Resolution (18 page)

But even as the dream of death took hold of Tom, it slipped beyond his control, and neither the Pilot nor Corduven featured in the images that came next.

He is on his bed, in the open air. A small amber neko-kitten lies curled on his lap, atop the rich orange blanket in which chocolate-brown patterns weave visual paradoxes. Tom’s hand, wrinkled and brown-spotted and frail, lies upon the blanket.

He cannot lift it.

Winds blow beneath brown clouds becoming silver as peach-and-yellow dawn brightens the sky. The blanket’s patterns almost vibrate in the clear light.

Elva ...
All she meant to him ... Now it is his time to go. His breathing is shallow, and growing shallower, but there is no pain.

It has been a fine life.

Tom’s bed, at his own request, is upon the flat top of a tall glass tower, revealing the final dawn. Remember, he tells himself, how miraculous life is. Our molecules are born in the heart of stars. We are emergent properties of a vast cellular collective ... These are his dying thoughts.

‘Grandfather.’ On his left, an athletic-looking youth stands straight-backed and true, and his clear grey gaze is Elva’s reborn. ‘Do we have things right?’

Tom cannot speak. With a great effort, he raises his finger, lets it fall.

‘He means yes. It is as it should be.’ The young woman to Tom’s right is slender. Her hair is blonde and her eyes are obsidian without surrounding whites. ‘This is his moment.’

She takes up his fragile hand in her youthful, warm grasp.

‘I love you, grandfather.’

The young man’s hand is upon Tom’s left shoulder.

‘I love you, grandfather.’

Beyond them, the sky is vast.

Tom’s breath comes intermittently now.

And then the sun is full above the horizon and three huge delta shapes of gleaming bronze and silver spring into being in the sky overhead. They make a slow circle and turn to face the east and hover, waiting.

You came. Thank you. It is time to ... to ...

Feel the clear soft air and drink in the scent of rustling grass and heathland paragorse. A small bird flies overhead as sunlight drapes liquid fire on the great vessels and one more breath as the grandchildren call out their love once more, I know that and thank you for it, everything and always thanks to Elva oh I miss you and I love you with all the darkness and blood on my hand and here is the sunrise, look at it Elva, feel the breeze and who would have believed the miracle of our time together, my sweet.

The need for breath but none to be had.

Fading and the shadows edging in ...
Elva oh Elva I miss you and I join you now at last
... In darkness, as the world narrows to a point.

Hanging on ...

It beckons.

Let go ...

Beckoning, the shining gold.

Falling.

Ending.

Black.

As he came awake, just for a moment, Tom thought he saw a tracery of sapphire fire across his skin. Immediately, it faded, and in a second he was no longer sure it had been real.

Part of the dream ...

He rolled to the edge of the bed, stood up, and ordered the house system to make some daistral. He wanted no more sleep tonight.

Alone, Tom walked through a maze whose corridors must have recently morphed into this configuration. As he neared the centre of the puzzle, he realized that they suggested the tricon for Sorrow, one of the few tricons that was always rendered as static rather than a moving ideogram. The beige corridors contained alcoves of artwork, crystal statues and mag-dust paintings and other works that Tom could not focus on. He stopped. Before him stood a stellate diamond structure that might have represented a star in mu-space, as closely as it could be rendered in the real world.

The quick route out of the maze took him to a broad, deserted lounge overlooking a grand cavern he had not seen before. A scarlet transport tube bore a solitary capsule along its length. Below, a wide expanse of mossgardens, decorated in black and indigo, surrounded an oval quicksilver lake. In the distance, he could hear the Palace’s funereal moan, still mourning Corduven’s death.

Then a whisper of sound caused him to turn just as three men entered the chamber and fanned out. Each wore a thumb-ring proclaiming noble rank.

‘My Lord Corcorigan.’ It was the shortest of the trio who spoke: shaven-headed, with three burgundy glassine strips embedded beneath each cheekbone. ‘My name is Surtalvan. Forgive the discourtesy, sir, but I prefer not to introduce my companions.’

One of those companions was big and wide-shouldered, looking more like a pitfighter than a scion of some noble house. The third Lord was lean and scarred.

‘We’ve all got something to hide,’ Tom said.

With a shift in stance, he allowed his cape to fall open, revealing the whitemetal poignard tagged at his hip. (Its twin was out of sight, at the small of his back.)

‘Openness can be a virtue.’ Surtalvan glanced at the dagger, then appeared to focus on Tom’s throat. ‘So here I am, being open. We’ve all noticed the sorry state of Nulapeiron right now, and I mean every sector. I do
not
hide my concern for our home.’

‘Our home?’ Tom noticed a tiny curved holopin, projecting white revolving rings, half-concealed by Surtalvan’s cape. It might have been the symbol of the Circulus Fidus, save that it was pierced by a tiny scimitar. ‘But you don’t live in this realm, do you?’

‘It’s not just one realm that’s threatened with Chaos now.’

‘But I’m surprised’ - Tom allowed his face to display a smile - ‘to find Action League representatives in this place, and at this time.’

Surtalvan’s eyes widened. He had not expected Tom to recognize (or deduce the meaning of) the holopin. But Brino, in the weapons shop, had told of Tom of the militant organizations which supported Circulus Fidus reactionary ideas; obviously Brino had not lied.

‘We’re paying our respects. The Brigadier-General will be sorely missed.’

Tom felt anger rise, but held it tight inside him.

‘You’re early. The funeral will follow the lying-in-state.’

‘Well, we’d also hoped to talk to you, Lord Corcorigan. We don’t seem like natural allies’ - he paused as if waiting for Tom to laugh, then continued - ‘but the world needs consolidation and recovery, you’ll surely agree.’

‘You forgot the need to restore order and discipline. Obedience in the commoners.’

‘Just so.’ Surtalvan was not fazed. ‘That’s how they achieve prosperity.’

Tom drew his cloak around himself.

‘I don’t think so, gentlemen.’

Surtalvan’s eyes narrowed. His lean companion took a half-step forward, and the big man clenched his fists.

Tom moved to one side. Their positions covered the corridor’s width, blocking him from the only exit.

‘There’ll be a Convocation soon,’ said Surtalvan. ‘Sponsors and allies might come in handy, when you’re looking for a new position.’

Tom stared at him.

Allies. People like you ...

But Surtalvan was operating under several false premises, and one of them was that Nulapeiron was no longer in danger.

‘There
is
a thing,’ said Tom, ‘that you and I have in common. A desire to keep the world human.’

Surtalvan exchanged a glance with the lean man, who stepped back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I believe that the Blight contacted its parent Anomaly, in the final moments before it perished. You know what I’m talking about.’

‘Legends ...’ Surtalvan attempted a sneer, but there was doubt in his tone. ‘I don’t think so.’

Tom stared at him for a long moment.

Then, ‘I’ve told you what I know. Deal with it, or ignore it,’ he said, and walked forward, brushing past the three men - none tried to hold him back - and strode away.

~ * ~

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