"Sorry if I'm being slow," Gurgeh said, "but if these people were imperial police, mustn't they have been acting on orders? What's going on? Does the Empire want me dead because I'm winning the game against Ram?"
"Hmm," Za said, coughing a little. "You're learning, Jernau Gurgeh. Shit, I thought a game-player would have a bit more… natural deviousness about him… you're a babe amongst the carnivores out here… anyway, yes, somebody in a position of power wants you dead."
"Think they'll try it again?"
Za shook his head. "Too obvious; they'd have to be pretty desperate to try something like that again… in the short term at least. I think they'll wait and see what happens in your next ten game, then if they can't ditch you in that they'll get your next single opponent to use the physical option on you and hope you'll scare off. If you get that far."
"Am I really such a threat to them?"
"Hey, Gurgeh; they realise now they've made a mistake. You didn't see the "casts before you got here. They were saying you were the best player in the whole Culture and you were some sort of decadent slob, a hedonist who'd never worked a day in your life, that you were arrogant and totally convinced you were going to win the game, that you had all sorts of new glands sewn into your body, that you'd fucked your mother, men… animals for all I know, that you were half computer… then the Bureau saw some of your games you'd been playing on the way here, and announced—"
"What?" Gurgeh said, sitting forward. "What do you mean they'd seen some of the games I'd been playing?"
"They asked me for some recent games you'd played; I got in touch with the Limiting Factor — isn't that thing a bore? — and had it send me the moves in a couple of your recent games against it. The Bureau said on the strength of those they were more than happy to let you play using your drug-glands and everything else…. I'm sorry; I'd assumed the ship asked your permission first. Didn't it?"
"No," Gurgeh said.
"Well, anyway, they said you could play without restrictions. I don't think they really wanted to — purity of the game, you know? but the orders must have been handed down. The Empire wanted to prove that even with your unfair advantages you still weren't capable of staying in the Main Series. Your first couple of days" play against that priest and his squad dies must have had them rubbing their little hands with glee, but then that out-of-the-hat stunt-win dropped their chins in their soup. Having you drawn against Ram in the single game probably seemed like a really good wheeze too, but now you're about to kick his latrine boards out from under him and they've panicked. Za hiccuped. "Hence the bungled splat-job today."
"So the draw against Ram wasn't really random, either?"
"God's balls, Gurgeh," Za laughed. "No, man! Holy shit! Are you really this naive?" He sat shaking his head and looking at the floor and hiccupping every now and again.
Gurgeh stood up and went to the opened module doors. He looked out at the city, shimmering in the late evening haze. Long tower shadows lay on it like widely spaced hairs on some near-bald pelt. Aircraft glinted sunset-red above it.
Gurgeh didn't think he'd ever felt so angry and frustrated in his life. Another uncomfortable feeling to add to those he'd been experiencing lately, feelings he'd put down to the game, and to really playing seriously for the first time.
Everybody seemed to be treating him like a child. They happily decided what he need and need not be told, they kept things back from him that he ought to have been told, and when they did tell him they acted as if he should have known all the time.
He looked back at Za, but the man was sitting rubbing his belly and looking distracted. He belched loudly, then smiled happily and shouted, "Hey, module! Put up channel ten!.. yeah, on the screen; yo." He got up and trotted forward to stand right in front of the screen, and stood there, arms folded, whistling tunelessly and grinning vacantly at the moving pictures. Gurgeh watched from the side.
The news showed film of imperial troopers landing on a distant planet. Towns and cities burned, refugee lines snaked, bodies were shown. There were interviews with the tearful families of slain troopers. The just invaded locals — hairy quadrupeds with prehensile lips — were shown lying down tied up in the mud, or on their knees before a portrait of Nicosar. One was shorn, so the people back home could see what they looked like under all that fur. Their lips had become prized trophies.
The following story was about Nicosar demolishing his opponent in the single game. The Emperor was shown walking from one pan of the board to another, signing some documents in an office, then from a distance, standing on the board again while a commentator enthused over the way he'd played.
The attack on Gurgeh was next. He was amazed when he saw the incident on film. It was over in an instant; a sudden leap, him falling, the drone disappearing upwards, some flashes, Za springing forward out of the crowd, confusion and movement, then his face in close-up, a shot of Pequil on the ground, and another of the dead attackers. He was described as being dazed but unharmed, thanks to the prompt action of the police. Pequil was not seriously wounded; he was interviewed in hospital, explaining how he felt. The attackers were described as extremists.
"That means they might decide to call them revs later on," Za said.
He told the screen to turn off, then turned to Gurgeh. "Didn't you think I was quick there, though?" he said, grinning widely and throwing his arms wide. "Did you see the way I moved? It was beautiful!" He laughed and spun round, then half walked, half danced to the foamseat again, and fell into it. "Shit, I was only there to see what sort of loonies they had out protesting against you, but wow am I glad I went! What speed! Fucking animal grace, maestro!"
Gurgeh agreed Za had moved very quickly.
"Let's see it again, module!" Za shouted. The module-screen obliged, and Shohobohaum Za laughed and giggled as he watched the few seconds of action. He replayed it a few more times, in slow motion, clapping his hands, then called for another drink. The frothing bowl came quicker this time, the module's synthesisers having wisely kept the previous coding. Gurgeh sat down again, seeing that Za wasn't thinking of leaving just yet. Gurgeh ordered some snacks; Za snorted in derision when offered food, and crunched the roasted weirdberries that came with his foaming cocktail.
They watched imperial broadcasts while Za slurped slowly at his drink. Outside, one sun went down and the city lights sparkled in the half-light. Flere-Imsaho appeared without its disguise — Za took no notice of it — and announced it was on its way out, making yet another foray into the avian population of the planet.
"Don't think that thing fucks birds, d'you?" Za said after it had disappeared.
"No," Gurgeh said, drinking his light wine.
Za snorted. "Hey; you want to come out again some time? That visit to the Hole was a real hoot. I really enjoyed it in a weird son of way. How about it? Except let's go totally wild this time; show these constipated bonebrains what Culture guys are like when they really put their minds to it."
"I don't think so," Gurgeh said. "Not after that last time."
"You mean you didn't enjoy it?" Za said, astonished.
"Not that much."
"But we had a great time! We got drunk, we got stoned, we got well one of us got laid, and you nearly did — we had a fight, which we won dammit, and then we ran away… holy shit; what more do you want?"
"Not more, less. Anyway; I have other games to play."
"You're crazy; that was… a wonderful night out. Wonderful." He rested his head on the seat-back and breathed deeply.
"Za," Gurgeh said, sitting forward, chin in hand, elbow on knee, "why do you drink so much? You don't need to; you've got all the usual glands. Why?"
"Why?" Za said, his head coming upright again; he looked round as though startled to see where he was for a moment. "Why?" he repeated. He hiccuped. "You ask me "Why?"?" he said.
Gurgeh nodded.
Za scratched under one armpit, shook his head and looked apologetic. "What was the question again?"
"Why do y
ou drink so much?" Gurgeh smiled tolerantly.
"Why not?" Za's arms flapped once. "I mean, have you never done something just… just because? I mean… It's um… empathy. This is what the locals do, y'know. This is their way out; this is how they escape their place in the glorious imperial machine… and a fucking grand position it is to appreciate its finer points from too… it all makes sense, y'know Gurgeh; I worked it out." Za nodded wisely, tapped the side of his head very slowly with one limp finger. "Worked it out," he repeated. "Think about it; the Culture's all its…" The same finger made a twirling motion in the air. "… built in glands; hundreds of secretions and thousands of effects, any combination you like and all for free… but the Empire, ah ha!" The finger pointed upwards. "In the Empire you got to pay; escape is a commodity like anything else. And it's this stuff; drink. Lowers the reaction time, makes the tears come easier…" Za put two swaying fingers to his cheeks. "… makes the fists come easier…" Now his hands were clenched, and he pretended to box; jabbing. "… and…" He shrugged. "… it eventually kills you." He looked more or less at Gurgeh. "See?" He spread his arms wide again and then let them fan back limply on the seat. "Besides," he said, in a suddenly weary voice. "I don't have all the usual glands."
Gurgeh looked up in surprise. "You don't?"
"Nup. Too dangerous. The Empire would disappear me and do the most thorough PM you ever seen. Want to find out what a Culturnik's like inside, see?" Za closed his eyes. "Had to have almost everything taken out, and then… when I got here, let the Empire do all sorts of tests and take all sorts of samples… let them find out what they wanted without causing a diplomatic incident, disappearing an ambassador…"
"I see. I'm sorry." Gurgeh didn't know what else to say. He honestly hadn't realised. "So all those drugs you were advising me to gland…"
"Guesswork, and memory," Za said, eyes still shut. "Just trying to be friendly."
Gurgeh felt embarrassed, almost ashamed.
Za's head went back and he started to snore.
Then suddenly his eyes opened and he jumped up. "Well, must be toddling," he said, making what looked like a supreme effort to pull himself together. He stood swaying in front of Gurgeh. "D'you think you could call me an air cab?"
Gurgeh did that. A few minutes later, after receiving clearance from Gurgeh via the guards on the roof, the machine arrived and took Shohobohaum Za away, singing.
Gurgeh sat for a little while as the evening wore on and the second sun set, then he finally dictated a letter to Chamlis Amalk-ney, thanking the old drone for the Orbital bracelet, which he still wore. He copied most of the letter to Yay, too, and told them both what had happened to him since he'd arrived. He didn't bother to disguise the game he was playing or the Empire itself, and wondered how much of this truth would actually get through to his friends. Then he studied some problems on the screen and talked over the next day's play with the ship.
He picked up Shohobohaum Za's discarded bowl at one point, discovering there were still a few mouthfuls of drink left inside. He sniffed it, then shook his head, and told a tray to tidy the debris up.
Gurgeh finished Lo Wescekibold Ram off the next day with that the press described as "contempt'. Pequil was there, looking little the worse for wear save for a sling bandage on his arm. He said he was glad Gurgeh had escaped injury. Gurgeh told him how sorry he was Pequil had been hurt.
They went to and returned from the game-tent in an aircraft; the Imperial Office had decided Gurgeh was at too much risk travelling on the ground.
When he got back to the module again, Gurgeh discovered he was to have no interval between that game and the next; the Games Bureau had couriered a letter to say his next ten game would start the following morning.
"I'd have preferred a break," Gurgeh confessed to the drone. He was having a float-shower, hanging in the middle of the AG chamber while the water sprayed from various directions and was sucked away through tiny holes all over the semi-spherical interior. Membrane plugs prevented the water from going into his nose, but speaking was still a little spluttery.
"No doubt you would," Flere-Imsaho said in its squeaky voice. "But they're trying to wear you out. And of course it means you'll be playing against some of the best players, the ones who've also managed to finish their games quickly."
"That had occurred to me," Gurgeh said. He could only just see the drone through the spray and steam. He wondered what would happen if somehow the machine hadn't been made quite perfectly and some water got into it. He turned lazily head over heels in the shifting currents of ai and water.
"You could always appeal to the Bureau. I think it's obvious you're being discriminated against."
"So do I. So do they. So what?"
"It might do some good to make an appeal."
"You make it then."
"Don't be stupid; you know they ignore me."
Gurgeh started humming to himself, eyes closed.
One of his opponents in the ten game was the same priest he'd beaten in the first one, Lin Goforiev Tounse; he'd won through his second-string games to rejoin the Main Series. Gurgeh looked at the priest when the apex entered the hall of the entertainment complex where they'd be playing, and smiled. It was an Azadian facial gesture he'd found himself practising occasionally, unconsciously, rather like a baby attempts to imitate the expressions on the faces of the adults around it. Suddenly it seemed like the right time to use it. He would never get it quite right, he knew — his face simply wasn't built quite the same as an Azadian's — but he could imitate the signal well enough for it to be unambiguous.
Translated or not, though, Gurgeh knew it was a smile that said, "Remember me? I've beaten you once and I'm looking forward to doing it again'; a smile of self-satisfaction, of victory, of superiority. The priest tried to smile back with the same signal, but it was unconvincing, and soon turned to a scowl. He looked away.
Gurgeh's spirits soared. Elation filled him, burning bright inside. He had to force himself to calm down.
The other eight players had all, like Gurgeh, won their matches. Three were Admiralty or Navy men, one was an Army colonel, one a judge and the other three were bureaucrats. All were very good players.
At this third stage in the Main Series the contestants played a mini-tournament of one-against-one lesser games, and Gurgeh thought this would provide his best chance of surviving the match; on the main boards he was likely to face some sort of concerted action, but in the single games he had a chance of building up enough of an advantage to weather such storms.
He found himself taking great pleasure in beating Tounse, the priest. The apex swept his arm across the board after Gurgeh's winning move, and stood up and started shouting and waving his fist at him, raving about drugs and heathens. Once, Gurgeh was aware, such a reaction would have brought him out in a cold sweat, or at the very least left him dreadfully embarrassed. But now he found himself just sitting back and smiling coldly.
Still, as the priest ranted at him, he thought the apex might be about to hit him, and his heart did beat a little faster… but Tounse stopped in mid-flow, looked round the hushed, shocked people in the room, seemed to realise where he was, and fled.
Gurgeh let out a breath, relaxed his face. The imperial Adjudicator came over and apologised on the priest's behalf.
Flere-Imsaho was still popularly thought to be providing some sort of in-game aid to Gurgeh. The Bureau said that, to allay uninformed suspicions of this sort, they would like the machine to be held in the offices of an imperial computer company on the other side of the city during each session. The drone had protested noisily, but Gurgeh readily agreed.
He was still attracting large crowds to his games. A few came to glare and hiss, until they were escorted off the premises by game officials, but mostly they just wanted to see the play. The entertainment complex had facilities for diagrammatic representations of the main boards so that people outside the main hall could follow the proceedings, and some of Gurgeh's sessions were even shown i
n live broadcasts, when they didn't clash with the Emperor's.
After the priest, Gurgeh played two of the bureaucrats and the colonel, winning all his games, though by a slender margin against the Army man. These games took a total of five days to play, and Gurgeh concentrated hard for all that time. He'd expected to feel worn-out at the end; he did feel slightly drained, but the primary sensation was one of jubilation. He'd done well enough to have at least a chance of beating the nine people the Empire had set against him, and far from appreciating the rest, he found he was actually impatient for the others to finish their minor games so that the contest on the main boards could begin.
"It's all very well for you, but I'm being kept in a monitoring chamber all day! A monitoring chamber; I ask you! These meatbrains are trying to probe me! Beautiful weather outside and a major migratory season just starting, but I'm locked up with a shower of heinous sentientophiles trying to violate me!"
"Sorry, drone, but what can I do? You know they're just looking for an excuse to throw me out. If you want, I'll make a request you're allowed to stay here in the module instead, but I doubt they'll let you."
"I don't have to do this you know, Jernau Gurgeh; I can do what I like. If I wanted to I could just refuse to go. I'm not yours — or theirs to be ordered around."
"I know that but they don't. Of course you can do as you please… whatever you see fit."
Gurgeh turned away from the drone and back to the module-screen, where he was studying some classic ten games. Flere-Imsaho was grey with frustration. The normal green-yellow aura it displayed when out of its disguise had been growing increasingly pale over the past few days. Gurgeh almost felt sorry for it.
"Well…" Flere-Imsaho whined — and Gurgeh got the impression that had it had a real mouth it would have spluttered, too — "it's just not good enough!" And with that rather lame remark, the drone whirled out of the lounge.
Gurgeh wondered just how badly the drone felt about being imprisoned all day. It had occurred to him recently that the machine might even have been instructed to stop him from getting too far in the games. If so, then refusing to be detained would be an acceptable way of doing it; Contact could justifiably claim that asking the drone to give up its freedom was an unreasonable request, and one it had every right to turn down. Gurgeh shrugged to himself; there was nothing he could do about it.
The Player of Games c-2 Page 22
