Resolution (45 page)

Borges Hills had been a residential area before Hot Strike Sunday. Now it was a fused plain on which JLB Shuttle Port stood like a glass confection gleaming in the sun. Every Sunday night, when there were few passengers to be disconcerted by rapid morphing, the architecture reconfigured itself; afterwards, it remained static for another week.

The car’s AI attempted to argue with the parking garage, but the greater system won and forced the car into the designated slot. Kian and Deirdre walked away while the microwave buzz of machine communication continued.

They passed through skin-tingling scans, were carried by pedistrip along a maze of glass corridors, and reached the sun-drenched Arrivals concourse three minutes early. Kian stopped beside a weeping, embracing family group.

‘Dirk’s here.’

Deirdre tapped her infostrand. ‘Landed early. How did you—?’

‘That way.’

They were at the gateway some thirty seconds before Dirk came into view, grinning broadly, and strode towards his brother. They hugged tightly.

‘Bro.’

‘Good to see ya.’

After a minute: ‘Meet Deirdre.’

‘Heard all about ya.’ Dirk shook her hand.

‘Shit. I was hoping to make a good impression.’

Kian clapped his brother’s shoulder and grinned at Deirdre. ‘Too late for that.’

They left with Kian carrying Dirk’s bag, passing near a coffee booth where a pale young blonde woman, dressed in a grey suit, watched them walk by.

‘I think,’ said Kian as they reached the exit corridor, ‘she was looking at me.’

‘She fancied
one
of us, for sure.’ Dirk glanced back. ‘But I could’ve sworn—’

‘Jeez, you guys.’ Deirdre shook her head. ‘What makes you think she wasn’t falling in love with me?’

‘Er...’

‘No reason.’

They stepped onto a vacant pedistrip.

‘Right. That must’ve been—’

‘—what she was—’

‘—up to. Absolutely.’

‘Absolutely.’

The strip beneath their feet slid into motion.

<>

~ * ~

29

NULAPEIRON AD 3426

Orange pillars of flame rotated in the hall, forming twin lines receding down a wide aisle of clean-lined blue-grey stone. The hall was cathedral-like, designed to intimidate.

Tom finished shutting down the story in which he had been immersed - having for the first time learned the origin of his world’s name - and stepped further into the long hall. Then he shivered.

Were there figures dancing, trapped inside those flames? The closer Tom drew, the harder it was to see inside the hot, bright conflagration.

Perhaps flickering fingers reached out as he continued past; perhaps they did not. Tom was both chilled and sweating by the time he reached the hall’s far end, and stood before a hardened membrane wall. Behind him, the flame-pillars crackled.

‘Why the Chaos doesn’t—?’

Off to one side, a patch of wall began to glisten. Head down, Tom pushed his way through the softening membrane before it fully liquefied.

He came into what could only be a prison cell, with a captive who turned at Tom’s entrance and jumped back. The man’s hair was white and cropped short, his jaw square; his blocky body had lost weight. His face was lined in a way Tom had not seen before.

‘Sentinel. Is that you?’

‘Tom!
Oh ... They’ve got you as well.’

‘No, they—’

Tom’s voice trailed off.

Perhaps they
have
got me.

It occurred to Tom that he was here because he trusted Trevalkin, of all people; and this was Sentinel, whom Tom knew only by his codename: once a senior officer in LudusVitae, later serving in the intelligence service attached to Corduven’s Academy. For an outsider, it was hard to tell where Sentinel’s core loyalty was situated ... but then, the same might be thought of Tom.

Sentinel sat down on a soft dark-grey cubic block (which blended into the rest of the cell: the furniture and walls were matching monochrome). ‘Five tendays, I’ve been here. Maybe more.’ There was a tremble in Sentinel’s voice that was very different from before.

‘What happened, my friend?’

That was a misnomer, for their relationship had always been professional, edged with mistrust. But Tom needed
information,
so he sat on the edge of Sentinel’s bunk, facing him, matching body language to establish rapport: legs splayed in the same fashion, hand on knee to mirror the position of Sentinel’s left hand.

It was basic psych manipulation and the Sentinel that Tom had known would never have fallen for it; but Tom had already sensed that Sentinel was different now.

‘Infiltrating an Action League got me here. I found that another organization had already penetrated them, and when I followed
that
trail...’ Sentinel blinked away tears. ‘They lace my food, I think. Not with logotropes, but... something else. Or perhaps it’s just the ...’

Sentinel gestured at the blank walls, the rank hole in one corner of the floor, the wall-mounted spigot above it.

‘Fate,’ said Tom. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’ve any influence in this place.’

Sentinel scowled. ‘You’re not a prisoner?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Hmm.’ A sly look descended on Sentinel’s face. ‘Tell me something only Tom would know.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s not as if they lack holos in this place. How do I know you’re really ... ?’ Sentinel turned his face to the wall, shivering. ‘I don’t know what to believe.’

Tom stood up.

‘If they let me, I’m going to leave now. Whatever I can do, I will.’

The membrane softened at his approach and allowed him through. No thump sounded from behind him. Sentinel no longer had the will to try to batter his way out.

Tom turned left, and continued walking.

Rotating flames, a hushing sound; then a new opening formed in the blue-grey wall. Tom stepped inside, then held himself still as, with a great sucking sound,
the stone flowed
and formed a spherical chamber all around him, sealing off the hall outside.

An oddly liquid squeal sounded. The bubble-like chamber lurched, rotated, and began to slide. The motion continued, as a patch of stone grew partially transparent; outside was a white-orange blaze. Tom realized he was trapped in a floating bubble in a magma sea.

There were white-hot ellipses and hexagonal flukes within the molten rock. Lifeforms, close to the heart of the world.

Darkness gathered as the sphere grew opaque. For a while, it continued to move. Then it scraped to a halt, there was a long pause, and the stone split neatly open. Tom stepped out into a basalt chamber adorned with fractal trees of quartz. Behind him, the stone bubble sealed up.

Here, the air was lilac-scented and cool. The chamber was largely triangular, formed of interlocking slabs. There was detailed knotwork carved at random - or apparently so. Tom took a step back, reappraising, then chuckled: the chamber delineated the inverse of a static tricon, like a mould of the original, which combined the motifs for
Strength
and
Stealth
to form a more complex ideomeme:
Warrior Observing Silently.