Infinite Day (54 page)

The man looked up at him with insolence. “Fleet-Commander, this is Support Services, not military. This isn't the front line.”

Lezaroth leaned forward. “
Really?
”

The man paled. “Very well.” His fingers played over the screen.

Lezaroth peered past him at the list. Although the names were largely unfamiliar, one stuck out. “Third down:
Twisted Spear
. Three thousand kilometers away. Is Lord Karlazat-Damanaz still captain?” He remembered the stiff-backed, stubborn figure, twenty years his senior, from when they had fought together at the cleansing of Alana
.
KD—as he is never known to his face—isn't the easiest man to manipulate. But at least I am superior in both military rank and nobility.

“
Yes. That's public knowledge.”

“Get him online for me.”

The response was a hard frown. “Fleet-Commander, I can't do that. I have my orders. There are channels I have to go through.”

Aware that everybody was observing the battle of wills, Lezaroth leaned farther over the desk so that his face was just centimeters away from that of the lieutenant.

“Get me that man. This is a crisis.” He stamped every word with insistency.

The answer was defiant. “I have my orders. This is a support services center.”

In the brief pause that followed, Lezaroth decided to take drastic action. Feigning defeat, he stood upright, shrugged, and said, “As you wish.”

Then, in an instant, Lezaroth pulled out his gun, pointed it in the man's face, and without hesitating, pulled the trigger.

There was a loud report, an eruption of blood, and the lieutenant tumbled off the chair and crashed heavily to the ground.

Lezaroth turned to the white faces that stared wildly at him. “The recently deceased lieutenant was wrong; this
is
the front line. Now listen. You,
Ensign
, get me the lord-emperor.”

The face paled with terror. “He's about to make an address. He's not easy to get. It's—” The words rattled out.

“Shut up or I will have
you
dropped down the Blade
.
” He saw the man's hands shake. “Tell him it's
me
. Tell him it's vital.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked beyond the comms desk. “
You!
You're docking officer, aren't you?”

The officer gave a frightened nod.

“Freeze the release bolts on the
Sacrifice
. And try to see what onboard systems you can access. Quietly. I want to take control. Can you do it?”

There was another terrified nod.

“Good. The rest of you, back to work.”

How can I get KD to obey me? Everyone has a weakness you can use; what's his?
Then it came to him. KD was a lesser earl from Brazatar, where the noble houses were in permanent crisis.
His cherished rank is vulnerable
.

Lezaroth walked round to the back of the desk, pulled the still-bleeding corpse away, wiped his bloodied hands on the man's jacket sleeve, and set to work on the communications. Within a few seconds he had connected to the
Twisted Spear,
and he switched to his neuro-augments.

“Captain the Earl of Karlazat-Damanaz; this is Fleet-Commander the Margrave Lezaroth with an urgent call from the Blade of Night.”

“Margrave?” In his head, he heard KD's voice with its very formal tones. “A privilege to hear from you—I thought you were still out in the—”

“Well, I'm back,” Lezaroth interrupted. “Now, Captain, there's an issue here. The lord-emperor—on whom be peace—has an urgent task for a reliable man. A task that cannot be trusted to someone inferior.”

“Well, Margrave, I'm supposed to be training a young man here. But if it's urgent and for His Highness . . .”

“It's both. His favor has alighted on you as a man of honor and breeding. Someone he can trust in a crisis.”

“As a loyal member of both aristocracy and fleet, I am happy to oblige.” The voice was a smooth purr.
Thank the powers.

“Good. Now, fire your engines up. We want you here at the Blade as fast as you can. There is a new destroyer docked here—the
Sacrifice of Blood.
I want you covering it closely so it can't leave. Have tethercraft link to it. Have your weapons systems warmed up and a boarding party ready.”

“Margrave, is this real or an exercise?” The tone was concerned.

“Very real.”

“And if it tries to leave?” The concern was deeper.

“Blast it to bits.”

“Margrave, I'm not very happy about that. Not without a formal command.”

“I will try to get you one, but it may be retroactive. Remember, Captain, there are favors being granted soon. New territories being added to the Dominion. I can't say any more.”

“Very well. But I'd prefer a formal command. It's the trainee. Got to do things by the book.”

“This is a crisis. As for your trainee, this is your chance to show him you are not just a title. Show him style and initiative, a touch of class. How quickly can you be here?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes if we pull high-G.”

“Do it, please. The lord-emperor will hear of your reaction.”

“I am honored to serve. I am issuing the orders now.”

“Well done. Don't let the trainee bother you. Let him see how smoothly an earl handles a crisis.” Lezaroth decided to tighten the screw one more turn. “Remember, it's a matter of honor.”

“Margrave, you are so right. Honor's the thing.”

Lezaroth terminated the call.

Fear, money, or pride: men all respond to one or another. You just have to know which button to press.

Stepping carefully around the spreading blood, he walked quickly to the comms desk.

“I'm trying, sir. I'm trying. I
really
am.” The man was shaking.

“Try harder.” Lezaroth looked over at the docking officer. “Any progress?”

“The release bolts are now being held tight, sir. As for the onboard systems, I can't access any of them.”

“None?”

“That is correct. They're locked down. Presumably by the ship's captain. I'm trying codes, but it could take days.”

“Is that usual?”
Of course it isn't. It's a battlefield technique to prevent some enemy taking over your ship and venting the air. The
Sacrifice
is under enemy control
.

“Unprecedented in my experience.”

“See if there is anything you can access. Try—”

The ensign at the comms desk was waving him urgently over. Lezaroth ran. He caught the submissive words, “Yes, my lord. It
is
urgent. He is here. I am handing you over to him now.”

The ensign vacated his desk, and Lezaroth took his seat.
O great Zahlman-Hoth, god of soldiers, bless my words.
He located the camera and bowed.
I must observe the niceties.

“My lord, my life's purpose is to serve you. I have an urgent message.”

The face on the screen was pale and devoid of expression. The tight, focused eyes seemed as unyielding as if they were made of metal.

“My margrave, you disturb me.” The tone was irritated. “Just as I am about to speak to my guests and give them a brief farewell speech. Do you wish to join them?”

Lezaroth persisted; he had no way back now. “Sir, I believe that—as we speak—the Blade is being infiltrated by an Assembly task force. No doubt intent on releasing the hostages.”

The bland expression slipped into one of consternation. “Can this be possible?”

“I think they found the parent vessel
Rahllman's Star
. And once here, they stole a warship.”

The look of consternation seemed to twist into one of alarm. “They stole a warship! You believe that the one you consider to be the great adversary is behind this?”

“My lord, yes. It is an attack of such daring that this would seem to be the obvious conclusion. I am certain D'Avanos is here.”

The lord-emperor's expression was now one of utter preoccupation. “And you have taken action?”

“Of course, my lord. But quietly. I have put in place mechanisms to stop the ship from leaving.”

The lord-emperor looked away, apparently staring into the distance in thought. “I know his sort. I have studied them. He will follow his compatriots even into the Vault of the Final Emblem. I will have forces awaiting him.” The lord-emperor turned to the screen and leaned forward. “Is that blood on your uniform, my margrave?”

“My efforts to deal with the intruders met an obstacle here.”

“Which you dealt with.
Excellent.
” There was a lean smile. “You are a most useful man, Margrave. If forgiveness were in my nature, I might almost be prepared to forgive you the disaster at Farholme.” He paused. “Find some armor and join me over here. I would prefer D'Avanos alive. I have . . . a personal interest in learning his background.”

The screen went blank.

Lezaroth stood up.
He still holds me responsible for the Farholme catastrophe. I must tread warily
.

He gestured at a man who was watching him with nervous eyes. “You!” The man almost ran over.
Violence may be distasteful and it may damage your uniform, but it does get such gratifying results
.

“Armor and weapons. Fast. Or you are dead too.”

As the man fled, Lezaroth walked over to the desk of the docking officer.

“Sir, here you are.” The note of jittery deference in the man's voice was pleasing.

Lezaroth scrolled down the screen. There was a long list of items, and against each was a big red square.
Atmosphere management, gravity modification, propulsion, docking, steering . . .
all the main systems and subsystems were marked as inaccessible. He ran down several more pages hoping that he might find control of at least a hatchway. He struck lucky on the fifth page. Under
cargo
, amid endless red-squared items, was a single one with an open green box: “Aft hold, Container S16: Krallen (ship model); one pack, 12. State: Stasis.”

Lezaroth stared at it.
How odd. That these of all things should not have been locked down by the captain
.

He saw that the docking officer was staring intently at him.
As if his life depends on obeying me; which it does
. He pointed at the item.

“Send a message to them. Get them to wake up. On the list of available Krallen programs you will find vessel sterilization mode. Initiate it.”

The man swallowed and began executing the commands.

Lezaroth looked up to see two men walking in with an urgent gait. One carried a suit of armor in a storage container, while the other labored under a selection of weapons.

Without a word, Lezaroth began to suit up.

Prepare to meet me, D'Avanos.

On the
Star
, Azeras was seated at the pilot's console, drinking coffee and staring at the front wallscreen. He was watching events closely. He had followed the docking of the
Sacrifice
with the Blade of Night and was waiting for the outcome.

He saw plainly that he was not a disinterested observer.
I have a concern about what happens. I wish Merral and his team success. I want to see that ship leave and vanish into the Nether-Realms.

“May the powers grant them success,” he said under his breath. As he heard the whisper, he knew, in a matter-of-fact way, that he didn't believe in the powers.

Oh, I believe they exist
. He stared at the image of the Blade of Night in all its mind-numbing enormity.
But I now see where belief in the powers all ends. It ends here, with a gigantic, brutal monument to might, terror, and hate.

He shook his head.
No, the powers have done nothing for me. Let them rot. On that, at least, the Assembly is right
.

He sipped at his coffee. They had been docked ten minutes. They ought to be leaving by now.
Something is wrong
.

Azeras realized that he wanted to pray for their success.

But I can't pray to the powers. Not to the powers against the powers. That makes no sense. So whom do I pray to?

In his brain an alternative emerged, but it was unacceptable and he struggled with it for a long time. Yet in the end he gave in. He had to.

“You whom they worship . . .” His words were little more than a sigh. “You whom they claim defeated all the powers by dying and rising—a long time ago and a long way from here—have mercy on them.” He paused. “And on me.”

Nothing happened.

On the screen, the
Sacrifice
stayed fixed to the edge of the Blade. The minutes passed.
They are in trouble
.