Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  “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.

  “Mine,” said Lezaroth again.

  The third face was another dark-eyed woman, with short brown hair. Her triangular face was stamped with a look of defiance.

  “Yours,” said Lezaroth.

  “Nice.”

  Very nice. And with genes that none of us have seen for twelve thousand years. The gene-tech people would love that. It’s a very attractive offer.

&nb
sp; “And the practicalities?”

  “Stay on your present course. In two hours’ time, a ferry craft with me, an aide, and the three women will dock at your aft access port. You take them on board—you alone. I don’t want a reception party with your crew on display. And from then on, I want total secrecy. If you tell anybody, I will have you killed within a week.”

  From the way the heavy face squinted at the camera, Slabodal could gather thought processes were operating at lightning speed. Suddenly, Haq looked up and seemed to stare beyond the camera.

  “Blast! Commander, I have someone at the door. I will be back to you in a minute. Excuse me.”

  He tapped the screen and turned his round, sagging face to Slabodal.

  “So, Liegeman, is this genuine? Or is the lord-emperor trying to trap me?” Haq tapped his throat. “And remember that life-bond. If I die, so do you.”

  Think fast! “My lord, do you know the man?” Slabodal saw that the lizard was walking down the wall.

  “Only by reputation. I am a bit surprised; I thought a deal like this was beyond him. He was supposed to be an ultraloyalist.”

  Slabodal remembered something. That cook I worked with years ago—what was his name?—He was from Cam Nisua and he had an accent. But not like this. Slabodal realized he was beginning to frown and forced the expression away. This is odd. “So, my lord, why is he doing this?”

  “Why, Slabbo? A good question. Lust? Hardly. Money? He has that already. Rank? This doesn’t help; he is a margrave of an old family. So what is it?” Suddenly a tilted smile split the fat face. “Of course! He wants a dynasty. And he wants nice, clean, fresh genes to build one. He’s one of the old families, and their genes are getting pretty old too. With these pretties, you’d be able to replace whole segments. Even breed naturally. Very attractive, don’t you agree, Slabbie?”

  “Yes, my lord.” And you’d cut the risk of all those genetic diseases so easily.

  Haq was talking to himself now. “I know I don’t normally take risks, but this seems worth a big gamble. I’d work that brown-haired creature for a couple of years as a pleasure girl, then shift her to breeding. And get gene samples.” The eyes tightened and looked away. “A nice deal; and there would be other advantages.”

  Such as having something on a man who could well be the admiral in chief soon? That could be very valuable; men like Second-Wave Haq always need to be able to pull strings and call in favors.

  The big head turned to Slabodal. “How could we get the men out of the way?”

  “A banquet? Use the extra rations you . . . acquired.”

  The face flushed with anger. “Not a word about those. Those are mine. Try another idea.”

  “My lord, move up the dog death match.” Something about this is not right. Should I express my concern?

  “Ah, you aren’t a total fool. I was going to do it at the end of the blasting, but it could be moved up. A pity; I want to see that too. I’ve got money riding on Ferocious. Good thinking, Slabbo.”

  “My desire is to please you, my lord.”

  “So you say. But will a fight give us enough time? It could all be over in ten minutes. Remember the one out at Kanalatiq? My dog lasted barely eight minutes. We need something else.”

  “Why not get the priest to speak beforehand?”

  “Hewnface? Good idea. He’ll drone on for at least fifteen minutes. Give him an academic topic; the fellow’s room is knee-deep in books. He’s not been cutting anything else off?”

  “Not to my knowledge, my lord. The new ruling from the lord-emperor—he doesn’t want any new offerings to the powers. That includes self-mutilation.”

  “Now that His Majesty is divine, we won’t argue with that.” Haq stared at his pink fingers and gave a shudder. “Disgusting habit, chopping bits off. Okay, Slabbs, move up the death match. In an hour’s time. Give no reasons. And have Hewnface go through the motions. Our duty to the lord-emperor and so on.”

  “As you wish, my lord. But . . . I have a suggestion.”

  “What?” came the irritated reply.

  “Wouldn’t it be wiser to activate the Krallen? have the pack on hand.”

  “Why?”

  “In case it’s a trap.”

  There was a look of utter derision. “Oh, Slabbo, use your head! A trap? By who? The Assembly? They don’t have the ships. The True Freeborn, who have been truly dead for the best part of the year? The lord-emperor? Well, if that’s the case, Krallen are going to make no difference; it’s the long drop down the Blade for us. And besides, I can’t mobilize the Krallen without everybody noticing it. And it would be logged. No. I want this done without any traces. Get these women locked up in one of those empty holds. You’ll be responsible for looking after them. And, Slabface, I want you to keep your greasy hands off them.”

  Very well, then; you can forget me warning you anymore or mentioning that odd accent. I hope it is the lord-emperor testing your loyalty; I’ll laugh every second of the couple of hours or so it takes you to fall all the way down the Blade.

  A moment of silence ensued in which Slabodal knew he could have said something. But instead he merely bowed his head and said, “As you wish, my lord.”

  Haq pressed a button and the screen image returned.

  “Margrave. It will be done as you say. I’ll be glad to help. The aft hatch in two hours’ time.”

  “In total security?”

  “I need to bring my aide. He will help manage the goods.”

  “No one else!”

  “You have my word. As a captain and servant of the lord-emperor.”

  “Thank you. In two hours.”

  The screen went dead.

  “Right. Slabhead, go and get the dogs ready. Make the announcement. Don’t just stand there, man. Go! Now where’s that lizard?”

  Merral sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He knew his hands were shaking.

  “Are you all right?” Luke asked.

  Merral opened his eyes to see the chaplain staring at him in concern.

  “I wasn’t sure it would work.”

  “It seems to have. That final touch of Vero’s in desynchronizing your lips and the sound may have helped. Betafor’s fine-tuning would have been hard to detect.” There was a searching look on the chaplain’s face. “But is it just the technical problems that trouble you?”

  “A sharp guess, Luke. No, it’s more than the acting.” Merral rubbed his face. “I feel dirty. I played a nasty part. Being Lezaroth . . .”

  The chaplain slapped him gently on the back. “I sympathize. I’d worry more if you liked the part.”

  “How true,” Merral sighed. “Okay, Luke. Let’s go to the hold. Now comes the really hard part.”

  The hold was full of urgent and noisy activity that Merral felt was only just the right side of feverishly chaotic. The new plans had meant changes in how they were going to use the ferry craft, and Merral looked inside to see that they were blanking off the rear half of the main compartment with a fabric screen to conceal the assault team. He decided that the twenty or so people hiding there were going to find it a tight fit. At least Betafor could be fitted into a cabinet.

  Merral walked forward into the front part of the compartment. Here there were just seven seats—three forward-facing on each side and one rear-facing against the pilot’s cabin.

  By the far door, three women, dressed in shabby blue overalls, were standing next to each other, examining the bruise marks they had created with the theatrical makeup.

  “Bait Team, are you ready to act?” Merral asked.

  “So that’s our name, eh?” Jemima, the tallest, gave him a pained smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t stick. Yes, we’re ready. There’ll just be this captain?”

  “He’s bringing an aide. We couldn’t refuse.” Merral looked at the shortest of the three women, the one with short brown hair. “Miranda, I’m afraid the captain thinks he is getting you.”

  He received a hard look in return. “I am so fortunate. But he m
ay get more than he wanted.”

  “Indeed, he may. But you have to look scared and vulnerable. All of you.”

  He saw the troubled looks. This is not going to be easy.

  Merral turned to Lloyd, a gun slung on his shoulders. “Sergeant, you take the far left seat as a guard over these ladies. I’ll be in dress uniform. Make sure my armor is in the back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, we are assuming Captain Haqzintal has a communication system built into his body, like the sarudar. So we have to get him sufficiently far inside that it will be screened by our hull.” Merral drew a line with his foot across the aisle just in front of the row of six seats. “Here. Once he gets this far, we can safely arrest him. You have to cover him; I’ll handle the aide and call in the assault team.” It all sounds so simple.

  Lloyd nodded, walked to the seat, and squinted back down the compartment. “It’s not going to be easy, sir, if I have to get a shot at him. If I miss, it’ll go to the rear of the compartment and get our folk.”

  “Shooting is a last resort, Sergeant. We need him alive to hand the ship over to us.”

  After checking with Laura, who was busying herself in the cockpit, Merral left to see the soldiers. In a corner of the hold, he found Anya intently concentrating on adjusting her armor. She didn’t see him, and as he watched, he saw her mutter something under her breath, as if she was trying to strengthen her courage. He felt certain that her hands were trembling.

  She shouldn’t be here! As the thought came to him he wondered at his motives. Do I say that as a mission commander or as the man who loves her?

  Sensing his proximity, she looked up at him. “I can handle it, Merral. If that’s what you are about to ask.” He heard the irritation in her voice. She is afraid; but then, we all are, and fear affects us differently.

  “I was going to ask if you were okay. But if you don’t want me to ask that, I won’t. I will, however, wish you well.”

  “Thanks. And you.” He heard a fierce determination ring through her voice. She is anxious to prove herself; I wish she weren’t.

  He walked on, meeting Vero, who looked awkward in armor. “You don’t have to go,” Merral said, nearly adding the word either.