Context (79 page)

It reminded Tom of the ancient
joke. A bystander, during a scene in Ro’s Story, wore a holo-emblazoned sweatshirt
depicting the galaxy. At the edge, a tiny insignificant point was labelled
You
Are Here.

Strostiv’s words came from the
darkness.

‘Nulapeiron, yes. And this’—as a
distant star flared baleful red—‘is Fulgor’s sun. And over there’—green—‘the home-world
of Terra.’

More systems were highlighted,
all in blue.

‘Other so-called first-wave
worlds: Coolth, Vijaya, Sivlix III...’

But then two more stars flared
red, like Fulgor.

‘And these are the hell-worlds of
Siganth and Molsin — you’ll recall the children’s stories.’

Even
Skein Wars
probably
survived because it was a cautionary tale.

‘Extrapolating...’

A spiky flat polyhedron grew,
solidified to three dimensions, metamorphosed to projected 4-D—using the
faux-perspective of hypergeometric trompe l’oeil—then flickered again ... and
each of the highlighted stars now lay on a pointed projection from that single,
impossibly faceted shape.

‘You’ll see how the so-called
Anomalous Worlds’—more stars shone scarlet—‘can be topologically linked through
this one geometric construct.’

In Tom’s flat-space, had he
touched the disk-shaped universe with his thumb and fingertips, there would be
five spots of intrusion in 2-D space. But in 3-D, it would be obvious that
there is only one hand.

Could these spreading intrusions,
these Anomalous Worlds, really be linked through some analogous process? A
mathematical fiction, with the extra dimension representing the richness of
communications links? Or something more...

That they are all one?

But finally, the stars were
replaced by a single globe — Nulapeiron itself—with scarlet spots springing up
throughout, highlighting the Blight’s incursion. But, in the rotating globe,
three locations were marked in blue.

‘The Collegium Perpetuum
Delphinorum,’ said Strostiv, ‘is normally referred to in the singular. But
there are three Collegiate locations in the world, and each one, as you can
see, is the focus of concentrated Dark Fire expansion.

‘It is imperative that none of
them fall beneath the Blight’s dominion.’

Another
detail: Tom had not realized how close the Blight was to this sector. And
Strostiv’s next words made that chillingly explicit; it seemed obvious, too,
that he foresaw no halt to the Blight’s annexing of territory.

‘The Academy’s sphere of interest
is threatened here’ -Strostiv pointed—‘and here. Accordingly’—everyone blinked
as holo diagrams snapped out of existence and the lighting grew bright—‘an
evacuation order from General d’Ovraison will be circulated within the next few
days. That fact is not to leave this chamber.’

Consternation erupted, then faded
as Strostiv held up one hand.

‘If the Academy regrouping is
successful, then fine. If the evacuation fails, then make your way to another
Sector Command, and divulge what you’ve learned today to the highest-ranking
officer you can reach.’

And, with a grim smile:

‘This briefing is concluded.
Thank you for your time.’

Tom
slept little that night. But early the next morning he was in his assigned
briefing chamber, taking a dark-haired young woman called Lihru through final
checks: entangled-crypto protocols and keys; passwords and paroles for every
contact along the complicated access route; secondaries and fallbacks.

She reminded him a little of
Jasirah, but more composed, and he could see why Jay would have fallen for her:
anybody would.

Tom kept things strictly business—it
was her life on the line—and made no mention of Jay, or the fact that Jay was
originally assigned to be her briefing officer. But at the briefing’s end,
Lihru thanked Tom quietly for taking the time to instruct her.

‘And you can tell Jay ... I
understand. Tell him to take care.’

‘I’ll... pass it on.’

After she had gone, Tom stared
for a long time at the blank stone wall, seeing nothing except the fading
afterimage of a beautiful young woman whom—he was suddenly sure—he had just
sent to her death.

The
next morning, a new general order was posted in every corridor, wrapped up in
one tiny tricon whose minimal size belied the heavy import of its meaning:

BY ORDER OF THE
C-IN-C: STRATEGIC COMMAND

All personnel are
hereby advised that Evacuation Plan

Gamma is to be
implemented immediately. Fully

urgent: invoke
immediate save-or-destroy procedures

for all repeat all
material classified level 7 or above.

Section heads cf.
standing orders: deadline schedule

2 alpha.

Final evacuation date:
Chameleon 173

May Fate preserve us
all.

Authorized today 27
^th
Quintembral Chameleon Year

[Chameleon 145]

GENERAL LORD CORDUVEN
D’ORAISON

Command-in-Chief

~ * ~

41

TERRA
AD 2142

<Story>>

[13]

December.
Bathed in white, Moscow stretched wide.

Below Ro’s feet, concave
snow-covered slopes—of the Yeltsin Hills—dropped to the flooded grey river. On
the opposite bank stood the rebuilt stadium, formed of dull granite. Beyond, the
great old buildings, like powerful square-shouldered prole workers, stood hard
and strong amid the wide, clean geometric boulevards.

Patterns within patterns.

Behind her reared the university
campus, with its broad, grand central building. Among its turrets, the central
spire rose; its apex cupped, as it had for centuries, a bright golden star.

Ro’s mathematical analysis sense,
always active, mapped the conic sections and fractal details of the frozen snow’s
gradient, the trajectories of homemade sleds as bright-clad students, shrieking
with laughter, belted downwards at hazardous speed towards the churning waters.

White within white ...variations
even in the texture of soft snow.

Patterns
—

To Ro’s left, Zoë shifted her
feet.