Resolution (64 page)

This was not my plan.

In the chamber the air was still, as though the whole of Axolon Array had inhaled a communal breath and held it.

‘I propose,’ said General Ygran, ‘that Lord Corcorigan should
not
be nominated as Commander-in-Chief of the freedom forces. Instead we must—’

Blood-rush washed in Tom’s ears. He was about to stagger.

Control.

Breathe, that was it.

Steady.

General Ygran had the floor. For now, the audience was his.

‘—appoint him Warlord Primus, supreme military commander, and more: ruler of Nulapeiron.’

Stunned silence expanded in the chamber.

No...

Then Volksurd, the carls’ chieftain, sprang to his feet, fists high in the air.

‘We offer the Enemy ...
Blood and Death!’

Kraiv leaped up beside him. ‘Hail to the Warlord Primus!’

You can’t do this.

They were all standing now, raising their fists and joining in one tumultuous roar:

‘Warlord Primus!’

Then Tom bowed—

‘
Warlord Primus!
WARLORD PRIMUS!’

—accepting the title they bestowed—

I
will do it.

—and in that moment, became the acknowledged ruler of the world in which he lived.

WARLORD PRIMUS!’

I vow to save you all.

Adrenaline still charged the atmosphere as the officers and nobles and tacticians left the chamber in twos and threes, chattering excitedly as they went down the spiral stairs to the terraformer’s core levels, pulsating with the sure knowledge that they had a chance for victory.

If I don’t let you down.

Soon there were only a few left: General Lord Ygran, sitting with his hands on his knees nodding to himself at a job well done; Elva and the two carls, Kraiv and Volksurd; several others chatting in small groups.

On a lev-tray which had not moved during the whole meeting, but now lifted a few centimetres from the shelf on which she had parked herself, floated the bloodied, striated head of Eemur, wearing her black moirée cap.

Warlord Primus, no less.

Tom could only nod. No-one else in the chamber had the ability to hear her silent words, much less the ironic tones that embellished them.

Who would have thought it?

He remembered sitting in an alcove near a small, poor marketplace in Salis Core, writing poetry on an old infotablet. From there to here was such a journey that the fourteen-year-old Tom Corcorigan scarcely seemed the same person.

Ruler of all Nulapeiron.

Of a world, Tom reminded himself, where the greater part was under the control of a massive powerful entity that did not belong here.

Kraiv said something to Elva, who nodded.

I’m going to do my best.

It was all that Tom could do.

But you know they’ll turn against you
—

Tom snapped his head round to stare at Eemur.

—when they see you’re not human any more.

For a moment Tom felt paralysed. Then he answered her aloud:

‘Maybe. But by then it will no longer matter.’

Elva’s eyes widened as Tom’s words revealed the depth of the link between himself and Eemur’s Head, a Seer beheaded centuries ago but living still. Tom felt the innocent days of his childhood ebb further and further into a peaceful past which could never be reached again.

Tom’s one hand tingled.

Then sapphire flames glowed, licked across his fingertips, and were gone before anyone besides himself and Elva noticed.

~ * ~

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[11]

If it were not for Solly, and the way he had stopped outside the twins’ bedroom broadcasting his fear through the closed door - warning of sabotage or attack or
something
which threatened Dirk’s and Kian’s lives - this would have been a day of triumph. Instead, the twins sat with Deirdre in a chill air-conditioned lounge while their nerves twitched and jangled.

Deirdre used her infostrand to set up a random integer generator. An odd number meant Kian; even meant Dirk. ‘Guys, this is the simplest function I’ve set up since I was five.’

When the call came through from Human Engineering, they recognized the voice of Paula, the crop-haired young woman who had smiled at Deirdre.

‘
We‘re ready for you now, Dirk or Kian. Take the down-slide to bay seventeen, where a TDV is waiting.’

‘OK.’

‘Got that.’

Still sitting, they turned to look at Deirdre, who tapped the strand wrapped around her wrist. A number glowed in front of her.

‘Seventeen,’ she said. ‘I guess that means you, Kian, good buddy.’

‘Always the lucky one.’ Kian looked at Dirk.

‘Right.’ Blood faded from Dirk’s face. ‘You’re always lucky, bro.’

The lounge door opened, and an automatic holosign pointed the way to the waiting ground vehicle. Kian stood.

After Kian left, Dirk turned to Deirdre.

‘I want to watch from outside.’

‘But we’re both supposed to go to the control—’

‘I know.’

Deirdre blinked.

‘Right. I’ll... I’ll tell Paula you’re in the John. Bad case of the squits, as my sainted mother used to say. It happens when you’re nervous.’

‘Didn’t Kian say your mother lives in Portland?’

‘Does that mean she can’t be a saint?’

‘Ha.’ Dirk leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks.’

‘Good luck.’

But Deirdre’s eyes were damp as she left, as though she, too, sensed the threat.