Resolution (30 page)

‘There are things I’ve ... not mentioned.’ Tom glanced at Adam. ‘Not even during Academy debriefings. Perhaps I should have shared them.’

Then he related events from New Year’s Day of the previous year, when as an Academy-trained operative Tom was running a cell in the

Blight-occupied realm known as the Aurineate Grand’aume.

The restaurant is on a wide balcony, overlooking the greater hall below. The diners realize now that something is wrong, for every exit-membrane is blocked by troops in ceremonial scarlet-and-silver, bearing grasers in addition to their sabres.

At Tom’s table, Tyentro and Velsivith whip to their feet in one smooth motion.

‘Tom, get away!’

Velsivith’s beam arcs through the air and Tom drops to the floor, begins crawling. It is his duty to escape.

Something round and palm-sized rolls from Tyentro’s hand along the floor: a sphere containing glowing sapphire fluid, captured from the chamber in which the Grand’aume’s Seer died.

Graser beams impale Tyentro, lance through Velsivith, and tear them into steaming meat. Tom rises slowly.

‘That one.‘ An officer points.

Tom hurls the glowing sphere in a high arc off the balcony, into the hall, then uses his situational gymnastics training for real: chair, table-top, two quick paces and a vault over the balustrade as emerald beams split the air and then he falls.

Impact, as he hits the flagstones far below the restaurant, and rolls.

Tom tries to catch the sphere.

‘I know all this,’ said Adam. ‘It was in your report. They were briefing me for a possible follow-up mission, overtly military.’

‘I didn’t catch the sphere. I nearly did, but I fell and it shattered.’

‘Yes ...’ Adam noticed Elva frowning.

‘And the sapphire fluid was gone.’

Elva shook her head. ‘Chaos.’

‘Yeah. It was
inside
me. Just like that.’

Adam looked around at the Collegium eatery.

‘Relax, Adam. If we’re under surveillance, I don’t care. I want them to know this.’

‘And if we’re not being watched, they don’t deserve to know?’

‘Something like that.’

The soldiers are closing in on them, and that was the strangest thing: that he would never afterwards be able to see when the split occurred, when
he
became
them,
one Tom Corcorigan turning into two individuals. Then they pass through a door and stop, staring at each other.

‘You should go.’

Then the disagreement. I’m nearer to the door. You go on ahead.’

‘We can both
—’

‘
No, we can’t.’

Tom Corcorigan runs, surviving the manhunt which is looking for only one person.

Meanwhile, Tom Corcorigan stays, fighting until the inevitable death.

Tom wiped the sweat from his face, shaking at the memory.

‘Two of me. And it happened on two other occasions.’

Elva blinked. ‘It seemed like a blur, an illusion ...’

She had seen a thousand Toms fighting a thousand identical Absorbed opponents, as the Blight multiplied its human component and Tom somehow rode the wave of energies involved and harnessed the same effect upon himself. It was an effect catalysed, somehow, by Eemur’s Head.

That time, the ephemeral Toms had conjoined afterwards, become singleton once more, when the action was over. On the other two occasions, a corpse had remained, identical in all respects to the Tom Corcorigan who still lived.

‘And I can’t explain it,’ he said to his breakfast companions, ‘any more than you can.’

‘But—’

‘It relates to the reason’ - Tom looked at Elva, then Kraiv, then Adam - ‘that I’m so sure the Anomaly is coming. It’s not just that I think the Blight made contact. With Eemur’s help, I made a traumatic trip, or
something,
to the hellworld known as—’

Then there was a commotion at the eatery’s entrance, and chairs were being pushed back as a phalanx of greystone warriors marched inside, with Altus Magister Strostiv of the Collegium Perpetuum Delphinorum at their head.

He scanned the tables, stopped when he saw Tom.

‘There he is.’ Strostiv pointed. ‘Warriors ... Surround him.
Now!’

Two dozen figures of living stone rushed forward at his command.

~ * ~

20

NULAPEIRON AD 3423

Before the greystone warriors reached their table, all four were on their feet: Kraiv, gripping his huge jade morphblade; Elva and Adam with graser pistols drawn; Tom with his hand upon his poignard’s hilt.

‘No!’
cried Strostiv ‘We’re not attacking you!’

Then the greystone warriors each went down on one knee and faced away from the table, training graser staves towards every entrance, including the one they had used.

‘What the Fate’s going on, Strostiv?’

‘My Lord, someone’s coming after you with false—’

Then militiamen were spilling through the doorway, with a nine-strong group of blue-skinned clone-fighters in their midst. The clones’ hides were like lapis lazuli; their eyes were the colour of blood.

Behind them, a nervous-looking Lord entered the eatery.

‘My L-Lord C-Corcorigan?’

‘That’s me.’

The Lord lifted a crystal in his shaking hand, glanced up at the greystone warriors in their protective formation around Tom and his companions, and tried to speak, but failed. Beside him, the militiamen’s officer cleared his throat.

‘Lord Frindolivaunt? D’you want me to announce the charges?’

‘I... Y-Yes.’ Frindolivaunt handed him the crystal. ‘Please.’

‘These are capital charges, my Lord Corcorigan.’ The officer cleared his throat again. ‘In the matter of murder, of one Gérard d’Ovraison, Oracle—’

An excited buzz rose among the frightened diners. The name d’Ovraison was on everybody’s lips at the moment.

‘—and we offer new forensic—’