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there, but we didn’t really get to make proper farewells.’
     
    It had been a whirl of happy impressions, accompanying their sudden departure in a tiny yellow arachnasprite built for one person (inside which they had both squeezed, laughing) while a similar hired ‘sprite followed with their small amount of luggage - and Eemur - stowed aboard.
     
    ‘And ... Lord d’Ovraison? What of him, my Lord?’
     
    ‘There was talk of rebuilding the Academy,’ said Tom. ‘And of promoting Corduven again, though to what rank, I’m not sure.’
     
    Corduven was already Brigadier-General Lord Corduven d’Ovraison; there was not much else for him to achieve within a strictly military hierarchy. Any higher appointment would be overtly political.
     
    ‘I’m ... not sure, either.’ Strostiv’s gaze shifted, betraying some concealment. ‘He is your friend, isn’t he?’
     
    When Tom had been a servitor, Corduven had been the first Lord to treat him as a human being.
     
    And how did I repay him? By murdering his brother.
     
    Tom had killed the Oracle who had foreseen - and in doing so, caused - the death of Tom’s father, and who had stolen away Tom’s mother. The Oracle had foreseen his own eventual death of old age, but Tom had given him the first surprise of his life ... and death: a violent, bloody death; a paradox unexpectedly resolved.
     
    Redmetal poignard, sinking in to the hilt...
     
    The Oracle was Gérard d’Ovraison, brother to Corduven whom Tom had called friend, and still did.
     
    ‘What are you getting at, Strostiv?’
     
    For a moment, Strostiv stared at him. ‘The Jack called Axolon was part of the manhunt, after Oracle d’Ovraison was killed in the terraformer sphere. You can’t appreciate the scope and depth of that search. We knew that truecasts had foreseen the Oracle’s long, uneventful life ... It shook the foundations of everything.’’
     
    It was supposed to, thought Tom.
     
    Beside him, Elva grew very still.
     
    ‘You were the first commoner in Gelmethri Syektor,’ added Strostiv, ‘to be upraised to Lordship during the past hundred Standard Years. Your logosophical potential might not have been at Avernon’s level - his kind appears once every three or four centuries - but you were still outstanding. And yet you failed to contribute anything to official research ... until you came on the scene with astounding techniques of war and access to mu-space.’
     
    ‘Not many people are aware of the details.’
     
    ‘But some of us are in a position to put the picture together. You weren’t a prime suspect at the time of the Oracle’s death, but in retrospect your guilt is obvious. Even though the killer directed the terraformer’s drones to clean up the interior, there must be some forensic evidence we can retrieve, even after all these years.’
     
    Tom kept his composure.
     
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
     
    ‘Well, my Lord, I think you do. But the point is, it doesn’t matter’ -Strostiv formed a control gesture, and a holo image winked into being above the purple glass tabletop - ‘because of this. You’re specifically exonerated, by the one man I should have thought would want to see you dead.’
     
    The image held a legal declaration, Tom saw, witnessed by officials at a Convocation, and at the heart of it was one simple statement:
     
    I do hereby forgo all vengeance-claim upon Lord Thomas Corcorigan, in my absolute faith in his innocence.
     
    Below it, a simple signature-knot tricon hung:
     
    Brigadier-General Lord Corduven d’Ovraison
     
    Tom closed his eyes.
     
    ‘In the light of this’ - Strostiv’s words sounded from far away - ‘no-one could bring you to task. No-one, my Lord.’
     
    Corduven.
     
    Tom could not understand why Corduven would support him. With such a document, even if a tribunal were to find Tom guilty, they would have to absolve him from punishment.
     
    You did this for me?
     
    Tom opened his eyes and