Resolution (90 page)

Holos shifted above the conference table. A translucent vertical cylinder represented a shaft leading from a Collegium Inner Court all the way up to the surface. One by one, tiny figures of arachnargoi took up their positions, tendrils fastened to the sheer walls, poised for their race upwards, to freedom.

‘What are the cargos?’ asked Tom.

‘Manipulators, in the main. Spinpoint field manipulators.’ Trevalkin spoke with authority, though it was doubtful whether he had known anything of spinfields until recently. ‘Along with key research staff.’

Tom looked at Strostiv. ‘Who chose them?’

‘I did, along with the other surviving Altus Magisters.’

‘If the Anomaly guesses what we’re doing,’ said Trevalkin, ‘its forces will close in immediately. Our defences can’t hold back a concerted assault.’

‘So why is the Enemy holding back?’ Tom thought he knew the answer, but wanted Trevalkin’s opinion. ‘Why not move in now?’

‘Because they don’t want a repetition of their experience invading the first Collegium. If our researchers were to set off a series of self-destruct explosions, the Anomaly would lose whatever resources it finds of interest. But...’

‘But what?’

‘You know as well as I do, that its interest is only marginal. What can humankind really offer the Anomaly, beyond extra components to add to itself?’ Trevalkin stared into the display. ‘If it knew our best researchers and equipment were in the arachnargoi, it wouldn’t hesitate to destroy them.’

‘Perhaps it’s time,’ said Tom, ‘that we got out of here.’

‘Possibly.’ Trevalkin shut down the display. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I was hoping to meet someone else.’

‘Now who could that be?’

‘Trevalkin...’

‘Relax. Your friend is here, and I hope he can pull off another amazing trick. I really hope so.’ Trevalkin clapped his hands, and at the rear of the chamber, a door-membrane liquefied. ‘Here he is.’

‘Tom! I mean ... Warlord.’

‘Avernon.’

They clasped forearms.

‘Did Trevalkin tell you I’ve got it?’ Avernon’s eyes were lit with the joy of logosophical discovery. ‘We’re on the right track. With a few more tests, and brainstorming sessions ... Anyway, I’m glad you decided to come.’

Trevalkin smiled to himself. Tom wondered whether Avernon had any idea what he and Ankestion’s clone-warriors had been through to get here, but all he said was, ‘So you’ve a working shield?’

‘It was your suggestion, and I think,’ said Avernon, ‘we’re proceeding on the right lines. It
ought
to work.’

‘Can’t you be more certain?’

Avernon gestured towards Trevalkin. ‘He won’t let me test the technique.’

‘What? Why not?’

Trevalkin looked at Avernon. ‘Tell the Warlord how you propose to field-test this stuff.’

‘Simple.’ Avernon’s natural enthusiasm bubbled up as he reopened the display, causing a schematic to shine. ‘See, we send some of our soldiers into Enemy territory as a decoy…’

Tom glanced at Trevalkin, who said nothing.

And who were you going to get to do that?

‘... and when the Absorbed manifest themselves, our fellows get close to one of them and set off the device. See? There’s a range of phenomena that might result, but the most obvious would be—’

‘How big a device? And what would it do, precisely?’

‘About the size of your hand, Tom. It will collapse space around the Absorbed individual. Surrounding him in all ten spatial dimensions.’

‘How will you know that? How will you know it’s worked?’

‘Mostly, there’ll be a blaze of light, while it pinches off the seven hyper-dimensions. It’ll disconnect the Enemy soldier’s mind from the Anomaly.’

And what are the other Enemy soldiers doing while all this is happening?

Tom said, ‘Will the individual revert back to normal?’

‘The energy released,’ said Avernon, ‘would be fatal at close range. I can’t help that.’

‘I’d rather be dead than Absorbed.’ Trevalkin stood up. ‘We’ve used simulations, or rather, Strostiv’s researchers have used them, to test Lord Avernon’s methods. They appear OK.’

‘Simulations,’ said Tom.

‘That’s right.’

‘Sweet bleeding Fate.’

‘You have the common touch, Warlord.’ Trevalkin’s smile was unreadable. ‘That’s a compliment, of course.’

‘Right.’ Tom nodded as if he believed that. ‘Then it’s time to begin the evacuation.’

But evacuation was too generous a term for the operation. Tom stood with Ankestion Raglok on a dusty platform, staring up at the nine big arachnargoi - some blue-green, others brown-black - perched ready to ascend the vertical shaft.

Five small black arachnabugs hung higher up on the shaft wall, grasers powered up, tendrils poised to fling the one-occupant vehicles towards the top. Their job was to blast away the protective membrane at ground level, clearing the way to the surface.

‘You’ve got Strostiv aboard?’

‘Aye, Warlord, though he wanted to remain behind. He said his place was here, with the other senior Magisters. I had to insist.’

‘OK, we’re about ready to—’

Tom shivered.

Shuttles screaming towards the ground. Kraiv bares his teeth in a warrior’s grin.

‘They’re here!’ Tom wrenched himself back from Seeing the shuttles. ‘Get aboard.’

Two narrow tendrils snaked down from the nearest arachnargos. One encircled Ankestion’s waist and drew him upwards. The other tendril reached for Tom, but he backed off.
Something
was moving in the shadowed tunnel beyond the platform.

But it was Trevalkin who stepped into the light.

‘Jumpy, Warlord?’

‘Yes, for Fate’s sake. Have you reconsidered? This is your last chance.’

A thin-lipped smile. ‘Every defence force needs a leader.’

‘Yes.’ Tom hesitated, raised his arm, and the tendril fastened around him. ‘They do.’

‘Go in freedom, Warlord.’

‘Fate favour you, Trevalkin.’

The platform fell away beneath Tom as the tendril hauled him up. Trevalkin delivered an ironic bow, and turned away. Then Tom was inside the arachnargos cabin, and the floor was sealing up.

May Fate favour us all.

The arachnargos swung into motion.

Ten minutes later the arachnargoi were racing up the shaft. At the apex, only a few tattered remnants of the protective membrane remained: the arachnabugs had done their job. The arachnargoi sped through, and then they were in the open, in the pale apricot light of dusk.

Two big shuttles were roaring downwards from the sky, their lower hatches open.

‘Enemy fighters sighted.’ Likardion was at the arachnargos controls. ‘Closing fast.’

Black dots above the horizon were growing larger by the second.

‘Fate. Are they orbit-capable?’

‘Negative on that, Warlord.’

‘Then let’s—’

Tom’s breath was knocked out of him as the cabin tipped back and the arachnargos leaped upwards, into a hovering shuttle’s cargo hold. Tendrils whipped out to steady it. Three other arachnargoi leaped inside; the other five would be aiming for the second shuttle.

‘We’re in,’ said Ankestion.

The big hold’s hatch puckered shut. Inside the arachnargos, Tom grabbed hold of his seat’s armrest.

Then there was nothing for Tom to see as everything lurched and the shuttle flung itself into full acceleration, arcing upwards, screaming away from the planet’s surface faster than the Enemy fighters, heading to a place where they could not follow: beyond the atmosphere and into orbit.

In seconds, they had left the besieged Collegium far behind and below: left them to fight as best they could against overwhelming forces that even now were moving in to crush them.

Give them Chaos, Trevalkin,

~ * ~

54

TERRA AD 2166 - 2301