Context (111 page)

‘You’ve more than met your
targets, then.’ Elva gestured at wall units to deliver up the meal which they
had been preparing. As the membrane-doors liquefied, it was Tom—having quickly
stepped through a vibroclean field—who reached inside and carried them across
to the dining table which floated at the largest chamber’s centre. ‘Or you’d
not be so willing to devote yourself to art.’

‘Well, it’s amazing.’ With a
self-conscious clearing of the throat: ‘We’ve instituted such productivity
gains by utilizing short-life units that it’s cheaper than mesobores, even as
we get rid of the failed biomass.’

It took a moment to realize he
was discussing human beings: their uses as slaves, the economics of working
them to death and bringing in replacements, as opposed to keeping them alive or
using inanimate devices, which felt no pain, had never been equipped with the
capacity for suffering.

‘But I shouldn’t bore you with
details. Work, work, work. It’s all I seem to do.’

‘Major, you push yourself too
hard.’ There was a false caress in Elva’s voice; Tom had to turn away to hide
his distaste. ‘But I really am very interested ...’

The
dinner conversation was a masterpiece of emotional intrigue: the major’s none
too subtle attempts to entice Elva away from the table into a situation of
physical proximity (neither noticing nor caring about Tom’s presence); Elva’s
deft verbal parries and gentle avoidance.

Later, as she manoeuvred him
towards the door, fending off a friendly pat which could have become much more,
he said: ‘Ah, Commander Hilsdottir. You break my heart.’

‘Soon, Major,’ she promised him.
Laughing, she pushed him outside, as though it was only for the opportunity to
touch him. ‘I’ll break your heart very soon.’

Then she stepped back inside and
waved the doorshimmer into being.

After a moment, her shoulders
slumped.

‘You can stop tidying up now,
Tom.’ She would not meet his eyes. ‘It’s not—’

‘Elva.’ Very gently, he touched
her shoulder, and moved to face her. ‘You are the bravest person I’ve ever met.
And I love you more than I ever thought possible. All right?’

‘Yes.’ Nodding, her eyes damp. ‘Yes,
it is.’

Tom decided, even in the
miraculous shared warmth of their embrace, that there was a great deal he would
never ask about—would never pass judgement on, should she ever call on him to
listen.

Her voice was muffled against his
shoulder, but her words were clear and spoke to his heart.

‘We have to get out of here.
Tonight.’

Although
Elva—or rather, Litha—had begun her military career as Herla Hilsdottir in
Draufmann Demesne, she had been posted to five other realms since then. This
place was formerly Realm Buchanan, and it had a very special significance
beyond the human tragedy taking place in the death camp just a short walk away
from Elva’s chambers.

For at its heart lay the
Collegium Perpetuum Delphinorum, creator of Oracles: one of three Collegiate
sites in the world, and the first to fall before the encroaching Blight.

And Elva would not leave without
retrieving the price of her passage.

‘There.
Not bad.’ She adjusted the large black satchel on his back.

‘Thank you.’ Tom shifted inside
his new, baggy outer clothes. ‘Where are we going?’

‘You’re my beast of burden. You’re
not supposed to ask questions.’

‘Anything you say, ma’am.’

‘There are some crystals I was
planning to retrieve—duplicate—over time. Other things that I could never steal
without blowing my cover. There’s no point in leaving them behind. Not now.’

‘But how will you—?’

‘Theft is easy, when you’ve rank
and clearance.’

There was a strange light in her
grey eyes, simultaneously calm and vibrant: a look of centred energy.

‘Good to know,’ said Tom.

‘It’s getting away afterwards
that’s going to be hard.’

The
Collegium.

The boulevard which led through
the square archway was lustrous with age: arch, wall and ceilings all of grey
polished mother-of-pearl, edged with jet and lightly decorated with gold-wire
sculptures.

At the ancient black gates, a
dozen armed sentries stood, and their eyes were watchful, almost reptilian. Tom
wondered if they remained truly human.

But he and Elva, with an escort
of their own, passed through unchallenged.

He shuffled behind her, moving
neither too fast nor too slow. There were mesodrones overhead, armoured and
armed, circling through constant scanning patterns; he did not attract their
attention. Bare-headed officers walked by, in earnest conversation, while more
troops, mirror-visored here, stood to attention in the shielded alcoves which
lined every wall.

Once, Tom supposed, there had
been statuary in their places; and he had a brief irrational wish that some
benevolent magic might turn them all to stone, and let this place revert to its
original purpose.

It was a purpose he had once
feared and hated; but if the Dark Fire had suborned it, the Collegium Perpetuum
Delphinorum might become—might already have become—a greater evil than anyone
could have—
ha!—
predicted. Or were there Oracles at the Academy, even
now, who had foreseen their birthplace’s fall?

And did they know what might
happen to him and Elva here today?

Irrelevant. Ignore.

A guard barked a question.

Elva gave an apposite
countersign, spoke a coded phrase, and a mirrorfield darkened and collapsed.
They stepped into a plush cosy corridor, carpeted in soft deep burgundy, with
floating crystal glowglobes overhead.

Silver
doors, opened, led to party sounds: clink of goblets, murmured conversations.
Someone called to Elva as they passed the doorway.

‘Back in a moment, General.’ She
waved at someone, but Tom dared not turn his head to look. ‘If you’ve left some
decabrandy, that is.’

Laughter, but a recognition that
the man’s teasing greeting had an order buried inside.

Tom and Elva had an escort of six
armed troopers. At the corridor’s end, a transverse intersection, Elva ordered
one of the soldiers to pull the satchel from Tom’s back and hand it to her.

‘And put that thing in a holding
pen.’ She was referring to Tom. ‘I’ll need it later, mind. Don’t damage it.’

‘Ma’am.’ Hasty salutes.

And a hard boot kicking against
Tom’s buttock, as they indicated the direction he should follow.