Resolution (49 page)

When the food came, Tom poked at his Mad Molly’s Mycoprotein Pie with his blue tine-spoon. Hot pastry crumbled, smelling heavenly.

‘Good,’ he said, noticing that the other two were already tucking in.

Among the clientele were rough-clad runners - couriers whose area of coverage was within the demesne, but covered many strata - who had their own dress code and slang, from the few sentences Tom managed to overhear.

But he was hungry, and it was the pie and vegblock which held most of his attention until one of the runners called out a greeting - ‘Hello, young Jissie!’ - and Tom’s mouth turned dry as the tine-spoon slipped from his fingers and clattered against his plate, spilling lumps of pie, though he hardly noticed it.

‘Hey, Jissie,’ said a second runner. ‘How’s it going?’

The girl led a group of dark-clad young toughs, streetwise teenagers who looked older than their years. Jissie grinned back at the runners, raised her forefinger in a victory salute. The boys accompanying her walked with a swagger which would have amused Tom under other circumstances.

No...

Silver chains hanging in catenary curves across the youngsters’ tunics were not just decoration: they were steel whips sticky-tagged in place, ready to be ripped off and used as weaponry. Still, Tom hoped they were more for show than actual use.

But that was not the realization that drew steel talons down Tom’s back.

Instead, as Jissie turned to exchange a greeting with a green-haired female runner, she revealed ... the sewn-up remnant of a sleeve which covered the stump at her left shoulder.

Elva.

How could Elva allow this in her realm?

After what the tribunal did to me
—

Tom was on his feet then, and the girl turned at the movement. When she caught sight of Tom her mouth opened, unable to speak, face growing bone-white as she took a step back.

Then Tom drew his cloak around himself, and brushed between two crowded tables where conversation stopped at his approach. He stalked with icy rage from the eatery, leaving the two Halberdiers to pay the bill, abandoning their half-finished meals.

They caught up with him at the ceiling hatch, as the helical stair’s treads slotted into place.

‘My Lord. Are you—?’

Fate.
Tom slipped on the first step, caught the rail for balance.
What am I going to do?

The Halberdiers’ hands steadied him, then they withdrew quickly, their faces growing blank. If a noble-house Lord had taken offence at their familiarity ...

Tom was shaking.

‘Not your fault,’ he said, noting the way his voice trembled. ‘Not your fault. There’s no need for
you
to worry.’

‘Sir?’ Ginvol looked concerned. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she’d be ... that there’d be someone like her there.’

‘No.’ Tom turned back to the stairway.

Behind him, Arkin muttered: ‘I don’t know how they can do that to themselves.’

Tom froze, feet rooted to the steps. Slowly, he turned back, and descended to the floor. ‘To themselves? They do this to
themselves?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ginvol swallowed. ‘It’s right across the sector. I’m afraid...’

Arkin took a deep breath, swelling his chest.

‘Always gang leaders, my Lord. The more hardcore do their own cutting, instead of getting their friends to do it. Young Jissie ...’

No.
Tom’s head reeled.

‘... is definitely hardcore. I’ve known her for years.’

Ginvol nodded quickly. ‘I’ve heard it’s spread to other sectors, too. Not just gangs as such, but any kind of...’

He let his voice grow silent.

Tom did not know what expression was on his own face, but Arkin, too, became quiet and took a quick step back when Tom looked at him.

‘How long has this been going on?’

The two Halberdiers shrugged, though whether it was ignorance or fear which prevented them from answering, it was impossible to tell.

When Tom reached the Palace core, he found Elva in her training chamber, inside a transparent-walled tank whose constant-convection aerofluid allowed her to swim suspended in one place. She was working hard against the current. As soon as she saw Tom, Elva stopped the flow and hauled herself out, dripping.

‘What is it?’ She descended the steps, her gymnast’s body moving easily, the wet fabric of her costume tight against her skin. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. You know ... In Realm V’Delikona, there’s a strange propensity for people to group together in fives. It’s a deliberately planted meme, an ancient throwback. And then there’s fashion in general, which is where memetic engineering really comes from.’

‘Tom ... You’re worried about the way people
dress?’

‘Sometimes, you get waves of teen suicides. It happens in every culture. All sorts of self-destructive behaviour spontaneously arise, spread through a population and last for years, then just die out. It’s always been that way.’

‘Fate.’ Elva placed her damp hand against his chest. ‘What’s got into you, my love?’

Tom shook his head.

‘
They‘re cutting their own arms off.
Did you know that? Because some mental image is growing in their consciousness. Lord One-Arm! But that isn’t
me.
Destiny damn it—’

Elva clasped his face between her hands, let out a long breath, and said: ‘Tom, I love you, but you’re wrong in this.’

‘What—?’ Tom started to back away from her, but that clear grey gaze held him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’re the man I know, the one who cares about poetry and logosophy. But you
are
Lord One-Arm also. The icon people need to follow now.’

‘No
...’ It came out as a whisper.

‘Yes. That’s how it has to be.’

Tom took hold of her hand, kissed her palm, stepped back. ‘I can’t allow it.’

‘You can’t control it.’

‘I—’

But whatever his answer might have been, it was drowned out by a klaxon wail which cut through the chamber, accompanied by a sudden ozone charge upon the air. The blood drained from Elva’s face.

‘Fate.
It’s here. The Anomaly ...’

Tom spun round, as three Chevaliers ran into the chamber, weapons drawn, and turned away from Tom and Elva, forming a defensive arc to protect their Liege Lady and her husband.

‘... is here.’

~ * ~

32

NULAPEIRON AD 3426

It took three hours for Realm Strelsthorm to fall to the Anomaly.

In the outer chambers of Elva’s apartment, more Chevaliers took up formation, and in their midst stood someone whose appearance jolted Tom.

‘I know you,’ Tom said to the one-armed girl.

Wide-eyed, she stared back, and said: ‘Lord One-Arm.’

One of the soldiers moved to clamp his hand over her mouth, but Tom stilled him with a raised finger. ‘You’re ... Jissie, is that right?’ When she nodded, he continued: ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We saw ‘em. Things with metal-like wings and, and…’

‘She warned Sergeant Ygralk,’ said a Chevalier. ‘Before he stepped into an ambush. Downstratum. Saved his life.’

‘My gang.’ The girl, Jissie, blinked. ‘They’re gone.’

‘Black flames, sir. Ma’am.’ Another Chevalier made his report. ‘They appeared in the air, revolving, and creatures of some kind just ... flew out. Directly below the Palace. Don’t sound right, and scanwatch systems ain’t confirming, but that’s what the witnesses—’

‘I don’t think, Corporal Druvan,’ said Elva, ‘that they’re making it up.’

‘Um ... No, ma’am. There are
people
appearing too, not just creatures. But some of our own folk are ... changing.’