He had napped twice, scrubbed six attempts at the poeglyph and (having come to the tentative conclusion that it was mar- ginally more likely that he had gone mad than that the events of the last few days had been real) was debating with himself the relative merits of suicide, Storage, transcorporation into a group entity or a request to return to Yoleus and resume his studies – suitably physically altered and with the elongated lifespan he’d been considering earlier – when the Jhuvuonian Trader ship, an unlikely arrangement of tubes and spars, hove to on the far side of the Portal.
Jhuvuonian Traders were not at all what he imagined. For some reason he had expected squat, rough-looking hairy human- oids wearing skins and furs, when in fact they resembled collec- tions of very large red feathers. One of them floated through the Portal, encased within a mostly transparent bubble itself held inside a finger-like intrusion of air forming a tunnel reaching back to the Portal and the tubular vessel outside. He met it on a terrace of the mega fruit husk. 46 Zhun grasped the parapet at his side, watching the encased alien approach with the air of a creature sizing up potential nest-building material.
‘You are the Culture person?’ the creature in the bubble said, once it was hovering level with him. The voice was faint, the Marain accent tolerable.
‘Yes. How do you do?’
‘You will pay the worth of our ship to be taken to your destination?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is a very fine ship.’
‘So I see.’
‘We would have another identical.’
‘You shall.’
The alien made a series of clacking noises, talking to the Interpreter at Uagen’s side. 46 Zhun clacked back.
‘What is your destination?’ the alien said.
‘I need to send a signal to the Culture. Just get me in range to do that, initially, then take me to wherever I might meet with a Culture ship.’
It had crossed Uagen’s mind that the ship might be able to do this from here, without having to take him anywhere, though he doubted he would be so lucky. Still, in the next few moments he experienced a frisson of hope and nervousness until the creature said, ‘We could travel next to the Beidite entity Critoletli, where such communication and congregation might both be accomplished.’
‘How long would that take?’
‘Seventy-seven standard Culture days.’
‘There is nowhere closer?’
‘There is not.’
‘Could we signal ahead to the entity on our approach?’
‘We could.’
‘How soon would we be in range to do that?’
‘In about fifty standard Culture days.’
‘Very well. I’d like to set off immediately.’
‘Satisfactory. Payment to us?’
‘From the Culture upon my safe delivery. Oh. I should have mentioned.’
‘What?’ the alien said, its assemblage of red filaments fluttering inside the bubble.
‘There may be an additional reward involved, beyond the payment we have already agreed.’
The creature’s feathery body rearranged itself again. ‘Satisfac- tory,’ it repeated.
The bubble floated up to the parapet. There was a second bubble forming beside the one enclosing the alien. It was, Uagen reflected, just like watching a cell divide. ‘Atmosphere and temperature are adjusted for Culture standard,’ the alien told him. ‘Gravity within ship will be less. This is acceptable to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can provide your own sustenance?’
‘I’ll manage,’ he said, then thought. ‘You do have water?’
‘We do.’
‘Then I’ll survive.’
‘You will come aboard, please.’
The twinned bubble bumped against the parapet. Uagen stooped, picked up his bags and looked at 46 Zhun. ‘Well, goodbye. Thank you for your help. Wish Yoleus all the best.’
‘The Yoleus wishes me to wish you a safe journey and a subsequent life which is pleasing to you.
Uagen smiled, ‘Tell it thank you, from me. I hope to see it again.’
‘This will be done.’
13
Some Ways of Dying
The ship lift sat underneath the falls; when it was needed, its counter-weighted cradle swung slowly up and out from the swirling pool at the foot of the torrent, trailing veils and mists of its own. Behind the plunging curtain of water, the giant counter-weight moved slowly down through its subterranean pool, balancing the dock-sized cradle as it rose until it slotted into a wide groove carved into the lip of the falls. Once home, its gates gradually forced themselves open against the current, so that the cradle presented a sort of balcony of water jutting out beyond the river’s kilometre-wide drop-off point.
Two bullet-shaped vessels powered upstream from either side like giant fish; they trailed long booms which stretched out to form a wide V that funnelled the oncoming barge towards the cradle. Once the gates had closed again and the barge was safely enclosed, the booms retracted, the cradle opened its side caissons to the onrushing force of the water and the extra weight slowly overcame the balancing mass of the counter-weight, now deep under the pool beneath.
Cradle and barge tipped slowly outwards and down, descend- ing amongst the thunder and mist towards the turmoil of waters below.
Ziller, dressed in a waistcoat and leggings that were thor- oughly saturated, stood with the Hub avatar on a forward-facing promenade deck just below the bridge of the barge Ucalegon, on the River Jhree, Toluf Plate. The Chelgrian shook himself, unleashing spray, as the cradle’s downstream gates opened and the barge made its way, thudding and bumping against the inflatable sides of the cradle, into the maelstrom of clashing waves and surging hummocks of water beyond.
He leant over to the avatar and pointed up through the churning clouds of vapour towards the falls’ lip, two hundred metres above. ‘What would happen if the barge missed the cradle up there?’ he yelled over the sound of the waterfall.
The avatar, looking drenched but uncaring in a thin dark suit which clung to its silvery frame, shrugged. ‘Then,’ it said loudly, ‘there would be a disaster.’
‘And if the downstream gates opened while the cradle was still at the top of the falls?’
The creature nodded. ‘Again, disaster.’
‘And if the cradle’s supporting arms gave way?’
‘Disaster.’
‘Or if the cradle started to descend too soon?’
‘Ditto.’
‘Or either set of gates gave way before the cradle reached the pool?’
‘Guess what.~
‘So this thing does have an anti-gravity keel or something, doesn’t it?’ Ziller shouted. ‘As back-up, redundancy? Yes?’
LOOK TO WINDWARD 261
The avatar shook its head. ‘No.’ Droplets fell from its nose and ears.
Ziller sighed and shook his head, too. ‘No, I didn’t really think so.’
The avatar smiled and leant towards him. ‘I take it as an encouraging sign that you’re beginning to ask that sort of question after the experience concerned is past the danger- ous stage.’
‘So I’m becoming as thoughtlessly blas6 about risk and death as your inhabitants.’
The avatar nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes. Encouraging, isn’t it?’
‘No. Depressing.’
The avatar laughed. It looked up at the sides of the gorge as the river funnelled its way onwards to join Masaq’ Great River via Ossuliera City. ‘We’d better get back,’ the silver-skinned creature said. ‘Ibm Dolince will be dying soon, and Nisil Tchasole coming back.’
‘Oh, of course. Wouldn’t want to miss either of your gro- tesque little ceremonies, would we?’
They turned and walked round the corner of the deck. The barge powered its way through the chaos of waves, its bows smacking into surging piles of white and green water and throwing great curtains of spray into the air to land like torrential squalls of rain across the decks. The buffeted vessel tipped and heaved. Behind it, the cradle was slowly and steadily submerging itself again in the raging currents.
A lump of water crashed onto the deck behind them, turning the promenade into a surging river half a metre deep. Ziller had to drop to all threes and use one hand on the deck rail to steady himself as they made their way through the torrent to the nearest doors. The avatar walked sloshing through the stream surging round its knees as though indifferent. It held the doors open and helped Ziller through.
In the foyer, Ziller shook himself again, spattering the gleam- ing wooden walls and embroidered hangings. The avatar just stood and the water fell off it, leaving its silvery skin and its matte clothes completely dry while the water drained away from its feet across the decking.
Ziller dragged a hand through his face fur and patted his ears. He looked at the immaculate figure standing smiling opposite him while he dripped. He wrung some water out of his waistcoat as he inspected the avatar’s skin and clothing for any remaining sign of moisture. It appeared to be perfectly dry. ‘That is a very annoying trait,’ he told it.
‘I did offer earlier to shelter both of us from the spray,’ the avatar reminded him. The Chelgrian pulled one of his waistcoat pockets inside out and watched the resulting stream of water hit the deck. ‘But you said you wanted fully to appreciate the experience with all your senses including that of touch,’ the avatar continued. ‘Which I have to say I did think was a little casual at the time.’