Resolution by John Meaney Page A

protection so much as the Collegium’s: they might wonder what he was capable of doing. (The warriors might, just might, have been assigned to get rid of him, now that he knew the Collegium’s secret. Tom half-hoped they would try; he had an awful lot of anger to purge.)
     
    But then the lev-platform was descending without incident, and the officer was saying in an incongruously soft voice: ‘The Lady Elva is through there, sir.’
     
    A dark opening in the rockface emitted clinks of sound. The technicians must be already working on the Jack.
     
    ‘Thank you,’ said Tom, stepping off the platform.
     
    It rose and spun away, then flew back the way it had come.
     
    Tom stepped through the opening.
     

     
    Elva was there. Tom took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, releasing his rage, letting it dissipate. One of the technicians, kneeling, glanced up at him, then continued with her work.
     
    On the rough stone wall, the Jack’s ruined half-head turned slightly. Its - his - one intact microfaceted eye focused on Tom.
     
    ‘You ... came .... back.’
     
    ‘I said I would.’
     
    ‘Promised... death. ’
     
    Tom had sworn to end the Jack’s agony. ‘I’d rather bring you life.’
     
    Charcoal sprayed across the rock. Remnants of the cyborg’s destroyed torso melded with charred stone, fused into the damaged wall. Any other lifeform would have been obliterated; but tenacity was at the core of a Jack’s programmed being.
     
    ‘Axolon?’ said Elva. ‘We need to take you offline now, for a while. All right?’
     
    ‘...ess.’
     
    The cyborg’s head drooped as if tired. Tom could not imagine the pain and exhaustion he had undergone.
     
    ‘Now.’ The kneeling tech gestured, and the Jack froze still.
     
    ‘Whew.’ Elva rubbed her face, then smiled at Tom. ‘It’s going to be a lot of effort just to prise and chip him from the rock, even with micro-cutters. After that... I really don’t know how we’re going to fix him.’
     
    ‘But we have to try.’
     
    ‘Yes.’ Elva stared at the near-destroyed form. ‘Yes, we do.’
     
    It was hard to imagine Axolon at the height of his power, with hyper-fine senses and weaponry to match a regiment. (Tom had once killed what he thought was a Jack, but in Klivinax Toldrinov terminology that had been a nymph; as a full Jack, Axolon would have been invulnerable in hand-to-hand combat.) It was even harder to imagine a power capable of doing this to Axolon, but that was what the Blight had been: unimaginable.
     
    And its parent Anomaly was greater and darker by far.
     
    Then Elva was handing Tom a crystal - the ordinary kind - saying: ‘A courier left this, an hour ago. It’s DNA-sealed, for your eyes only.’
     
    ‘Well’ - Tom thumbed it on - ‘I’ve no secrets from you, dear.’
     
    But the lightness dropped from his tone as he read the message. All its meaning was wrapped up in two, concise triconic ideograms:
     
    Please come immediately. It concerns Corduven . The sharp-edged configuration conveyed this: Fully urgent.
     
    And it was signed:
     
    Lady V’Delikona.
     
    Elva placed her hand atop Tom’s.
     
    ‘You can go in the morning. I’ll keep the work going here. Your absence won’t slow things down.’
     
    ‘I can always postpone—’
     
    ‘It says most urgent, Tom, and she’s never asked anything of you before.’
     
    ‘Perhaps ...’ He blew out a breath. ‘Perhaps I should go right now.’
     
    ‘In the morning, when you’ve rested. Our tent’s down that way. You can go freshen up, while I make your travel arrangements.’
     
    ‘We can’t afford—’
     
    ‘Do what I say.’
     
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
     
    ‘And I’ll be with you in a minute.’
     
    ‘I ... Thank you, darling.’
     
    ‘Any time, my love.’
     

     
    Next morning, Tom left at dawnshift, in an arachnargos less impressive than the one which had brought them here, but functional. The pilots offered to let him ride up front, but Tom