“I have the feeling this is all just a long-winded way of telling me not to worry.”
“If I have been long-winded, I apologize. I was seeking only to reassure you.”
“Consider me reassured. I no longer imagine that this piece of shit is here to assassinate me.”
“So you’ll see him?”.
“Absolutely no fucking way whatsoever.”
“All Through With This Niceness And Negotiation Stuff.”
“Yeah. Like it. Offensive Unit?”.
“But of course.”
“Had to be.”
“Yeah. Your turn.”
“Someone Else’s Problem.”
“Hmm.”
“ ‘Hmm’? Just ‘Hmm’?”.
“Yeah, well. Doesn’t do it for me. How about Lacking That Small Match Temperament.”
“Bit obscure.”
“Well, I’ve just always liked it.”
“Poke It With A Stick.”
“OU?”.
“GCU.”
“I Said, I’ve Got A Big Stick.”
“Sorry?”.
“It’s called, I Said, I’ve Got A Big Stick. You have to say it quietly. When you write it, it’s in small type. An OU, as you might imagine.”
“Oh, right.”
“Probably my favorite. I think that’s just the best.”
“No, not as good as Hand Me The Gun And Ask Me Again.”
“Well, that’s okay, but not as subtle.”
“Well, but less derivative.”
“On the other hand, But Who’s Counting?”
“Yeah. Germane Riposte.”
“We Haven’t Met But You’re A Great Fan Of Mine.”
“Oh? Yeah? What?”.
“No, I just meant, isn’t this fun?”.
“Yes. Well, I’m glad you finally agree.”
“What do you mean, finally agree?”.
“I mean finally agree that the names are worth mentioning in polite company.”
“What are you talking about? I was quoting you ship names for years before you started noticing.”
“Let me quote you one back: All The Same, I Saw It First.”
“What?”.
“You heard.”
“Ha! Well then; Ravished By The Sheer Implausibility Of That Last Statement.”
“Oh, come on. You have Zero Credibility.”
“And you’re Charming But Irrational.”
“While you’re Demented But Determined.”
“And You May Not Be The Coolest Person Here.”
“You’re making these up.”
“No I’m … hold on, sorry; was that a ship name?”.
“No, but here’s one: you’re talking Lucid Nonsense.”
“Awkward Customer.”
“Thorough But … Unreliable.”
“Advanced Case Of Chronic Patheticism.”
“Another Fine Product From The Nonsense Factory.”
“Conventional Wisdom.”
“In One Ear.”
“Fine Till You Came Along.”
“I Blame The Parents.”
“Inappropriate Response.”
“A Momentary Lapse Of Sanity.”
“Lapsed Pacifist.”
“Reformed Nice Guy.”
“Pride Comes Before A Fall.”
“Injury Time.”
“Now Look What You’ve Made Me Do.”
“Kiss This Then.”
“Look, if you two are going to fight, do it outside.”
“… Is that one?”.
“Don’t think so. Should be.”
“Yeah.”
“Hub.”
“Ziller. Good evening. Are you enjoying yourself?”.
“No. How about you?”.
“Of course.”
“Of course? Can real happiness be so … foregone as that? How depressing.”
“Ziller, I am a Hub Mind. I have an entire—and if I may say so—quite fabulous Orbital to look after, not to mention having fifty billion people to tend to.”
“Certainly I wasn’t going to mention them.”
“Right now I’m observing a fading supernova in a galaxy two and a half billion years away. Closer to home, a thousand years off, I’m watching a dying planet orbiting inside the atmosphere of a red giant sun as it spirals slowly down toward the core. I can also watch the results of the planet’s destruction on the sun, a thousand years later, via hyperspace.
“In-system, I’m tracking millions of comets and asteroids, and directing the orbits of tens of thousands of them, some to use as raw material for Plate landscaping, some just to keep them out of the way. Next year I’m going to let a big comet come right through the Orbital, between the Rim and the Hub. That should be pretty spectacular. Several hundred thousand smaller bodies are speeding toward us right now, earmarked to provide an over-the-top light show for the first night of your new orchestral work at the end of the Twin Novae period.”
“It was that—”.
“At the same time, of course, I’m in simultaneous communication with hundreds of other Minds; thousands, over the course of any given day; ship Minds of every type, some approaching, some just having left, some old friends, some sharing interests and fascinations similar to my own, plus other Orbitals and university Sages, amongst others. I have eleven Roving Personality Constructs, each one flitting over time from place to place in the greater galaxy, rooming with other Minds in the processor substrates of GSVs and smaller vessels, other Orbitals, Eccentric and Ulterior craft and with Minds of various other types; what they will be like, and how these once identical siblings might change me when they return and we consider remerging, I can only imagine and look forward to.”
“It all sounds—”.
“While I am at the moment hosting no other Minds, I look forward to that, as well.
“—fascinating. Now—”.
“Additionally, sub-systems like manufactory process-overseeing complexes keep up a constant and fascinating dialogue. Within the hour, for example, in a shipyard in a cavern under the Buzuhn Bulkhead Range, a new Mind will be born, to be emplaced within a GCV before the year is out.”
“No no; keep going.”
“Meanwhile, via one of my planetary remotes I’m watching a pair of cyclonic systems collide on Naratradjan Prime and composing a glyph sequence on the effects of ultra-violent atmospheric phenomena on otherwise habitable ecospheres. Here on Masaq’ I’m watching a series of avalanches in the Pilthunguon Mountains on Hildri, a tornado whirling across the Shaban Savannah on Akroum, a sworl-island calving in the Picha Sea, a forest fire in Molben, a seiche bore funnelling up Gradeens River, a firework display above Junzra City, a wooden house frame being hoisted into place in a village in Furl, a quartet of lovers on a hilltop in—”.
“You’ve made your—”.
“—Ocutti. Then there are drones and other autonomous sentients, able to communicate directly and at speed, plus the implanted humans and other biologicals also able to converse immediately. Plus of course I have millions of avatars like this one, the majority of them talking with and listening to people right now.”
“… Have you finished?”.
“Yes. But even if all the other stuff seems a bit esoteric, just think of all those other avatars at all those other gatherings, concerts, dances, ceremonies, parties and meals; think of all that talk, all those ideas, all that sparkle and wit!”
“Think of all that bullshit, the nonsense and non-sequiturs, the self-aggrandisement and self-deception, the boring stupid nonsense, the pathetic attempts to impress or ingratiate, the slow-wittedness, the incomprehension and the incomprehensible, the gland-addled meanderings and general suffocating dullness.”
“That is the chaff, Ziller. I ignore that. I can respond politely and where necessary felicitously to the most intense bore forever without flagging and it costs me nothing. It’s like ignoring all the boring bits in space between the neat stuff like planets and stars and ships. And even that’s
not completely boring anyway.”
“I cannot tell you how glad I am that you live such a full life, Hub.”
“Thank you.”
“May we talk about me for just a little while?”.
“As long as you like.”
“A terrible, terrible thought has just occurred to me.”
“What would that be?”.
“The first night of Expiring Light.”
“Ah, you have a title for your new work.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let the relevant people know. As well as the meteorite showers I mentioned earlier we’ll have a conventional laser and firework show, plus there will be troupe dancing and a holo-image interpretation.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure my music will provide suitable aural wallpaper for all this spectacle.”
“Ziller, I hope you know it will all be done with exquisite taste. It will all fade for the end, when the second nova ignites.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m sure it will all go splendidly.”
“Then, what?”.
“You’re going to invite that son-of-a-prey-bitch Quilan, aren’t you?”.
“Ah.”
“Yes, ‘ah.’ You are, aren’t you? I knew it. I can just feel the tumorous pus-brain circling in. I should never have said he could move to Aquime. Don’t know what I was thinking of.”
“I think it would be very bad form not to invite emissary Quilan. The concert will probably be the single most important cultural event on the whole Orbital this year.”
“What do you mean, ‘probably’?”.
“All right, definitely. There has been a vast amount of interest. Even using the Stullien Bowl the number of people who are going to have to be disappointed in the matter of live tickets is going to be immense. I’ve had to run competitions to make sure your keenest fans are there and then randomize almost all the rest of the distribution. There’s a good chance that nobody from the Board will be able to make it to the event live, unless some ingratiate gives up their seat. The transmit audience over the whole O could be ten billion or more. I personally have exactly three tickets at my disposal; the allocation is so tight I’ll have to use one if I want one of my own avatars to attend.”
“So, a perfect excuse for not inviting this Quilan character.”
“You and he are the only two Chelgrians here, Ziller; you composed it and he’s our honored guest. How can I not invite him?”.
“Because I won’t go if he does, that’s why.”
“You mean you won’t attend your own first night?”.
“Correct.”
“You won’t conduct?”.
“That’s right.”
“But you always conduct the first night’s performance!”.
“Not this time. Not if he’s going to be there.”
“But you have to be there!”.
“No I don’t.”
“But who’ll conduct it?”.
“Nobody. These things don’t really need conducting. Composers conduct to feed their own ego and to feel part of the performance rather than just the preparation.”
“That’s not what you said before. You said there were nuances that could not be programmed, decisions that a conductor could make at the time on the night in response to the audience’s on-going reactions which required a single individual to collate, analyze and react to, functioning as a focal point for the distributed—”.
“I was bullshitting you.”
“You seemed as sincere then as you do now.”
“It’s a gift. The point is, I won’t conduct if this mercenary whore-boy is there. I won’t be anywhere near the place. I’ll be at home, or somewhere else.”
“That would be very embarrassing for all concerned.”
“So keep him away if you want me there.”
“How could I possibly do that?”.
“You are a Hub Mind, as you’ve recently explained in exhausting detail. Your resources are almost infinite.”
“Why can’t we just keep the two of you apart on the night?”.
“Because it won’t happen. An excuse will be found to bring us together. An encounter will be manufactured.”
“What if I give you my word that I will make sure that Quilan and you are never brought face to face? He will be there, but I’ll ensure that you are kept apart.”
“With one avatar? … Have you put a sound field around us?”.
“Just around our heads, yes. This avatars lips will no longer move and its voice will alter slightly as a result; don’t be alarmed.”
“I’ll try to hold my terror in check. Go on.”
“If I really have to I can make sure there are several avatars there at the concert. They don’t always have to have silver skin, you know. And I’ll have drones present, too.”
“Big bulky drones?”.
“Better; small, mean ones.”
“No good. No deal.”
“And knife missiles.”
“Still no.”
“Why not? I do hope you are not going to say that you don’t trust me. My word is my word. I never break it.”
“I do trust you. The reason that it’s no deal is because of the people who would want this meeting to happen.”
“Go on.”
“Tersono. Contact. Grief, Special fucking Circumstances, for all I know.”
“Hmm.”
“If they want the two of us to meet—I mean really, determinedly want—could you definitely, certainly stop it from happening, Hub?”.
“Your question could apply to any moment since Quilan’s arrival.”
“Yes, but until now a seemingly chance meeting would have been too artificial, too obviously contrived. They’d have expected me to react badly, and they’d have been absolutely right. Our meeting must look like fate, like it was inevitable, as though my music, my talent, my personality and very being have made it pre-ordained.”
“You could always go and if you’re forced to meet still react badly.”
“No. I don’t see why I should. I don’t want to meet him; simple as that.”
“I give you my word I will do everything I can to make sure that you do not meet.”
“Answer the question: if SC were determined to force a meeting, could you stop them?”.
“No.”
“As I thought.”
“I’m not doing very well here, am I?”.
“No. However there is one thing that might change my mind.”
“Ah. What’s that?”.
“Look into the bastard’s mind.”
“I can’t do that, Ziller.”
“Why not?”.
“It is one of the very few more-or-less unbreakable rules of the Culture. Nearly a law. If we had laws, it would be one of the first on the statute book.”
“Only more-or-less unbreakable?”.
“It is done very, very rarely, and the result tends to be ostracism. There was a ship called the Grey Area, once. It used to do that sort of thing. It became known as the Meatfucker as a result. When you look up the catalogs that’s the name it’s listed under, with its original, chosen name as a footnote. To be denied your self-designated name is a unique insult in the Culture, Ziller. The vessel disappeared some time ago. Probably it killed itself, arguably as a result of the shame attached to such behavior and resulting disrespect.”
“All it is is looking inside an animal brain.”
“That’s just it. It is so easy, and it would mean so little, really. That is why the not-doing of it is probably the most profound manner in which we honor our biological progenitors. This prohibition is a mark of our respect. And so I cannot do it.”
“You mean you won’t do it.”
“They are almost the same thing.”
“You have the ability.”
“Of course.”
“Then do it.”
“Why?”.
“Because I won’t attend the concert otherwise.”
“I know t
hat. I mean what would I be looking for?”.
“The real reason he’s here.”
“You really imagine he might be here to harm you?”.
“It’s a possibility.”
“What would stop me saying I would do this thing and then only pretend to do it? I could tell you I had looked and found nothing.”
“I’d ask you to give your word you would really do it.”
“Have you not heard of the idea that a promise made under duress does not count?”.
“Yes. You know you could have said nothing there.”
“I wouldn’t want to deceive you, Ziller. That too would be dishonorable.”
“Then it sounds like I’m not going to that concert.”
“I will still hope that you might, and work toward it.”
“Never mind. You could always hold another competition; the winner gets to conduct.”
“Let me think about this. I’ll release the sound field. Let’s watch the dune riders.”
• • •
The avatar and the Chelgrian turned from facing each other to stand with the others by the parapet of the trundling feast hall’s viewing platform. It was night, and cloudy. Knowing the weather would be so, people had come to the dune slides of Efilziveiz-Regneant to watch the biolume boarding.
The dunes were not normal dunes; they were titanic spills of sand forming a three-kilometer-high slope from one Plate to another, marking where the sands from one of the Great River’s sandbank spurnings were blown across toward the Plate’s spinward edge to slip down to the desert regions of the sunken continent below.
People ran, rolled, boarded, ski’d, skiffed or boated down the dunes all the time, but on a dark night there was something special to be seen. Tiny creatures lived in the sands, arid cousins of the plankton that created bioluminescence at sea, and when it was very dark you could see the tracks left by people as they tumbled, twisted or carved their way down the vast slope.
It had become a tradition that on such nights the freeform chaos of individuals pleasing only themselves and the occasional watching admirer was turned into something more organized, and so—once it was dark enough and sufficient numbers of spectators had turned up on the crawler-mounted viewing platforms, bars and restaurants—teams of boarders and skiers set off from the top of the dunes in choreographed waves, triggering sand-slip cascades in broad lines and vees of scintillating light descending like slow, ghostly surf and weaving gently sparkling trails of soft blue, green and crimson tracks across the sighing sands, myriad necklaces of enchanted dust glowing like linear galaxies in the night.