hide,’ Tom said.
With a shift in stance, he allowed his cape to fall open, revealing the whitemetal poignard tagged at his hip. (Its twin was out of sight, at the small of his back.)
‘Openness can be a virtue.’ Surtalvan glanced at the dagger, then appeared to focus on Tom’s throat. ‘So here I am, being open. We’ve all noticed the sorry state of Nulapeiron right now, and I mean every sector. I do not hide my concern for our home.’
‘Our home?’ Tom noticed a tiny curved holopin, projecting white revolving rings, half-concealed by Surtalvan’s cape. It might have been the symbol of the Circulus Fidus, save that it was pierced by a tiny scimitar. ‘But you don’t live in this realm, do you?’
‘It’s not just one realm that’s threatened with Chaos now.’
‘But I’m surprised’ - Tom allowed his face to display a smile - ‘to find Action League representatives in this place, and at this time.’
Surtalvan’s eyes widened. He had not expected Tom to recognize (or deduce the meaning of) the holopin. But Brino, in the weapons shop, had told of Tom of the militant organizations which supported Circulus Fidus reactionary ideas; obviously Brino had not lied.
‘We’re paying our respects. The Brigadier-General will be sorely missed.’
Tom felt anger rise, but held it tight inside him.
‘You’re early. The funeral will follow the lying-in-state.’
‘Well, we’d also hoped to talk to you, Lord Corcorigan. We don’t seem like natural allies’ - he paused as if waiting for Tom to laugh, then continued - ‘but the world needs consolidation and recovery, you’ll surely agree.’
‘You forgot the need to restore order and discipline. Obedience in the commoners.’
‘Just so.’ Surtalvan was not fazed. ‘That’s how they achieve prosperity.’
Tom drew his cloak around himself.
‘I don’t think so, gentlemen.’
Surtalvan’s eyes narrowed. His lean companion took a half-step forward, and the big man clenched his fists.
Tom moved to one side. Their positions covered the corridor’s width, blocking him from the only exit.
‘There’ll be a Convocation soon,’ said Surtalvan. ‘Sponsors and allies might come in handy, when you’re looking for a new position.’
Tom stared at him.
Allies. People like you ...
But Surtalvan was operating under several false premises, and one of them was that Nulapeiron was no longer in danger.
‘There is a thing,’ said Tom, ‘that you and I have in common. A desire to keep the world human.’
Surtalvan exchanged a glance with the lean man, who stepped back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe that the Blight contacted its parent Anomaly, in the final moments before it perished. You know what I’m talking about.’
‘Legends ...’ Surtalvan attempted a sneer, but there was doubt in his tone. ‘I don’t think so.’
Tom stared at him for a long moment.
Then, ‘I’ve told you what I know. Deal with it, or ignore it,’ he said, and walked forward, brushing past the three men - none tried to hold him back - and strode away.
~ * ~
13
TERRA AD 2162
<>
[3]
Hot dry air; the babble of vendors - ¿Le gustan? Los màs baratos ... - and holo ads; spicy scents of onions and seared meat cooked on kerbside stoves; the confusion of bright colours. Headmasks and ponchos. Polished guitars. Cheap statuettes of the Blessed Virgin reciting the Hail Mary in overlapping Anglic, Español and Russki.
The dense slam of Mexican poverty.
A coffee-skinned couple, faces webbed with sun-blasted lines, smiled up from their squatting position, revealing stumps of teeth. They offered tortillas from a tiny solar pan, while a metre away thermoacoustic-drive vehicles slid past.
Ro looked back through the border shimmerfield. On the other side, the wavering image of the ground-cab which had brought her
With a shift in stance, he allowed his cape to fall open, revealing the whitemetal poignard tagged at his hip. (Its twin was out of sight, at the small of his back.)
‘Openness can be a virtue.’ Surtalvan glanced at the dagger, then appeared to focus on Tom’s throat. ‘So here I am, being open. We’ve all noticed the sorry state of Nulapeiron right now, and I mean every sector. I do not hide my concern for our home.’
‘Our home?’ Tom noticed a tiny curved holopin, projecting white revolving rings, half-concealed by Surtalvan’s cape. It might have been the symbol of the Circulus Fidus, save that it was pierced by a tiny scimitar. ‘But you don’t live in this realm, do you?’
‘It’s not just one realm that’s threatened with Chaos now.’
‘But I’m surprised’ - Tom allowed his face to display a smile - ‘to find Action League representatives in this place, and at this time.’
Surtalvan’s eyes widened. He had not expected Tom to recognize (or deduce the meaning of) the holopin. But Brino, in the weapons shop, had told of Tom of the militant organizations which supported Circulus Fidus reactionary ideas; obviously Brino had not lied.
‘We’re paying our respects. The Brigadier-General will be sorely missed.’
Tom felt anger rise, but held it tight inside him.
‘You’re early. The funeral will follow the lying-in-state.’
‘Well, we’d also hoped to talk to you, Lord Corcorigan. We don’t seem like natural allies’ - he paused as if waiting for Tom to laugh, then continued - ‘but the world needs consolidation and recovery, you’ll surely agree.’
‘You forgot the need to restore order and discipline. Obedience in the commoners.’
‘Just so.’ Surtalvan was not fazed. ‘That’s how they achieve prosperity.’
Tom drew his cloak around himself.
‘I don’t think so, gentlemen.’
Surtalvan’s eyes narrowed. His lean companion took a half-step forward, and the big man clenched his fists.
Tom moved to one side. Their positions covered the corridor’s width, blocking him from the only exit.
‘There’ll be a Convocation soon,’ said Surtalvan. ‘Sponsors and allies might come in handy, when you’re looking for a new position.’
Tom stared at him.
Allies. People like you ...
But Surtalvan was operating under several false premises, and one of them was that Nulapeiron was no longer in danger.
‘There is a thing,’ said Tom, ‘that you and I have in common. A desire to keep the world human.’
Surtalvan exchanged a glance with the lean man, who stepped back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe that the Blight contacted its parent Anomaly, in the final moments before it perished. You know what I’m talking about.’
‘Legends ...’ Surtalvan attempted a sneer, but there was doubt in his tone. ‘I don’t think so.’
Tom stared at him for a long moment.
Then, ‘I’ve told you what I know. Deal with it, or ignore it,’ he said, and walked forward, brushing past the three men - none tried to hold him back - and strode away.
~ * ~
13
TERRA AD 2162
<
[3]
Hot dry air; the babble of vendors - ¿Le gustan? Los màs baratos ... - and holo ads; spicy scents of onions and seared meat cooked on kerbside stoves; the confusion of bright colours. Headmasks and ponchos. Polished guitars. Cheap statuettes of the Blessed Virgin reciting the Hail Mary in overlapping Anglic, Español and Russki.
The dense slam of Mexican poverty.
A coffee-skinned couple, faces webbed with sun-blasted lines, smiled up from their squatting position, revealing stumps of teeth. They offered tortillas from a tiny solar pan, while a metre away thermoacoustic-drive vehicles slid past.
Ro looked back through the border shimmerfield. On the other side, the wavering image of the ground-cab which had brought her
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