Resolution (95 page)

‘This is our last effort.’

‘When a member of the Clades Tau is too old to ride, they simply remain behind when the clan migrates. Without food. Facing the inevitable.’

‘Defeat is
not
inevitable.’

‘Hmm.’ Thylara leaned forward, and for a moment it seemed she could step through the holo. ‘Have you ever thought, we might be on the wrong side?’

‘What?’

‘The entity you call the Anomaly, from our little bedtime conversations, is a leap forward in evolution. Should we deny progress?’

‘That doesn’t mean—’

‘The only reason there’s a war is because people are fighting it. Haven’t you wondered what it’s like inside a fully Absorbed world, where everyone works together? I’m talking about a whole network of planets where everyone cooperates and there is only peace.’

Tom’s heart thudded. He felt sick.

‘On the other hand’ - in the holo, Thylara grinned - ‘I’m only thinking about soft effete bloody aristocrats like yourself. Because a rider of the Clades Tau never gives in to anyone!’

‘Sweet bleeding Fate, Thylara.’

‘I love you too, Warlord. Send me the details when you have them.’

‘Soon, I—’

‘Thylara out.’

The holo was gone.

Tom opened another image. In it, a Zhongguo Ren man with the braided hair of a pitfighter stared out and did not speak.

‘Zài năr?’
said Tom. ‘I need to talk to Zhao-ji.’

In the holo, the man bowed.

‘Yes, Warlord.’

His image was replaced by that of a drawn-faced Zhongguo Ren with a brush of black hair. Zhao-ji was clean-shaven, his narrow moustache gone.

‘Tom! Good to see you.’

‘Yes. Listen, Zhao-ji. How much influence do you have with other, ah, societies? There’s something you could help with, but not the Strontium Dragons alone.’

‘More than you might think’ - Zhao-ji gave a soft enigmatic smile -’since I became Dragon Master.’

‘What?’ It took Tom a moment to process that: such a fast elevation to head of a society was unheard of. ‘I didn’t expect ... Congratulations. Really.’

‘It’s what your General Ygran would call a brevet rank. Promotion in the field. We’ve had casualties.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Since the years of the Manchu emperors, there have been times when we had to fight openly. Times of bloody attrition.’

In the holo, Zhao-ji adjusted his sleeve, and Tom caught a glimpse of sapphire blue fluid at his wrist.

Was that an accidental gesture, old friend?

‘I need to get hold of shuttles,’ Tom said. ‘Particularly orbital shuttles. Very fast.’

‘So you finally took notice of what I told you.’

‘It
was
you who told me of the spinpoint fields. Because Strostiv arranged it.’

‘Not because of Strostiv.’ Zhao-ji shrugged. ‘I had to. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know.’

Tom felt himself grow cold.

Because of the sapphire fluid?

‘We’re beginning tomorrow,’ Tom said. ‘Can you have a communications team standing by?’

‘Absolutely, Warlord. Remember old Kolgash, talking about Ragnarok? The Twilight of the Gods?’

And final battle.

Captain Kolgash had taught them history, among other things ... But old lessons were irrelevant. ‘My tac planners will hook up with your team in half an hour. We need shuttles from any sector of the globe.’

‘You’ve got it, Tom.’ A familiar brash grin spread across Zhao-ji’s features. ‘Who’d have believed we’d get from the Ragged School to this?’

‘Yeah, who would’ve?’

‘Zhao-ji out, Warlord.’

The image was gone.

Around Tom, shadows cloaked the control chamber. Outside, the sky had grown dark.

Ragnarok. Perhaps it is.

The outline of the carls, standing on the balcony outside, would have been familiar to those who wrote the old sagas.

Tom remembered the day he met Corduven. Sent as a servitor to Corduven’s chambers, he had been there when Sylvana called via holo. She had made a reference to the way in which Old Norse sagas rhymed, which seemed to throw Corduven. Out of Sylvana’s sight, Tom had silently mouthed the word
alliteration,
which was not technically correct but close enough: it jogged Corduven’s memory so he could deliver a witty reply.

‘Wounded, he hung on a windswept willow ...’
That was the part Tom remembered from a saga called The Elder Edda, when one-eyed Odin crucified himself on the Tree of Life for nine long days and nights in his search for wisdom.

And suffered.

Everyone, sooner or later, faces their own private End of Days.

But this time the whole world dies.

Tom called his carls back in, and commanded glowglobes to brighten.

You will not have Nulapeiron, Anomaly.

It occurred to him then, as the carls filed back inside the command centre, that Zhao-ji had acted more naturally just now than on any occasion since they became adults. Because Zhao-ji had attained the rank of Dragon Master? Or because of a strange affinity between two men afflicted with a sapphire curse of unknown capabilities?

Is this Ragnarok?

Perhaps it was not an idle question, coming from a man like Zhao-ji. Perhaps the new Dragon Master of the Strontium Dragons was touched with Sight, or prescience.

Twilight of the Gods.

The end of humankind in Nulapeiron.

‘We need supper,’ Tom told the carls, ‘and then rest. Tomorrow we fight.’

~ * ~

56

MU-SPACE

AD 2301 - unknown

<>

[17]

This is not the place to tell of the First Chaos Conflict, which endured for so long that when Pilots finally drove the Zajinets from two universes - or the Zajinets simply chose to leave - only the infinite memory banks of Labyrinth’s Logos Library could contain the story. Nor may we dwell on the Stochastic Schism that so split Pilot society, though few realspace humans picked up even a hint of that tragedy.

Dirk’s place among Labyrinthine society was a strange and ambiguous one. Already, by the time he and Ro arrived there, Pilotkind’s culture was diverging from its Terran roots. A young Pilot called Thierry Didier (who was an old man when Dirk met him) first laid down the upgradeable syntax and multilayered semantics of the language known as Aeternum. As more and more Pilots took wild voyages along time-dilating geodesies - by accident or intent - Aeternum became established as the first tongue of every Pilot.

When Dirk made a brief return to Terra, incognito, he found that Anglic (though the language retained the name) was incomprehensible to his ears, delivered in a sing-song rhythm he could never master. Back in Labyrinth, he lent all his support to Didier’s cause, and helped to remove the final objections of those Pilots who felt that they were already too different from ordinary humankind.