‘I did wonder why I’d been invited,’ he confessed, the deep-set eyes somehow bright. ‘Everybody here seems so…’, he shrugged, ‘… important. That’s why I…’, he waved awkwardly behind him at the plant he’d been inspecting.
‘You don’t think composers should be regarded as important?’ she asked, gently chiding.
‘Well… compared to all these politicians and Admirals and business people… in terms of power, I mean… And I’m not even a very well-known musician. I’d have thought Savntreig, or Khu, or…’
‘They’ve composed their careers very well, certainly,’ she agreed.
He paused for a moment, then gave a small laugh and looked down. His hair was very fine, and glinted in the high mast light. It was her turn to fall in with his laugh. Maybe she ought to mention the commission now, rather than leaving it to their next meeting, when she would reduce the numbers – even if they were distant numbers, at the moment – to something a little more friendly… or even leaving it to a private rendezvous, later still, once she was sure he had been captivated.
How long should she spin this out? He was what she wanted, but it would mean so much more after a charged friendship; that long, exquisite exchange of gradually more intimate confidences, the slow accumulation of shared experiences, the languorous spiralling dance of attraction, coming and going and coming and going, winding closer and closer, until that laziness was sublimed in the engulfing heat of requital.
He looked her in the eyes, and said, ‘You flatter me, Ms Sma.’
She returned his gaze, raising her chin a little, acutely aware of each nuance in her carefully translated body language. There was an expression on his face she did not think so childish, now. His eyes reminded her of the stone on her bracelet. She felt a little light-headed, and took a deep breath.
‘Ahem.’
She froze.
The word had been pronounced from behind and to one side of her. She saw Sussepin’s gaze falter and shift.
Sma kept her expression serene as she turned, then glared at the grey-white casing of the drone as though attempting to melt holes in it.
‘What?’ she said, in a voice that might have etched steel.
The drone was the size – and near enough the shape – of a small suitcase. It floated in towards her face.
‘Trouble, toots,’ it said, then moved briskly to one side, angling its body so that it appeared to be contemplating the inky heights of sky beyond the crystal semisphere.
Sma looked down at the brick floor of the arboretum, her lips pursed. She allowed herself the tiniest of shakes of the head.
‘Mr Sussepin,’ she smiled, and spread her hands. This pains me, but… will you…?’
‘Of course.’ He was already moving, and went quickly past, nodding once.
‘Perhaps we can talk later,’ she said.
He turned, still backing off. ‘Yes; I’d… that would…’ He seemed to lose inspiration, and nodded nervously again, walking quickly to the doors at the far end of the arboretum. He left without looking back.
Sma whirled round to the drone, which was now humming innocently and apparently staring into the depths of a gaudily coloured flower, its stubby snout half buried in the bloom. It noticed her and looked up. She stood with legs apart, put one fist on her hip and said, ‘ “Toots”?’
The drone’s aura field flashed on; the mixture of purple regret and gunmetal puzzlement looked distinctly unconvincing. ‘I don’t know, Sma… just slipped out. Alliteration.’
Sma kicked at a dead branch, fixed the drone with a glare and said, ‘Well?’
‘You’re not going to like this,’ the drone said quietly, retreating a little and going dark with sorrow.
Sma hesitated. She looked away for a moment, shoulders suddenly slumping. She sat down on one of the tree roots. The gown crumpled around her. ‘It’s Zakalwe, isn’t it?’
The drone flashed rainbow in surprise; so quickly – she thought – it might even have been genuine. ‘Good grief,’ it said. ‘How…?’
She waved the question away. ‘I don’t know. Tone of voice. Human intuition… Just that time again. Life was getting to be too much fun.’ She closed her eyes and rested her head against the rough dark trunk of the tree. ‘So?’
The drone Skaffen-Amtiskaw lowered itself to the same height as the woman’s shoulder and floated near her. She looked at it.
‘We need him back again,’ it told her.
‘I sort of thought so,’ Sma sighed, flicking away an insect which had just landed on her shoulder.
‘Well, yes. I’m afraid nothing else will work; it has to be him personally.’
‘Yeah, but does it have to be me personally?’
‘That’s… the consensus.’
‘Wonderful,’ Sma said sourly.
‘You want the rest?’
‘Does it get any better?’
‘Not really.’
‘Hell,’ Sma clapped her hands on her lap and rubbed them up and down. ‘Might as well have it all at once.’
‘You would have to leave tomorrow.’
‘Aw drone, come on!’ She buried her head in her hands. She looked up. The drone was fiddling with a twig. ‘You’re kidding.’
”Fraid not.’
‘What about all this?’ She waved towards the turbine hall doors. ‘What about the peace conference? What about all the froth out there with their greased-up palms and their beady eyes? What about three years work? What about an entire fucking planet…?’
‘The conference will go ahead.’
‘Oh sure, but what about this “pivotal role” I was supposed to be playing?’
‘Ah,’ said the drone, bringing the twig right up to the sensing band on the front of its casing, ‘well…’
‘Oh no.’
‘Look, I know you don’t like…’
‘No, drone; it’s not…’ Sma got up suddenly and went to the edge of the crystal wall, looking out into the night.
‘Dizzy…’, the drone said, drifting closer.
‘Don’t you “Dizzy” me.’
‘Sma… it isn’t real. It’s a stand-in; electronic, mechanical, electro-chemical, chemical; a machine; a Mind-controlled machine, not alive in itself. Not a clone or…’
‘I know what it is, drone,’ she said, clasping her hands behind her.
The drone floated closer to her, putting its fields to her shoulders, squeezing gently. She shook its grip off, looked down.
‘We need your permission, Diziet.’
‘Yeah, I know that, too.’ She looked up for stars that were twice hidden, by cloud and by the lights of the arboretum.
‘You can, of course, stay here if you want to.’ The drone’s voice was heavy, remorseful. ‘The peace conference is certainly important; it needs… somebody to smooth things through. No doubt about that.’
‘And what’s so goddamn crucial I have to high-tail it tomorrow?’
‘Remember Voerenhutz?’
‘I remember Voerenhutz,’ she said, voice flat.
‘Well, the peace lasted forty years, but it’s breaking down now. Zakalwe worked with a man called…’
‘Maitchigh?’ she frowned, half turning her head to the drone.
‘Beychae. Tsoldrin Beychae. He became president of the cluster following our involvement. While he was in power he held the political system together, but he retired eight years ago, long before he had to, to pursue a life of study and contemplation.’ The drone made a sighing noise. ‘Things have slipped back since, and at the moment Beychae lives on a planet whose leaders are subtly hostile to the forces Zakalwe and Beychae represented and we backed, and who are taking a leading part in the factionalising of the group. There are several small conflicts under way and many more brewing; full-scale war involving the entire cluster is, as they say, imminent.’
‘And Zakalwe?’
‘Basically, it’s an Out. Down to the planet, convince Beychae he’s needed, and at the very least get him to declare an interest. But it may mean a physical spring, and the added complication is Beychae may require a lot of convincing.’
Sma thought it through, still regarding the night. ‘No tricks we can play?’
‘The two men know each other too well for anything other than the real Zakalwe to work… likewise Tsoldrin Beychae and the political machine throughout the entire system. Too many memories involved altogether.’
‘Yeah,’ Sma said quietly. ‘Too many memories.’ She rubbed her bare shoulders, as though she was cold. ‘What about big guns?’
‘We’ve a nebula fleet assembling; a core of one Limited System Vehicle and three General Contact Units stationed around the cluster itself, plus eighty or so GCUs keeping their tracks within a month’s rush-in distance. There ought to be four or five GSVs within a two-to-three-months dash for the next year or so. But that’s very, very much a last resort.’
‘Megadeath figures looking a bit equivocal are they?’ Sma sounded bitter.
‘If you want to put it that way,’ Skaffen Amtiskaw said.
‘Oh goddamn,’ Sma said quietly, closing her eyes. ‘So; how far away is Voerenhutz? I’ve forgotten.’
‘Only about forty days, but we have to pick Zakalwe up first; say… ninety for the whole outward journey.’
She turned around. ‘Who’s going to control the stand-in if the ship’s taking me?’ Her gaze flicked skyward.