Dark Foundations

by Chris Walley

  “And you checked the ejection mechanism?”

  “It’s on my to-do list, Vero.”

  “The Lanea will backtrack to pick you up.”

  “I know, as long as there is no risk from debris.”

  A silence descended between them that was so intense it seemed solid. She touched Vero’s cheek. “Your face is getting lined.”

  “I need a holiday,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

  “Anywhere in mind?”

  “Earth. With you.”

  “That’s not . . . a scheduled flight.” Her eyes felt moist. “Hold me, Vero.”

  He held her. “God be with you,” he said, his words barely intelligible.

  “And with you,” she replied. “Now let me go.” Have I ever said a harder thing? “I have to fly.”

  As he turned and walked away into the darkness she could see his shoulders shaking.

  Ten minutes later Perena walked carefully along the cramped walkway of the systems access tunnel of the Arrow. The air was dry, full of the lifeless, charged smell of electronics and wiring. She knew exactly where among the bewildering array of boxes and cables she had to go.

  Knowledge is not the problem—obedience is.

  She found the first circuit she wanted. It was clearly marked Guardian Transponder and was sealed. Breaking the seal, she ignored most of the switches, and slid a keyboard out. She scrolled past screens of warnings until she reached a single code of letters and numbers, then paused for a second before deleting it.

  What to replace it with? She smiled, surprised at how calm she felt. This will do for them to repeat. She typed The Lamb Will Triumph, checked various switches, and then closed the unit.

  Just one more adjustment to make. But when she found the box, her hand trembled as she touched it. Do I need to? She countered her doubt. It is the safest way. Success cannot be guaranteed anyway, but this way gives the highest chance. I cannot afford the temptation.

  She slid open the lid and stared at the single switch and the solemn red writing above it. A single flick of my fingers does it. I must do it.

  But she didn’t.

  Many things came to mind. Sunlight on leaves, children’s voices, food, Vero’s face. Her fingers quivered and her eyes misted over.

  Suddenly, she was aware of someone else in the tunnel. She heard the sound of feet, slow, heavy, and measured on the walkway. She turned to see a dark figure blocking out the light. “Is it you?”

  “Captain.” The voice didn’t seem to belong to the echoing access tunnel. There was a bow of the head and a hat was swept off.

  “You are the one I met before in Engineering?”

  Silhouetted against the light as the figure was, it was hard to see any details of the face. Yet she felt sure a smile was there. “Yes.”

  “Then I owe you thanks. We all do.”

  “I was sent.”

  “Do you have a name, sir?”

  “Yes, but it’s not for you to know. Not now.”

  “I understand. Why are you here?”

  “To encourage you to strike the blow.”

  She followed his gaze to the switch. “Is there no other way?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think the safest way is to remove the temptation.”

  “I agree.”

  “This plan of ours: will it work?”

  “That I cannot promise.”

  “I suppose not. It’s not easy. Do you know that?”

  “Yes.” Was there unsteadiness in the odd voice? “Our Master found it hard.”

  “I have a question, sir. Will I be allowed to see you on . . . the other side?”

  There was a strange, light laugh. “You will have better things to see. I am concerned whether I will be allowed to see you.” As if struck by a thought, the figure stiffened. “I now realize that one of the problems my kind face in being immortal is that there is a limit to how much you can show your love.”

  “I had never thought of that. Do you envy me?”

  “In this area, I do.” There was a taut salute. “Have a good journey, Lady Perena.”

  Before she could say anything more, he had gone. She turned to the switch and flicked it down hard to the off position, then slid the lid closed.

  She stared one last time at the words: Ejection Unit Firing System.

  “It had to be done,” she said as she made her way to the cabin.

  Later that morning, Merral woke feeling strangely refreshed. The news from the subdued staff of the war room was not in the slightest bit encouraging, however.

  During the night, a dozen more vessels had landed at five separate sites on Farholme and offloaded large forces totaling an estimated hundred thousand Krallen. Merral gazed at the map on the wallscreen with dread.

  One landing was at the Camolgi Hills northeast of Isterrane, twenty kilometers east of Halmacent. The others were to the west: at Langerstrand, near Kammart, Maraplant, and Stepalis. The disposition of the landing sites meant that most of the main cities of Menaya had Krallen concentrations within a few hundred kilometers. The only tiny fragment of comfort he found was that the enemy forces showed no inclination to move beyond the landing zones. Merral, tempted to despair, clung to the hope the envoy had offered.

  In the middle of the morning, Merral, accompanied by Lloyd, and Corradon flew to Langerstrand in a small scout craft crewed only by a pilot and technician.

  The representative, who carried a thin metal case that Merral presumed contained the key to the Library, was clearly distressed and said little on the brief flight. A tired, gloomy figure, he simply stared out of the window, his fingers playing restlessly with the case.

  High above them the crew of the Triumph of Sarata had detected the unauthorized flight of the Arrow. Amid flashing action station lights Lucretor Hanax issued a rapid succession of crisp, clear orders from his position at the command console.

  “Navs, plot an intercept for that ship to overtake it from the stern. And turn to put us on a pursuit course. Comms, record and analyze every signal from that ship. Get Deltathree on that. I want to know if there is a human pilot. Engineering, prepare the main engines for fast pursuit. All crew, wait for my command.”

  Hanax felt the ship start to swing around and saw the stars slide across the windows. He tapped buttons.

  For the first time in months I feel alive. He felt a pleasure bordering on joy. This is what I was trained for. He touched the tiny charm around his wrist that the ship’s priest had given him. He told me my luck would turn. He promised me my moment of destiny would come.

  “Intells, get me any data on that ship. Put it on screen.” He turned to the weapons officer, who was settling himself on the adjacent couch. “Wepps, I intend to overhaul that ship and capture it with tethercraft.”

  Wepps stared at him, his eyes cold. “Why not just fry it, sir? The laser cannon will do that without us moving. Be safer.”

  “Because that ship is doing something odd. It looks like it’s heading behind this blasted planet. And I think we need to intercept and board it. We will learn more.”

  “I’m wary, sir.”

  You’d never say that to Lezaroth. “Wepps, I think it is the lord-emperor’s will that we do this.” Try going against that!

  Something close to a sigh came from Wepps. “As you say, sir.”

  Hanax called the priest and asked him to give him an augury. Are the omens good? I need to know.

  He had only just ended that call when he heard Comms speaking in his ear. “Sir, we’re picking up something. This pilot is sending out signals into the Nether-Realms. It could be a summons for a vessel to surface.”

  I’m right! There is something going on. And there is only one vessel it can be seeking. “Can you get me an ID on the vessel it’s calling?”

  “Just checking the code library right now, sir. Here we are. The Rahllman’s Star—a freighter.”

  “Good, very good.” Aha! Just what I suspected.

  He leaned t
oward the weapons officer. “Wepps, it’s after the Rahllman’s Star. Somehow they have the codes. We must intercept it.”

  “Very well, sir. But, if I may make a suggestion, you might want to call the fleet-commander.”

  “Thank you for that thought, Wepps.” Hanax struggled to keep his words polite. “But let me make three points. One, I am authorized to make these decisions. Two, I am capable of making them. And three, the fleet-commander is very busy right now.” And fourth, I’d let the powers tear me to shreds before I let him take the credit for this.

  The weapons officer shrugged.

  Hanax tapped a button. “Engineering, engage. We’re going to chase a little bird.”

  As Merral flew into Langerstrand, there was no mistaking the presence of the Krallen. They were drawn up in vast parallel ranks at the end of the runway and looked utterly immobile, like lines of metal statues. Merral stared at them, struck by the realization that there came a point at which things got so bad no further news could make them any worse.

  His eye was soon drawn to the structure at the edge of the liaison center. The stark, windowless tower was at least ten stories high and was made from overlapping sheets of a dully gleaming dark gray alloy wound over each other as if the structure had grown rather than been made. It was a grotesque construction, brutally ugly, and reminded Merral of a severed tree trunk.

  Yet Merral felt there was more to it than sheer ugliness. Even in his gloom and despair, he sensed something about the tower, that upset him as if its very presence cast a shadow over the mind.

  His thoughts turned to Isabella, presumably confined somewhere in the complex around the tower, and a pang of guilt struck him. I should have warned her. She might not have listened, but I should have said something. But there were other matters to think about and he pushed the guilt to one side.

  Lloyd asked for permission to stay on the flier and Merral agreed. He followed Corradon onto the runway.

  Suddenly, at the foot of the steps, the representative stopped. “Merral,” he said, his face waxy, “before we meet these people, I want to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For being the wrong man in the wrong place. For being weak. For trusting these . . . monsters.”

  “I accept your apology. Of course.”

  “That . . . means a lot to me. Thank you.”

  By the entrance to the complex a man beckoned them over.

  “Anyway,” Corradon said, his voice glum, “I shall retire this afternoon. However it goes. The job needs someone else.”

  They were led into the liaison center, down a long, silent, and echoing corridor and into a high, dark-walled, and windowless room with a black oblong table in the center.

  On the far side of the table were seated three people: Hazderzal, Tinternli, and in between them, and clearly the dominant figure, Fleet-Commander Lezaroth.

  Instantly, Merral felt Lezaroth’s gaze, a hard piercing scrutiny that seemed to have an almost physical weight to it. Refusing to be intimidated, Merral returned the stare. There’s a power in this man, and it is bent to evil and cruelty. He wondered what emotions lay behind the expressionless face. I sense only hate and curiosity.

  Then the scrutiny was over. There was no greeting. Merral and Corradon were curtly gestured to seats opposite. As Merral seated himself, he looked around. It was a room he had never been in. To his left, the end wall was taken up by a vast blank screen stretching to the ceiling. The right-hand wall was different and had an odd pearly sheen to it as if it was semitransparent. As he looked at the wall, there was something about it that troubled him, almost as if when he glanced at it, his brain tingled. It is at the foot of the new tower. He wondered what lay behind it.

  He gazed at the ambassadors. Somehow they had changed. They now seemed lesser people. It was as if their power had leaked from them. Yet he saw too that he was now able to see them for what they were—liars, schemers, and manipulators.

  Hazderzal returned his gaze for a moment, and then looked away. Tinternli gave him a hollow, almost embarrassed smile as if to say, “Yes, it was all a facade, wasn’t it?”

  How could we have ever been taken in by these creatures?

  But Lezaroth’s voice ended his thoughts. “Let us begin,” he said in a rough, frosty tone. “You know our requests. We want the treaty signed and the key to the Library and the Admin-Net.”

  Corradon stared at them, his Adam’s apple wobbling. He paused, then said, “First of all, we protest at the utter barbarism of what you did at Tantaravekat yesterday.”

  Both ambassadors gave slow, cold smiles that were almost leers, but Lezaroth’s face showed no emotion.

  “Representative, Commander,” Lezaroth said in his accented rasp, “you misunderstand this meeting. You are not here to blame us, but to deal with us. And you must have a sense of perspective. Events are unfolding that are so significant the lives of these few people in this obscure village count as nothing.” There was a flicker of some emotion on the face. “Now is the moment in which the Dominion comes out of the shadows. Our inevitable triumph over the Assembly starts at Farholme. Here, our lord-emperor will start to extend those powers that will eventually take over all the realms of men.”

  “But it was an outrage!” Corradon said, half rising out of his seat, his face flushed with anger.

  Lezaroth gave the merest lift of an eyebrow. “Sit down! Tantaravekat is now history. And when we take control of the Assembly it will not even be that. Now, to business.”

  Hanax adjusted the command console seat one more time. He couldn’t quite get it as perfectly fitting as he would like. But it didn’t matter; there would be time. He smiled. I am in charge at last!

  He glanced around. The bridge was full and everyone was at his post. Next to him the weapons officer was fully strapped in, his fingers flicking through weapons options with practiced ease.

  Hanax checked the screen. The target was just two thousand kilometers away; she would soon be on scope.

  A message came in. “Navs here. Target changing course. Heading toward Farholme. Do we follow?”

  What’s she doing? It has to be a she; all their pilots are female. He felt a spasm of contempt. It about sums them up. Hanax ran through his tactics lessons until the obvious answer came to him. So that’s what she’s up to. He snapped an order: “Follow her!”

  The weapons officer looked his way, frowning.

  “Relax, Wepps. It’s okay,” Hanax said quickly. “I recognize the maneuver. This woman knows we are in pursuit. She’ll try to pull a tight orbit round the planet—tighter than we can manage—to slow us down.”

  “Maybe. But sir, I don’t like it.”

  “Trust me, Wepps. It’s in the book. We will intercept her long before she can do it. Have the tethercraft ready to launch. We will keep at least twenty klicks away in case she’s carrying a bomb. And get the boarding party suited and ready. I want the crew and any passengers alive. . . . Not long now.”

  The tattooed face of the priest appeared on the screen. “As you asked, Captain, I have consulted the omens. They are very good.” He tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide in the way that priests did when they were quoting the powers. His sharpened teeth glinted. “Listen: ‘Today is a day when the tables are turned. Today is a day when weakness defeats power. Today is a day when the proud and the brutal are humbled.’” His mouth closed and a knowing smirk appeared on his face. “Captain, I think you can interpret that.”

  “Thank you,” said Hanax, feeling a smile appear on his lips. “Thank you very much.” He felt a surge of delicious pleasure. Lezaroth, you are about to get a taste of justice.

  At Langerstrand, Lezaroth made a gesture and the screen on the wall came alive with a map of Farholme on which five red blobs glowed brightly. He chose his words carefully. “Let me remind you of the situation. Our forces are being deployed and can be ordered into action at any time. We need your cooperation.”

  Corradon clenched his fist and leaned for
ward. “No! There are issues that we must resolve before we can deal with you.”

  “The matter of the hostages, for a start,” D’Avanos added.

  You fools! I’ll—

  He stopped, suddenly aware that someone was talking to him through his bio-augment systems.

  “Cap’n, do you read me?” It was a poor signal but he recognized the weapons officer’s voice.

  “A moment,” he said, then rose and walked through the door behind his seat into a corridor. “Wepps?” he snapped. “By the powers, this better be serious!”

  There was the inevitable short time delay before the answer. “Sir, it is. I’m on the bridge—that’s why I can’t say too much. Hanax has got us in hot pursuit of a Farholme ship. It seems to be going after this Rahllman’s Star. Hanax wants to capture it.”

  Fury flooded Lezaroth’s mind. I am away for a few hours and this happens! But caution rapidly replaced the fury. I need more information. “What’s your specific concern?”

  “Cap’n, I think it’s a trap.”

  Lezaroth deliberated. Wepps was a reliable man with years of experience and his intuition wasn’t to be ignored. I ought to call Hanax and order him back. A new and attractive thought came to him. If I let Hanax continue for a little longer, it might allow me to charge him with recklessly endangering a ship, or even negligence. And either charge would finish the rat’s career. Another idea came to him. If it really is a trap, D’Avanos will know.

  “Wepps, for the moment, just watch. Alert me if there is any specific peril. I’ll do some checking here. And make sure there is a record of what happens. I may need it. I think this could be Hanax’s last flight.”

  “Yes, Cap’n.”

  Lezaroth gave some orders to the staff at Langerstrand and walked back into the chamber. It was time, at long last, to use the baziliarch.

  In Lezaroth’s absence there was only silence. Merral wondered what had happened. A faint hope began to rise in his mind that something had come up, but he squashed it. Hope seemed impossible.

  When Lezaroth returned, the expression on his face was quite unreadable. He made no apology or comment, but instead sat down and gestured with a finger.