to be weeks or months. They pulled out fifteen bullet fragments.”

Vero gestured at the still figure in the bed. “Give him my regards. I'll pass by again very soon.”

After an immeasurable time spent in a white, warm void of half-consciousness, Merral finally emerged into some sort of painful reality. He was aware of Anya beside him.

For a long time he said nothing as he tried to remember what had happened.

Anya kissed his hand. “How do you feel?”

“I hurt.” He paused, relieved that he could speak. “Someone ought to have warned me that being the great adversary has the downside that everybody wants to kill you.”

“Don't worry; it's over.”

“Is the war over?”

“No.”

He could feel the cool of the metal identity tag around his neck.
Lucas Ringell's tag is still there.
I said I wouldn't take it off until the war was over.

“Well then, it's not over. I think I better try to get back to action.”

The doctor in charge disagreed in the firmest possible manner. He summoned up the holographic image of Merral's left lung to hover over the bed. “Look at the damage! Multiple wounds. Commander, listen to me. We're talking a week before you leave here. A month before you're back to any sort of work. End of story. You've done your bit. You can serve by giving speeches from convalescence, writing your memoirs—that sort of thing. But that is all.”

Merral stared at the soft pink object with its arrowed entry and exit wounds and reluctantly nodded agreement.

The next morning Vero, acting on a strange impulse, went to the Sentinel College. He saw a black-draped portrait of Eliza Majweske just inside the porch, and he paused for some moments before it. Then trying—and failing—to avoid stares, he made his way to the library.