Resolution (77 page)

‘Ankestion.’ Tom nodded to Ankestion Raglok - or at least, to the clone wearing the narrow red armband of leadership: if Ankestion had swapped places with one of his clone-brothers, Tom would never be able to tell the difference.

‘Warlord.’

The hatch sealed shut as Tom took his place on the bench seat.

‘Launch in thirty seconds,’
came the pilot’s voice.

And finally Axolon himself spoke into the shuttle.

The shuttle slid forward.

Ten minutes after they were airborne, a strange change came over the clone-warriors. One by one they closed their eyes, and their faces grew not just still but solid, as if turning into stone. Only Ankestion Raglok remained watchful.

‘May I ask—?’ Tom began.

‘It is how we prepare for battle. I expect they’re doing likewise in the other shuttles.’

There were no windows or holodisplays depicting the five other craft flying alongside. Instead, Tom concentrated and Saw:

Twenty carls raise a cheer. Kraiv thumps morphospear against bronze shield, and Volksurd yells a curse upon their enemies. The single non-combatant, a specialist they are taking into battle, stares around at the carls, disbelieving what he sees.

Then the whole group launches into a rousing battle hymn.

Tom withdrew, blinking, just as the five shuttles banked away, following their own trajectory, engaged in their own mission.

‘Something like that,’ he said.

‘Good.’

I
wish you luck, Kraiv.

Tom would have preferred that Kraiv remain on Axolon Array, but to have suggested it would have been a grave insult to his old friend.

Beside Tom, Ankestion Raglok closed his eyes, and slid into trance like his brothers; while on Tom’s skin, sparkling drops of sapphire sweat formed, shone for a moment, and then soaked back in, vanishing from sight.

~ * ~

47

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‘Ten minutes to drop.’
The pilot’s voice was clear inside the shuttle hold.
‘Take your positions.
’

It had been bright daylight when they left Axolon Array, but they had flown for hours and into darkness. Tom did not use his Sight to check - in case the Anomaly could detect such spacetime twisting - but he knew it would be night outside.

‘Ready,’ called the first clone-warrior, as he clasped his arms in front of his chest.

Gelatinous morphglass emerged from the deck, rose to envelop him. Within seconds, its exterior hardened, formed a polished egg-shape enclosing the warrior.

‘Ready,’ called the next man.

Two minutes later, everyone but Ankestion Raglok and Tom was ready for the descent.

‘After you, Warlord.’

‘Ready.’

Tom closed his eyes as soft material rose around him and covered his face.

The world went silent in his cocoon.

And drop.

Empty stomach. Tumbling, over and over. Sheer fear flooding the body.

Then a bump as though the air itself had thumped him with a giant fist.

Sweet bleeding Fate.

Tom gasped.

Night grew visible, stars between the clouds. Then the drop-bug rolled, straightened, as the morphglass around his head cleared to complete transparency. Facing towards the silvery ground that slid past far below.

To either side, stubby wings elongated.

‘Oh, yes!’

His drop-bug’s wings stretched, snapped out, flared back. Tom laughed, and swooped through the night like a raptor hunting prey.

Years of climbing had never taken away Tom’s fear of heights. But the air felt solid, supporting, and moonlit heathland moved smoothly below. There was no longer a sense of falling. Only a faint whistling sound, audible now that he had calmed down, accompanied his flight through darkness.

Once, he glimpsed something, perhaps another drop-bug: a glint of moon-white reflection, a banking motion. But then it was gone.

I
hope you‘re all safe.

The long night-glide continued.

Finally, it was laughable. There had been crude toilet facilities aboard the shuttle and he should have used them. Instead, Tom’s bladder felt swollen by the time his drop-bug’s wings altered curvature, and he banked down for the final approach.

Don’t lose control.

The ground suddenly whipped into rapid magnification, silver grasses hurtling past just metres from his face, a stand of trees - shadows against night sky - growing large impossibly fast.

Hold on.

Just centimetres now, and the grass was a blur close to his face.

Then the bug’s wings cupped, braking.

Hold it.

And the belly struck the ground.

Hold...

Shaking now, and he gritted his teeth to save biting his tongue.

Hold.

Slowing.

Made it.

And stopped.