‘Supposed to be a companion,’ the older woman said, shrugging. ‘Actually just a pain.’
Ulver nodded sympathetically and returned to her book.
Dajeil ordered food for two; a slave tray appeared with plates, bowls, jugs and goblets. A couple of floor-running servitors appeared and started clearing up the debris left by Ulver’s sudden Displacement from the Grey Area to the Jaundiced Outlook; the feather-light stuffing from the pillows proved a particular problem. The serving tray started arranging the place settings on the table and distributing the bowls of food; Dajeil watched this graceful, efficient display in silence. Ulver Seich gazed intently at the book and turned a page. Then a ship-slaved drone appeared. It floated by Dajeil’s shoulder. ‘Yes?’ she said.
‘We are now leaving the bay,’ the Jaundiced Outlook told her. ‘The journey to the GSV’s external envelope will take two and a half minutes.’
‘Oh. Right. Thank you,’ Dajeil said.
Ulver Seich looked up. ‘Would you ask the Grey Area to transfer my stuff here?’
‘That has already been accomplished,’ the drone said, already moving towards the stairs.
Ulver nodded again, put the book’s marker-ribbon into place, closed the volume and placed it by the side of her plate.
‘Well, Ms Gelian,’ she said, clasping her hands on the table. ‘It would appear we are to be travelling companions.’
‘Yes,’ Dajeil said. She started to serve herself some food. ‘Have you been with Byr long, Ms . . . Seich, wasn’t it?’ she asked.
Ulver nodded. ‘Only met him a few days ago. I was sent to try and stop him getting here. Didn’t work out. I ended up stuck on a tiny little module thing with him. Just us and a drone. For days. It was awful.’
Dajeil passed a couple of bowls over to Ulver. ‘Still,’ she said, smiling thinly, ‘I’m sure romance blossomed.’
‘Like hell,’ Ulver said, levering a few sunbread pieces from a bowl into her plate. ‘Couldn’t stand the man. Only slept with him the last couple of nights. Partially boredom, I suppose. All the same, he’s quite handsome. Bit of a charmer, really. I can see what you saw in him. So, what went wrong between you two?’
Dajeil stopped, a spoon poised on the way to her mouth. Ulver smiled disarmingly at her over jaws munching a mouthful of fruit.
Dajeil ate, drank a little wine and dabbed at her lips with a napkin before replying. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know the whole story.’
‘Who ever knows the whole story?’ Ulver said airily, waving her arms about. She put her elbows on the table. ‘I bet even you two don’t know the whole story,’ she said, more quietly.
Again, Dajeil took her time before replying. ‘Perhaps the whole story isn’t worth knowing,’ she said.
‘The ship appears to think it is,’ Ulver replied. She tried some fermented fruit juice, rolling it round her palate before swallowing it and saying, ‘Seems to have gone to an awful lot of trouble to arrange a meeting between you two.’
‘Yes, well, it is an eccentric, isn’t it?’
Ulver thought about this. ‘Very intelligent eccentric,’ she said. ‘I’d imagine that something it thought worth pursuing like that might be . . . you know; worthy of concern. No?’ she asked with a self-deprecating grimace.
Dajeil shrugged. ‘Ships can be wrong, too,’ she said.
‘What, so none of it matters a damn?’ Ulver said casually, choosing a small roll from a basket.
‘No,’ Dajeil said. She looked down, smoothing her dress over her belly. ‘But . . .’ She stopped. Her head went down, and she was silent for a while. Ulver looked over, concerned.
Dajeil’s shoulders shook once. Ulver, wiping her lips, threw down the napkin and went over to the other woman, squatting by her and tentatively putting out one arm round her shoulders. Dajeil moved slowly towards her, eventually resting her head on the crook of Ulver’s neck.
The ship drone entered from the winding stair; Ulver shooed it away.
A couple of screens on the far wall lit up, showing what Ulver guessed was the hull of the Sleeper Service, gradually drawing further away. Another couple of screens showed an approaching wall of gridded grey. She guessed the two minutes the drone had mentioned earlier had passed.
Dajeil cried for a little while. After a few minutes, she asked, ‘Do you think he still loves me? At all?’
Ulver looked pained for a moment; only the ship’s sensors registered the expression. She took a deep breath. ‘At all?’ she said. ‘Yes, definitely.’
Dajeil sniffed hard and looked up for the first time. She gave a sort of half-despairing laugh as she wiped some tears from her cheeks with her fingers. Ulver reached for a clean napkin and completed the job.
‘It doesn’t really mean much to him any more,’ Dajeil said to the younger woman, ‘does it?’
Ulver folded the tear-darkened napkin carefully. ‘It matters to him a lot now, because he’s here. Because the ship brought him here just for this, hoping the two of you would talk.’
‘But the rest of the time,’ Dajeil said, sitting upright again and throwing her head and hair back. ‘The rest of the time, it doesn’t really bother him, does it?’
Ulver took an almost exaggeratedly deep breath, looked as though she was about to vehemently deny this, then sank down on her haunches and said, ‘Look; I hardly know the man.’ She gestured with her hands. ‘I learned a lot about him before we met, but I only met him a few days ago. In very odd circumstances.’ She shook her head, looking serious. ‘I don’t know who he really is.’
Dajeil rocked back and forward in her seat for a moment, staring at the meal on the table. ‘Well enough,’ she said, sniffing. ‘You know him well enough.’ She smoothed her ruffled hair as best she could. She stared up at the translucent dome for a moment. ‘All I knew,’ she said, ‘was the person he became when he was with me.’ She looked at Ulver. ‘I forgot what he was like all the rest of the time.’ She took Ulver’s hand in hers. ‘You’re seeing what he’s really like.’
Ulver gave a long slow shrug. ‘Then . . .’ she said, looking troubled, her tone measured. ‘He’s all right. I think.’
The screens on the far side of the circular room showed fuzzy grids expanding, swallowing, disappearing. The last field approached, was pierced to reveal a black wash of space, and then - with a smear of rushing stars and the same barely perceptible feeling of dislocation Ulver and Genar-Hofoen had experienced two days earlier when they had arrived on board the Sleeper Service - the Jaundiced Outlook was free of the GSV and peeling away on a diverging course within its own concentric collection of fields.
‘And what does that make me?’ Dajeil whispered.
Ulver shrugged. She looked down at Dajeil’s belly. ‘Still pregnant? ’ she suggested.
Dajeil stared at her. Then she gave a small laugh. Her head went down again.
Ulver patted her hand. ‘Tell me about it if you want.’
Dajeil sniffed, dabbing at her nose with the folded napkin. ‘Yes, I’m sure you really care.’
‘Oh, believe me,’ Ulver told her, ‘other people’s problems have always held a profound fascination for me.’
Dajeil sighed. ‘Other people’s are always the best problems to be involved with,’ she said ruefully.
‘My thoughts exactly.’
‘I suppose you think I ought to talk to him too,’ Dajeil said.
Ulver glanced up at the screens again. ‘I don’t know. But if you have even the least thought of it, I’d take advantage of the opportunity now, before it’s too late.’
Dajeil looked round at the screens. ‘Oh, we’ve gone,’ she said in a small voice. She looked back at the other woman. ‘Do you think he wants to see me?’ Ulver thought there was a tone of hopefulness in her voice. Her troubled gaze flitted from one of Ulver’s eyes to the other.
‘Well, if he doesn’t he’s a fool,’ Ulver said, wondering why she was being so diplomatic.
‘Ha,’ Dajeil said. She wiped her cheeks with her finge
rs once more and dragged her fingers through her hair. She reached into her dress and pulled out a comb. She offered it to Ulver. ‘Would you . . . ?’
Ulver stood. ‘Only if you say you’ll see him,’ she said, smiling.
Dajeil shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
Ulver stood behind Dajeil, and began to comb her long dark hair.
~ Ship?
~ Ms Seich. The Jaundiced Outlook here.
~ I take it you’ve been listening. Want to contact the GSV?
~ I was listening. I have already contacted the Sleeper Service. Mr Genar-Hofoen and the avatar Amorphia are aboard and on their way here.
~ Fast work, Ulver told it, and continued to gently comb Dajeil’s hair. ‘They’re on their way,’ she told her. ‘Byr and the avatar.’
Dajeil said nothing.
A couple of decks further down in the accommodation section, Amorphia turned to Genar-Hofoen as they walked down a corridor. ‘And it might be best not to mention that we were Displaced aboard at the same time as Ulver,’ it told the man.
‘I’ll try not to let it slip,’ he said sourly. ‘Let’s just get this over with, shall we?’
‘Definitely the right attitude,’ muttered the avatar, stepping into a lift. They ascended to the impersonation of the tower.
XV
Snug, encapsulated in a cobbled-together nest-capsule deep inside the accommodation section of the ex-Culture ship Heavy Messing, Captain Greydawn Latesetting X of the Farsight tribe watched the blip which represented the crippled hulk of the Attitude Adjuster fall astern on the holo display, the screams of his uncle Risingmoon and the other Affronters on the stricken vessel still ringing in his mind. A hazy cloud hung around the blip of the tumbling wreck, indicating where the ship’s sensors estimated the Culture warship - which the Heavy Messing still thought was a Deluger vessel - now was.
With his uncle dead, the fleet was now under Greydawn’s command. The urge to swing the whole assemblage about and bear down on the single Culture ship was almost irresistible. But there would be no point; it was faster than any of their craft; the Heavy Messing’s Mind thought that the Culture ship might have damaged its engines during its run-in to the attack, but even so it could probably still outstrip any of the ships in the fleet, and so all such a course would accomplish would be to draw them away from their intended destination, without even the realistic prospect of revenge. They had to continue. Greydawn signalled to the six other craft which were crewed.
~ Fellow warriors. No one feels the loss of our comrades more than I. However, our mission remains the same. Let our victory be our first revenge. The power we gain for our kind as a result of it will purchase the ability to punish all such crimes against us a million-fold!
~ The attacker’s duplication of a Culture vessel’s emission signature spectrum and field was astonishingly authentic, the Heavy Messing wrote on one of the screens in front of Greydawn.
~ Their abilities have grown while you were asleep, ally, Greydawn told the ship. He felt his gas sac tense and contract as he spoke-wrote the words, ever conscious that anything he said might help give away the huge trick being played on the Culture ships. ~ You see the severity of the threat they now present.
~ Indeed, the ship replied. ~ I find it hateful that the Deluger craft killed the Attitude Adjuster the way it appeared to.
~ They will be chastised when we are in control of the entity at Esperi, never fear!
11
Regarding Gravious
I
Genar-Hofoen and the avatar Amorphia appeared in the doorway at the head of the winding stair. ‘Excuse me,’ Ulver said, putting down the comb and patting Dajeil on the shoulder. She walked towards the door.
‘No; please stay,’ Dajeil said behind her.
Ulver turned to the older woman. ‘You sure?’
Dajeil nodded. Ulver looked at Genar-Hofoen, whose gaze was fastened on Dajeil. He seemed to shake himself out of his fixation and looked, then smiled at Ulver. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Yes; stay; whatever.’ He crossed to Dajeil, who stood. They both looked awkward for a moment, then they embraced; that was awkward too, over the bulge of Dajeil’s belly. Ulver and the avatar exchanged looks.
‘Please; let’s all sit down, shall we?’ Dajeil said. ‘Byr, are you hungry?’
‘Not really,’ he said, drawing up a chair. ‘I could use a drink . . .’ The four of them sat round the table.
There was some small talk, mostly between Genar-Hofoen and Dajeil, with a few comments from Ulver. The avatar remained silent. It frowned once and glanced at the screens, which showed a perfectly banal view of empty space.
II
The Sleeper Service was a few hours out from the Excession now. It was tracking the MSV Not Invented Here and another two large Culture craft, each a dark jewel set within a cluster of smaller ships; warships, plus some GCUs and superlifters extemporised into combat service. The GCU Different Tan was also supposed to be in the volume, but it was not making itself obvious. The Not Invented Here was thirty light years out from Esperi, patrolling the spherical limit of the uniquely worrying engine-field effect that the GCU Fate Amenable To Change had reported days earlier. The Sleeper Service had briefly considered asking that the smaller craft copy its results to it, but hadn’t bothered; the request would probably be refused and it suspected whatever data the smaller craft was gathering weren’t telling anybody very much anyway.
The other two craft - the GSVs What Is The Answer And Why? and Use Psychology - were manoeuvring a half a day and a full day further out respectively. A faint layered smudge in the distance, about three quarters of the way round an imaginary sphere drawn around the Excession, was almost certainly the approaching Affronter war fleet. Around the Excession itself, no sign whatsoever of the vanished Stargazer fleet of the Zetetic Elench.
The Sleeper Service readied itself for the fray. Maybe, in a sense, two frays. There was every chance that its own engines would fail the same way the Fate Amenable To Change’s had when it had moved towards the Excession, but given the speed the Sleeper Service was travelling at it could coast in towards the thing; it wouldn’t have any directional control, it wouldn’t be able to maintain its present speed, or brake, but it could get there.
If it ought to.
Ought it? It checked its signal log, as if it might have missed an incoming message.
Still nothing from those who had sent it here. The Interesting Times Gang seemed to have been observing comm silence for days. Just the usual daily plea from the LSV Serious Callers Only; the equivalent of an unopened letter and just the latest in a series.
The Sleeper watched events on the Jaundiced Outlook, even as it prepared itself for the coming encounter near Esperi, like a military commander drawing up war plans and issuing hundreds of preparatory orders who cannot keep his or her attention from flicking to a microscopic drama being played out amongst a group of insects clinging to the wall above the table. The ship felt foolish, voyeuristic, and yet fascinated.
Its thoughts were interrupted by the Grey Area, sending from its Mainbay in the nose of the GSV.
~ I’ll be on my way then, if you don’t need me any more.
~ I’d rather you stuck around, the Sleeper Service replied.
~ Not when you’re heading for that thing, and the Affronters.
~ You might be surprised.
~ I’m sure. However, I want to leave.
~ Farewell, then, the GSV sent, opening the bay door.
~ I suppose this means another Displace.
~ If you don’t mind.
~ And if I do?
~ There is an alternative, but I’d rather not use it.
~ Well, if there is one, I want to use it!
~ The Jaundiced Outlook declined, and it had humans aboard.
~ Bugger the humans, and bugger the Jaundiced Outlook, too. What’s the alternative? Have you got superlifters capable of this sort of speed?
~ No.
~ What then . . . ?
; ~ Just get to the rear of my field envelope.
~ Whatever you say.
The GCU quit its berth, easing out into the confined space between the GSV’s hull and the craft’s innermost field layer. It took a few minutes for it to manoeuvre itself down the side of the giant ship and round the corner to the flat rear of the craft. When it got there it found three other ships waiting for it.
~ Who the hell are they? the GCU asked the larger ship. ~ In fact, what the hell are they?
It was something of a rhetorical question. The three craft were unambiguously warships; slightly longer and fatter than the Grey Area itself but tapering at either end to points surmounted with large spheres. Spheres which could logically only contain weaponry. Quite a lot of weaponry, judging by the size of the globes.
~ My own design. Their names are T3OUs 4, 118 and 736.
~ Oh, witty.
~ You won’t find them terribly good company; AI cores only, semi-slaved to me. But they can operate together as a superlifter to get you down to manageable speeds.
The GCU was silent for a moment. It moved in to take up position in the centre of the triangle the three ships had formed. ~ T3OUs? it asked. Type Three Offensive Units, by any chance?
~ Correct.
~ Many more like these hidden away?
~ Enough.
~ You have been busy all these years.
~ Yes I have. I trust I can rely on your absolute discretion, for the next few hours at any rate.
~ You certainly have that.
~ Good. Farewell. Thank you for your help.
~ Glad to be of the small amount of service I was. Best of luck. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough how things pan out.
~ I imagine so.
III
The avatar returned the main focus of its attention to the three humans on the Jaundiced Outlook. The two old lovers had moved from small talk to a post mortem on their relationship, still without coming up with anything particularly interesting.
‘... We wanted different things,’ Dajeil said to Genar-Hofoen. ‘That’s usually enough.’