Dark Foundations (63 page)

He ran a finger around the edge of his hair. “But once they gain access to the Admin-Net, they could control us. That's what the Dominion is all about. And I don't want that.” His smile was stiff and awkward. “Commander, as you know, I believe that we face a real threat of disintegration into chaos. But I'm not fool enough to flee from that into being assimilated into the Dominion.”

“I see. I should have realized that was how you would think.”

Clemant shrugged. “Perhaps. I've come to the same conclusions as Delastro, but from different reasons. I think we
will
have to fight them. And there, Commander, the issue becomes yours. Can we win?”

“Frankly, I don't know.”

The advisor stared at the screens. “Well,” he said softly, “I think we will soon find out.”

Lezaroth was in his cabin when he heard the news. “Yes!” he exclaimed, unable to restrain his exultation and relief. “By all the powers, I will teach them!” And as he said the words, he wondered whether he meant Farholme, the ambassadors, Hanax, or all of them.

He called the ambassadors, noting their glum faces. “Listen,” he said in his best don't-mess-with-me-or-else tone, “this is now a military operation. I'm in charge now. You make no decisions and take no actions without my say-so.”

Hazderzal and Tinternli looked at each other and shrugged reluctantly.

It is curious
how their debacle with the lost Krallen pack has worked to my advantage. They can hardly ask to be involved when they've proved to be so incompetent.

He ended the call and walked onto the bridge. The word had spread and all eyes were on him.

“Hear this all crew,” he said into the microphone, relishing the moment. “We are now in military mode.” He paused to let the shouts of delight die down. “All commanders to the conference room to hear battle plans. All other crew prepare for deployment of Krallen and firing of kinetic energy weapons. We will be surfacing shortly. Ground attack team prepare for deployment.”

He paused again for emphasis. “This is going to make our long trip worthwhile.”

Back in his office, Merral had a call from Corradon; the ambassadors were disappointed and would consider how to proceed.

Ten minutes later, as Merral was trying to organize things in the war room, he received a voice-only call from Vero.

“Well done.”

“Not my doing,” Merral said, walking into a corner to escape the noise. “It was close. Now what happens?”

“Azeras predicts we will see the full-suppression complex.”

“It's lurking beyond the system's edge?”

“Worse. You may as well know. He says they'd stay close, and it's probably hiding in Below-Space by the
Dove of Dawn.
”

It took a moment for the news to sink in. “It's
already
here?” Merral's heart pounded.
I was expecting at least a week
.

“So he says.”

“I desperately hope that he's wrong.”

“An understandable sentiment, my friend. But I wouldn't put any money on it.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

For the next few hours nothing happened. Eventually, Merral found a mattress and put it on the floor next to his desk. As the night shift stared at monitor screens and talked together in tense, low whispers, he tried to snatch some sleep.

Just before dawn, he received a call from Jorgio, his pale face almost touching the diary screen.

Rubbing his eyes free of sleep, Merral diverted it to the nearest screen.

“Mr. Merral, the curtain's lifted,” Jorgio gasped. Saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Something's here. It's terrible! I can feel it now. It's evil and full of hate.”

“What is—?” Merral began.

Through the open door he heard hurried footsteps and gasps, gasps that turned into shouts of alarm.

“Jorgio,” he cried, “I think we see it too. Hang on there. I'll send someone over.”

Merral ran into the main office where everyone was gathering around a screen.

The image was of a hazy, shaking form emerging out of the velvet blackness of space. A tracery of blue light flickered over a long brutal-looking structure, revealing gray, turreted slabs, towering arrays of ugly cylinders, and stacks of ominous-looking tubes. Despite the absence of anything that gave the structure scale, Merral knew it was vast.

“How big, anyone?” he asked, hearing the alarm in his voice.

“Over two thousand meters long,” a woman replied, disbelief ringing in her words. “That's a two-triple-zero.”

“God, help us!” said a man.

“Mass?”

“Harder to say. Maybe over half a million tons. Well over.”

Merral looked around, aware that all eyes were on him.
The full-suppression complex is here
. He took a deliberate breath.
Let's begin this properly.

“Everybody, no panic please. We go to red alert. I want civilian defense preparations begun. All troops are to take up combat positions with medical facilities on emergency status.” He paused and looked at the screen. “And pull all the liaison people out of Langerstrand. I think diplomacy has just ended.”

After sending someone over to check on Jorgio, Merral met with Corradon and Clemant in the tiny annex off the main war room.

Corradon, who seemed reluctant to sit down, paced around, shaking his head. His face was a bloodless gray and Merral wondered if he had been sick.

“Treachery and duplicity,” he said. “I should never have trusted them. Not ever. Delastro was right.” He stopped and looked at Merral with worried eyes. “But, Commander, a reassurance please: our soldiers will not fire first?”

Merral considered pointing out that they had nothing that was remotely likely to be effective against such a ship, but merely said, “No, sir. The forces are in purely defensive mode.”

“I just want to be sure.” Corradon's hands visibly trembled. “Perhaps, just perhaps, loss of life may still be averted.”

Merral caught Clemant looking at the representative and read both contempt and concern in his expression.

“Perhaps . . . ,” Corradon said, “we ought to offer them the Library key.”

His suggestion was greeted by silence. After a few moments Clemant turned to Merral. “Is there anything we can do?” He sounded frustrated.

“Only what we
are
doing. We have no effective weapons against this sort of vessel. A preliminary analysis suggests it carries all sorts of passive and active defenses.”

Suddenly a wallscreen flicked on.

It was Ambassador Hazderzal. There was no trace of the habitual good humor on his face. “Let me be plain. Your rejection of our peaceful and generous offer has shown that you are against us. As we feared, the Assembly has not changed, and we must assume that you are plotting our destruction. As a result, you have forced us to choose a new strategy. The ship that has appeared—the
Triumph of Sarata—
is capable of returning this world to dust and molten rock. From now on negotiations will be in the hands of Fleet-Commander Lezaroth.” He hesitated. “Ambassador Tinternli and I are truly sorry that it has come to this.”

The screen flickered and a new image appeared: a black-haired man dressed in a dark gray military uniform with a neat row of ribbons. The face—dark-eyed, tanned, with a cheek scar—seemed more that of a statue than a human being. A thought came to Merral with an unnerving certainty.
This
is a man with war in his very bones, a man who has torn from himself all kindness and sympathy.
His fear fed into a prayer.
God, help me deal with this man.

“I am Fleet-Commander Lezaroth.” His voice was hard, the Communal good but harshly accented. His tone invited no dissent. “I command this ship,
Triumph of Sarata.
Your refusal to agree to our generous terms means that we must move beyond negotiation.” There was a pause. “Nevertheless, as a testimony to the lord-emperor's abundant mercy and grace, I offer you a last chance to join us voluntarily. There is no neutral ground. To fail to support us is to oppose us. The hallmark of the Assembly seems to be a refusal to believe in the real world. We are forced therefore to try and wake you up to reality. Therefore—I trust you are paying attention—unless Representative Corradon calls me before midday your time today offering to open the Library and Admin-Net to us, one of your villages will cease to exist by dawn tomorrow.”

The screen went blank.

“I need time,” Corradon said and walked unsteadily away.

“What do we do, Commander?” Clemant asked quietly as the door closed behind the representative.

About the situation or about Corradon?
Merral sensed an ambiguity in the question.

“The key must not be handed over.”

“I agree, but whether that decision can survive casualties is an interesting one.”

Merral said nothing.

“We have four hours,” Clemant said. “Let's see what happens. I shall be in my office.”