Resolution (9 page)

Two hours later, Tom and Strostiv stood on a rough stone balcony overlooking a quadrangle which was decorated with purple and scarlet moss. Below them, on the hexagonal flagstones, stood a dozen-strong team of techs and engineers. A pair of utilitarian mesodrones hovered a metre above the ground.

Elva was briefing the technicians as though they were commandos going on a raid.

‘You ... Harm, is it? Good. Your team consists of Alen, Xindor and Frayne.’ She pointed to them in turn. ‘You’ll take that drone.’

‘Ma’am.’

‘The preliminary analysis is your job. I’ll want a rundown of whatever additional gear we need. Debriefing at Snapdragon Hour, on the dot.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ And, to his team: ‘OK. We’re moving.’

As they left, Elva addressed the others. She had met them minutes ago; already, she knew their names. ‘You’re with me. First stop is the scanner workshop, and I’ll need your recommendations, Sharlyn,’ she said to a heavy, strong-looking woman who bowed. ‘No need to go for the most expensive gear, people, but no skimping either. All right?’

‘No problem.’

‘Right. Let’s get on it’

As they left, Elva made a small nod towards the balcony, not looking up at Tom. Then they trailed out, and were gone.

‘Good luck,’ Tom murmured.

Strostiv frowned. ‘Is everything all right, my Lord?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Lady Corcorigan didn’t wave goodbye, so I... I beg your pardon, sir. Not my business.’

‘No offence taken,’ said Tom. ‘Military officers don’t make emotional farewells; not in front of the troops.’

‘But they’re not—’

‘—soldiers, right. With Elva in charge, they might as well be.’

Strostiv said nothing for a moment, then: ‘You’re proud of her, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. Are you married, Strostiv?’

‘No. A long time ago, nearly ... But it doesn’t matter.’

As he turned to go, Tom reached out and touched Strostiv’s sleeve. ‘It’s not the done thing to talk in these terms,’ Tom told him, ‘but you know, love is the
only
thing that matters. What else makes life worthwhile?’

Old sorrow darkened Strostiv’s eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’

Tom left it at that. He followed, as Strostiv walked back to the inner chamber and sat down at the purple table.

Strostiv had asked that Tom remain behind, while Elva began the task of evaluating the ruined Jack’s situation. As their talk proceeded along the minutiae of restoring the Collegium to its pre-war condition, Tom began to grow impatient. Just what was it the man wanted?

Then Strostiv said: ‘I’ve a technical expert called Zilwen who would love to talk to you, my Lord. We’ll meet back here in an hour, if that’s all right’

‘Um ... OK. If I’ve an hour to kill, I might as well follow Elva and offer my—’

‘If you like, of course. But I thought that you might want’ - Strostiv gestured; antique bronze doors swung open at the chamber’s far end - ‘to meet up with an old friend.’

The antechamber beyond was in shadow. A narrow, cloaked figure stood in the gloom.

Corduven?

Then the man moved forward into the light, his oriental Zhongguo Ren features lighting up in a broad smile. ‘Tom, old man. Fancy seeing you here.’

‘Zhao-ji!’ Tom had seen him at the wedding, but there had been so little time to talk.

They embraced, pounding each other’s backs, then stepped away.

‘I guess,’ said Tom slowly, ‘I’ve always known you must have dealings here.’

More than once, he had come across glowing sapphire fluid which was somehow linked to Oracular (and possibly Seers’) abilities; and there were hints that it was Zhongguo Ren secret societies who transported the stuff in clandestine fashion. And no society was better at technical matters than the Strontium Dragons, to whom Zhao-ji belonged.

Strostiv said: ‘I’ll leave you two to reminisce.’

‘No, please.’ Perhaps Tom had judged Strostiv too harshly. ‘You’re welcome to stay with us.’

‘I think Zhao-ji wants to give you the full tour—’

‘Definitely. I’m ready to go now.’

‘—and I’m afraid I can’t follow.’

‘Why not?’ said Tom.

Zhao-ji wouldn‘t lead me into danger...

Yet things had changed since their days in the Ragged School; Zhao-ji’s allegiance was to the Strontium Dragons now.

‘Come on.’ Zhao-ji took hold of Tom’s arm. ‘You’re going to be impressed, I tell you.’ And, to Strostiv: ‘See you later, old chum.’

It was not the most respectful way to address an Altus Magister.

A few minutes later, Tom learned why Strostiv had left them. Zhao-ji led the way through a glistening membrane into a vertical shaft. As magnetic gel surrounded them and whisked them upwards, Tom shouted:
‘Are we going where I think we‘re going?’

His words echoed faintly through the thick gel. The shaft wall appeared to slide downwards, but it was relative motion: they were ascending, and fast.

‘To the surface, yes!’

So Zhao-ji had undergone agoraphobia-desensitization. It was in character: Tom remembered his first days at the Ragged School, seeing the slight figure of Zhao-ji launch himself at three much bigger praefecti, hands and feet swinging in hopeless bravery. Tom had never known him to back down from a challenge.

Just for a moment, as they ascended, he caught a glimpse of glowing sapphire at Zhao-ji’s wrist. Then Zhao-ji tugged his sleeve down arid looked upwards, towards their destination.

Their ascent began to slow.

The gel-flow twisted, spilling them onto a white ceramic floor, then curled back inside the shaft proper. Tom and Zhao-ji were crouched in a low chamber; before them, a metal door was opening. Grass and dirt spilled outside: they were in a hollow hillock, hidden in the landscape.

‘ “Madmen lead, fools follow.” ‘ Zhao-ji went first through the opening, then looked back at Tom and grinned. ‘So which one are you?’

‘Grow up, why don’t you?’

But Tom was smiling as he passed through the doorway, and stepped out onto the open ground. He took in a deep breath of cool, sweet air.

‘Fantastic,’ he said. ‘I love this place.’

Now even Zhao-ji was looking doubtful. ‘Fate, Tom. I can put up with the surface. That doesn’t mean I love it. What’s wrong with you?’

‘Madmen lead…’

‘Right.’

They walked out onto grassy heathland.

The sky was warm yellow, blotted with chocolate-brown clouds. The long grasses held a silvery sheen. It would have been perfect, but Tom had not figured their exact position: as they crossed a ridgetop and looked down at a glittering expanse, he suddenly realized that the Lake of Glass lay below.

Why did you bring me here?

The glass had once formed a vast ornate structure reaching up above the surface. Within it, a quarter of a million subsumed men, women and children had melded into the greater Blight, attempting to beam its cry for help across the light-years to the parent Anomaly. Tom had played his part in destroying the Blight and saving the world, but the price ...

Encapsulated in the glass, mouths open and eyes bulging, swirling hair forever frozen, were the two hundred and fifty thousand people who had perished in a single moment, when the Blight vanished from existence.

Zhao-ji placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘No. Look
up.’

Something was descending from the sky.

A white shuttle moved between a gap in the clouds, disappeared for a moment, then slid back into visibility, drawing closer to the ground by the second. As Tom watched, it decelerated hard, adopted a level attitude and hovered.

‘Whose is it?’

‘You haven’t guessed? It’s the Collegium, Tom. That’s a Collegiate shuttle.’

‘And what do they want with orbital vehicles?’

‘That, my friend, is what I’m here to show you. For the moment ... just watch.’

The Strontium Dragons, like their peer societies, were capable of formulating game plans that lasted centuries. Tom wondered what part he was playing in their advancement right now.

An area of heathland glimmered beneath the sun, and Tom realized it was a wide patch of membrane, big enough for the shuttle to drop through. As the membrane liquefied it shone more brightly; and Tom could almost hear a wet sucking sound as the shuttle lowered itself through and disappeared from sight, with the membrane re-forming in place above it.