Free Resolution by John Meaney

hold’s lights dimmed. Tom’s trance drifted towards sleep.
     
    Yet he wondered, before he let go of consciousness, just why it was that Lady V’Delikona should summon him on Corduven’s behalf, when Corduven was more than capable himself. Why was the summoning urgent?
     
    Blackness carried him to dreams which would fade before he woke.
     

     
    They travelled through the day, and arrived in what would have been nightshift in almost any other demesne. (Once, Tom had remarked that Terran timezones had depended on where you were, instead of being standard across the globe. His friend Lady Sylvana had shuddered as she deduced the geometry, and said: ‘How deliciously quaint. That’s what you get for grubbing about on the surface.’) But Realm V’Delikona was different: it was known as The Realm Which Never Sleeps. Each of its inhabitants chose which of three diurnal rhythms to adopt; workplaces were continuously open; all public corridors and halls and caverns were permanently and brightly lit.
     
    The arachnargos slowed before a platform which overlooked a sheer drop: three hundred metres to the cavern floor. This was the largest cavern in the demesne, and one of the most impressive. Glowing morphbuildings slowly altered shape below, and on the cavern walls. The air was strung with crimson tubes hanging in catenary curves, carrying ovoid passenger-cars like corpuscles through arteries.
     

Down on the platform, despite the late hour, a regal white-haired figure stood, dressed in a long violet-and-white robe with a raised silver collar. Around her, the Palace Halberdiers were at ramrod attention.
     
    Tom, squeezed into the rear of the control cabin alongside Markilon, heard Feltima’s gasp. ‘Is that Lady V’Delikona down there? The Lady herself?’
     
    With a sense of mischief, Tom could not help saying: ‘Well, she is an old friend.’
     
    Feltima glanced at him with an awe which had not been present before.
     
    ‘Taking up position.’ Velsevius spoke in a crisp, professional tone. ‘Ready to lower you now, my Lord, if you’ll make your way aft.’
     
    ‘I will. Thanks for your hospitality and ... entertainment.’ Tom winked at Markilon, who grinned. ‘Take care, everybody.’
     
    ‘It’s been our honour, sir,’ said Velsevius.
     
    Then Tom clambered back into the thoracic hold, where a slender tendril wrapped itself around his waist only a second before the floor puckered then gaped open. A cold wind was blowing below.
     
    The tendril lowered him.
     
    It was windy, and as his feet touched the ground Tom was almost bowled over, but the tendril lingered long enough to steady him, before whipping up into the arachnargos hold. The vehicle sealed shut, and was already moving away when Lady V’Delikona grasped Tom’s hand and said: ‘Thank Fate you made it, Tom. You need to be here.’
     
    The Halberdiers closed in all around, providing a shelter from the buffeting wind. High overhead, Tom could see glassbirds being flung against the stalactites. For someone who loved the surface, he was still discomfited to be in a cavern large enough to manifest weather.
     
    ‘Why’s that, my Lady?’ He let her lean on him as they walked towards the rearing entrance. ‘Why the urgency?’
     
    ‘It’s Corduven.’ Lady V’Delikona stopped, wisps of white hair escaping from her platinum clasps. ‘He’s here, and ... He’s dying, Tom.’
     
    ‘No ...’
     
    ‘I’m afraid he doesn’t have much time. Prepare yourself for a change in his appearance.’
     
    ‘It can’t be.’
     
    ‘Tom. You learned to face harsh realities a long time ago.’
     
    He blinked at the gusts which assaulted his eyes.
     
    Corduven, my friend.
     
    But Lady V’Delikona was right. He had long given up expecting fairness from Destiny.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    10

    NULAPEIRON AD 3423

     
     
    Polished floors were tuned to deep, vibrating purple. Morphsculptures in alcoves stood frozen, their pseudometabolisms halted as a