Expiring Light
The late afternoon sun shone through a kilometre-high gap between the mountains and the cloud. Ziller came out of the bathroom puffing his fur dry with a powerful little hand-held blower. He frowned at Tersono and looked mildly surprised to see Kabe and the avatar.
‘Hello all. Still not going. Anything else?’
He threw himself down onto a big couch and stretched out, rubbing the fluffed-up fur over his belly.
‘I took the liberty of asking Ar Ischloear and Hub here to attempt to reason with you one last time,’ Tersono said. ‘There would still be ample time to get to the Stullien Bowl in a seemly manner and-’
‘Drone, I don’t know what you don’t understand,’ Ziller said, smiling. ‘It’s perfectly simple. If he goes, I don’t. Screen, please. Stullien Bowl.’
A screen, out-holo’d, burst into life across the whole of the wall on the other side of the room, protruding just beyond the furniture. The projection filled with a couple of dozen views of the Bowl, its surroundings and various groups of people and talking heads. There was no sound. With the rehearsal finished, some enthusiasts could be seen already making their way into the giant amphitheatre.
The drone swivelled its body quickly, jerking once, to indicate it was looking at first the avatar and then Kabe. When neither said anything, it said, ‘Ziller, please.’
‘Tersono, you’re in the way.
‘Kabe; will you talk to him?’
‘Certainly,’ Kabe said, nodding massively. ‘Ziller. How are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you, Kabe.’
‘I thought you were moving a little awkwardly.’
‘I confess I am a little stiff; I was neck-jumping a Kussel’s Janmandresile earlier this morning and it threw me.
‘You are otherwise uninjured?’
‘Some bruises.’
‘I thought you disapproved of such activities.’
‘All the more so now.’
‘You wouldn’t recommend it, then?’
‘Certainly not for you, Kabe; if you neck-jumped a Kussel’s Janmandresile you’d probably break its back.’
‘You are probably correct,’ Kabe chuckled. He put one hand to cup his chin. ‘Hmm. Kussel’s Janmandresiles; they’re only found on-’
‘Will you stop it?’ screeched the drone. Its aura field burned white with anger.
Kabe turned, blinking, to the machine. He spread his arms wide, setting a chandelier tinkling. ‘You said talk to him,’ he rumbled.
‘Not about him making an exhibit of himself indulging in some ridiculous so-called sport! I meant about going to the Bowl! About conducting his own symphony!’
‘I did not make an exhibit of myself. I rode that giant beast for a good hundred metres.’
‘It was sixty at the most and it was a hopeless neck-jump,’ the drone said, doing a good vocal impression of a human spitting with fury. ‘It wasn’t even a neck-jump! It was a back jump followed by an undignified scramble. Do that in a competition and you’d get negative style marks!’
‘I still didn’t-’
‘You did make an exhibit of yourself!’ the machine shouted. ‘That simian in the trees by the river was Marel Pomiheker; news-feeder, guerrilla journalist, media-raptor and all-round data-hound. Look!’ The drone swept away from the screen and pointed a strobing grey field at one of the twenty-four rectangular projections protruding from the screen. It showed Ziller squatting on a branch, hiding up a tree in a jungle.
‘Shit,’ Ziller said, looking aghast. The view cut to a large purple animal coming down a jungle path. ‘Screen off,’ Ziller said. The holos disappeared. Ziller looked at the three others, brows furled. ‘Well, I certainly can’t go out in public now, can I?’ he said sarcastically to Tersono.
‘Ziller, of course you can!’ Tersono yelped. ‘Nobody cares you got thrown off some stupid animal!’
Ziller looked at the avatar and the Homomdan and briefly crossed his eyes.
‘Tersono would like me to try and argue you into attending the concert,’ Kabe told Ziller. ‘I doubt that anything I might say would change your mind.’
Ziller nodded. ‘If he goes, I stay here,’ he said. He looked at the timepiece standing on top of the antique mosaikey on a platform near the windows. ‘Still over an hour.’ He stretched out more fully and clasped his hands behind his head. He grimaced and brought his arms down again, massaging one shoulder. ‘Actually I doubt I could conduct anyway. Pulled a muscle, I think.’ He lay back again. ‘So, I imagine our Major Quilan is dressing now, yes?’
‘He’s dressed,’ the avatar said. ‘In fact, he’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Ziller asked.
‘Left for the Bowl,’ the avatar said. ‘He’s in a car right now. Already ordered his interval drinks.’
Ziller looked briefly troubled, then brightened and said, ‘Ha.’
The car was a large one, half full; crowded by local standards. At the far end, through a few embroidered hangings and a screen of plants, he could hear a group of young, all shouting and laughing. One calm adult voice sounded like its owner was trying to keep them in order.
A child burst through the screen of plants, looking back the way it had come, almost tripping. It glanced round at the adults in this end of the car. It looked to be about to throw itself back through the plants again until it saw Quilan. Its eyes widened and it walked over to sit beside him. Its pale face looked flushed and it was breathing hard. Its dark straight hair was plastered to its forehead with sweat.
‘Hello,’ it said. ‘Are you Ziller?’
‘No,’ Quilan said. ‘My name is Quilan.’
‘Geldri T’Chuese,’~ the child said, putting out its hand. ‘How do you do.’
‘How do you do.’
‘Are you going to the Festival?’
‘No, I’m going to a concert.’
‘Oh, the one at the Stullien Bowl?’
‘Yes. And you? Are you going to the concert?’
The child snorted derisively. ‘No. There’s a whole bunch of us; we’re going round t~e Orbital by car until we get bored. Quem wants to go round at least three times in a row because Xiddy’s been round twice with his cousin, but I think twice is enough.’
‘Why do you want to go ~und the Orbital?’
Geldri T’Chuese looked oddly at Quilan. ‘Just for a laugh,’ it said, as though it ought to be obvious. A gale of laughter burst through the screen of plants from the far end of the car.
‘Sounds very noisy,’ Quilan said.
‘We’re wrestling,’ the child explained. ‘Before that we had a farting competition.’
‘Well, I’m not sorry I missed that.’
Another peal of high-pitched laughter rang down the car. ‘I’d better get back,’ Geldri T’Chuese said. It patted his shoulder. ‘Nice to meet you. Hope you enjoy the concert.’
‘Thank you. Goodbye.’
The child took a run at the screen of plants and jumped through between two of the clumps. There were more screams and laughs.
-~ I know.
You know what?
I can guess what you’re thinking.
-~ Can you?
-~ That they will probably still be in the underground car system when the Hub is destroyed.
-~ Is that really what I was thinking? -~ It’s what I’d be thinking. It. is tough.
Well, thank you for that.
I’m sorry.
-~ We’re all sorry.
The journey took a little longer than it would normally; there were a lot of people and cars stacking up to unload at the Bowl’s sub-surface access points. In the lift, Quilan nodded to a few people who recognised him from the news-service pieces he’d done. He saw one or two frowning at him, and guessed they knew that by coming he was probably going to prevent Ziller from attending. He shifted on his seat and inspected an abstract painting hanging nearby.
The lift arrived on the surface and people walked out into a broad, open concourse beneath a colonnade of tall, straight- trunked trees. Soft lights shone against the dark blue of the evening sky. Smells of food filled the air and people thronged cafes, bars and restaurants at the sides of the concourse. The Bowl filled the sky at the end of the broad way, studded with lights.
‘Major Quilan!’ a tall, handsome man in a bright coat shouted, rushing up to him. He offered his hand and Quilan shook it. ‘Chongon Lisser. Lisser News; usual affiliations, forty per cent take-up and rising.’
‘How do you do?’ Quilan kept on walking; the tall male walked to one side and a little in front, keeping his head turned towards Quilan to maintain eye contact.
‘I’m very well, Major, and I hope you are too. Major, is it true that Mahrai Ziller, the composer of tonight’s symphony here at the Stullien Bowl, Guerno Plate, Masaq’, has told you that if you attend the concert tonight then he won’t?’
‘No.’
‘It’s not true?’
‘He hasn’t told me anything directly.’
‘But would it be correct to say that you must have heard that he wouldn’t attend if you did?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And yet you have chosen to attend.’
‘Yes.’
‘Major Quilan, what is the nature of the dispute between you and Mahrai Ziller?’