‘Well, Warlord. Are you ready for your big moment?’

  ‘I could do without more big moments in my life.’

  ‘Ha.’ Trevalkin’s smile was full of triumph. ‘Nevertheless, you have my congratulations, sir.’

  ‘We survived. We all survived. Nothing more.’

  ‘But you know they’ll offer you the position today, don’t you? They’ll ratify you as ruler. Ask old Ygran. He knows his history.’

  Tom shook his head, knowing Trevalkin was right. Every tyrant, every caesar, every shogun had been through this: having taken control during war, they maintained their position when they won the peace.

  ‘This is a ceremony of thanksgiving, Trevalkin. Nothing more.’

  ‘Certainly. My congratulations again, Warlord.’

  Trevalkin bowed and withdrew two paces.

  Of course he’s correct.

  Tom did not like agreeing with Trevalkin, that was all.

  They waited until the hall was full. Then a majordomo came to Tom, went down on one knee and bowed his head.

  ‘Warlord, we are ready to commence.’

  ‘Stand up. Thank you.’

  Tom looked around. Elva was ready. So were the others. But before Tom could begin his stately walk to the floating stage, Trevalkin sank his final barb: ‘Can I convey Lord A’Dekal’s congratulations also, sir? They are well meant.’

  Tom stopped.

  ‘He stands for everything I despise, Trevalkin. I thought you knew that.’

  ‘But you’ve saved the system he and I fought for, Warlord.’ To someone who did not know Trevalkin, the tone in his voice might have seemed innocent puzzlement. ‘Fate, sir. In a real sense, it was Tom Corcorigan who founded the entire aristocracy which has existed for over a millennium. You enabled it to work.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, Warlord.’

  ‘I have thought about it, and you’re wrong.’

  ‘But the spinpoints existed backwards in time. When they apparently ceased to exist - when the shield fell into place - that was really the moment of their creation, not their death.’

  ‘Go heisenberg yourself, Trevalkin.’

  ‘Ah. But there’s no avoiding it, Warlord. You created the spinpoints as a side effect of the shield.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. You made the Oracles, Tom Corcorigan. Only you.’

  Trevalkin’s words burned. Tom turned and walked out onto the first step but the words remained like trickling acid in his mind.

  An Oracle killed my father.

  Applause rushed through the auditorium, a tidal wave of sound.

  One of the Oracles ...

  Every person stood.

  ... that I created.

  Tom stood on the floating crystal stage and received the massive adulation of those below, while Dukes and Lords from every sector ascended a pathway formed of lev-steps. Their presence would grant the proceedings full legality, would ratify any decisions taken here.

  They’ll offer you the position today.

  Would they call him Warlord still? Or grant him some other title as peacetime ruler of Nulapeiron?

  Father. I wish you could see this.

  A sea of faces below. In every pair of eyes, the light of adoration glowed.

  It was a bulky white-bearded man called Count Schilko who made the official speech. Tom had not met the Count, but knew of his formidable record in fighting against the Anomaly. The powers-that-be had chosen their representative well. His words were straightforward, his manner blunt yet dignified, as he delineated the steps by which Thomas Corcorigan, Warlord Primus, had achieved victory against the Enemy.

  Finally, the speech wound towards its real conclusion, to say the thing which everyone in their hearts had thought about, had discussed among their friends.

  ‘—unanimous verdict of every Council in every sector of the world, we do hereby offer you, Warlord Primus Thomas Corcorigan, the continuing command of all Nulapeiron which you alone did save—’

  Applause began to rise once more.

  ‘—and invest in you sole authority as—’

  Louder, the rushing sound, the audience standing to shout their approval.

  ‘—Lord Primus of the world.’

  A huge climax of yelling and cheering and clapping.

  This is the moment.

  Then Tom walked forward to the floating platform’s edge.

  This is my time.

  Looked down upon his people.

  My time.

  A hush settled upon the hall.

  Tom waited, allowed the tension to rise ... And waited.

  Not a whisper. Not a movement.

  No sound, as the gathered thousands dared not breathe.

  And then he spoke.

  ‘I accept the position.’

  Jubilation burst through the air. A roar of approval, of celebration, echoed and redoubled through the hall. Tom waited for it to die down, before raising his hand.

  Silence settled.

  ‘As I understand it, a formal command issued by the Lord Primus carries the full weight of statute law.’ Tom looked towards the high aristocracy assembled on the platform with him. ‘Is that right, my honoured Lords and Ladies?’

  There were nods, from those who were not too spellbound to move.

  ‘Then I give you this command from the Lord Primus. All noble titles, all Lordships and Ladyships, are abolished. Including the rank of Lord Primus.’

  Tom let the silence hang there.

  ‘Feel free to resolve that legal paradox, my logosophical friends.’

  A murmur rippled among the thousands seated below.

  They’ll turn on you eventually. That was what Eemur had told him.

  Not if I don’t give them the chance, Eemur, my love.

  Tom took a deep breath. Then he spoke in commanding tones that the system carried throughout the hall, sounded deep in the audience’s bones.

  ‘Nulapeiron is free. Let’s keep it that way.’

  He turned away.

  And descended the lev-steps amid tumultuous, gigantic roars and cheers of admiration dwarfing everything that went before.

  ~ * ~

  63

  NULAPEIRON AD 3429

  The embassy - for now, one shared facility for ambassadors of all other free worlds - stood on a ridge upon the surface. On three sides, heathland covered with long silver grasses stretched into the distance. The fourth side overlooked a slope at whose foot lay the Lake of Glass, in which two hundred and fifty thousand corpses were frozen for ever.

  The location was deliberate: a reminder of things no-one should forget.

  Banners fluttered, and in the open courtyard the majestic opening of Ode to Victory sounded. The waiting crowd, dressed in their finest, automatically straightened their stances. Tom and Elva stood together near the rear. Neither of them was giving a speech today; they were honoured to be attendees, no more.

  The crowd remained standing.

  Ode to Victory reached its swelling climax.

  And seven mu-space ships burst into being overhead.

  Next to Elva, Citizen Avernon looked up at the polished undersides of the great craft, and smiled like an awestruck child. Everyone watched the vessels descend.

  It was a steady, bracing breeze which caused the banners to flutter, and Tom had an odd thought unaccompanied by fear.

  I will die on a day like this.

  Elva had not been in that vision. But two youngsters had called him Grandfather, and one of them had obsidian eyes, and that was enough.

  When the first ambassadors descended from the ships, they were accompanied by Pilots, Janis deVries among them.

  ‘He is coming to dinner afterwards, isn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Tom squeezed Elva’s hand. ‘He’ll make it.’

  ‘Jissie will play havoc if he doesn’t.’

  Then something clenched Tom’s heart.

  At the rear of the entourage stood a man dressed in a long cape, hood drawn forward to hide his face. But just for a moment, Tom thought he glimpsed a ruined hand, curled into the shape of a claw; then the man moved out of sight.

  They did not have long to wait before Speaker Trevalkin (for the old nobles still held on to influence, whatever their positions were called) cleared his throat, and his words drifted across the gathered crowd.

  ‘As elected representative to the Assembly of Free Worlds, I hereby declare this embassy open. We welcome links to all the worlds of humankind—’

  With cheers growing all around, Tom hugged Elva close, and kissed her. For a while, they watched the official proceedings unfold amid pageantry appropriate to the occasion: the clasped forearms and handshakes and formal speeches with genuine smiles, as Nulapeiron became part of the greater fraternity of free peoples, its isolation broken and forgotten after twelve hundred Standard Years of following a bitter path alone.

  Then Tom and Elva slipped away unnoticed, and headed towards home.

 

 

  John Meaney, Resolution

 

 

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