Dark Foundations

by Chris Walley

  Just as he was about to order their departure, a tawny cat crept from under an overturned table and began to run across the square. Almost faster than the eye could follow, two Krallen leaped from a roof with surprising agility, and chased after the cat with effortless speed. One overtook it. The other came up behind.

  The cat skidded to a halt, spun round in the dust, arched its back, and hissed loudly.

  Merral looked away as the hiss was cut short by a soft, wet sound.

  Lloyd gave a savage cry.

  Merral struggled to avoid tears. “Okay, men. Let’s go,” he ordered and, without looking back, they left the village.

  In ten minutes they were flying south, landing forty kilometers away on a ridge of tumbled rocks in the shelter of a high lava cliff.

  The subdued and silent soldiers took up positions on the crest of the ridge and gazed with pale faces north across the shimmering plain of salt pans and sand fields to the hazy dot on the skyline that was Tantaravekat.

  As they waited, Merral found himself glancing up as if in the silver sky he could see the Triumph of Sarata maneuvering into place.

  At 1300 hours precisely, a flash of gray-silver light scythed down through the sky and struck the village. Angry ragged sheets of black smoke with fiery edges burst upward and outward, coalescing into a growing mass of turbulent cloud that seemed to soar toward the stratosphere.

  Merral heard gasps around him as the ghastly billows raced over the plain toward them.

  Over a minute later, they heard a long, drawn-out bass rumble that shook the air and the ground. Another minute or so and the dust-laden edge of the dark cloud was whipping and tearing at their faces.

  As they flew back to Isterrane, Merral realized that beyond all the numbing and visceral horror of the day lay a terrible reality: they were completely defenseless before the Dominion.

  Isterrane Airport was frantically busy and Merral was not surprised to find that they were diverted to a side runway. He found Vero waiting for him at the foot of the steps and was struck by how drained and vulnerable his friend seemed.

  Vero drew him aside to a patch of shade by a corner of the hangar and listened solemn-faced as Merral tried to express something of the horror of the morning.

  “And, Vero,” Merral said at last, struggling to find the right words, “I’m sorry to say that there was no trace that the defenses did any good.”

  “I know.” Vero looked over his dark glasses and Merral could sense the pain in his friend’s eyes. “T-they were too few. The latest weapons haven’t got through. They were overwhelmed.”

  “But how can we resist? It’s not just the Krallen—that weapon . . . what was it?”

  “T-they launched a five-ton rod of t-tungsten from the ship. It hit at around twenty kilometers a second. ‘Think of it as a directed meteorite,’ Gerry says.”

  “The Krallen plus this Triumph of Sarata are an overwhelming threat.”

  There was a pause. “Yes. We agree. A-and as a result, a decision has been made. W-we have a strategy, and we need your cooperation.”

  “Vero, after what I’ve seen today, you have it.”

  “Thank you.” A bulky transporter landed nearby and Vero turned to watch it before looking at Merral. “Look, it’s a risk, but I’m going to take the chance that, for whatever reason, the Dominion can’t or won’t in fact read our thoughts. Or, at least, not here. And I need your approval.”

  “So, you’ve changed your mind?”

  Vero’s face was pinched. “L-let’s just say, I’ve modified it. Anyway, we have worked out a plan with Azeras. He, Perena, and a small crew will try to seize the Rahllman’s Star. They will go to the point where it is hidden, summon it out of Below-Space so it will be already moving as they get near, and then dock and enter it. Then, as fast as they can, they will head to the Assembly.” Vero stared at his feet for a moment. “The hope is that the Triumph will give chase and leave the system. If Perena and Azeras can escape, then it would give the Assembly a vital weapon.”

  “That would be true even if the Triumph stayed and didn’t chase them. But can it be done?”

  “It’s tight, v-very tight. But it might well work.”

  “Vero, it sounds very risky. And it might not save Farholme.”

  “No. But do you a-approve? I need to have your approval.”

  “Yes. We have no choice. Not now. I guessed Perena was planning something drastic. She’s a chess player.”

  “Yes. That’s the thing. Chess.”

  “So what do I need to do?”

  “Spoken like a true soldier. Now listen, when you meet Corradon, he will want to surrender. Clemant won’t argue against it. Don’t disagree, but ask that a meeting be held at Langerstrand to discuss surrender terms—perhaps with this Lezaroth personally. You want the best deal, guarantees—that sort of thing. Tomorrow morning. Try for a late-morning meeting, say eleven. And at the meeting, try and keep them occupied.” Vero stared over his glasses at Merral. “That’s the t-task. Keep them occupied. D-distract them. They have to focus on you. Got it?”

  “Yes. Distract them.”

  “Good. Now, I have business here at the airport. We have a lot of equipment ready to be delivered when the time is right and not before. I’ll be in touch.”

  Vero hesitated, then touched Merral’s shoulder lightly. “Keep going, my friend. And have faith.” He walked away quickly without looking back.

  Rather than take a rotorcraft, Merral chose to be driven through Isterrane to the Planetary Administration building to get a sense of what was happening.

  It took some skilled and aggressive driving by Lloyd to get them through. Most of the minor roads were blocked by the new ditch and rampart systems and with fortified gates being built across the main roads, there was a further delay.

  Merral saw irregulars openly on the streets in twos and threes, wearing their pale brown jerkins and berets and carrying XQ rifles or cutter guns over their shoulders. Regulars were rarer, but Merral glimpsed some green-uniformed soldiers overseeing the creation of a defensive emplacement.

  The direction signs to the refuges were flashing and supply trucks were being unloaded at the entrances. In places, metal grilles were being screwed in over ground-floor windows.

  Isterrane felt utterly different. There was a mood of urgency, anxiety, and—deep below it—fear. No one laughed or sang. The few children Merral saw had their hands held by adults.

  And they don’t know about Tantaravekat yet. The dreadful scenes from there seemed to superimpose themselves onto the city about him. He shuddered.

  Clemant, his face so bloodless that he looked like some sort of puppet, met Merral outside Corradon’s office and veered him away from the door.

  “The representative has taken the news very badly,” he said, his voice a near whisper. “He was tempted to make a unilateral decision to open the Library. I pointed out that this would have been most unwise, unconstitutional, even illegal. I didn’t want to use the police on him.”

  Merral nodded.

  “I gather the defenses at Tantaravekat failed?” Clemant’s dark eyes also seemed to ask questions.

  “Yes. As far as we can tell.” There is no point in repeating Vero’s excuses.

  “I saw the imagery of the blast from the Triumph. It looked . . . overwhelming.” The advisor’s fingers intertwined with a nervous energy.

  “It was.”

  “Commander,” Clemant said, his voice filled with a quiet, almost quivering intensity, “unless you know better, I consider that we are completely vulnerable.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know better.”

  “Professor Habbentz has ideas—oh, plenty of ideas—but nothing to hand. And it seems that our friend Mr. V. has not delivered either.” There was a deep and bitter sarcasm in his tone.

  What an ironic tragedy that at a time when we have a legitimate focus for anger it’s turned against our friends. Another triumph of sin and evil.

  “I’m sorry,” Merral
replied. “I had hoped for deliverance, but none has come.” He looked at Clemant, hoping for some hint of mercy or sympathy in his eyes, but found none.

  “It’s not just you. But we have no weapons. No defenses. Nothing.” His tone revealed a deep frustration. “And the rumor of what has happened at Tantaravekat is spreading. The people are becoming scared. There are rumors of panic.” A muscle in his face twitched.

  Merral, who had given little thought to the implications of the public mood, suddenly saw that the threat of panic was another potent pressure on the leadership. No wonder Clemant is worried.

  “Shall we go and see the representative?” Merral asked, suddenly tired of secret meetings.

  “As you wish. But I think you’re wasting your time talking about defense. We’re beyond that now.”

  “I think we are.”

  They found the representative seated in his chair, leaning over the table. His head was in his hands.

  A broken man.

  On the table in front of him was a large printout of the latest imagery of the steel gray sprawling mass of the Triumph of Sarata with labels pasted on it.

  As Corradon looked up at Merral, his face seemed tired and his eyes bloodshot.

  “So, Commander,” he said and Merral heard raggedness in the once smooth voice, “let this meeting be brief. We have no defenses. We are utterly exposed.”

  He gestured to the image and Merral read the words on the labels. Anti-missile systems? . . . Krallen landers? . . . Kinetic energy projectile magazines? . . . High-power broad spectrum lasers? With each phrase, his heart sank lower.

  “It seems to me, Commander, that all we can do is yield.”

  “Sir, you are in charge. If that’s what you want to do, I won’t object.”

  An expression of relief flooded across Corradon’s face. “I was afraid you wanted some sort of last-ditch stand.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not cowardice, you know.” The words were almost feverishly rapid. “It’s the lives. We are utterly outmatched.”

  Merral looked at the image again. “I know. But I think we should seek the best terms. I would like to have a meeting tomorrow with Lezaroth and the ambassadors at Langerstrand. You and me, sir, and the three of them. I will ask for guarantees.”

  There was an exchange of glances between Corradon and Clemant.

  “The best terms,” Corradon said. “Yes, why not? They can hardly object.”

  “Well, Under-Captain, looks like it’s all over,” Lezaroth said as he finished listening to the message from Corradon.

  Hanax, who had been watching the launching of more Krallen deployment pods, turned to him, a sullen disappointment evident in his eyes. “Have they surrendered?”

  “Effectively. There is a meeting tomorrow. All being well, the Library will be in our hands by evening. Then there will be a few loose ends to tie up.”

  “Somehow I was expecting more of a fight.”

  “Afraid not, Under-Captain. They are realists after all. So no medals for you this time.”

  “There’ll be another time,” Hanax said with a thin and clearly fabricated smile. A few minutes later he left the bridge.

  He’s gone off to sulk, no doubt. Lezaroth considered whether he ought to attend the meeting. I can hardly trust the ambassadors. It will be entertaining to humiliate them. Besides, it will be intriguing to see this D’Avanos in the flesh. I will seize him there and then. I wonder how he will take being told that he is to be hauled off to Nezhuala as an exhibit.

  He paused for a moment, struck by the peculiarity that if D’Avanos was the great adversary he had done nothing to merit the title. Not so far, apparently. Yet there had been oddities that deserved investigation. The chief of these was, of course, the way that a pack of Krallen had gone missing. The excuses offered by Hazderzal and Tinternli were utterly pathetic. I need to know what happened there.

  A sudden thought came to mind. With the new dwelling tower finished, the baziliarch is out of its casing and no longer dormant. I can utilize him to tap D’Avanos’s mind and find out what really happened. The practicalities were straightforward. He would meet D’Avanos and the pathetic Corradon in a room next to the baziliarch’s chamber, have the intermediary nearby, and get the results fed directly into his bio-augment circuits.

  Just then Hanax returned.

  “Oh, Under-Captain,” Lezaroth said, “I’m going down to the surrender meeting tomorrow. So you’ll be running all this for, oh, at least a dozen hours. Feel up to it?”

  “As it happens, yes, sir.” There was no mistaking the brooding anger in Hanax’s words. “Both the pilotage board and the lord-emperor seemed to think I’m capable.”

  “Very good. Well, now that the mission is winding down, I may let you have more chances to prove it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The words came out from between tightened lips.

  “Very well. She’ll be all yours. Call me if there are decisions you need help with.” He felt himself smile. “Just don’t scratch her paint.”

  That night, when Merral lay down in the annex to the war room he found that, despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the terrible images of the men, women, and children of Tantaravekat flooded back into his mind. When he tried to shift from thinking about them, the idea that the three-quarters-of-a-million-ton monstrosity that was the Triumph of Sarata hung overhead, ready to destroy everything, brought no comfort.

  Suddenly, just after midnight, he was aware of a figure—darkness made tangible—seated in the corner of the room.

  “You!” he said, sitting up on his mattress.

  “Commander.” Was there a bow of the head? “I have come on the eve of the war. The storm is about to break.”

  Merral sensed something different about the envoy. There seemed to be a new solidity to him, a power that there hadn’t been before. He is a soldier too.

  “I am glad to see you. We have had terrible losses.”

  “I was there. I saw what happened.”

  “And you didn’t do anything?”

  The envoy seemed to sigh. “That is not a new complaint. But you must remember that the King has already acted by taking flesh, bearing evil, and defeating it. Had he not, events such as Tantaravekat would be daily occurrences. Indeed, they once were. And you must remember too his promise that, one day, he will return and such evils will be no more.”

  “May that day come soon.”

  “That is a wise and ancient prayer. Now, though, I am sent to bring you both encouragement and warning. First, I can confirm that although those you face seem mighty, they are weakened. Like all the servants of the enemy in every time and place, fear eats away at them. Among other things they are troubled by the idea that the one whom their prophecies warn them against may be present. That fear has become focused on you. They have learned that you bear a token from their last defeat and they have heard rumors that you walked unscathed through the ship at Fallambet.”

  “I find that unfortunate.”

  “On the contrary, as it did before, it will blind them to other threats. And they have other failings. Pride and malice have weakened them and they have sought the advice of demons. There they will find, as was known of old, that such counsel betrays them in deepest consequence.”

  Merral sensed strange eyes searching his. “But if I bring you encouragement, I also bring a warning. In all you do, watch yourself, and do not take for granted the mercy of the Most High. Specifically, I charge you not to stray far from Isterrane. Evil is at work in your world’s capital and you must be present to combat it.”

  “In Isterrane? Very well. But where will you be?”

  “Commander, such battles are fought on more than one plane. Not all war is visible to your eyes. As you know, there are rules. If your enemy breaks those rules—and you may assume he will—then I am authorized to come to your aid. But not until then. Now I must go.”

  “Wait . . . the ship—this Triumph—can you destroy
it?”

  “Of course. The prebendant is right about that. In a moment. And were it the right thing to do, I would take great delight in doing that very thing. But I cannot stray outside the King’s desire. It is the Father’s will that his children fight their own battles. Yet the promise I passed on to you of ‘a way of defense’ has not been forgotten. But remember, it comes at a price.”

  There was pause in which Merral could hear only the sound of his own breathing.

  “Now as a blessing, I grant you sleep and the best of dreams. You will need all the strength you have tomorrow.”

  The envoy rose from the chair and raised a gloved hand. A tiredness like a vast wave descended on Merral. His eyes closed and sleep surged over him with an irresistible force.

  A little after one o’clock in the morning, Perena Lewitz arrived at the airport and headed to the Lanea Willats. The spotlights seemed to exaggerate the vast bloated shape of the Q-series freighter.

  Many people could be seen all around the vessel, refueling, testing, and loading cargo.

  So much activity and it all depends on me doing what I have to do right.

  A slight figure sitting on the steps of a spare access gantry rose and walked over with hasty, nervous steps.

  “Vero,” she said, her voice heavy. I wish he wasn’t here. . . . Yet I’m glad he’s here.

  “I had to come.”

  “Just don’t make me change my mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Over here,” she said and led him to where they were out of earshot of the others.

  “Your ship looks tiny,” he said and she followed his gesture, seeing the black cylinder slung inside the long and voluminous belly hold of the Lanea Willats.

  “It’s called the Arrow. It’s fast and agile and it’s the sort of thing you might use to access the Rahllman’s Star in a hurry. The Lanea will pass within five thousand kilometers of the Triumph and I’ll be launched at that point. Then I’ll head toward Farholme broadcasting the fake summoning codes that Azeras has given us.”

  I sound so matter-of-fact. We both do. But if we did not, we might both burst into tears.