It watched its distributed warcraft rise within the skein of real space; raptors within an infinite sky. Meat, could it do some goodly mischief now… It started by diverting a few hundred ships in the direction of the Not Invented Here.
XI
The Grey Area watched the Excession's fiery tide fall back and reduce almost to nothing. They were going to live! Probably.
The Sleeper's three warships continued to decelerate it down to the velocities its engines would be able to cope with. They seemed to have been perfectly undisturbed by the whole appalling scenario. Perhaps, thought the Grey Area, there was after all something to be said for being a relatively brainless AI core.
— That was close! it sent to them.
— Yes, said one of the craft, flatly. The others remained silent.
— Weren't you a little worried there? it asked the talkative one.
— No. What would be the point of worrying?
— Ha! Well, indeed, the Grey Area sent. Cretin, it thought.
It looked back out, ahead, to where the Excession was. And what of you? it thought. Something that could put the fear of death into a GSV. That really was something. What are you? it wondered.
How it would love to know.
— Excuse me while I signal, it said to its military escorts.
[tight beam, Mclear, tra. @4.28.891.7352]
xGCU Grey Area
oExcession call-signed "I"
Let's talk, shall we?
XII
Captain Greydawn Latesetting X of the Farsight tribe stared at the display. The vast pulse of energy the thing near Esperi had directed at the Culture General Systems Vehicle had disappeared. In its place, as though appearing from behind it, was… It could not be so. He checked. He contacted his comrades in the other ships. Those who answered thought it must be some malfunction in their vessels" sensors; an effect of the energies which had been directed at the giant Culture craft. He asked his own ship, the Heavy Messing.
— What is that?
— That is a cloud of warships, it told him.
— A what?
— I think it best described as a cloud of warships. This is not a generally accepted term, I hasten to add, but I cannot think of a better description. I count approximately eighty thousand craft.
— Eighty thousand!
— The rest of our fleet has arrived at roughly the same estimation. The ships within the cloud are, of course, broadcasting their positions and configuration, otherwise we should not see them individually and know what they are. There may be others which are not making themselves known.
A growing sense of horror and looming, utterly ignominious defeat was growing in Greydawn's interior. ~ Are they real? he asked.
— Apparently.
Greydawn watched the image expand; it was a wall of ships, a constellation, a galaxy of craft.
— What are they doing now? he asked.
— Deploying to face our fleet.
"They are… enemy?" he asked, feeling faint.
"Ah," said the ship. "We're talking now, yes?"
It was only then the Affronter realised he'd spoken rather than sub-vocalised the text. "All the ships," the Heavy Messing said, its voice steady, calm and deep inside Greydawn's armoured suit, "are signalling that they are Culture ships, non standard, manufactured by the Eccentric GSV Sleeper Service and that they wish to receive our surrender."
"Can we get to the Esperi entity before they intercept us?"
"No."
"Can we outrun them?"
"The smallest and most numerous ones, perhaps."
"How many would that leave?"
"About thirty thousand."
Greydawn was silent for a while. Then he asked, "Is there anything we can do?"
"I think surrendering is our only sensible course. If we fought we might inflict a small amount of damage on a fleet of this size, but it would amount to little in absolute terms and almost nothing as a percentage of their number."
Think of your clan, something said in Greydawn's mind. "I will not surrender!" he told the ship.
"Well, I'm going to."
"You will do as I say!"
"Oh no I won't."
"The Attitude Adjuster told you to obey us!"
"And within reason we have."
"It didn't say anything about "within reason"!"
"I think one just takes that sort of proviso as read, don't you? I mean, we are Minds. It's not like we're computers. Or soldiers. No offence. Anyway, I have discussed this with the other ships and we have agreed to surrender. The signal has been sent. We have begun deceleration to-"
'What?" Greydawn raged, slapping one armoured limb against a screen projector set within his nest-space.
"— a point stationary relative to Esperi itself," the ship's voice continued calmly. "The ROU Killing Time has been designated as receiving our formal consent to place our offensive systems in its control and will meet us at our stop-point to effect the surrender. If you do not wish to capitulate along with us then I'm afraid it will be necessary for me to place you outside my hull — within your space suit, of course — though technically I believe I ought to intern you… What do you wish?"
The ship intoned the question as though asking him what he desired for dinner. There was a polite indifference in its voice he found infinitely more awful than any hatred.
Greydawn stared at the cloud of ships for a few moments longer. He shook his eye stalks.
"I would ask you not to intern me," he said after a while. "Please place me outside your hull, at once, and then I would ask you to leave me alone."
"What, now? We haven't stopped yet."
"Yes, now. If possible."
"Well, I could Displace you…"
"That will be acceptable."
"There is a tiny risk associated with Displacement-"
The Affronter Captain gave a curt, bitter laugh. "I think I might risk that."
"… very well," the ship said. He could hear it hesitate. "Your comrades are trying to call you, Captain."
He glanced at the comms screen. "Yes. I can see." He selected transmit-only mode on the communicator. "Comrades," he said. He paused. Since his childhood he had imagined moments like this; never as terrible, never founded on such hopelessness… and yet not so dissimilar, all the same. He had made up so many fine speeches… Finally he said, "There will be no discussion about this. You are ordered to surrender along with your ships and obey all subsequent instructions compatible with honour. That is all."
He cut off all communications from the other ships. Greydawn bowed his eye stalks. "Now, please," he said quietly.
And was in space. He looked around, through the suit's sensors. No ships were visible; only distant stars.
"Goodbye, Captain," said the ship's voice.
"Goodbye," he said to the ship, then turned off the communicator. He waited a few moments longer before triggering the emergency bolts on the suit and spilling himself into the vacuum to die.
The Heavy Messing, at that point acceding to a request from the Sleeper Service to transmit its log from the point it had been woken on Pittance, looked briefly back at the writhing, cooling form of the Affronter Captain, and sent a small pulse of plasma fire back to put the creature out of its agony.
XIII
The LSV Not Invented Here looked out at the hundreds of warships heaving to around it. It sensed signals flickering between them and the craft it had deployed; its four warships and the superlifters and GCUs it had militarised. It subsequently sensed its own ships altering their targeting procedures, shifting the foci of their attention from the ships the Sleeper Service had dispatched to itself.
The LSV's Mind booted up the AI cores that would run the ship perfectly well until a replacement for itself could be found, checked they were working properly, then severed all its links with anything outside the physical limits of its Mind core. It ejected all eight of its internal emergency power units from itself.
Its awar
eness just faded away, like mist dispersed by a freshening wind.
Some hundreds of light years away, the Steely Glint had already considered taking the same course as the Not Invented Here. It had decided not to. It considered that putting its case for the way it had acted and accepting the judgement and sanctions of its peers was the more honourable course.
It studied again the text of the message it had received from the Sleeper Service.
I have been rather more constructively employed over the past few decades than might have been imagined. The following have been manufactured:
Type One Offensive Units (roughly equivalent to Abominator class prototype): 512.
Type Two Offensive Units (equivalent to Torturer class): 2048.
Type Three Offensive Units (equivalent to Inquisitor class prototype, upgraded): 2048.
Type Four Offensive Units (roughly equivalent to velocity-improved Killer class): 12 288.
Type Five Offensive Units (based on Thug class upgrade design study): 24 576.
Type Six Offensive Units (based on militarised Scree class LCU, various types): 49 152.
These craft do not represent a hegemonistic threat as they are not independent Mind-supporting entities; they are Al-core controlled, semi-slaved to me and therefore only capable of being used effectively as a single unit, not as a distributed war machine. All are currently deployed in the volume of space around the Excession.
The surrender of the Affronter fleet of Culture craft has been effected without conflict; the ROU Killing Time — aided by the other regular Culture warships in the volume — has taken charge of the vessels. It would appear that the craft from the ship store at Pittance are personally blameless and have been the victims of an act of treacherous espionage.
Nine Affronter military officers have also surrendered; their commanding officer took his own life. I include a roster of their names and ranks (list attached).
Should the Affront now sue for peace, I propose that I and therefore my war fleet be placed at the disposal of authorities considered acceptable to all concerned. I and the fleet under my command will not be used to prosecute any further hostilities against the Affront or anybody else.
Any other suggested uses will be evaluated on their merits.
Otherwise it is my intention — in the fullness of time — to dismantle the craft I have constructed and go into a retreat.
I attach a signal file received from the LSV Serious Callers Only (signal file attached).
I also attach records of the confirmatory signals used by the Attitude Adjuster to convince vessels from the ship store at Pittance that they were being mobilised by the Culture as a whole. These have been passed to me by each of the craft concerned (signal files attached).
The implication that the ships from Pittance have been used as part of a conspiracy to trick the Affront into a war has been noted. I imagine that the ships/Minds named in the aforesaid files and those others also concerned in the matter will each wish to make a full explication of their motives, thoughts and actions concerning this alleged stratagem and take any further steps honour dictates.
The Mind of the LSV Not Invented Here has taken its own life.
Given the apparent at least partial entrapment of the Affront in this matter, further action against them of a punitive nature might seem to be both excessive and dishonourable. Please note that a copy of this signal, slightly edited for signal-operational methodology and stripped of codes and ciphers, has been sent to the Affront High Command and Senate as well as to the following news services (list attached) and the Galactic General Council.
Regarding the Excession itself, I have the following to report:
— Be seeing you.
— What? Where are you going? the Sleeper Service sent as the Grey Area shot past it.
— Here; Churt Lyne wants to jump ship.
The Grey Area Displaced the ancient drone into the Sleeper Service.
The giant GSV had finally come to a halt, not far from the thirty-light-year limit the Fate Amenable To Change had discovered and the Excession had, seemingly, set.
The GSV's war fleet was still deployed, set out in a year's-radius hemisphere throughout the skein while the Affronter's fleet of tricked Culture craft gathered together and opened their armament and armour systems to the scrutiny and control of the Killing Time and its comrades. The Affronter officers were transferred aboard the Killing Time still in their space suits while the GSV What Is The Answer And Why? quickly readied secure accommodation for them.
— Come back!
The Grey Area was too far away.
[tight beam, M8, tra. @4.28.891.7393]
xGSV Sleeper Service
oGCU Grey Area
Come back! What are you doing? Are you trying to ruin everything?
oo
[wide beam, Marain clear, tra. @4.28.891.7393+] xGCU Grey Area
oGSV Sleeper Service
It's all right. Goodbye and farewell.
— What's it up to? the GSV asked the drone Churt Lyne, hovering in the minibay it had been Displaced to.
— I really don't know, the drone replied. ~ It wouldn't tell me. But I think it was in communication with the Excession.
— Communication…
The Sleeper briefly considered trying to stop the smaller craft. The GCU was heading out past it for the thirty-light-year limit, straight towards the Excession and still accelerating.
The GSV decided to let it go. Its engines would fail… about now.
Fail they did, but just before they stopped working the Grey Area carried out a bizarre course manoeuvre, angling its run so that it was falling towards the energy grid; it would coast without power down to the grid and be destroyed.
Madness, thought the Sleeper, but was too far away to do anything.
[tight beam, M8, tra. @4.28.891.7394-] xGSV Sleeper Service
oGCU Grey Area
What has happened? Why are you doing this? Has your integrity been compromised?
oo
[wide beam, Mclear, tra. @4.28.891.7394]
xGCU Grey Area
oGSV Sleeper Service
No! I'm fine!
The Sleeper didn't have time for another signal. The Grey Area dived into the energy grid, flickered once and then vanished far, far below in a tiny scintillating flare of radiations.
The GSV inspected the resulting shell of energies. It certainly looked like destruction. The Sleeper studied that final flicker the GCU had given just before it had encountered the grid. It still looked like it had been destroyed, but there was just a hint…
A human would have shaken her or his head.
When the Sleeper returned its attention to the Excession, it had gone. There was nothing present on the skein of real space, and no sign of even the merest disturbance on either of the energy grids.
No! thought the Sleeper Service, experiencing a terrible sense of frustration. No! Damn you! Don't just go, not without some sort of reason, some explanation, some rationale…
A few seconds later, the GCU Fate Amenable To Change, as the nearest available craft, was persuaded that it might try approaching the Excession's last known position. When it did so and passed over the thirty-light-year limit, its engines worked normally and continued to do so all the way in. However, it refused to go any further than the original closest-approach limit it had set itself, over a month earlier.
The Killing Time was more than happy to oblige; it raced in at maximum acceleration and at the very last moment instituted a crash stop, finally coming shuddering to rest exactly where the Excession had been. It reported, disappointedly, that there was absolutely nothing to be seen. perched on the parapet at the girl's side now, looking gloomily out at the troubled waves of the sea.
XIV
Ulver Seich sat on the parapet of the tower, swinging her legs. From the roof, it looked like you could see out over an ocean in one direction and a landscape of sea marsh, water meadow and cliffs in the other. It was perfectly convin
cing but it was just a projection; the bird had tried flying out in a spiral and only got a couple of metres out from the tower's edge before one of its wings had encountered the solid boundary of the screen field. It was perched on the parapet at the girl's side now, looking gloomily out at the troubled waves of the sea.
"Bugger," Ulver said, half to herself. "It's gone." She kept a watch on developments outside through her neural lace while she looked down at the bird. "The Excession," she told it. "It's just disappeared."
"Good riddance," the bird said grouchily.
"And the Grey Area flew into the grid," Ulver said, her voice trailing off for a moment while she inquired what had happened to Churt Lyne. "Ah," she said, discovering the old drone was safe aboard the GSV.
"Pah," said the bird. "It was always a nutter anyway, by all accounts. What's its highness doing?"
"What?"
"The Sleeper. Don't suppose it's showing any sign of wanting to end it all, is it?"
"No, it's just… stationary there."
"Too much to hope for," muttered the bird.
Ulver kept on gazing out at the sea and swinging her legs. She glanced back at the pallid bulge of the translucent dome. "Wonder how they're getting on?"
"Want me to find out?" the bird said, brightening.
"No. Just you stay where you are."
"I don't know," the creature grumbled. "Every bastard seems to enjoy ordering me around…"
"Oh, do be quiet," Ulver told it.
"See what I mean?"
"Shut up."
12. Faring Well
I
Fivetide dived for the bat ball and missed; he thumped heavily into the court wall and up-ended. He lay on his back, wheezing and laughing on the floor until Onceman Genar-Hofoen limbed over to him, extended a tentacle and helped him haul himself upright.
"Fifteen all, I think," he rumbled, also laughing. He scooped the twittering bat ball up in his racket and ladled it into Fivetide's. "Your serve."
Excession c-5 Page 47
