Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  Finally, Ethan stared around the table. “Anybody disagree that we’re going to be next?”

  The only response was the silent shaking of heads.

  The next morning, Ethan received a terse, text-only transmission from the lord-emperor. Written in Communal and barely a hundred words long, it made just three demands. First, the lord-emperor was to retain control of the worlds he had taken. Second, Ancient Earth and all settlements and colonies in the Solar system were to be surrendered to him. Third, he was to be given unhindered control over the entire Assembly Gate and communication systems. In return, he would cease attacks and allow any who wished to leave Assembly space and go elsewhere.

  Ethan had it displayed on a wallscreen in front of his advisors.

  “So,” he said slowly, and Merral saw his face was gray, “he does give us the option of setting up a new Assembly. Comments?”

  A woman advisor spoke. “It’s a symbolic reversal of the result of the War of the Rebellion. It is we who are now to go into exile.”

  Ethan gave a grunt of agreement. “And, more fundamentally, as the Gates are the Assembly, he is effectively asking for a total surrender.”

  His words were greeted by nods of assent.

  “Where is he?” Ethan’s question was sharp, and his eyes scanned around looking for answers. “With this battle fleet, somewhere in Below-Space?”

  “He could be back at the Blade of Night,” a man suggested. “Maybe he now has a Gate-like communications network. The simultaneous nature of the attacks suggests they have some instantaneous communication.”

  Merral, aware of people looking at him, shrugged. “I have no data on that.”

  “So we just don’t know where he is?” Ethan said.

  “No,” said someone. “Well, not within six hundred light-years.” The few smiles were strained.

  Eventually they prayed, and then, by universal agreement, Ethan sent a reply saying the offer was rejected.

  “So help me, God,” he muttered.

  Merral spent the rest of the day in meetings and in trying to familiarize himself with the defenses. In an adjacent room was a high-resolution hologram of Mount Tahuma, and he spent a long time staring at it and making notes.

  Viewed from above, the shape of the mountain reminded Merral of a badly drawn exclamation mark. The main peak—unimaginatively named Tahuma-A—was a jagged ridge of rock running north-south, about a kilometer long, that rose up five hundred or so meters out of a rolling, stony desert surface. At the southern end a gap existed, apparently where a fault had split the rocks, and then a small, almost sheer-sided subsidiary peak—Tahuma-B. The main defense command bunker was sited in the main peak, the Gate control core in the smaller one. The two peaks were linked by a narrow, sixty-meter suspension bridge, which gave the only access to the Gate control core.

  A series of defensive rings was being constructed for five kilometers around the mountain: ditches, berms, electrified wires, and minefields. At key positions, firing points were being located; some manned, some automatic. On the flanks of the summits, artillery and missile positions were being placed in freshly dug emplacements. Looking closely, Merral found some novel features, the most striking of which were the numerous smooth, nearly vertical walls that had been created.

  Merral was looking at them when Anya came in with a databoard. “Ethan’s on his way to see you,” she said.

  “Good. Just found out about the mirror-ice walls. A superlubricant surface with a coefficient of friction of around 0.01. Very clever.”

  “Yes. Not even Krallen can climb that. But it doesn’t last forever. They’re preparing surfaces at Tahuma for it to be sprayed on. Most have already been done.”

  “Good idea. Uses our better materials technology.”

  “On that front, some more good news. New blades are being issued. A Mark 2 version with a tunable coating on the edge. Once we have a few contacts with the Krallen, we can adjust the blades to the best setting.”

  “Will it work?”

  “No one knows. The science is good.” She glanced at the hologram. “I suspect we’ll only really find out there. If this is where they are going.”

  The door opened, and Ethan came in and for some moments stood silently by the hologram. “Our last resort. What do you think, Merral?”

  “There’s an extraordinary range of defenses and weapons here.”

  “We raided the past for ideas, as you did on Farholme. We haven’t had the time to create some of the things that we would have liked, but we think this will protect the Gate control core.”

  “It’s impressive,” Anya said. “The compound has a lot of firepower. And it’s flexible; we have a good field of fire.”

  “Is that especially important?” Ethan stared at her with keen eyes, and Merral sensed again the sharpness of the man’s intellect.

  “Yes, sir. The Krallen were able to outflank us at Tezekal Ridge. They tried at Ynysmant.”

  “Even the distorted version of events we had from the prebendant told us that. It was taken into account.”

  They stared at the model in silence for some time.

  Anya spoke quietly. “We could lose a lot of people here.”

  He gave a heartfelt sigh. “I know, Anya. We’ve automated it as much as we can. Most of the units will be dug into bunkers and trenches. Gun points with slits too narrow for Krallen. We have field hospitals in place and a set of evacuation procedures. But yes, there could be losses. Big losses.” Ethan looked away. “When we voted not to use Project Daybreak, we knew there would be a cost. We’ve already paid something of that. We may have to pay more.”

  Merral wondered if some of those who had voted against the bomb had now changed their mind.

  Anya spoke again. “And all this is to protect what—one small room?”

  “Yes. The Gate control core itself is the size of a table. But we have to stop them having it.” Ethan looked at Merral as if seeking assurance. “Of course, all this depends on the logic that they really do want the Gates. Otherwise they’ll just hit it with some massive bomb or those dreadful kinetic energy weapons.”

  “But it’s more than just logic,” Merral said. “In every confrontation we have seen them spare the Gates. They need them.”

  Ethan nodded. “That was one of the few things of encouragement from Nezhuala’s message. His third demand: he wants Gate control.”

  They all stared at the hologram.

  “Of course, they may not get this far,” Merral said.

  “Of course not,” Ethan replied.

  “No, indeed,” said Anya.

  But none of us really believe it.

  33

  The next day brought much-needed good news. Just before dawn, Merral was woken with news that the Sacrifice had arrived and was transmitting from shallow Below-Space well inside the orbit of Mars. After a flurry of calls and some urgent debate, the ship was ordered to fly to the relatively nearby Orbital Factory Four, which had the facilities to hide it.

  Merral spent the day working on the models and plans for defenses and talking with anyone who had anything of relevance to say about Tahuma. He set up conference calls with the engineers at the site and began to ply them with questions and suggestions. More sniper teams were commissioned and began training.

  There were no further messages from the lord-emperor.

  The following day, as the Sacrifice began its docking maneuvers with Orbital Factory Four, Merral sat down with Vero.

  “I’m going to get Betafor sent down to us. What do you think?”

  “We need to use every resource we have.”

  “Can we trust her?”

  Vero stared at him. “Of course not. But having Lloyd stand over her with a big gun may curb her worst habits. How are you going to manage her?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The original agreement was that she would be released from serving us when we got back to Farholme.”

  “That agreement was broken by her attempted mur
der.”

  “Just so, but we are now going to ask her to risk her life with us.”

  “Aah. She may refuse?”

  “She has nothing to gain. We need either a carrot or a stick for her.”

  Oh dear. “Vero, you do realize that you are often . . . incomprehensible?”

  There was a forced smile. “My friend, I understand myself. That’s all that matters. Look, do you trust me?”

  “Trust you? Yes, I just sometimes don’t understand you.”

  “Then leave her to me. I’ll negotiate with her.”

  “Very well.” Merral shrugged.

  “What else are you ordering off the ship?”

  “Just Betafor. Any other suggestions?”

  “Yes, Lezaroth’s armor for you.”

  “Let me guess. It will boost morale?”

  “And annoy him. If he is still around. And why not try to get those two surface skimmers down here? With pilots and every last bit of ammunition. They are no use up there.”

  Merral stared at Vero. “We both seem to be agreed that this will come to a head down here.”

  “Yes. The Gate system is the key and he must have it. But he’s going to have to fight for it.”

  After Vero had left, Merral called Laura. He congratulated the captain on getting the Sacrifice safely to Earth and then asked for his armor, Betafor, and the skimmers.

  She smiled. “Sounds like you’re planning for a fight.”

  “I’m hoping to be pleasantly disappointed.”

  “Yeah. Nezhuala will just turn up in Earth orbit and ask for a dinner invite? No chance.”

  “Have you got any plans?” he asked.

  She gave him a pout of feigned unhappiness. “Well, tourism is off. I’ll stay by the ship; there are a lot of engineers planning to poke around. Going to put a full atmosphere casing around the ship. I want to keep an eye on them.”

  “Good idea. And, Laura, make sure that whatever they do, you can fly within an hour.”

  “I plan to. It’s a pity we’re low on ammunition.”

  “’Fraid you’ll have to make do with what you have. It’ll take at least a month to get any replacements made. And, Captain, things are moving fast. They may be here in a fortnight. Or sooner.”

  “So I gather.” She gave him a look of fragile amusement. “Well, if you need me to fly anywhere, I’m ready.”

  “Thanks for the offer; it may be needed.”

  “Pleasure. By the way, I hear that you managed to get justice for Captain Huang-Li.”

  “Let’s say, Laura, that the process of justice has begun.”

  “Thanks, Merral.” The smile slipped. “But I’m sorry about what happened to you. And . . .” No need to say the name: Gerry Habbentz.

  “Yes. . . . It was a . . . yes . . . a mess.”

  Shortly afterward, the Sacrifice docked and Merral watched on a remote camera as foil sheeting was extended around her hull.

  I’m sure we will use her. And my armor and the skimmers. War came to Farholme, then Bannermene, then twenty-two other worlds, then Ramult and Harufcan.

  It now comes to Earth.

  The following evening Merral was with Vero at an ADF briefing, listening to a discussion on space tactics, when a woman in uniform rushed in and pointed her diary at the large wallscreen.

  “This . . . this—” she stammered in agitation—“has just come in. Just beyond the orbit of Jupiter.”

  The screen was filled with darkness and stars—stars that shifted in and out of focus. Then they locked sharp, and suddenly in the midst was a long needle that gleamed a dark, metallic gray. A flashing trelliswork of blue lightning played around it.

  Vero was standing up. “No!” he shouted. “It can’t be!”

  A sudden hubbub of voices broke out.

  Commander Seymour, his face drained of blood, turned to Merral. “Do you know what it is?”

  I do know. And I now know what Jorgio feared. But I must have it confirmed.

  “Someone give me a length of the thing.”

  A calibration scale slid across the image. “Four hundred fifty or five hundred kilometers.”

  “You mean meters?” someone said but was corrected.

  Merral got up and walked to the image, people parting ahead of him. “It’s called the Blade of Night.”

  He saw small pinpoints of light around it, like tiny sparks.

  “See the accompanying ships?” He was aware how oddly flat his voice sounded. “That gives you the scale. We assumed it was fixed in orbit around Sarata.” We never considered that it could be moved. How have they done that?

  Vero was digging his hands into his hair. “You fool, Verofaza! This is what the strategy is all about and I never realized it.”

  Merral turned around to see that Ethan had slipped into the room. There were more voices.

  “It’s moving our way.”

  “Preliminary calculations place it 800 million kilometers away, moving at 10 million kilometers an hour and slowly decelerating.”

  “Very clever. It’s being tugged by multiple thruster units.”

  “Have to be continuously monitored and damped to stop resonances building up. That’s some engineering.”

  “Data on the accompanying fleet coming in: Silverfish spotted. At least six. Twenty-plus other vessels.”

  “Four full-suppression complexes.”

  “And eight . . . look like military freighters.”

  “Looks like they’re heading for Earth orbit.”

  Ethan called out a question. “The military freighters; anyone got any ideas what they are for?”

  “Yes,” Vero said softly. “Invasion equipment. Krallen. Artillery. That sort of thing.”

  Ethan blinked. “I see.”

  “When?” Merral asked. “When will they be here?”

  “They could be on top of us in just over a week.”

  “Make that six days. Next Lord’s Day. Maybe.”

  “Anything in the way?”

  “No. Jupiter’s the other side of the sun. Mars is well to the side. They are coming straight at us.”

  Ethan drew Merral to one side. “They are here. Far sooner than we expected. And with that thing.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Merral said. “An oversight. But it vindicates the decision not to use Daybreak.”

  “Just so. We’d have missed it.” Ethan shrugged. “Well, some of my decisions are easy.” He caught Seymour’s eye and waved him over. “Commander, prepare an attack as soon as possible. See if we can destroy that thing.”

  Over the next dozen hours, the appearance of the Blade began to change. The blue discharges faded away, and then gradually its image grew hazy. A high-powered asteroid observation scope showed that a cloud of dust and gas was gathering around it.

  After three hours a flickering red glow started to appear as the dust particles became heated and charged. Soon a radiant cloud had enveloped the entire length of the Blade, and within hours the estimates were that it was at least a hundred kilometers thick. The thirty accompanying vessels kept a safe distance from the nebula of hot gas.

  Merral stood back as Seymour and the orbital engineers designed the interception attack. Twenty-five vessels with over a thousand crew were to be involved in the largest Assembly attack force to date. They were to be backed up by three modified Guardian satellites using pulsed, multispectral lasers. There could be no hope of surprise, only the hope that firepower and determination would win the day.

  Twenty-six hours after the Blade and its escorts had appeared in the system, the attack began.

  It was all over in ninety minutes.

  Twenty-one Assembly vessels were destroyed; the remaining four fled with serious damage. Eight Dominion vessels, including two full-suppression complexes, were destroyed, but no damage was done to the Blade, secure behind its ever-growing fiery cloud of gas and dust. One large thermonuclear warhead was detonated less than a hundred kilometers away, but it caused no apparent damage.

  The eval
uation meeting held very late that night was a somber affair. The defenses had been effectively impenetrable, and the dust and gas had safely screened the Blade from laser attack. The other weapons had been ineffectual. It was not simply that there were batteries of beam weapons that struck down anything heading toward the Blade. It seemed to be something else—a strange aura so that pilots found themselves disoriented or so terrified that they gave up attack runs. The curse also struck machines so that robotically targeted missiles lost their lock on the target and either failed to detonate or swung past.

  After two hours, near desperation reigned. Ethan ran his fingers through thinning hair again and asked in a dulled monotone, “Any more comments? Other than the obvious?”

  Vero, who had somehow inserted himself at the table, raised a finger. “Just an observation. I think we haven’t considered the loss ratio carefully enough. It poses such problems for the lord-emperor that there are serious implications.”

  Everyone apart from Seymour, evidently lost in thought, looked at Vero. The expressions were puzzled and hostile.

  “We lost, Sentinel,” said a physicist with anger in his voice, “and badly, or didn’t you notice? Four to one!”

  “I can do the m-math.” Vero’s voice was brittle. “But pay attention. The Assembly is vastly bigger than the Dominion and just starting to rearm. We can—dare I say it?—absorb such losses. In a year’s time, we could field a hundred ships and beat such a fleet.” His brown eyes looked urgently around. “Do you see the implications?”

  Ethan gave him the slow, numbed stare of a man who has had too much bad news. “Spell them out.”

  “They have to deal us a knockout blow now, or they are finished. We have known it since the start. This confirms that they will come here. They must seize Earth and the Gates.”

  There were nods of agreement now.

  “So how do we stop them?” Ethan asked.

  Vero looked hard at him. “I don’t suppose we can make a polyvalent fusion weapon in time.”

  Ethan gave a slow shake of the head. “Hardly. And anyway—”