‘Well, so do I,’ he said, trying to sound reasonable.
She’d got to Tier a few days before him, sent to look for him, in effect given a blank cheque and yet not able to find out where he was the easy way, through just asking; hence the business with the pondrosaur. Which made sense if it wasn’t Special Circumstances which had sent her, because it was SC who had been looking after him on Tier, and why would they be trying to kidnap him from themselves? And yet she’d had her own warship, apparently, and been given the intelligence that had led her to Tier to intercept him in the first place; information SC would naturally restrict to a small number of trusted Minds. Mystifying.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What exactly were you supposed to be doing after you left Tier, or was this rather pathetic attempt to reclaim your lost youth by trying to seduce women who looked like an old flame the totality of your mission?’
He smiled as tolerantly as he could. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you.’
Her eyes narrowed further. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘they might just ask us to throw you outboard.’
He allowed himself to sit back, looking surprised and hurt. A little shiver of real fear did make itself felt in his guts. ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ he asked.
She looked forward at the stars again, eyebrows gathered, mouth set in a down-turned line. ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but I’d enjoy thinking about it.’
There was silence for a while. He was conscious of her breathing, though he looked in vain at the attractively sculpted chest of her suit for any sign of movement. Suddenly, her foot clunked down on the carpet beneath her jewel-encrusted boot. ‘What were you supposed to be doing?’ she demanded angrily, turning to face him. ‘Why did they want you? Fuck it, I’ve told you why I was there. Come on; tell me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. She was already starting to blush with anger. Oh no, here we go, he thought. Tantrum time again.
Then the drone jerked up into the air behind them and something flashed round the edges of the module’s screen.
‘Hello in there,’ said a large, deep voice, all around them.
VII
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @4.28.883.4700]
xGSV Anticipation Of A New Lover’s Arrival, The
oLSV Serious Callers Only
I regret to inform you that I have changed my position concerning the so-called conspiracy concerning the Esperi Excession and the Affront. It is now my judgement that while there may have been certain irregularities of jurisdiction and of operational ethics involved, these were of an opportunistic rather than a conspiratorial nature. Further, I am, as I have always been, of the opinion that while the niceties of normal moral constraints should be our guides, they must not be our masters.
There are inevitably occasions when such – if I may characterise them so – civilian considerations must be set aside (and indeed, is this not what the very phrase and title Special Circumstances implies?) the better to facilitate actions which, while distasteful and regrettable perhaps in themselves, might reasonably be seen as reliably leading to some strategically desirable state or outcome no rational person would argue against.
It is my profoundly held conviction that the situation regarding the Affront is of this highly specialised and rare nature and therefore merits the measures and policy currently being employed by the Minds you and I had previously suspected of indulging in some sort of grand conspiracy.
I call upon you to talk with our fellows in the Interesting Times Gang whom you have – unjustly, I now believe – distrusted, with a view to facilitating an accord which will allow all parties to work together towards a satisfactory outcome both to this regrettable and unnecessary misunderstanding and, perhaps, to the conflict that has now been initiated by the Affront.
For myself, I intend to go into a retreat for some time, starting immediately from the end of this signal. I shall no longer be in a position to correspond; however, messages may be left for me with the Independent Retreats Council (ex-Culture section) and will be reviewed every hundred days (or thereabouts).
I wish you well and hope that my decision might help precipitate a reconciliation I devoutly wish will happen.
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28.883.6723 ]
xLSV Serious Callers Only
oEccentric Shoot Them Later
Meat. Take a look at the enclosed bullshit from the AOANL’sA (signal enclosed). I almost hope it’s been taken over. If this is the way it really feels, I’d feel slightly worse.
oo
[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @4.28.883.6920]
xEccentric Shoot Them Later
oLSV Serious Callers Only
Oh dear. Now we’re both really under threat. I’m heading into the Homomdan Fleet Base at Ara. I suggest you seek sanctuary as well. As a precaution, I am distributing locked copies of all our signals, researches and suspicions to a variety of trustworthy Minds with instructions that they only be opened on the event of mV demise. This I also urge you to do. Our only alternative is to go public, and I am not convinced we have sufficient evidence of a non-circumstantial nature.
oo
This is despicable. To be on the run from our own kind, our own peer Minds. Meat, am I miffed. Personally I’m running for a nice sunny Orbital (DiaGlyph enclosed). I too have deposited all the facts on this matter with friends, Minds specialising in archiving and the more reliable news services (I agree we cannot yet bruit our suspicions abroad; there probably never was a proper moment for that, but if there was, the war has negated its relevance), as well as the Sleeper Service, in what has become my daily attempt to contact it. Who knows? Another opportunity may present itself once the dust has cleared from around the Excession – if it ever does; if there is anyone left to witness it.
Oh well; it’s out of our fields now.
Best of luck, like they say.
VIII
The avatar Amorphia moved one of its catapults forward an octagon, in front of the woman’s leading tower; the noise of solid wooden wheels rumbling and squeaking along on equally solid axles, and of lashed-together wooden spars and planks flexing and creaking, filled the room. A curious smell which might have been wood rose gently from the board-cube.
Dajeil Gelian sat forward in her fabulously sculpted chair, one hand absently tapping her belly gently, the other at her mouth. She sucked at one finger, her brows creased in concentration. She and Amorphia sat in the main room of her new accommodation aboard the GCU Jaundiced Outlook, which had been restructured to mimic precisely the lay-out of the tower she had lived in for nearly forty years. The big, round room, capped by its transparent dome, resounded – between the sound effects produced by the game-cube – to the noise of rain. The surrounding screens showed recordings of the creatures Dajeil had studied, swum and floated with during most of those four decades. All around, the woman’s collected curios and mementoes were placed and set just where thev had been in the tower by its lonely sea. In the broad grate, a log fire crackled exuberantly.
Dajeil thought for a while, then took a cavalarian and shifted it across the board to the noise of thundering hooves and the smell of sweat. It came to a halt by a baggage train undefended save for some irregulars.
Amorphia, sat blackly folded on a small stool on the other side of the board, went very still. Then it moved an Invisible.
Dajeil looked round the board, trying to work out what all the avatar’s recent Invisible moves were leading up to. She shrugged; the cavalry piece took the irregulars almost without loss, to the sound of iron clashing on iron and screams, and the smell of blood.
Amorphia made another Invisible move.
Nothing happened for a moment. Then there was an almost subsonic rumbling sound. Dajeil’s tower collapsed, sinking through the octagon in the board in a convincing-looking cloud of dust and the floor-shaking sound of grinding, crunching rocks. And more screams. A lot of the important moves seemed to be accompanied by those. A smell of turned-over earth and stone-dust filled the air.
Amorphia looked up almost guiltily. ‘Sappers,’ it said, and shrugged.
Dajeil cocked one eyebrow. ‘Hmm,’ she said. She surveyed the new situation. With the tower gone, the way lay open to her heartland. It didn’t look good. ‘Think I should sue for peace?’ she asked.
‘Shall I ask the ship?’ the avatar asked.
Dajeil sighed. ‘I suppose so,’ she sighed.
The avatar glanced down at the board again. It looked up. ‘Seven-eighths chance it would go to me,’ the avatar told the woman.
She sat back in the great chair. ‘It’s yours, then,’ she said. She leant forward briefly and picked up another tower. She studied it. The avatar sat back, looking moderately pleased with itself. ‘Are you happy here, Dajeil?’ it asked.