As its size and its population had grown, so had the speeds Phage Rock was capable of. It had been successively fitted with ever-more efficient and powerful drives and engines, until eventually it was able to maintain a perfectly respectable velocity either warping along the fabric of space-time or creating its own induced-singularity pathway through hyperspace beneath or above it.
Ulver Seich’s had been one of the Rock’s Founding Families; she could trace her ancestry back through fifty-four generations on Phage itself and numbered amongst her ancestors at least two forebears who were inevitably mentioned in even one-volume Histories of the Culture, as well as being descended from – as the fashions of the intervening times had ordained – people who had resembled birds, fish, dirigible balloons, snakes, small clouds of cohesive smoke and animated bushes.
The tenor of the time had generally turned against such outlandishness and people had mostly returned to looking more like people over the last millennium, albeit assuredly pretty good-looking people, but still, some part of one’s appearance was initially at least left to luck and the random nature of genetic inheritance, and it was a matter of some pride to Ulver that she had never had any form of physical alteration carried out (well, apart from the neural lace of course, but that didn’t count). It would have been a brave or deranged human or machine who told Ulver Seich to her face that the give-or-take-a-bit human-basic form was not almost unimprovably graceful and alluring, especially in its female state, and even more especially when it was called Ulver Seich.
She looked round the room the drone had brought her to. It was semicircular and moderately big, shaped like an auditorium or a shallowly sloped lecture hall, but most of the steps or seats seemed to be filled with complicated-looking desks and pieces of equipment. A huge screen filled the far wall.
They’d entered the room through a long tunnel which she’d never seen before and which was blocked by a series of thick, mirror-coated doors which had rolled silently back into recesses as they’d approached, and revolved back into place behind them once they’d passed. Ulver had admired her reflection in every one of them, and drawn herself up even straighter in her spectacular violet gown.
The lights had come on in the semicircular room as the last door had rolled back into place. The place was bright, but dusty. The drone whooshed off to one side and hovered over one of the desks.
Ulver stood looking round the space, wondering. She sneezed.
‘Bless you.’
‘Thank you. What is this place, Churt?’ she asked.
‘Emergency Centre Command Space,’ the drone told her, as the desk beneath it lit up in places and various panes and panels of light leapt up to waver in the air above its surface.
Ulver Seich wandered over to look at the pretty displays.
‘Didn’t even know this place existed,’ she said, drawing one black-gloved finger along the desk’s surface. The displays altered and the desk made a chirping noise; Churt Lyne slapped her hand away, going ‘tssk’ while its aura field flashed white. She glowered at the machine, inspected the grey rim of dust on her finger tip, and smeared it on the casing of the drone.
Normally Churt Lyne would have slicked that part of its body with a field and the dust would just have fallen off, having literally nothing to cling to, but this time it ignored her and just kept on hovering over the desk and its rapidly changing displays, obviously controlling both it and them. Ulver crossed her black-gloved arms in annoyance.
The sliding panels of lights hanging in the air changed and rotated; figures and letters slid across their surfaces. Then they all disappeared.
‘Right,’ the drone said. A maniple field coloured formal blue extended from the machine’s casing and dragged a small sculpted metal seat over, placing it behind her and then shoving it quickly forward; she had no choice but to plonk down into it.
‘Ow,’ she said, pointedly. She adjusted her bustle and glared at the drone but it still wasn’t paying attention.
‘Here we go,’ it said.
What looked like a pane of brown smoked glass suddenly leapt into existence above the desk. She studied it, attempting to see her reflection.
‘Ready?’ the drone asked her.
‘Mm-hmm,’ she said.
‘Ulver, child,’ the drone said, in a voice she knew it had spent centuries investing with gravitas. It swivelled through the air until it was directly in front of her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes? What?’
‘Ulver, I know you’re a little-‘
‘I’m drunk, drone, I know,’ she told it. ‘But I haven’t lost my wits.’
‘Well, good, but I need to know you’re fit to make this decision. What you’re about to see might change your life.’
She sighed and put her gloved elbow on the surface of the desk, resting her chin on her hand. ‘I’ve had a few young fellows tell me that before,’ she drawled. ‘It always turns out to be a disappointment, or a joke of the grossest nature.’
‘This is neither. But you must understand that just seeing what I’m about to show you might give Special Circumstances an interest in you that will not pass; even if you decide you don’t want to join Contact, or even if you do but you’re still refused, it is possible they might watch you for the rest of your life, just because of what you’re about to see. I’m sorry to sound so melodramatic, but I don’t want you to enter into anything you don’t understand the full implications of.’
‘Me neither.’ She yawned. ‘Can we get on with this?’
‘You’re sure you’ve understood what I’ve said?’
‘Hell yes!’ she exclaimed, waving her arms around. ‘Just get on with it.’
‘Oh; just one other thing-‘
‘What?’ she yelled.
‘Will you travel to a distant location in the guise of somebody else and – probably – help kidnap somebody, another Culture citizen?’
‘Will I what?’ she said, wrinkling her nose and snorting with laughter and disbelief.
‘Sounds like a “No” to me,’ the drone said. ‘Didn’t think you would. Had to ask though. That means I have no choice but to show you this.’ It sounded relieved.
She put both her black-gloved arms on the desk, rested her chin on them and looked as soberly as she could at the drone. ‘Churt,’ she said. ‘What is going on here?’
‘You’ll see,’ it told her, getting out of the way of the screen. ‘You ready?’
‘If I get any more ready I’ll be asleep.’
‘Good. Pay attention.’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ she said, glancing narrow-eyed at the machine.
‘Watch!’ it said.
She sat back in the seat with her arms folded.
Words appeared on the screen:
(“TextTrans” Obscure Term/Acronym Explanation function running, instances flagged thus: {}.)
(Signal sequence received at Phage Rock:)
oo
1) [ skein broadcast, Mclear {standard nonary Marain}, received @ n4.28.855.0065+]:
‘What’s “nonary” mean?’
‘Based on nine. Ordinary Marain; the stuff you learned in kindergarten, for goodness’ sake; the three-by-three dot grid.’
‘Oh.’
The text scrolled on:
*!c11505.* {trans.: (“*” = broadcast) (“!” = warning) Galaxy sector number; whole comprises standard-format High-Compression Factor Emergency Warning Signal}
oo
2 ) [ swept beam Ml {Basic Culture Intragalactic Ship Language}, received @ n4. 28. 855. 0079-]:
SDA {trans.: Significant Developmental Anomaly}.
c231 4992+52 {trans.: 4th-level-of-accuracy galactic location}
x {from} FATC {trans.: (General Contact Unit) Fate Amenable To Change} @ n4.28.855.*.
‘Could we lose all these strings of figures?’ she asked the drone. ‘They’re not really telling me anything I need to know, are they?’
‘I suppose not. There.’
(Command: “TextTrans” Long-Numeral Stripping function enabled, set at five numerals or more, instances flagged thus: •)
oo
3 ) [ swept beam, M2 {Standard Contact Section Idiom}, relay, received @n•]
xGCU Fate Amenable To Change
o {to} GSV Ethics Gradient
as requested:
Significant developmental anomaly.
c • {trans.: 8th-level-of-accuracy galactic location}
(@n•)
oo
4) [tight beam. M16 {Special Circumstances Section High Level Code Sequence}, relay, received @n•
xGCU Fate Amenable To Change
oGSV Ethics Gradient
only as required:
Developmental anomaly provisionally rated EqT {trans.: Equivalent-Technology}, potentially jeopardising, found here c•.
My Status: L5 secure, moving to L6^ {trans.: Contact Mind prophylactic system security levels}.
Instigating all other Extreme precautions.
oo
5) [broadcast Mclear, received @n•]:
*xGCU Fate Amenable To Change
oGSV Ethics Gradient
*broadcast*:
Ref. 3 previous compacs {trans.: communication-packages}
[ref 1-3 above].
Panic over.
I misinterpreted.
It’s a Scapsile Vault Craft.
Ho hum.
Sorry.
Full Internal Report to follow immediately in High Embarrassment Factor code.
BSTS. H H. BTB. {trans. “BSTS. H H. BTB.” = “Better Safe Than Sorry. Hale Hearty. Back To Business.” (pre-agreed OK signal between Escarpment Class General Contact Unit Fate Amenable To Change and General Systems Vehicle Ethics Gradient, confirmed.)}
oo
End Signal Sequence.
‘Is that it?’ she cried, staring at the drone. ‘That’s the most boring-!’
‘No it isn’t; look!’
She looked back; the text scrolled on.