Infinite Day

by Chris Walley

  Without warning, shortly after ten, a ferocious bombardment began. The hill seemed to shake like a beaten drum as explosion after explosion struck it. Screens flickered off and on. Lights swayed, and a snow of dust fell from the ceiling.

  DC, leaning and swinging this way and that on her seat, shouted out over the explosion’s din a long, breathless string of alerts: K-boys attacking, incoming shells and missiles, pressure on many different segments of defenses.

  As the minutes passed, reports filtered in of new and terrible elements to the battle: winged creatures that swooped in the darkness with dreadful screams and ripped at faces and hands, eerily gleaming columns of whirling dust that plowed into lines of soldiers and blinded and panicked them, and strange crackling and hissing lights that moved along the ground like snakes, stinging and shocking.

  With these reports came the first firm news of men among the enemy ranks, soldiers protected by armor and seen only momentarily at the rear of the Krallen packs. Merral was sent an image clip from a sniper of a tall man in gray armor stalking through the lines with an unassailable authority, ordering others to follow him and then moving on before snipers could target him.

  “Lezaroth,” he said, and Lloyd just nodded.

  We will meet before the end.

  Slowly, the defenses began to yield before the new attack, and the enemy started advancing up the slopes. Some of the sensory inputs to the Circle began to fail and several screens went blank. Aware that he had some hard decisions to make but reluctant to call a retreat yet, Merral decided to make one more foray outside.

  As soon as he emerged from beyond the bunker door, he stopped as he had before to survey the scene. But however bad things had been before, they were now far worse. The scene before him was hellish. Lit by the rising full moon, flames from a dozen fires, and the flickering metallic gleam of flares, he could see columns of glowing dust and flame twisting about; and in between them, silvery Krallen dodged and dived, apparently unhindered. Not far below him, soldiers were edging back up the slope or clambering in disarray up the ladders that allowed access up the walls of mirror ice. There was the smell of burning and death and, overlaying it all, the constant, deafening thuds and whistles of artillery, the hiss of bullets, the screams of humans, and the unstoppable howl of the Krallen. And in the sky, now just a dozen degrees away from the moon, the garish, ruddy streak of the Blade seemed to mock all their efforts.

  Merral’s attention was drawn to a cluster of soldiers backed up around a tottering banner and surrounded by Krallen lashing out with claws.

  “Sergeant, ready to follow me?”

  “Daft question that, sir.”

  “Volunteers!” Merral called and ran to the ladder above the defensive wall. A dozen soldiers ran after him, and together they clambered and leaped down the ladder.

  “At my word, charge; let’s get them back,” he ordered.

  “The Lamb!” he cried and ran. “The Lamb!” they echoed and followed him. They ran and slipped down the muddy slope with such force that they almost collided with the outermost Krallen, their eyes like fires, who parted before them as they were chopped and slashed with heavy, breathless sword strokes.

  Merral cut down four of the things, while Lloyd stood by his side, firing and recharging in an almost continuous blur of motion. They walked forward, supported by other soldiers, until they had reached the beleaguered unit. As Merral lifted up a fallen soldier, something flapped through the air at him. His helmet protected him, but a claw caught his cheek and it slid away before he could strike at it.

  He glanced around, deciding that they had done all they could and were so far down the hill that they were in imminent danger of being utterly surrounded.

  “Withdraw!” he yelled.

  Merral and the others formed a tight defensive arc and, as soldiers retreated up the hill bearing wounded, backed their way slowly up. Just out of reach of their extended swords, a wall of Krallen paced after them. Merral was the last man up the ladder, and he felt a claw lash at his heels.

  “Okay, Sergeant,” Merral said, dabbing at his cheek, as the ladder was withdrawn. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

  When Merral returned to the Circle, more screens had gone blank. It was ten forty-five, and as he assembled the team leaders, he checked the latest casualty figures. The numbers were imprecise, but it seemed that of the ten thousand soldiers he started with, barely half were able to fight. At least two thousand were dead. Trying—and failing—to grapple with these figures, Merral turned to the seismic and saw that whatever was mining toward them was barely twenty minutes away from breaking through. Indeed, he felt if he could shut out all the other sounds, he could feel the vibration underfoot.

  He considered deploying the reserves but now felt certain that they wouldn’t be able to save the situation. No matter what we do, Tahuma-A will fall in under an hour. Our only hope now is that Amethyst will work.

  Merral gave orders for the withdrawal plans to be put into operation. The frontline units would try to hold the current defensive perimeter as long as they could while the evacuation took place to the rear.

  With resigned nods of agreement, the team leaders dispersed and began issuing orders.

  Merral called Lloyd to him. “Sergeant, I have a task for you that you will probably not enjoy.”

  “Go on.”

  “I want you to take Betafor over to the core center now. Then I’ll join you.”

  “Sir, is that an order?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

  Merral called the Allenix over. “Betafor, I’m going to get Lloyd to take you over to the core.”

  “Is that safe?” she asked, looking at Lloyd, who was clipping ammunition into his gun.

  “Sergeant, is she safe with you?”

  Lloyd bent down to stare the creature in the face. “Look, it’s an order. If necessary, I will protect you. In other words, I’m going to risk my life for you.”

  And you aren’t happy about it.

  “I am not sure that is true, Sergeant,” Betafor said. “You know the Krallen hate me more than they hate you.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. If I’m in a tough spot, I’ll know how to divert them.”

  Betafor made a sound that clearly conveyed displeasure.

  Merral saw that DC was urgently beckoning him over. “Stop arguing, you two. Just go! Call me when you get there.” He slapped Lloyd on the back. “And stay safe!”

  As he moved away, he heard Lloyd admonish Betafor. “Let’s go, you wretched thing! And any attempt to flee, and you’re my first target.”

  “I am on your side, Sergeant.”

  “Then you’ve nothing to fear.”

  Merral watched them go. Nothing except the Krallen . . . and everything else.

  At the ranch Vero peered out the window of the tower. Far away to the east, the sky was illuminated by strange lightning of red and yellow. He put his hand against the wall and felt again the gently episodic vibration.

  My friends are there.

  He checked the clock. Eleven. It is time.

  He drew the curtain and walked to the table covered with the bundles of herbs, the flasks, and the pieces of paper with the strange lettering on them.

  He sat down and prayed for protection, success, and forgiveness.

  “I do this once, as a necessity,” he announced to no one. “To challenge the lord-emperor. To d-distract him from his real peril.”

  Vero lit a candle. He divided the herbs and threw them on the flame. A pungent smoke filled the room.

  He said aloud the three great words of power. The flame flickered in a breeze that came from nowhere. Around him, the room darkened and the shadows spread out from the corners.

  35

  Ten minutes after Lloyd and Betafor had left, Merral had a call from the core. He was relieved to see his aide’s image on the screen. Lloyd’s face was smeared with blood and Krallen fluid was all over his scarred armor, but he was
smiling.

  “You okay, Sergeant?”

  “Mission accomplished, sir. She’s safe over here.”

  “Any problems?”

  “Well, a Krallen pack ambushed us on the bridge.” There was a weary grin. “Used up all my ammo. In the end I had to throw one off by the hind legs and boot another. Quite satisfying in its way.”

  “I’m sure.” A deafening rumble came from above, and a faint shower of dust descended. “We’re heading over any minute.”

  “Look out for Krallen. And, sir, I’d mind that bridge. Nasty drop. Ought to put a warning up.”

  “I’ll put it on the to-do list. See you soon.”

  As the screen powered down, Merral checked around. Only seven people were left now, including Anya, DC, and the glaciologist; all were clutching weapons.

  From below the chamber came first one, then another heavy, echoing thud. The mining device is so close they have given up any attempt at concealment.

  Merral looked at the clock. Five past eleven; less than a quarter of an hour before Amethyst either succeeded or failed. “Lord, let it work!” he prayed, and as he did he was aware that his strength and hope were fading.

  Merral looked at the engineer checking the explosive packages. “Ready!” the man mouthed.

  A sudden surge of energy struck up against the chamber with such force that for a moment, Merral thought the charges had gone off. He saw the others reach out and brace themselves against furniture or walls.

  There was another blow, and the flooring cracked. Dust shot upward.

  “Get to the door!” Merral yelled. Another massive hammer blow struck; more dust was blasted upward from a black crack that grew wider as the floor tilted. As everyone moved to the door, more blows were thrown from below and an entire slab of rock began to heave upward.

  The noise was a fearsome, chattering roar now, and the entire Circle seemed to be vibrating, with great chips of rock flying upward and bouncing off the walls and ceiling. Merral took the timing switch from the engineer. “Sixty seconds,” the man mouthed, and Merral gestured them all out.

  “Once outside,” he shouted, “everyone stay together. There’ll be Krallen.”

  Merral saw he was alone. He picked up his gun, pressed the red switch on the igniter unit, and ran through the door.

  As he slammed the blast doors closed, he caught a glimpse of a gleaming array of metallic blades pushing through the splintering floor and spewing concrete and stone.

  Ahead, the six others were waiting for him in a darkness that was slashed every few seconds by sheets of flaming light. The night air was cold and full of the smell of dust and smoke, and the world seemed to echo with raging, pounding noises.

  Merral led the party up onto the summit plateau with all the speed he could. There he yelled for them to get down, and they threw themselves onto the cold mud.

  Without warning, the ground seemed to rise and shake like a breaking wave. Something punched Merral in the stomach, and from somewhere to his right, a column of white flame flashed upward. A ventilation shaft.

  A roar of noise, loud enough to be a physical force, seemed to grab him and shake him. The ground underneath sank in a cloud of murky dust that nearly suffocated him.

  Stupefied by the blast, Merral staggered to his feet. I must keep on. If Amethyst blows, we ought to be inside. And if it doesn’t, we definitely ought to be inside.

  He realized he was dazed, but part of being dazed seemed to be the feeling that it didn’t matter.

  He helped Anya to her feet and began urging on the rest with remote, distant words. DC looked winded, and the glaciologist had to give her support while she caught her breath. As the dust cleared Merral looked up to see the moon, serenely floating above. At its edge was a smear of red.

  “Look!” he shouted at Anya and pointed; after a moment it registered, and she nodded. He glanced up so that he could see the time on the datastrip along the upper edge of his helmet: 11:08:23. Ten minutes.

  They walked unsteadily on.

  Multiple flashes, almost stroboscopic in their effect, flickered about, and Merral saw in their fragmented light a pair of distorted bodies, covered in dusty blood, lying just before him.

  The dead are among us. Poor things.

  Without another glance, Merral continued on. I feel too numb to really grieve.

  Over the firing, the explosions, and the crackling of fires he realized he could now hear a new sound. A howling.

  Something chipped off a fragment of stone nearby. It hissed past his head and another fragment pinged against his armor, but Merral ignored both.

  Together they walked on between the gaunt, silent tubes of the deserted launchers, the smell of propellant still lingering around them. They crossed a messy, shallow double crater with smoldering Krallen fragments nearby, and then they were at the edge of the plateau.

  Through the foul-smelling smoke and the billowing dust, Merral looked down at the slender silver and black ribbon of the bridge, a vulnerable and disfigured strut over a chasm in whose depths orange fires raged. On either side, he could see—especially to his right—glimpses of the fiery, broken ground of the battlefield.

  In the strangely fluctuating lighting he could see that the bridge had been badly damaged. Soldiers were retreating back across it toward the small open door in the cliff on the far side.

  We have no time to lose.

  With stumbling steps Merral led his party down a broken stairway, past more destroyed Krallen, to the battered bridge. Below it was a dark gulf whose darkness was pierced by flames, while high above it sailed the silver disk of the full moon. The Blade has vanished behind the moon.

  Merral was aware of a howling close by, and fear penetrated the mournful numbness of his mind.

  “Go ahead. Quick!” he said and tugged and pushed the others in front of him. They began to run onto the damaged bridge. As it began to shake underfoot, he could make out, on the far side, the welcoming golden light of the doorway.

  As the party reached the first pair of support towers, he saw a large figure step out of the shadows, bearing weapons in both hands. Lloyd.

  Sergeant,” Merral cried, “good to see you.” Merral saw Lloyd raising his gun at something behind him. With a dread sense of inevitability, Merral turned around.

  Approaching him was a tall figure clad in dull gray armor. He was followed by at least two packs of Krallen that advanced with ordered menace.

  “D’Avanos!” Lezaroth boomed.

  What do I do?

  “Come on, Merral!” Anya tugged at his arm. He looked at her, seeing her face pale and fragile in the moonlight, and was seized with a dreadful pang of loss for all that might have been.

  “No, Anya!” Merral said. “You run.”

  In an agonized moment of hesitation, he could see on her face fear and resolve battling it out. “I have to fight.”

  The manic, ugly light of an explosion flickered about them. “No! It’s an order. Lloyd and I will hold the bridge. There’s nothing you can do. Run.”

  Suddenly the Krallen began bounding past Lezaroth.

  “Run!”

  Even as Merral’s finger found the trigger, he knew Anya was fleeing.

  He fired round after round, aiming for the gaping mouths and glowing crimson eyes. He was aware of Lloyd standing at his shoulder firing continuously. The sounds and the flashes were devastating. Some of the Krallen spun and tumbled down, but when they did, there were always more to leap over them.

  Merral had expected them to attack him or Lloyd. To his surprise, they raced round them to form a tight circle whose circumference was the edge of the bridge.

  He felt his gun vibrate a warning, and a round later, it was empty. Merral reached for his sword and glimpsed a grim-faced Lloyd doing the same.

  Then ahead of him the Krallen parted, and Lezaroth, his visor open, strode through. His right hand bore a weapon, and he raised it and fired.

  Merral heard Lloyd grunt and stagger away. He tottered toward
the line of the Krallen, then fell heavily among them. The two nearest creatures bent their muzzles down near him.

  Lezaroth snapped his fingers. “You can play with him later.” The Krallen turned their glaring red eyes to Merral.

  As his opponent walked slowly toward him, Merral lowered his sword. Lezaroth stopped an arm’s length away. The angle of the moon was such that his face was hidden in deep shadow.

  “I am here to kill you,” Lezaroth said without emotion. He raised the gun.

  Vero was alone in the darkness—a darkness that was not that of the room in the tower but of space itself. In the infinite night that enveloped him, pinpoints of light shone and swung about him. He recognized them as stars.

  He heard a strange chattering all around.

  Vero forced himself to focus on the Blade of Night. It must be here somewhere.

  Then he remembered it wasn’t the place he sought; it was the person.

  “I call on the lord-emperor Nezhuala,” he cried aloud.

  At his cry, the voices fell silent.

  In the darkness, a figure made of shadows seemed to approach him with slow, powerful steps.

  “Who are you?” the figure asked in a voice so powerful that it seemed to make the stars tremble. “Why do you trouble the most high over men amid the field of stars? Why do you pester me at my hour of triumph?”

  Now. Deliver the message; don’t stammer. “I am Merral D’Avanos, the great adversary borne here out of time and legend and summoned to slay you. Just as Lucas Ringell slew your forerunner.”

  Vero sensed a flicker of some deep emotion. Fear, perhaps? Or is that my wishful thinking? He spoke again. “I wish to challenge you. In the name of the Most High.”

  “Here? This way? In this place?” There was mystification in the voice, and doubt seeped into Vero’s mind.

  Have I got this wrong? But he pushed the thought away. I cannot afford to think of anything except that I am the one he fears. I must challenge him.

  Vero sensed a deep prodding and probing of his mind.