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identical to that of the larger craft approaching from astern.
'This will require a coordinated full engine shut-off and Dis-place,' the
small cube of components that was the drone told them. 'For an instant, none
of us will be within my full control.'
Genar-Hofoen was still trying to think of a cutting remark when the drone
Churt
Lyne said, 'Won't slow down for you, eh?'
'Correct,' the slave-drone said.
'Here it comes,' said Ulver Seich. She sat cross-legged on a couch drinking a
delicately scented infusion from a porcelain cup. A dot appeared in the
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representation of space behind them; it rushed towards them, growing quickly.
It swelled to a fat shining ovoid that rushed silently underneath them; the
view dipped quickly to follow it, beginning to perform a half-twist to keep
the orientation correctly aligned. Genar-Hofoen, standing near where Ulver
sat, had to put his hand out to the back of the couch to steady himself. In
that instant, there was a sensation of a kind of titanically enveloping
slippage, the merest hint of vast energies being gathered, cradled, unleashed,
contained, exchanged and manipulated; unimaginable forces called into
existence seemingly from nothing to writhe momentarily around them, collapse
back into the void and leave reality, from the perspective of the people on
the
Grey Area
, barely altered.
Ulver Seich tssked as some of her infusion spilled into the cup's saucer.
The view had changed. Now it snapped to a grey-blue expanse of something
curved, like a cup of cloud seen from the inside. It pivoted again, and they
were looking at a series of vast steps like the entrance to an ancient temple.
The broad shelves of the stairs led up to a rectangular entrance lined with
tiny lights; a dark space beyond twinkled with still smaller lamps. The view
drew back to reveal a series of such entrances arranged side by side, the rest
of which were closed. Above and below, set into the faces of the steps, were
smaller doors, all
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'Success,' the slave-drone said.
The view was changing again as the ship was drawn slowly backwards towards the
single opened bay.
Genar-Hofoen frowned. 'We're going inside?' he asked the slave-drone.
It swivelled to face him, paused just long enough for the human to form the
impression he was being treated like some sort of cretin. '& Well, yes& ' it
said, slowly, as one might to a particularly dim child.
'But I was told-'
'Welcome aboard the
Sleeper Service
,' said a voice behind them. They turned to see a tall, angular,
black-dressed creature walking into the lounge. 'My name is
Amorphia.'
III
The drone returned to the
Appeal To Reason and was taken back aboard. Seconds passed.
~ Well? the
Fate Amenable To Change asked.
There was a brief pause. A microsecond or so. Then: ~ It's empty, the
Appeal To
Reason sent.
~ Empty?
~- Yes. It didn't record anything. It's like it never went anywhere.
~ Are you sure?
~ Take a look for yourself.
A data dump followed. The
Fate Amenable To Change shunted into a memory core it had set up for just such
a purpose the mem it had realised what the Excession was, almost a month
earlier. It was the equivalent of a locked room, an isolation ward, a cell.
More information poured out of the
Appeal To Reason;
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Iain M. Banks - Excession (1996) v1.0: Scanned by HugHug of data trying to
flood in after the original data dump. The Culture ship ignored it. Part of
its Mind was listening to the howling, thumping noises coming out of that
locked room.
Information flickered between the
Appeal To Reason and the
Sober Counsel
, an instant before the
Fate sent its own warning signal. It cursed itself for its procrastination,
even if its warning would almost certainly have gone unheeded anyway.
It signalled the distant, war-readied Elench craft instead, begging them to
believe the worst had happened. There was no immedi-ate reply.
The
Appeal To Reason was the nearer of the two Elencher ships. It turned and
started accelerating towards the
Fate.
It broadcast, tight-beamed, lasered and field-
pulsed vast, impossibly complicated signals at the Culture craft. The
Fate squirted back the contents of that locked room, evacuating it. Then it
swivelled and powered up its engines.
So I
am going somewhere
, it thought, and moved off, away from the
Appeal To Reason
, which was still signalling wildly and remained on a heading taking it
straight, for the Culture ship.
The
Fate raced outwards, powering away from the Elencher vessel and heading out on
a great curve that would take it rolling over the invisible sphere that was
the closest approach limit it had set. The
Sober Counsel was moving off on an opposite course from the
Appeal To Reason
, which was still following the Culture ship. A
direction which would turn into an intercept course if they all held these
headings.
Oh, shit
, the
Fate thought.
They were still close enough to each other to just talk, but the
Fate thought it ought to be a little more formal, so it signalled.
xGCU
Fate Amenable To Change
(Culture)
oExplorer Ship
Sober Counsel
(Whoever)
Whatever you are, if you advance on an intercept course on the far side of the
closest approach limit, I'll open fire. No further warnings.
No reply. Just the blaze of multi-band mania from the
Appeal To Reason
, following behind it. The
Sober Counsel's course didn't alter.
The
Fate concentrated its attention on the last known locations of the three other
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Iain M. Banks - Excession (1996) v1.0: Scanned by HugHug
Elench craft; the trio which the
Break Even had said were all war-configured. The other two couldn't be
ignored, but the new arrivals had to constitute the greatest threat for now.
It scanned the data it had on the specifications of the Elench craft,
calculating, simulating; war-gaming. Grief, to be doing this with ships that
were practically Culture ships! The simulation runs came out equivocal. It
could easily deal with the two craft, even staying within range of the
Excession (as though that was a wise limitation anyway!), but if the other
three joined in the fun, and certainly if they attacked, it could well find
itself in trouble.
It signalled the
Break Even again. Still nothing.
The
Fate was starting to wonder what the point was of sticking around here. The
big guns would start arriving in a day or two; it looked like it was going to
be in some sort of ludicrous continual chase with the two Elencher ships until
then, which would be tiresome (with the possibility that the other three,
war-ready Elencher ships might join in, which would be downright dangerous)
and, after all, there was that war fleet on its way. What more was it
usefully going to be able to do here? Certainly, it could keep a watch on the
Excession, see if it did anything else interesting, but was that worth the
risk of being overwhelmed by the Elench? Or even by the Excession itself, if
it was as invasive as it now appeared to be? Enough of its drones, platforms
and sensor platforms might be able to evade the Elenchers for the time it took
until the other craft got here; they could keep watch on the situation,
couldn't they?
Ah, to hell with this
, it thought to itself. It dodged unexpectedly along the surface of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]