Some famous painting, apparently. It didn't look very artistic to Gravious. It supposed you had to see it from the right angle.
It lifted one leg up from the parapet, and slipped, falling into the air of the general bay. It hit something between it and the bay and fell, bouncing off the bay's rear wall, then off the invisible wall, then found its bearings, flapped close and parallel to the wall, twisted in the air when it got back to the level of the balcony, and returned to it.
Uh-huh, it thought. It risked using again the senses it was not supposed to have. Solidity in the bay. What it had hit was not glass, and not a field between it and the empty bay; the bay was not empty, and what it had hit was the field-edge of a projection. On the far side, for at least two kilometres, there was solid matter. Dense, solid matter. Partially exotic dense solid matter.
Well, there you were. The bird shook itself and preened a little, combing its feathers smooth with its beak. Then it looked around and half hopped, half flew over to one of the posed figures. It inspected each one briefly, staring into an eye here, seemingly looking for a juicy parasite in an ear here, peering at a stray hair here and carefully studying a nostril here.
It often did this, studying the next ones to go, the ones who would next be revived and taken away. As though there was something to be learned from their carefully artificial postures.
It pecked, in a desultory, barely interested sort of way at a stray hair in one man's armpit, then hopped away, studying the group from a variety of nearby tables and angles, trying to find the correct perspective from which to view the scene. Soon to be gone, of course. In fact, they were all going. This lot with the rest, but this lot to re-awakening whereas most of them would just be Stored somewhere else. But this lot, when they were woken in a few hours, would be coming back to life, somewhere. Funny to think of it.
Finally, the bird shook its head, stretched its wings, and hopped through the hologram and into the deserted cafe beyond, ready to begin the first leg of its journey back to its mistress.
A few moments later, the avatar Amorphia stepped out of another part of the hologram, turned once to glance back at where the bird had hopped through the projection, then went and squatted before the figure of the man at whose armpit Gravious had pecked.
IV
[tight beam, M32, tra. @n4.28.864. 0001]
xEccentric Shoot Them Later
oGSV Anticipation Of A New Lover's Arrival, The
It was me.
oo
[tight beam, M32, tra. @n4.28.864.1971]
xGSV Anticipation Of A New Lover's Arrival, The
oEccentric Shoot Them Later
What was you?
oo
I was the go-between for the information transmitted from the AhForgetlt Tendency to SC. One of our people on Tier saw the Affront light cruiser Furious Purpose as it arrived back there; it had a location in Elench code burned onto its scar-hull. The information was transmitted from the Tendency mission on Tier to me; I passed it on to the Different Tan and the Steely Glint, my usual contacts in the Group/Gang. I would guess the signal was then relayed to the GSV Ethics Gradient, home ship of the GCU Fate Amenable To Change, which subsequently discovered the Excession.
So in a sense, this is all my fault. I apologise.
I had hoped this confession would never be necessary, but having turned this over in my mind I have concluded that — as was the case concerning the passing-on of the original information regarding the scar-hull signal in the first place — I had no choice. Had you guessed? Had you started to? Do you still trust me?
oo
It had occurred to me, but I had no access to Tendency transmission records and was unwilling to ask the other Gang members directly. I trust you no less for what you say. Why are you telling me now?
oo
I would like to retain that trust. Have you discovered anything else?
oo
Yes. I think there is a link to a man called Genar-Hofoen, a Contact representative with the Affront on a habitat called God'shole, in the Fernblade. He left there the day after the Excession was discovered; SC has hired three Affronter battle cruisers to take him to Tier. They are due there in fourteen days. His biography: (files attached). You see the connection? That ship again.
oo
You think it involved beyond what we believe we have agreed to already?
oo
Yes. And the Grey Area.
oo
The times look a little unlikely; if it really pushed itself the GA can reach Tier in, what?… three days or so after this human gets there? But that still leaves our other concern two months or more out of touch.
oo
I know. Still, I think there is something going on. I am following up all the avenues of investigation I can. I'm making further inquiries through the more likely contacts mentioned in his file, but it's all going terribly slowly. Thank you for your candour. I shall remain in touch.
oo
You're welcome. Do keep me informed.
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28. 865.2203]
xEccentric Shoot Them Later
oLSV Serious Callers Only
Got fed up waiting; I called it (signal file attached).
oo
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28. 865.2690]
xLSV Serious Callers Only
oEccentric Shoot Them Later
And now it "trusts you no less'. ha!
oo
I remain convinced it was the right thing to do.
oo
Whatever; it is done. What of the ship you asked to head for Pittance?
oo
On its way.
oo
And why Pittance?
oo
Is it not obvious? Perhaps not. Mayhap the paranoia of The Anticipation Of A New Lover's Arrival is contagious… However that may be, let me make my argument: Pittance houses a veritable cornucopia of weaponry; indeed, the weapons deployed there just to protect the main cache of munitions — that is, the ships — alone represents a vast stockpile of potential destruction. Certainly the store's course takes it nowhere near the Excession, but it has taken it into the general volume within which the Affront have some interest. Now, while it has almost certainly gone unnoticed and even if it is spotted and tracked it can be of no interest'to the Affront (and, of course, it is anyway well able to defend itself), and it is not part of the subtle mobilisation being organised by the Steely Glint, it nevertheless represents the greatest concentration of matériel in the vicinity.
I start to wonder; when, roughly, did the Culture start to have doubts — serious doubts — about the Affront? And when was Pittance chosen as one of the ship stores? Around the same time. Indeed, Pittance was chosen, fitted out and stocked entirely within the time-scale of the debate which took place at the end of the Idiran War regarding military intervention against the Affront. There are billions of bodies like Pittance; the galaxy is littered with such pieces of wreckage wandering between the stars. Yet Pittance was chosen as one of only eleven such stores; a rock whose slow progress would take it into Affronter space within five or six centuries — depending on how fast the Affront expanded their sphere of influence — and which might well remain within that sphere for the foreseeable future, given that Affronter influence could easily push its borders out at a greater rate than that of a slowly tumbling rock moving at much less than a per cent of light speed. How fortuitous to have such a wealth of weaponry embedded in Affront space!
Might not this all, in fact, be a set-up?
Think about this; is this not just the sort of thing you would be proud to have thought up? Such foresight, such patience, such attention to the long game, such plausible protestations of innocence should the coincidence be remarked upon or revealed! I know I'd be pleased with myself had I been part of such a plan.
Lastly, on the committee of Minds which oversaw the choice of these stores, the names Woetra, Different Tan and Not Invented Here all sou
nd rather familiar, think ye not?
Taken all together, and even recognising that this is almost certainly a blind alley, I thought it irresponsible not to have a sharp eye attached to a sympathetic mind in the vicinity of that precious little rock.
oo
All right. Point taken.
oo
And what of whatever you were working on?
oo
My original idea was to attempt to find someone acceptable on Tier who might be persuaded to our purpose; however, this proved impractical; there is considerable Contact and SC presence on the habitat but nobody I think we could risk sharing our apprehensions with. Instead, I have the tentative agreement of an old ally to support our cause should the occasion arise. It is a month or more from Tier, and the Excession lies beyond there on its orientation, but it has access to a number of warships. The tricky part is that some of them may be called up in the mobilisation, but a few may be put at our disposal. Not as warships, I hasten to add, certainly not against other Culture ships, but as counters, as it were, or delivery systems, if and when we find a vulnerable point in the conspiracy we believe might exist.
This Genar-Hofoen person; I may make my own inquiries in that direction, if I can avoid stepping on the metaphorical toes of our co-concernee.
The Affront angle is the one that worries me. So aggressive! Such drive! For all our oft-repeated horror at their effects on others, there exists, I think, a kind of grudging admiration in many Culture folk for the Affront's energy, not to mention their apparent freedom from the effects of moral conscience. Such an easy threat to see, and yet so difficult a problem to deal with. I dread to think what awful plan might be hatched with a thoroughly clear conscience by perfectly estimable Minds to deal with such a perceived menace.
Equally, given the qualitative scale of the opportunity which may be presented by the Excession, the Affront are just the sort of species — and at precisely the most likely stage in their development — to attempt some sort of mad undertaking which, however likely to fail, if it did succeed might offer rewards justifying the risk. And who is to say they would be wrong in making such a judgement?
oo
Look, the damned Excession hasn't done anything yet. All this nuisance has been caused by everybody's reaction to it. Serve us all right if it turned out it is a projection of some sort, some God's jest. I'm growing impatient, I don't mind telling you. The Fate Amenable To Change stands off, watching the Excession doing nothing and reporting on it every now and again, various low-level Involveds are puffing themselves up and girding their scrawny loins with a view to taking a sight-seeing trip to the latest show in town and in the vague hope that if there is some sort of action they'll be able to pick up some of it, and all that the rest of us are doing is sitting around waiting for the big guns to arrive. I wish something would happen!
V
"Good travelling with you, Genar-Hofoen," Fivetide boomed. They slapped limbs; the man had already braced one leg and the gelfield suit absorbed the actual impact, so he didn't fall over. They were in the Entity Control area of the Level Eight docks, Affronter section, surrounded by Affronters, their slaved drones and other machines, a few members of other species who could tolerate the same conditions as the Affront, as well as numerous Tier sintricates — floating around like little dark balls of spines — all coming and going, leaving or joining travelators, spin cars, lifts and inter-section transport carriages.
"Not staying for some rest and recreation?" Genar-Hofoen asked the Affronter. Tier boasted a notoriously excellent Affront hunting reserve section.
"Ha! On the way back, perhaps," Fivetide said. "Duty calls elsewhere in the meantime." He chuckled.
Genar-Hofoen got the impression he was missing a joke here. He wondered about this, then shrugged and laughed. "Well, I'll see you back on God'shole, no doubt."
"Indeed!" Fivetide said. "Enjoy yourself, human!" The Affronter turned on his tentacle tips and swept away, back to the battle-cruiser Kiss The Blade. Genar-Hofoen watched him go, and watched the lock doors close on the transit tunnel, with a frown on his face.
— What's worrying you? asked the suit.
The man shook his head. ~ Ah, nothing, he said. He stooped and picked up his hold-all.
"Human male Byr Genar-Hofoen plus gelfield suit?" said a sintricate, floating up to him. It looked, Genar-Hofoen thought, like an explosion in a sphere of black ink, frozen an instant after it began.
He bowed briefly. "Correct."
"I am to escort you to the Entity Control, human section. Please follow me."
"Certainly."
They found a spin car, little more than a platform dotted with seats, stanchions and webbing. Genar-Hofoen hopped on, followed by the sintricate, and the car accelerated smoothly into a transparent tunnel which ran out along the underside of the habitat's outer skin. They were heading spinward, so that as the car gained speed they seemed to lose weight. A field shimmered over the car, seeming to mould itself to the curved roof of the tunnel. Gases hissed. They went underneath the huge hanging bulk of one of the other Affronter ships, all blades and darkness. He watched as it detached itself from the habitat, falling massively, silently away into space and the circling stars. Another ship, then another and another dropped away after it. They disappeared.
— What was the fourth ship? the man asked.
— The Comet class light cruiser Furious Purpose, the suit said.
— Hmm. Wonder where they're off to.
The suit didn't reply.
It was getting misty in the car. Genar Hofoen listened to gases hiss around him. The temperature was rising, the atmosphere in the field-shrouded car changing from an Affronter atmosphere to a human atmosphere. The car zoomed upwards for lower, less gravity intense levels, and Genar-Hofoen, used to Affronter gravity for these last two years, felt as though he was floating.
— How long before we rendezvous with the Meatfucker? he asked.
— Three days, the suit told him.
— Of course, they won't let you into the world proper, will they? the man said, as though realising this for the first time.
— No, said the suit.
— What'll you do while I'm off having fun?
— The same; I've already inquired ahead and come to an arrangement with a visiting Contact ship GP drone. So I shall be in Thrall.
It was Genar-Hofoen's turn not to say anything. He found the whole idea of drone sex — even if it was entirely of the mind, with no physical component whatsoever — quite entirely bizarre! Ah well, each to his own, he thought.
"Mr Genar-Hofoen?" said a stunningly, heart-stoppingly beautiful woman in the post-Entity Reception Area, Human. She was tall, perfectly proportioned, her hair was long and red and extravagantly curled and her eyes were a luminous green just the right side of natural. Her loose, plain tabard exposed smoothly muscled, glossily tanned skin. "Welcome to Tier; my name's Verlioef Schung." She held out a hand and shook his, firmly.
Skin on skin; no suit, at last. It was a good feeling. He was dressed in a semi-formal outfit of loose pantaloons and long shirt, and enjoying the lushly sensual sensation of the glidingly smooth materials on his body.
"Contact sent me to look after you," Verlioef Schung said with a hint of ruefulness. "I'm sure you don't need it, but I'm here if you do. I, ah… I hope you don't mind." Her voice… her voice was something to immerse yourself in.
He smiled broadly and bowed. "How could I?" he said.
She laughed, putting one hand over her mouth — and, of course, her perfect teeth — as she did so. "You're very kind." She held out a hand. "May I take your bag?"
"No, that's all right."
She raised her shoulders and let them drop. "Well," she said, "you've missed the Festival, of course, but there's a whole gang of us who did, too, and we've sort of decided to have our own over the next few days and, well, frankly we need all the help we can get. All I can promise you is luxurious accommodation, great company and more delectable pr
eparations than you can shake a principle at, but if you care to make the sacrifice, I promise we'll all try to make it up to you." She flexed her eyebrows and then made a mock-frightened expression, pulling down the corners of her succulently perfect mouth.
He let her hold the look for a moment, then patted her on the upper arm. "No, thank you," he said sincerely.
Her expression became one of hurt sadness. "Oh… are you sure?" she said in a small, softly vulnerable voice.
"Fraid so. Made my own arrangements," he said, with genuine but determined regret. "But if there was anyone who was likely to tempt me away from them, it would be you." He winked at her. "I'm flattered by your generous offer, and do tell SC I appreciate the trouble they've gone to, but this is my chance to cut loose for a few days, you know?" He laughed. "Don't worry; I'll have some fun and then I'll be ready to ship on out when the time comes." He fished a small pen terminal out of one pocket and waved it in front of her face. "And I'll keep my terminal with me at all times. Promise." He put the terminal back in his pocket.
She gazed intently into his eyes for a few moments, then lowered her eyes and then her head and gave a small shrug. She looked back up, expression ironic. When she spoke, her voice had changed as well, modulating into something deeper and more considered, almost regretful. "Well," she sighed, "I hope you enjoy yourself, Byr." She grinned. "Our offer stands, if you wish to reconsider." Brave smile. "My colleagues and I wish you well." She looked furtively round the busy concourse and bit her bottom lip, frowning slightly. "Don't suppose you fancy a drink or something anyway, do you?" she said, almost plaintively.
He laughed, shook his head, and bowed as he backed off, hoisting his hold-all over his shoulder.
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