“I think I can safely claim to be the best Homomdan friend he has on Masaq’,” agreed Kabe.
“I understand your own connection with Cr. Ziller goes further back, Major,” Estray said. “To school, is that right?”.
“Yes,” Quilan said. “However we haven’t met or talked since then. We are more one-time friends than old friends. How is our absent genius, Ambassador?” he asked Kabe.
“He is well,” Kabe said. “Still busily writing away.”
“Missing home?” the Chelgrian asked. There was just the suggestion of a smile on his broad face.
“He would claim not to be,” Kabe said, “though I think in his music over the last few years I have detected a certain plaintive harking back to traditional Chelgrian folk themes, with hints of eventual resolution implicit in their serial development.” From the corner of one eye, Kabe saw Tersono’s aura field blush with pleasure as he said this. “Though that may mean nothing, of course,” he added. The drone’s field collapsed back to a frosty blue.
“You are a fan, I take it, Ambassador,” the Chelgrian said.
“Oh, I think we all are,” Tersono said quickly. “I—”.
“I’m not.”
“Chom” said Estray.
“The darling child may find the maestro’s music still beyond her,” the drone said. Kabe caught a hint of a blossoming purple field flattening and dissipating in the direction of the girl sitting on the edge of the pool. He saw Chomba’s mouth work but suspected Tersono had thrown some sort of field wall between her and the rest of the party. He could just about hear that she had said something, but had no idea what it was. Chomba herself either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. She was concentrating on the fish.
“I count myself one of Cr. Ziller’s most fervent aficionados,” the drone was saying loudly. “I have seen Ms. Estray Lassils applaud loudly at several of Cr. Ziller’s concerts and recitals and I know that to this day Hub delights in occasionally reminding all of its near-neighbor Orbitals that your compatriot chose to make his second home here rather than on any of them. We are all positively quivering with anticipation at the prospect of listening to Cr. Ziller’s latest symphony in a few weeks’ time. I am quite certain it will be splendid.”
Quilan nodded. He held his hands out. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’ve been asked to try to persuade Mahrai Ziller to return to Chel,” he said, looking around the others but settling his gaze on Kabe. “I don’t imagine that this will be an easy task. Ar Ischloear—”.
“Please, call me Kabe.”
“Well, Kabe, what do you think? Am I right in believing it’s going to be an uphill struggle?”.
Kabe thought.
“I can’t imagine,” began Tersono, “that Cr. Ziller would really dream of passing up the chance to meet with the first Chelgrian—”.
“I think that you are absolutely right, Major Quilan,” Kabe told him.
“—to set foot—”.
“Please, call me Quil.”
“—on Masaq’ for—”.
“Frankly, Quil, they’ve given you a stinker of a job.”
“—all these many, many years.”
“That’s just what I thought.”
~ All right?
~ Yes. Thank you for that.
~ You are very welcome, Huyler sent, impersonating the deep voice of the Hub avatar. I was almost too busy taking stuff in to pass any comments anyway.
~ Well, it wasn’t really necessary as it turned out.
They had been worried that Quilan’s welcome might be overwhelming either accidentally or deliberately. His momentary slip when they had first boarded the Resistance Is Character-Forming and had spoken aloud in reply to a transmitted thought of Huyler’s had made them wary, and so they’d agreed that, for the first part of Quilan’s reception at least, Huyler would stay in the background, keeping silent unless he spotted something alarming that he felt he had to draw Quilan’s attention to.
~ So, Huyler; anything interesting?
~ Bit of a menagerie, don’t you think? Only one of them’s human.
~ What about the child?
~ Well, and the child. If it really is a child.
~ Let us not become paranoid, Huyler.
~ Let us not become complacent either, Quil. Anyway, it looks like they’re going for the cuteness angle rather than the top-brass approach.
~ There is a sense in which Estray Lassils is President of the World. And the silver-skinned avatar is under the direct control of the god which holds the power of life or death over the Orbital and everybody on it.
~ Yes, and there is a sense in which the woman is a powerless temporary figurehead and the avatar is just a puppet.
~ And the drone, and the Homomdan?
~ The machine claims to be from Contact so that may well mean it’s from Special Circumstances. The big three-legged guy seems genuine so I’d give him the benefit of the doubt for now; they probably think he’s a suitable host because he’s got more than the number of legs they’re used to. He’s got three legs, we’ve got three counting the midlimb; it could be that simple.
~ I suppose.
~ Anyway, we’re here.
~ Indeed we are. And quite an impressive “here” it is, don’t you think?
~ It’s all right, I suppose.
Quilan smiled thinly. He leaned on the deck-side rail, and looked around. The river stretched into the distance, the view dropped away to either side.
Masq’ Great River was a single loop of water stretching unbroken right around the Orbital and flowing slowly as a result of nothing more than the huge spinning world’s coriolis effect.
Fed by tributary rivers and mountain streams throughout its length, it was depleted by evaporation where it ran through deserts, drained by overflow waterfalls and the run-offs into seas, swamps and irrigation networks, and absorbed into giant lakes, vast oceans and entire continent-wide river systems and networks of canals, only to reappear via great converse estuaries which eventually bundled it into a single gathered current once again.
It ran its unending course through labyrinths of caverns under raised continents, their depths lit sporadically by plunging holes and immense troughs deep as the roots of mountains. It traversed the slowly decreasing numbers of yet unformed Plate topographies within transparent tunnels which gave out onto landscapes still being molded and inscribed by the manufactured vulcanologies of Orbital terraforming techniques.
It disappeared under Bulkhead Ranges in colossal watery mazes slung beneath those hollow ramparts and slipped—flooding sometimes for whole seasons—across entire horizon-wide plains before running through winding canyons kilometers deep and thousands long. It iced over from one end of a continent to another during the Orbital’s aphelion or within the local winters produced by a Plate group’s sun lenses set on disperse.
Its course took in dozens of neatly circumscribed or lushly sprawling cities and—when it reached Plates like Osinorsi, whose median level was well below the stream’s steady elevation—the river was carried above the plains, savannas, deserts or swamps on single or braided massifs towering hundreds or thousands of meters above the surrounding ground; hoisted ribbons of land crowned with cloud, edged with falls, strewn with hanging vegetation and vertical towns, punctured by caves and tunnels and—as here—with artfully carved and soaring arches that turned the monumental massifs into a more precise image of exactly what they were: vast aqueducts on a water course ten million kilometers long.
The parapet of the massif here, just a few kilometers from the cliffs and the plains that marked the beginning of Xaravve, was a flower-strewn grassy bank less than ten meters wide. From his vantage point here, standing on a raised forecastle of the ceremonial barge Bariatricist, Quilan could look down through wisps of cloud to rolling hills and meandering rivers unwinding through misty forests two kilometers below.
They had asked him whether he wanted to go straight to the house they had provided for him, or if he would l
ike to take in part of Masaq’ Great River, and one of its famous barges, where a small reception had been arranged. He’d said he would be happy to take them up on their kind offer. The Hub avatar had looked quietly pleased; the drone Tersono had positively glowed with rosy approval.
The personnel module had lowered itself gently toward the atmosphere of the Orbital. The craft’s ceiling had also become a screen, showing off the soaring arc of the Orbital’s evening and night far-side while the vessel submerged into the slowly warming morning air above Osinorsi Plate. The module had swung out over one end of the vastly elongated S shape of the central massif carrying the river above the Plate’s lower level. They rendezvoused with the Bariatricist near the border of Xaravve.
At about four hundred meters, the barge was nearly twice as long as the river here was wide; it was a tall, beamy craft tiered with decks and studded with masts, some of which held highly decorated sails, most of which trailed banners and flags.
Quilan had seen lots of people, though the vessel was hardly crowded.
“This isn’t all for me, is it?” he’d asked the drone Tersono as the module approached one of the barge’s half-decks stern first.
“Well,” it had said, sounding uncertain. “No. Why, would you prefer to have a private craft?”.
“No, I was just wondering.”
“There are various other receptions, parties and different events taking place on the barge just now,” the avatar had told him. “Plus there are several hundred people for whom the vessel is their temporary or permanent home.”
“How many people have come to see me?”.
“About seventy,” the avatar replied.
“Major Quilan,” the drone had said. “If you’ve changed your mind—”
“No, I—”.
“Major, might I make a suggestion?” Estray Lassils had said.
“Please do.”
And so the module had positioned itself so that he could walk straight out onto the barge’s high forecastle; Estray Lassils had disembarked at the same time and shown him the route to take; she’d hung back while he found his way across a sort of gantry, through a rather riotous party, and eventually fetched up on one of the set-back decks looking out over the vessel’s bows.
There were a few humans there, mostly in couples. He had remembered a hot hazy day on a much smaller boat on a broad but almost infinitely tinier river, thousands of light years away now; her touch and smell, the weight of her hand on his shoulder …
The humans had looked at him with curiosity, but had left him alone. He’d gazed out, taking in the view. The day was bright but cool. The great river and the vast, stunning world flowed and revolved beneath him, taking him with them both.
8
The Retreat at Cadracet
After a while he turned away from the view.
Estray Lassils emerged from a dance at the noisy party—flushed and breathing heavily—and walked with him toward the section of the barge set aside for his reception.
“You’re sure you’re quite happy to meet all these people, Major?” she asked.
“Quite certain, thank you.”
“Well, do say the instant you want to get away. We won’t think you rude. I did some research into your order. You sound quite, ah, ascetic, and semi-trappist. I’m sure we’d all understand if you found our gibbering gaggle tiresome.”
~ Wonder just how much they were able to research.
“I’m sure I’ll survive.”
“Good for you. I’m supposed to be an old hand at this sort of thing but even I find it pretty damn tedious sometimes. Still, receptions and parties are pan-cultural, so we’re told. I’ve never been sure whether to be reassured or appalled by that.”
“I suppose both are appropriate, depending on one’s mood.”
~ Well said, son. Think I’ll go back to hovering. You concentrate on her; this one’s devious. I can feel it.
“Major Quilan, I do hope you appreciate how sorry we are for what happened to your people,” the woman said, looking at her feet, then up at him. “You may all be heartily fed up hearing this by now, in which case I can only apologize for that as well, but sometimes you feel you just have to say something.” She glanced away into the hazy depth of the view. “The war was our fault. We’ll make what amends and reparations we can, but for what it’s worth—and I realize it may not seem like very much—we do apologize.” She made a small gesture with her old, lined hands. “I think all of us feel that we owe you and your people a particular debt.” She looked down at her feet again for a moment, before catching his gaze once more. “Do not hesitate to call upon it.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your sympathy, and your offer. I’ve made no secret of my mission.”
Her eyes narrowed, then she gave a small, hesitant smile. “Yes. We’ll see what we can do. You’re not in too great a hurry, I hope, Major.”
“Not too great,” he told her.
She nodded and continued walking. In a lighter tone, she said, “I hope you like the house Hub’s prepared for you, Major.”
“As you say, my order is not renowned for its indulgence or its luxury. I’m sure you will have provided me with more than I need.”
“I imagine we probably have. Do let us know if there’s anything else you require, including less of anything, if you know what I mean.”
“I take it this house is not next door to Mahrai Ziller’s.”
She laughed. “Not even next Plate. You’re two away. But I’m told it has a very nice view and its own sub-Plate access.” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You know what all this stuff means? The terminology, I mean?”.
He smiled politely. “I have done my own research, Ms. Lassils.”
“Yes, of course. Well, just let us know what sort of terminal or whatever you want to use. If you’ve brought a communicator of your own I’m sure Hub can patch you through, or it’s certainly prepared to put an avatar or some other familiar at your disposal, or … well it’s up to you. What would you prefer?”.
“I think one of your standard pen terminals would suffice.”
“Major, I strongly suspect by the time you get to your house there’ll be one there waiting for you. Ah ha.” They were approaching a broad upper deck scattered with wooden furniture, partially covered by awnings and dotted with people. “And it may well be a more welcome sight than this: a bunch of people all desperate to talk your ears off. Remember; bail out any time.”
~ Amen.
Everybody turned to face him.
~ We must join the fray, Major.
• • •
There were indeed about seventy people there to meet him. They included three from the General Board—whom Estray Lassils recognized, hailed and went into a huddle with as soon as was decent—various scholars of matters Chelgrian or whose speciality description included the word xeno—mostly professors—and a handful of other nonhumans, none of whose species Quilan had even heard of, who coiled, floated, balanced or splayed about the deck, tables and couches.
The situation was complicated by various other nonhuman creatures which, but for the avatar, Quilan might easily have mistaken for other sentient aliens but that turned out to be no more than animal pets. All this was in addition to a bewildering variety of other humans who had titles that were not titles and job descriptions that had nothing to do with jobs.
~ Intra-cultural mimetic transcriptioneer? What the hell does that mean?
~ No idea. Assume the worst. File under Reporter.
The Hub’s avatar had introduced all of them; aliens, humans and drones, which really did seem to be treated as full citizens and people in their own right. Quilan nodded and smiled and nodded or shook hands and made whatever other gesture appeared appropriate.
~ I supposed this silver-skinned freak is just about the perfect host for these people. It know all of them. And knows all of them intimately, too; foibles, likes, dislikes, everything.
~ Not what we were told.
&n
bsp; ~ Oh, yes; all it knows is your name and that you’re somewhere here within its jurisdiction. That’s the tale. It only knows what you want it to know. Ha! don’t you find that just a little hard to believe?
Quilan didn’t know how close a watch on all its citizens a Culture Orbital Hub kept. It didn’t really matter. He did know a lot about such avatars, though, he realized, when he thought about it, and what Huyler had said about their social skills was perfectly true. Tireless, endlessly sympathetic, with a flawless memory and with what must seem like a telepathic ability to tell exactly who would get on with who, the presence of an avatar was understandably judged indispensable at every social occasion above a certain size.
~With one of these silvery things and an implant people here probably never have to actually remember the name of a single other person.
~ I wonder if they ever forget their own.
Quilan talked, guardedly, to a lot of people, and nibbled from the tables loaded with food, all of it served on plates and trays which were image-coded to indicate what was suitable for which species.
He looked up at one point and realized that they had left the colossal aqueduct and were traveling across a great grassy plain punctuated by what looked like the frameworks of gigantically tall tents.
~ Dome tree stands.
~ Ah ha.
The river had slowed here and broadened to over a kilometer from bank to bank. Ahead, just starting to show above and through the haze, another sort of massif was beginning to make itself visible.
What he had earlier assumed were clouds in the far distance turned out to be the peaks of snow-covered mountains strung around the massif’s top. Deeply corrugated cliffs rose almost straight up, bannered with thin white veils that might be waterfalls. Some of these slender columns stretched all the way down to the base of the cliffs, while other, still thinner white threads faded and disappeared part-way down or vanished into and merged with layered clouds drifting slowly across the great serrated wall of rock.
~ Aquime Massif. Apparently this little creek of theirs goes around both sides and straight through. Aquime City, in the middle, on the shores of the High Salt Sea, is where our friend Ziller lives.