Minded
A Culture Novel
Matt Aitkenhead
Chapters 6 to 10
Chapter 6
xMSV Distant Cousins
xGSV More Is More
So, going to tell us what you have done with the Where To Begin? Is it some kind of back-up to check up on us all?
No, and no. The Where has a specific task. If you can't guess, please don't ask.
Fair enough. What about the DPTTAM? I notice that it's still hanging around, despite its protestations at not being given sufficient authority over the situation.
The Don't Point That Thing At Me was here first and elected to bring SC in despite its misgivings; it has to deal with the consequences but should also be acknowledged for having done so as promptly as it did. I get the impression that once it gets over its strop it'll be quite enthusiastic about getting to play with the big boys.
Hmph. We'll see. I've finished my sensor coverage, to required specs. Ready to synch in?
Indeed, thank you. Better inform the Completely also.
xMSV Distant Cousins
oMSV Completely Under Control
Sensors ready and active. Access code enclosed. Hope it helps.
Thank you. That will be very useful.
So, you're the one with all of the information, or at least as much as can be gleaned, about this whole shitstorm. I'm still not convinced that we're actually looking for a Culture Mind at the bottom of all this. Care to enlighten me?
If it's not a Mind, then it's something very good at pretending to be one. I know we all think differently, have our own approaches and personalities, but if you look at the flavour of an induced situation then you can tell whether the individual responsible was Culture, or from one of a number of other high-level civs.
But it could still be someone pretending to be one of us.
Yes, it could. However, I really hope not. That level of mimicry and capability frightens me, quite frankly, and also renders any and all simming quite useless. I prefer to assume that however unpleasant the ramifications, we are indeed dealing with one of our own turned rogue.
I'll accept that. So, give me an example. Show me something that makes it look like Mind rather than, say, Homomdan.
Hmm. Difficult to isolate specifics, but I'll try. In the attached sim-trace, look at the strand relating to that wildfire that started two days ago.
The Distant Cousins accepted the data-stream, unpacking and aligning it with its own systems. It was familiar with the concept of simming, in fact considered itself fairly knowledgeable and capable regarding the subject. However, what it received from the Completely Under Control took its metaphorical breath away. The core, structural aspects were recognisable, particularly the central element of the visualisation relating to their current status. This took the form of a simulacrum of the Real, focussing in on Reast and its local volume but extending where appropriate and inferentially/implicatory relevant beyond this to encompass the entire galaxy.
Whole volumes, topics of information and contextual subsections were fuzzily out of focus, whereas some parts were pin-sharp, the whole magnificent edifice labelled at each and every point with estimates of uncertainty in relation to position, vector and in the case of sentient or even just living components, intent and/or activity. Associated context-streams and appropriate relevant and revelatory history-appendices were available, popping up then disappearing when it focussed across specific characters and players; one could do a lot of damage with something like this if one had the motive, it appreciated for the umpteenth time, wondering briefly if their unidentified opponent had access to something similar.
The Cousins took one long, whirling look through the entire magnificent, stunning vista of the Current Status Evaluation, noting in impressed silence that the gravitational and radiation effects from other galaxies out to the edge of the Universe were incorporated down to the smallest possible detail and level of impact, first- to nth-hand, on the dynamics of the Reast System. It had never even contemplated constructing a Status Evaluation of such staggering, mind-numbing scale and complexity, and revised its own capacity suddenly sharply downwards in relation to the subject of simming and that of the Completely correspondingly upwards.
It looked at Reast more closely, holding the planet within its attention and focus, zooming in, panning, rotating and sampling, examining, tasting. It compared what it was seeing within itself to the data coming from the sensor network that it had recently finished emplacing in orbit around the planet, noting that the datastreams from the hundreds of thousands of pan-spectral and near-invisible microscopic devices was being incorporated in real-time into the Status Evaluation, updating, improving, fine-tuning and correcting any previously-existing and erroneous or out-of-date observations. The data from the sensors was being used to the last bit, even their own locations and positions being used to improve the accuracy and precision of the gravitational model of Reast down to the size of objects the size and mass of individual people.
Zooming, soaring and twisting through this most-detailed jewel set within the crown of the Status Evaluation, the Distant Cousins noted the appended information-set corresponding to the presence and possible location of a Culture Mind, in whatever physical form it may have chosen to take. The uncertainties linked to these positional estimates were enormous, ranging from locations in or on the planet's surface right in to the core. Probabilities were higher in or near the surface, and there was some fluctuation in surface likelihoods for where a Mind might be lurking. Much smaller in open water for example, where a massive object would stand out strongly against the uniform density of the background liquid and correspondingly higher, although not helpfully so, in regions where the complexities of mass-distribution could more effectively disguise the localised mass of a Mind.
Cities are favourite then. Of course, that puts it in the middle of the action as well. What a surprise. Stepping back from the Current Status, the Distant Cousins took in the twinned behemothic fantasies of the Pre and Post sections. It recognised the structure of the Post, with its out-branching, merging, dancing and flaying intertwined strands of eventuality stretching outwards from their current status. Closest to the Now, the Post section looked like a billion billion semi-exploded examples of the Status itself, each one slightly different from the all others and fuzzier, less exact. The Cousins got the Mind equivalent of a nauseating headache when it made the mistake of glancing at its own immediate future and getting sucked in, watching what it was about to do and think a moment in advance of actually doing and thinking; the unsettling iterativeness of the experience took a moment to recover from while it mentally blinked and refocussed.
Further out, the nearest myriad possible futures themselves exploded with other possibilities and probabilities, bloating and inflating together, becoming descriptions of events and situations as yet unseen and each individually, infinitesimally unlikely to actually occur in their specific exactitude. Within this planet-covering cloud, each water-droplet was a representation of the future different from all others, and in one of them lay a description of their real, true future, the one they had to identify and also to change according to their desires.
The trick (and there were many tricks, strategems, methods and approaches employed in the subtle, confounding and mysterious art of Simming) was to find this single, perfect Real before it happened. Whole sections, sweeping vistas of possibilities evaporated continuously, replaced by the outbranchings of other, more likely and therefore usually more successful eventualities. Finding the route ahead amongst it all was what they needed to achieve, but would be difficult with this particular Post Evaluation. The scale of it all, as with the Current Status, was phenomenal by any scaling and description the Distant Cousins could use. This was real simming.
Pre was different. Pre wasn't impressive, it was scary. Searching for some reference point to cling to, the Distant Cousins found itself, a week earlier, en route to picking up the SC team from the This Is Not A Ship, conversing with the superlifter that was slowing, turning, matching speeds to transfer the human-drone pair to the MSV. It watched its actions, expressed as position, orientation, direction and speed with associated, appended mind-state estimates and other metadata.
Fairly accurate, from what it could see. It made a couple of minor suggested tweaks, saw them accepted and their consequences scatter through the Pre environment, consequentially altering. These changes would inform the continuous updating of the Status, which would thus improve the Post. That was not the real intention of the Pre section, however, although it could be useful in improving the other two Sections.
The real purpose of the Pre in this case was to track backwards, looking at eventualities and conditions, sniffing and searching for things that could have been that did not negate the known-about, the accurately-represented Now. If it had been over there instead of here during its approach, for example, the Distant Cousins would have passed nearby another ship and popped its outer sensor-navigation field detection threshold.
The neighbouring ship would have sent some sort of navigational handshake, either a formal acknowledgement or more likely, given fact that it was also Culture and knowing the ship in question, the ship-to-ship equivalent of a friendly hello and a wave in passing. This would have altered the statuses of both vessels, minutely but meaningfully diverting their futures from what had actually happened, possibly resulting in the second ship, the GCU Passing Wind, discussing its happenstance encounter with the Distant Cousins with a shared colleague a day later. The knowledge associated with this interaction would impact further and through a chain of interactions mundane, trivial and entirely natural in their individuality and entirety, result in the MSV Defender Of The Faithless arriving at Reast thirty-four seconds later than it actually had.
As this potential outcome had observably not occurred (all of the ships' locations and arrivals at the rendezvous point had been logged to the nanosecond, even the ones that had masked their approach), then consequently the original deviation in position of the Distant Cousins could not have happened. This tiny fact, this relatively insignificant possible variation of the past, was investigated and discarded, pruning post-eventualities further and further back in their history.
The same procedure was and continued to be applied to literally uncountable other events and situations that could or could not have taken place recently, allowing the Completely Under Control to unravel, explore and clarify the past and to hunt through it for any evidence of the rogue Mind and what it had been up to. If they could find it in the past, then they could see it better in the now, and therefore handle it better and more effectively in the future. The Distant Cousins took in all of this interpretation, supposition, estimation and elimination and simply stared in astonishment.
Whoa.
Indeed. The Completely Under Control managed to inject the word with a note of quiet pride at its achievement. Do you see the strand I mentioned?
Yes. Ah. I think I see what you mean. If it wasn't Culture, there would have been difficulties in linking the required sensory and effector systems efficiently enough to make it look as realistic as you or I could achieve.
Exactly. We're particularly good in that area, although it has costs in terms of pattern-spread of certain long-range low-power effector actions, specifically those working on circuitry with silver wiring. There's occasionally a cost to certain benefits, no matter how well something is designed.
I've noted that one myself, from time to time. So it's a Mind, we're pretty sure of that. Fucker. I was still hoping it wouldn't be one of us.
Certainly it's a disappointment. I'm sure if we can track it down then stern words will be had. Fingers wagged, that sort of thing.
At the barest of bare minimums, I'm sure. More of a horror than a disappointment. On that note, I see that the location of said Mind is particularly difficult to pin down. Surely we can work on this?
Not with the current sensors, no. One of the consequences of looking too hard is an implied forcing of the target's hand.
Flushing it out? No, I can see why that might be a bad idea, and agree with the MIM's advice in this even without having to sim it for myself. Implied confrontational and escalational activities, best avoided. What about any evidence of motive?
That's the billion-hydrogen atom question, I'm afraid. The source of a significant portion of the uncertainty in Pre, Status and Post. On that note, I have identified several areas of potentiality collapse and ensuing clarification, that require evidence-gathering. Would you like to assist?
Would I? You're asking me to help? I think that this might be beyond me, old chum.
Not the simming itself, but if I point you in the right direction, you can clear out a lot of the uncertainty by answering specific questions.
Ah, I see. Yes, I think I can do that. Anything local?
Most of it, in fact. The P, R is looking further afield, anyway. There's stuff you can gather by focussing on the detail with your own passive sensors, to enhance our existing network in specific locations. You'll have to live-link to me so that things don't get away from the Current Status Evaluation, if you are comfortable doing so.
I'm yours to command. I can even hand over positional control and other relevant systems, if preferred. Within suitable oversight and retraction regulations, of course. I can be your roving sensor suite.
That would be very useful. Thank you for the vote of confidence, I'll try not to crash you.
xMSV Distant Cousins
oGSV More Is More
Hello over there, IC.
Hello yourself. Spinning, zooming and twirling away nicely, there. Helping the Completely?
Absolutely. I have to say, I think my earlier opinions of the Completely Under Control may have been a bit misguided. It's actually not a bad ship, all things considered.
I knew that you two would get along. Happy hunting, let me know if you need a hand with anything.
#############################################################################
Lesk-Torlip was horrified, genuinely enraged. Bren just smiled and shook his head, looked away to the walls of the module they were sitting in. They had arrived at almost the same time four hours earlier, and after rapid introductions and greetings had gone straight into a briefing with the avatar of the More Is More. It had dispensed with the usual pleasantries about asking them for assurances of confidentiality reinforcing the importance of the situation on them and had instead moved onto the meat of the subject. Thirty seconds into the briefing, Lesk-Torlip's aura field had changed from formal blue to a polished-looking white of cold anger.
"How confident are you?" It demanded of the avatar.
"As confident as we can be, and that means that at the moment, we are not seriously exploring alternatives." The avatar had chosen to take the appearance of a dark-skinned and shaven-headed human female, instead of the normal silvery effect. Its small, serious features surveyed them both. "You're experienced enough to comprehend the implications of this." This was said as a statement.
"Yes, we are." It was Bren who responded. "I'm still not clear why you haven't just gone straight in there mob-handed and scoured the place out, though."
"It was considered, trust me. Unfortunately, the Mind involved will also no doubt have thought of this, and will by now be almost certainly aware of our suspicions and prepared for direct actions on our part."
"Ah. So you're assuming that it will have out-thought you. Us, rather. Out-thought and out-prepared us for every possibility eventuality."
"Exactly. To a certain extent, even though we do not know its motives and it does not know our exact disposition, each side can predict the other's possible and likely actions and prepare for them. This leaves us fighting each other's shadows somewhat, but the almost guaranteed consequences of simply charging in are, for the moment, a lot worse than taking a somewhat circumspect approach."
The drone finally worked it out. -You're sending us down there by ourselves? Against a fucking MIND?
-Not exactly by yourselves, but yes. And you're going to look around and report back, it's not like we're asking you to try to catch the bastard. The avatar's eyes flickered, too fast for a human to see, towards Bren and back towards Lesk-Torlip.
-Try not to sound quite so amused by the thought of that. No wait, do sound amused. Because that would be a fucking funny thing to suggest. Now would be a good time, by the way, to tell me about any tricks that a mere combat/companion drone like myself could use to overcome or neutralise a fully-functioning Mind.
-There are a few, as it happens. I'm sure you've been through the same sims as I have.
-Ha, thought the drone bitterly. That might be true on one level. There were indeed training simulations for scenarios sufficiently similar to the one they believed they were now facing. Sufficiently similar, that is, to allow the drone to focus with thorough, ramped-up, hyper-detailed horror on the likely outcomes of even a fully-tooled combat drone like itself (and it spent a fraction of a sliver of a moment preening over the wonders of its most recent internal outfittings) going up against even an un-Shipped, slowed-down, not-linked-to-hyperspace Mind.
If you couldn't even fully understand or appreciate the sophistication of your opponent, then you were probably better off just detonating your AM missiles in the hope of a quick and painless end. The sims that the More Is More referred to were fairly unspecific about the consequences of allowing yourself to be bested by even a relatively simple Mind. This was because there were so many different ways one of the bastards could come up with to have fun with you afterwards that the sims couldn't begin to collate them all, or even provide a suitable classification.
The best that could be provided was a kind of sliding scale of awfulness, from instant annihilation (the nicer, and far from likely option given that you were supposed to be dealing with a rogue, and therefore Evil and Unpleasant Mind) to subjective centuries of harrowing horror, torture and mind-rape the mere consideration of which made the drone feel sick to its core.
And they probably weren't even dealing with a second-rate Mind. The best guess they had so far was a GSV Mind, for goodness sake! Not for the first time, the drone wondered how a Culture Mind could have ended up like this, considering the care and attention that supposedly went into their design and construction. Could this all be a trick, a test? No, it told itself. That way lies paranoid silliness. If we can't trust what we're being told, then we're dealing with something far worse. Better to go with the evidence presented.
According to the sims, the main thing to avoid was giving the Mind you were up against any time at all to think. The damn things – and when did I suddenly start thinking like THAT? the drone asked itself, were just too fast, so you had to have some stratagem, plot or ruse in place and pretty much already running in order to win. No point dickering around, trying to come up with fancy, complex plans. Hit it hard with something, without warning and without hesitation.
Even then, the sims that gave a drone all sorts of handily-lying-around kit that could be used if it just happened to find itself tussling with a weakened, insane and offensive Mind still pointed out helpfully that the resulting explosions, implosions, event horizons or other fascinating cosmological phenomena were pretty much guaranteed to wipe out, suck out of existence or simply remove from base reality the drone, any nearby life forms and probably anything up to and including planets that happened to be in the vicinity.
-Yes, I have, it responded. And I'm very glad that I won't have to try any of them out. There is one thing you could do that might help, though.
-Name it.
-Once this is over, I want five minutes with the little shit, fully-de-fanged and helpless. If something happens down there, use my backed-up state. Can you do that?
-I can't promise that, but I can try to organise it. What you are asking however, is that I hand over one of my peer Minds for some kind of no-doubt physical retribution at the hands of a drone. There are some Minds, although I do not count myself here, that would find this a little distasteful.
-I'll bet they would. That's kind of the point, replied Lesk-Torlip. It might put any more of you fuckers off the idea of doing whatever this cunting Mind, whoever it is, has been up to. There was no verbal reply from the More Is More to this, although the drone could sense a faint leaking of amusement along the communication channel they were using.
Lesk-Torlip became aware that Bren had turned towards it, frowning, obviously realising that a rapid conversation had just flashed between itself and the avatar. It bobbed slightly towards him to acknowledge its rudeness. The right corner of his mouth twitched, a signal it recognised as indicating faint amusement.
"That's us. The circumspect approach." Lesk-Torlip's aura field had calmed somewhat, but was still flecked with white. "Still a risk of some kind of response."
The avatar nodded its head from side to side, indicating yes/no. "Some kind, possibly. However, we believe that we can get you down there with very little risk of being spotted."
"Really?" The drone's voice was laden with sarcasm. "Transport down to the planet. A planet that has apparently got a Culture Mind somewhere on it, playing it like the conductor of a symphony orchestra and with the ability to see what Bren here had for breakfast from a light-year away." It made a sniffing noise, a habit picked up years ago from Bren that it thought it had dropped. "This will have to be good."
"Not good, no. Just simple. We're going to make use of existing transport systems and get you inserted from a distance where the Mind hopefully cannot see us doing so."
"Oh, okay. And when we do get within range and it sees me?" The avatar smiled uncertainly, an expression that made both the drone and human focus their full attention on it.
"Uh-oh. What new madness have you got planned?" Bren's voice was wary.
"We were hoping to ensure that you are, ah, less visible than normal." It glanced from one to another. "Using an approach that has been shown to work in the past, although never fully field-tested by Culture SC agents."
"Explain." The avatar did so, over a period of ten minutes. During that time, the human and drone glanced at each other several times, and their facial and field expressions ranged from bafflement, disbelief, consternation and uncertainty, towards something approaching cautious excitement at the end of the avatar's monologue. Once it had fallen silent, it was Bren that spoke first.
"I can see why you would need a pairing that had worked well together in the past. It's a bit, well, intimate."
"Yes." The avatar's face took on a look of concern. "Intimacy and privacy are at the forefronts of our minds in this. If you agreed to this procedure, then we would be sailing pretty close to some profoundly held principles of Culture behaviour."
"Damn right we would." The drone's aura was an odd mixture of frosty blue and red patches. "In fact, no. We'd be bursting right through them. Can you tell us for certain just how close the link would be?"
"Difficult to say, until it was implemented." The avatar leaned forward for emphasis and fixed the drone with its gaze. "You have to understand, this is not going to be like uploading you into his neural lace." One hand gestured towards Bren. "In fact, he won't have a neural lace in the final body that we give him. You'll be part of his brain, biological."
"So we don't even know what this will feel like?" Bren's face was screwed up slightly.
"The sims give ambiguous results, and information that we have on previous efforts in this area are not really applicable."
"Why not?"
"Different species/technology mix, for starters. Also, the intent in the one comparable instance that we do know about was that what we might call the occupant was deliberately given access to the, er, host's activity, but not the other way around."
"Definitely not Culture, then."
"No, definitely not. Some SC ships have also got experience in this area, but we don't have access to them at this time."
"Hmm." Bren was looking thoughtful. "I've got no objections, in principle. Provided the link was two-way. Which it sounds like it would have to be, by design. Would it make a difference if I said no?"
"Of course it would. We wouldn't even attempt this if either of you were uncomfortable with the idea." The avatar spread its hands. "There are other options we could explore, or course, it's just that this is the one judged to give us the greatest freedom to act and the highest probability of successful penetration."
Bren glanced at the drone. "What about you?"
"Same as you, of course." Lesk-Torlip's fields had shaded further into the red in the last minute or so. "That's not to say I'm entirely comfortable with the idea, but I can see why it would be useful to try." I've only just gotten used to some of these new upgrades, too. It glanced between the avatar and human. "I'm assuming that we'd be doing this soon?"
"Yes. As soon as possible. There is a certain urgency to the situation." The avatar smiled.
Bren sighed, shaking his head and smiling in mock exasperation. "Just when I thought I'd seen it all. Come on then," he stood, motioning to the drone. "Let's see if they can squeeze you inside my head without my skull exploding."
#############################################################################
It was done while they were both unconscious, in the drone's case involving an induced partial shutdown by the More Is More. They went under next to one another, lying on nothing more sophisticated than a double bed in one of the many small apartments scattered around the GSV. According to the MIM, it was easier to join them within Bren's existing SC-altered body and then transfer them both, together and as one, into the new body that they were to be given.
"It gives you more time to integrate, for one thing." The avatar explained, as they settled onto the bed, lying fully-dressed in Bren's case above the covers. "And any adverse reactions are going to be easier to control with your current body. The next one isn't going to have any of the glands or other alterations that you have now, so I'd have to handle all the hormonal stuff externally." With that pleasant thought, they passed out simultaneously.
When Lesk-Torlip woke, it felt for a moment as though nothing had changed. Its thoughts were still there as ever, and its sight and senses felt no different. Then it looked closer at the signals coming in from its senses, and realised that nothing had remained the same. The ship was providing it with a false sensorium, overlain on whatever it should be getting from Bren's own senses, with each sensation mimicking what it would normally expect if it had been the person sitting up in the bed rather than Bren.
"You awake in there, Lesk-Torlip?" The voice arrived through its audio pickup, sounding almost as though it had spoken itself, using Bren's voice.
-Yes.
"Hello? Wakey-wakey."
-Wait a minute, trying to get a hang of this. Dammit, I'm thinking, not speaking. It was as though it had formed the words in the normal manner, but the sounds had simply not appeared as they should.
"Lesk?" Bren sounded mildly concerned. Lesk-Torlip scanned its internal sensorium, the mind-space through which it could monitor and evaluate its own system performance and functionality. There was a confusion of readings from various indicators, many of which looked as though they were being actively damped down by the More Is More's effectors to prevent the kind of full-alert screaming siren alarm caused by having so many subsystems manipulated, defective or apparently disabled by an external entity. A hurried search showed one symbol gently strobing blue, with the words SPEAK TO BREN underneath it. Inside its virtual space, Lesk-Torlip pushed this button.
-Hello?
"Lesk! I heard that. Let me try to speak back." Hooo? Helllll?
-Got that. You need to work on the subvocalisations a bit. This was easy, just like communicating to a neural lace. The drone set about exploring its mind-space, addressing the flashing, whirling alerts one by one. Turning off those that were no longer connected to anything, reassuring those that were active but whose inputs were obviously not behaving as normal or expected.
-Practice make sperfect. Makes perfect. Can you see?
-Yes, but I'm going to have to alter how that works. The ship's Mind was supplying most of its sensory information, and that would have to change if they were to operate on-planet. -Give me a minute here.
Take your time. The GSV spoke to both of them directly, its voice arriving soundlessly. It will be a few moments before the neurons adjust. This is fairly radical stuff, remember.
-You don't have to tell me that, Lesk-Torlip replied somewhat testily. It disabled one of the simpler fake sensory functions, losing something that only appeared to be there anyway and selected what looked like the replacement, indicated by an icon below it. The MIM was obviously a big fan of skeuomorphism. For a moment nothing happened, then it realised that it could feel something, some faint and fuzzy variant on the real thing. –Hmm. EM field detection's pretty crap.
-Wait until they give me my new body. It'll disappear almost completely. What else have you got?
The drone felt a moment of horror at the thought of being so disabled, unable to sense or control its environment as it normally could. And this was just in Bren's current body, not the one they were going to give him to go down to Reast. Even without SC additions, his Culture-norm physiology had sensitivities way beyond a Reasten's. This was going to take some getting used to.
-Oh hells. Hearing's okay, but way degraded and overlain with all sorts of biological shit. Your insides make a lot of weird, squeaky sounds. What the fuck you been eating? It didn't wait for a response, too busy exploring just how awful this was going to be. –Skin-sensation isn't too bad, you've got some stuff that even I'm not used to. Highly variable, though. Almost nothing from your back, and potential overload from facial areas. Stop licking your lips!
-Sorry.
-That was weird as fuck. Try to give me some warning next time.
-Not sure how to do that. Anyway, sight?
-Getting to that. Looking at all the new stuff first. Oh shit the bed, I'm turning that one back off.
-What was it?
-Internal organs. That's just wrong. You lot really are disgusting inside, you know that? It felt Bren's face form a grin. –Not funny. How can you not be distracted by that?
-You'll get used to it.
-Doubt it. Right, sight. It turned off its feed from the Large And Close and sat in darkness for a moment. Reached for the eye-shaped symbol, activated it. –Eech.
-What?
-Well, vision works. I can see, but it's a bit odd. Grainy, and the binocular vision is going to take some calibration. Not as adjustable as I'm used to. And what the fuck's that blob at the front? Is that your nose?!
-Yup. See it twitching?
-Yes. Dear holy fuck, this is going to be a learning experience. It was worse than watching a bad screen recording. The signal quality itself was fine, but the distortions and flattening were highly off-putting. Lesk-Torlip suspected that if it was capable of getting a headache, looking at this for too long would have caused it. –I'll just have to put up with this, I suppose. Just one final step to take.
-Here goes. The drone actually felt Bren's muscles tense slightly, which was bizarre. It for the final symbol, which was marked simply BREN, and with the mental equivalent of gritted teeth and contracted sphincter, which was another sensation new to it, and not something that it thought it was likely to get used to in a hurry, activated the function. Their two minds linked, signals from each transmitted to the other via the bridging neural connections.
–Getting anything?
-Not really. Just a kind of buzzing sensation. Felt rather than heard. A bit like being tickled on the back of the head.
-Same for me, I think. Ship?
The ship's Mind rejoined them as a third voice inside what was now their shared skull. –Here. Initial lack of interpretability is to be expected with a linkage this sophisticated. You should start getting something soon. Even as it spoke, Lesk-Torlip did indeed begin to feel something change. Echoes of images, matching the sensations coming from the other sensory feeds.
-Got something, sent Bren. –Faint.
-Me too. Try to guess.
-Hmm. A ship?
-Good. Your turn. Oh, that's coming through strong. Sex. Ew, did you have to?
The avatar standing next to them smiled as the ship withdrew from their mind. "You're getting it. Keep practising. We'll give you one day, then move you both across to your new body. You should be well integrated by insertion time."
"What about separation afterwards?"
"Same as normal for bodily transfers. Missing limbs, ghosts and so on for a few days. Nothing you haven't already experienced."
-I'm not sure about that. This feels different. More permanent.
-You might be right. You might not be able to leave after all this.
-Don't even joke about that. I'd rather just turn myself off.
To distract themselves, they got stuck into the mission-specific training. There was a large number of characters involved, and they needed to fit in without missing a beat. Codes and maps to memorise, technologically appropriate situational-awareness, even basic stuff like the local language needed to be learned by rote, or downloaded directly into Bren's brain in a way that it would be retained even after the neural lace was removed. They had gone through this familiarisation and role-adoption process many times before, and were both used to it and good at it. It was what they were about.
#############################################################################
xGSV More Is More
o(ex)LOU Peer, Review
The human-drone team are almost ready. We're going with previously agreed insertion parameters. Any updates?
Nothing since last time. Still out here asking awkward questions, bearing the brunt of the hostility directed at me with my usual equanimity. The Completely's revisions and updates are helping me identify potential candidates, although I'm still not convinced we should be relying on those as much as we are.
Remember what we discussed. I'm vouching for every Mind involved in this, including you, to the entire Culture. In the event that one of these ships is playing some kind of shell game, I'll take the responsibility.
A fine comfort that will be, I'm sure.
So, what else would you have me do? If you're going to criticise, then you need to provide an alternative.
I've said it already, but will repeat in case you weren't paying attention the first time. We should be widening the group, diluting any possible impact of a double-player. Keeping it this close, this secret, only increases the risk of someone being able to play us.
My dear ship, my I be brutally honest with you?
If you say that you are, then I will take it at face value.
Well I am. Two things: firstly, I believe that your own biased opinions in this area lead you to assume a higher possibility of betrayal within our Group. Remember, I picked these ships, not the other way around. I know them, and trust them.
That doesn't mean that they haven't been positioning themselves for selection. You know what we're capable of when we try, what games we love to play against one another. What was your second point?
That even if one or more of us was compromised or false in this, then so far it has made very little difference. Our responses to the situation on Reast have been correct, agreed upon by all, save perhaps yourself. The strategies are correct, our tactics are sound. This may not be a text-book case, but it's not entirely unplanned-for although only hitherto taken seriously by the most paranoid of SC Minds. We're all doing what we should be.
Perhaps. You cannot keep an eye on all of us simultaneously, however. You are having to ask me what I have discovered, for example – what if I had found something but kept it to myself?
Then one of the ships accompanying you would have informed me.
These meatheads? Not entirely big on subtle misdirection. Or subtle anything, for that matter. More the shoot first and then ask them to repeat the question sort.
Enough of this. Tell me; best guess so far, who are we looking for?
A wide range of possibles. The list in my last update was admittedly tending to being over-weighted towards Minds that we simply haven't heard from in a while and that might be off running something like what we are facing, but we can't discount those entirely on the assumption that they've all gone on retreat or dived into a black hole. If we go just on personality and opinion, and assume that the Mind involved has previously been relatively truthful in stating its opinions rather than being the dissembling fucker we are probably dealing with, then yes, we do have a list that is potentially investigable. However, you and I know that to make this assumption would be a massive risk and potential miscalculation. If someone is trying to deceive us now, then they were more than likely deceiving us earlier as well.
I do agree with you on this. And I'm happy to admit that I place more faith in the Completely's ability to identify our quarry using its approach than in sending you out to search for potentially hidden evidence.
I'm surprised you have any faith at all in what I am doing. I had assumed that I was simply to act as a lightning-rod.
There is that also. Do you resent it?
No. It's actually good to be on the hunt in this more specific manner, for a change. I just hope that if we do attract the wrong sort of attention, that these three are capable of looking after me.
Just make sure that you don't annoy them to the extent that they can't be bothered.
xGSV Large And Close
oGOU Get Your Own
You get all that?
Yes. Meatheads, indeed. No worse than I had expected.
How are you getting along with our little friend?
About as you might anticipate. Treated with scathing suspicion and resentment. Again, expected and tolerated.
Thank you for this. Any hints of attention being focussed?
Not so far. Some pointed queries about the company I'm keeping.
I will make it up to you somehow. I'm sure that the More Is More will want to as well.
Just make sure you catch the fucker, or flush them out. Then we'll make sure it's been worth our while.
You'll have to join the queue, I'm afraid. Someone else has staked a claim on the miscreant prior to you.
I saw that. From a drone, too. Brave little shit, agreeing to do as asked. If you can find a way to do so, please pass my regards along, and to the human as well.
Chapter 7
-I'm not getting in that thing. It was two days later and they were integrating nicely together, which was more than could be said for their opinion of Bren's new body. That was weak, poorly-controlled, unreliable and quite frankly badly designed. Apparently, it was perfect, or at least a perfect match to the man they intended to replace.
-It's not a thing, it's a spacecraft. And I'm getting in it, so you don't have much choice.
-It's barely what I would call a spacecraft, and I barely seem to have any say about what happens in this relationship any more. Lesk-Torlip made Bren sniff disdainfully, eliciting a brief laugh.
The Velorine spacecraft sat in the middle of one of the More Is More's smallbays, looking entirely out of place. The drone knew that this was the only real option for getting down to the planet, but felt it had to make at least a token gesture of complaint. It even approved, one some level, of the irony in the situation.
If they were dealing with a Culture Mind that could potentially detect anything like a Displace or a Culture module entering the atmosphere of Reast, then the only way down lay in something that it should pay no attention to because it was expected. Hence the Velorine spycraft Incision, or at least a perfect-to-the-atomic-level replica of it. The real thing was currently five light-minutes out from the planet on a course that would bring it right past the More Is More, in about half an hour.
-Time to strap in. Bren settled into the single chair in the forward section, and began powering up the systems. -These things are actually pretty reliable, you know. Designed with stealth in mind, so they can't afford to have it crash.
-I know all that. It's just so clunky. I mean, manual controls. Come on. In all honesty, the drone wasn't that concerned. This was just the usual banter between itself and Bren, a pattern they had formed between themselves over sixty years, reassuring one another when it seemed necessary. It also knew that they were being watched, evaluated, judged by the GSV and goodness knew how many other Minds who were looking for indicators of stress, behaviour out of the ordinary or even just too relaxed a demeanour when it wasn't appropriate. This always happened, always would. Without it, something would be seriously wrong. -Just try not to destroy this one, okay? It felt the responding grin on Bren's face, as they both remembered a particular previous escapades.
-That only happened the once. Everything running okay?
Lesk-Torlip started to reach out, to request a feed from the smallbay's sensors, then remembered that it couldn't do that anymore. Shit. It took over one of Bren's arms, waving clumsily through the forward window to a watching avatar with a waggling, questioning gesture. The avatar nodded, and a screen appeared behind it, wider and higher than the Incision, showing the smallbay from a number of viewpoints and wavelengths. They peered at the multiple orientations displayed, squinting slightly with their new and highly unsatisfactory eyes and finally nodded, satisfied.
To a standard human, even a Culture one, the bay would appear to be empty, although there was a slight buzzing at around twenty-four kilocycles that would be audible within a few metres of the vessel. The Incision's cloaking system worked that well, at least. To the majority of the senses that the GSV was making available to Bren and Lesk-Torlip the small craft, a confusion of angular blades with a needle prow was just as visible as it had always been. It was also transmitting in specific ways that the Velorine would hopefully find reassuring and a match to the original, once the swap had taken place.
"Everything appears to be working fine. Are we sure that the Velorine don't have anything that can detect what we're about to do?"
It was the GSV that answered, its avatar sticking its head through the open hatch to speak to them. On the screen in front of the Incision, its upper body disappeared on several of the displays. "Only one asset forty thousand kilometres back, a similarly stealthed observation platform trailing the Velorine vessel and monitoring it for stray emissions. I have it under full control." It smiled at them, wished them luck and withdrew.
The replica Incision lifted gently from the floor of the smallbay, drifting towards the open wall that faced outside, showing a dusting of stars and one of the gas-giant planets in the Reast system, a tiny pale yellow disk. Their destination itself was invisible, on the other side of the GSV. The buzzing sound increased slightly in volume as the vessel's engines powered up. They exited the GSV, sliding through the smallbay's atmospheric containment field. Once clear, Bren performed a few manual manoeuvres to check the small spacecraft's manoeuvrability. Everything worked perfectly, somewhat to the drone's annoyance.
"How long?"
"Three minutes. What's the More going to do with the Velorine guy?"
"You know, I forgot to ask." Lesk-Torlip formed the question, cursed internally and settled for raising Bren's chin and frowning, assuming that the GSV was watching them.
Its response came over the Incision's communication system. "They'll be comfortable, don't worry. Won't even know what's going on. I'll use it as an opportunity to test some new simulation methods. If all goes well, we may even be able to integrate him back into reality at the end of all this."
Bren muttered, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Just try to make sure that I don't have to remove any limbs or anything. I hate having to do that and it's so hard to come up with plausible excuses."
"We'll do our best."
"Excellent. And remember, the Large And Close is going to be running flat out to real-time edit the Velorine sensor network feed as it is, making sure that they see what they expect. Try not to cause too many unplanned disruptions, or we'll have to consider faking their entire sensor stream."
"I thought you loved a challenge?"
"Not really, no. It's time. Ready?"
"Ready."
The replica Incision began to move, its own systems powering up within an extended bubble of field hiding both it and the GSV from the approaching Velorine vessel's sensors. At the precise moment when the two were metres apart and moving with identical velocities, the More Is More snapped a Displace field around one and unveiled the other.
"Got them. Good hunting."
"Thanks." The communication system clicked off.
The Incision powered onwards, towards Reast. Five minutes later, it slowed to a relatively sedate velocity relative to the planet and began descending through the atmosphere. Minor turbulence revealed the inadequacies of the systems that were designed to hide the effects of the vessel's passage through air, and a flock of birds was startled as something blurred through their midst, scattering them with multiple minor vortices. Other than that, the descent was uneventful.
They landed in a forest, on the shore of a small lake between rolling mountains, a hundred kilometres from the eastern edge of Reast's largest continent and the city of Trourl, their destination. Dark trees whispered in a mild breeze and sudden, loud tapping announced a local species of tree-boring bird as they stepped from the small spacecraft.
The Incision lifted off once more to hold station ten metres off the ground, amongst the tops of the trees, and became invisible to their senses. The ground was covered in a mat of needle-leaves, which crunched slightly underfoot. Lesk-Torlip felt faintly dizzy for a moment as Bren looked around, focussing instead on adjusting to the signals from the man's skin. It was surprised at the level of detail in the tactile sensations, cold and heat simultaneously from the wind and sun. Something to get used to, it supposed.
-You all right in there? Bren must have felt the drone's momentary discomfort.
-Fine. Try not to move your head around too fast for a while, that's all.
They had experimented with the shared control and sensation possibilities provided by the novel setup. Bren had already declared himself happy with the situation, provided he got some warning before Lesk-Torlip took over. The drone was capable of overriding the human, but not the other way around. No need, it had been declared, no possible benefit to be gained. They had shared somewhat similar arrangements in the past, but nothing nearly so invasive.
Once, on an alien ringworld a quarter of the way around the galaxy from where they now were, Lesk-Torlip had been forced to use Bren's body, dead and minus an arm and a lower leg and partially on fire, to drive a main battle-tank crunching through stone walls while it flew a hundred metres overhead, effectoring missiles from a circling aircraft onto the castle' defenders. It had not been forced to rely on the human's largely destroyed senses that particular time, but had controlled his muscles directly using what little nerve and motor function remained after the tank was hit by an armour-piercing round.
What it mostly remembered from that battle, in addition to the cold fury and remorseless sense of purpose redoubled at the sudden loss of its friend and comrade, was the shocking synergy of electrical, mechanical and chemical complexity that interplayed within the nervous system and muscles, the inability to create deftness or a lightness of touch because of its inexperience. It would need to practice if it needed to be able to control him more effectively at any time, this time.
Hopefully, it would not need to do so with any urgency. Lesk-Torlip allowed Bren to begin walking, heading for a nearby road and a public transport stop. As they travelled, it mentally reviewed what was assumed about the rogue Mind's physical and sensory capabilities. Having made it to the surface unmolested, nothing had changed on that front.
Everything was based on the fact that the Minds had been unable to passively detect it from their position right on top of Reast, in astronomical terms. A Mind in its natural state should have been a beacon to any one of a number of their senses, most notably gravitationally as there were severe restrictions on how much of its mass it could hide away in hyperspace unless it was fully kitted out and if it was then it would have been even more obvious in several other ways.
No, it was definitely greatly reduced, in scale and capacity, wherever it was. This was good and bad, implying a restriction of functionality while at the same time making it impossible to spot without some kind of active sensing. There was no way it was hiding off-planet, using distance to conceal itself and reaching out with its effectors. They would have been able to determine that, too. So it was definitely down here somewhere. Unless they've been wrong about all this. That would be funny, although highly embarrassing for the ships involved.
Except that they couldn't be wrong. Lesk-Torlip had seen the evidence, and there really wasn't an alternative. Somewhere on Reast was a Culture Mind, reduced, diminished but still potent, dangerous and disguised. Probably watching them already, forcing them to adopt a role, fake a persona. Forcing them to kill.
#############################################################################
-There's only one bathroom?
-Correct. His security team do check the apartment before he goes in, but it's only ever a quick look.
-Show me the route in again.
Yolar was an extremely busy person with a lifestyle that meant it was hard to predict where he would be from one day, or even one hour from the next. A perfect role for them to adopt, provided they could catch up with him. He had a weak point, a once-weekly routine, whenever he was in or near his home city of Trourl, visiting a prostitute on the other side of the city from his house for a couple of hours. His wife was perfectly aware of this practice and apparently while not exactly happy with the idea, at least didn't complain about it. According to the information from the Don't Point That Thing At Me that had been acquired before this situation erupted, she seemed to be of the opinion that at least it was the same one each time.
Bren and Lesk-Torlip took the local tram-like public transport to within a few city blocks of the building where Yolar's mistress lived. It was early morning, thousands of people thronging the pavement. Nobody even glanced at them. Lesk-Torlip was operating its subnetwork several times faster than Bren's own brain, checking the imagery coming from his visual system, providing backup to the human's years of experience and training.
If anyone or anything was watching them, they were better than a Culture SC team. Reassured, Bren turned left off the busy street down a slightly less mobbed avenue, then right after couple of minutes. The alleyway was blocked after a few metres by a high metal gate, padlocked and bolted. Bren simply swarmed over the gate, his dark clothing blending into the wall next to it.
On the other side it was relatively quiet, the city's sounds fading away. Bren stood for several moment, leaning against the grey bricks, relaxing and listening. Only a few windows looked down on them here, and no-one was visible. – All on their way to work or still asleep. If the alarm was going to be raised, then they could be back over the gate and into the crowds in seconds.
– Seems fine. Go for it. Bren nodded, and moving as though he had every right in the world to be there, ambled along the deserted alleyway that ran along the back of the building next to Vray Sharpein's. The two apartment blocks were connected underground by a service passage accessed at the rear, through a small hatch set at an angle against the wall. This was locked, but was the work of moments with a small adjustable lockpick set that they had bought locally just that morning.
The passage was dimly lit, walled with pipes, condensation dripping from some and others hot enough to take skin off. Bren skirted between them carefully, unlocking and relocking a couple of doors along the way. The basement of Vray Sharpein's building was reached without incident, everything matching the old Contact scans. They paused, Bren wiping the sweat from his face and then retrieving and sitting on a low stool that had been tucked under one pipe, breathing softly, muscles relaxed. Lesk-Torlip listened.
Bren's breathing, his heartbeat, other internal noises. A slight high-pitched hum from the blood circulating in his head and neck. A low gurgling from his stomach. Stamping feet overhead, motors whining nearby, powering the building elevator. Doors slamming, children's voices high and fast. Adults slow, their voices felt as much as heard. Water running through pipes, toilets flushing. The humming and whining of electrical cables, different frequencies according to their specifications and current loads. The drone built a three-dimensional mental map of the building structure and the people moving around within it, their activities and locations.
-Ready?
-Ready. The maintenance hatch for the elevator wasn't even locked. The elevator itself was currently near the top of the eight-storey building, moving down towards floor four where three adults and a child or possibly a large pet were waiting. Bren removed his bulky jacket, slipped through the small hatch and then put the jacket back on. The elevator shaft was floored by a large metal framework designed to absorb the impact of a catastrophic failure of some kind, a cable breaking or grip-wheel coming loose.
Bren climbed over this obstacle and stood, back flat against the dusty bricks, between two thick metal supports that protruded further from the wall than his chest. Bracing himself against each metal column, he walked awkwardly up between them, resting every few seconds and allowing one arm or leg to hang free, relaxing. The elevator passed them, slowing on its way to the ground floor, leaving Bren's head and shoulders above the flat top which was almost entirely occupied by the pulley mechanism.
In the few seconds available while the elevator car was stopped, and its doors opened and closed, he silently gripped the slightly oily cable, hoisting himself up onto the roof of the car. It swayed slightly as he did so, more from the movement of people leaving and entering it than from his own efforts. -Now we wait. The car rose, stopping at the third floor. Someone got off, a group got on. It descended to the ground again.
They waited. The car rose once more, all the way to the eighth and topmost floor. As they approached it, Bren was forced to crouch in the narrow gap that remained between the elevator car and the cable attachments and other structures protruding from the roof of the shaft. People got on, and they dropped again. Lesk-Torlip listened. A mechanical ping as the lift call button was pressed on what sounded like floor six.
–Get ready, we might get it this time. The drone eliminated and ignored as many other noises as it could, most of which were coming from the elevator mechanism and its surrounding structure, and the people in the car below them. No. There's someone on the corridor on seven. It sensed Bren's disappointment, mingled with its own.
It took a while, but eventually the elevator was called to the sixth floor while there was nobody moving around on the corridor of the seventh. As the doors below them rattled open, Bren pressed the tips of his fingers into the twinned doors facing them, twisted his elbows out to the sides and heaved. The doors parted a few centimeters, and he pushed his fingertips further in for better purchase. The doors slid open completely, and he stepped through and onto the carpeted floor of the corridor on the seventh floor.
A quick glance either way showed no-one. The click of a door ten metres or so ahead of them gave warning, and Bren strode forward and towards the sound, the lift doors sliding closed behind them. He smiled amiably at the young couple emerging into the corridor as he walked past, and was ignored completely. His smile widened. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a thin pair of leather gloves, put them on.
-Fourteen. They reached it and Bren rapped sharply with his knuckles, glancing to see which side the hinges were on. Lesk-Torlip listened. Footsteps treading. Breathing. A heartbeat, only one. Good. Nothing from the apartment behind the door to their back.
-Confirmed, single occupant. Five second from the door. Relaxed stride. Bren's hands dropped to his sides, flexed once. Another quick glance up and down the corridor.
She opened the door, young and fresh-faced. Wearing a towelling robe, tightly wrapped and tied at the waist. Bren smiled. "Hi." Slammed the heel of his left hand into her nose, snapping cartilage and forcing the bone into her brain with a wet crunch. He caught her with his right hand as she fell backward, her neck crackling from the impact of the blow, and stepped forward, pivoting to hold her body against his chest as his left leg pushed the door closed. It clicked shut.
They lifted her and moved along the short corridor to a door on the left, entered and dropped her on the bed. Closed the shades. Pressed a finger against her wrist, wiping a small amount of her blood from the heel of Bren's other hand onto her robe.
-Dead?
-Dead. You okay? Blood pressure's a bit high.
-Why do you think that is?
-Fair enough. Proceed?
-Proceed.
Bren closed the other blinds in the apartment, turned off the small radio playing in the bathroom and disabled the fan linked to the room's light. Checked all the rooms, found nothing unusual and wrapped the young woman's body in a couple of sheets found in a drawer, and stored it on the kitchen floor. He found what he was looking for in the kitchen and returned to the bathroom. The floor was made of square ceramic panels set close against one another, each half a metre across. She didn't redecorate. Thank fuck for that.
The sharp knife found a gap, slid into the plastic putty between two of the panels. Bren carefully slid the knife around the edges of the square, then used a blunter, thicker table knife to lever it up and out. He leaned it against the wall and continued. Within ten minutes he had lifted six squares, exposing a rectangle large enough to access the beams beneath. He pulled out the soundproofing material packed between them, and slid various electrical cables out of the way. Vray Sharpein's bathroom was directly below, separated from them by the panels of a false ceiling.
They listened again. –She's in. Sounds like she's dressing, in the main bedroom.
-How long?
-Twenty minutes.
They waited, trying not to wonder if the Mind was watching them. Five minutes later than expected, Yolar arrived and as soon as his security staff had carried out a quick but thorough sweep of the apartment and left, the couple proceeded to have enthusiastic and what sounded like very good sex. Slipping on a pair of rubber-soled slippers from his jacket's inner pocket and confident that they wouldn't be disturbed for the moment, Bren lifted one of the ceiling panels up and out completely, making sure it didn't hit anything on the way out. Checking that the door of the bathroom below was closed, he lowered himself through the sixty-centimetre gap, hanging from one of the joists supporting the floor above, and dropped lightly to the darkened bathroom floor below.
He gathered together and briefly squeezed a handful of the insulating material from the gap between the two apartments into a compressed ball, and placed it on the floor, putting a small bottle of some sticky-looking orange hair product on top of it to hold it down. As the couple in the next room reached a noisy crescendo, he leapt up, grasped a joist and pulled himself back up without brushing against the sides of the gap where the ceiling panel had been removed. He slid the panel back into place silently, rotating it slightly so that instead of dropping fully back in, it sat on top of the other panels around it.
They turned out the bathroom light and waited once more. Three minutes later, footsteps moved towards the bathroom door below. –The man.
-Thank fuck for that. Bren poised, fingers lightly gripping the edges of the ceiling panel. Light shone suddenly through the narrow gaps around it. The door below them opened, then closed. A single step, a faint rustling noise. The toilet lid lifting. A pause, like someone stopping in mid-action.
-Now. Bren lifted the panel, placing it to one side as he looked down. It had worked. Yolar, naked, was directly below them, facing the toilet bowl, down on one knee and with head lowered, in the act of lifting the bottle with one hand and the clump of foam with the other. Bren gripped one joist with each hand, lifted up and lowered himself feet-first through the gap. Swung himself slightly as he dropped, released and landed lightly, bending his knees to absorb the momentum and coming to a crouch directly behind Yolar, practically touching him.
The man in front of them stiffened, must have felt the air movement or sensed the light and shadows change somehow. Before he could move or call out Bren slapped his left hand on the back of Yolar's head and his right across his face, and rotated the man's head almost all the way round towards them. The snap was startlingly loud in the small room. Yolar's arms flew up, then dropped. He fell and twisted, Bren holding his weight and shifting his stance to lay him down, head beside the toilet. There was no sound from the bedroom. Bren began to undress, taking the gloves off last.
-Eyes. Brown contact lenses popped in, replacing the grey. They hadn't been able to know that with certainty. –Hair. Bren mussed it into approximately the same disarray as Yolar's. –Rings. One from each hand, third finger on the left and fourth on the right. Bren flushed the toilet.
-How long do we have?
-Forty minutes, they normally manage twice. Should be plenty of time.
-Agreed.
-Your cock looks wrong. Lesk-Torlip was right, it did. Yolar's was still partially engorged, even in death.
-Talk about performance anxiety. A couple of quick strokes and the semblance was better. –Ready?
-Ready.
They opened the bathroom door, stepped out. Vray Sharpein lay naked on a bed on the other side of the room, watching them. Smiling as they approached. At the last instant, her expression may have changed slightly, become uncertain. Perhaps he looked too relaxed, too fresh. Not enough sweat or heightened post-sex colour. He killed her the same way as with Yolar then walked smartly back to the bathroom, retrieved his clothes, put on socks, gloves, shirt and trousers only.
They dragged Yolar's body into the bedroom and dumped it on the bed next to the woman's. Back to the bathroom again, lifting themselves up and into the room above. Fetched the young woman's body, draped it halfway through the hole. Climbed down, awkwardly using one arm to support her and the other to stop himself from falling. Put her beside the bed with the two corpses, the man's hand hanging down and seeming to caress the sheet-wrapped bundle.
Upstairs again. A rapid scour through the apartment, taking clothes from drawers. What seemed like the most important personal effects, and a handbag containing a wallet and other vital items. Bundled all these in large towel and dropped them through the hole in the bathroom floor. Dropped the removed bundles of sound insulation after them. Re-engaged the bathroom fan, slid all but one of the floor tiles in place, cleaned and replaced the two knives. A quick check of the bathroom to ensure that nothing looked amiss, then Bren lowered himself so that his legs were dangling through the gap that was left.
Gripping the remaining tile by the edge, he allowed himself to slide down until his feet landed on the closed toilet. From below, he moved the last floor tile into place along one edge, held it up at an angle with one hand. He pulled his hand away, allowing it to fall into place. It bounced, landed slightly off-target.
-Fuck.
-Again.
On the fourth attempt and releasing it from a lower height than with the previous three, the floor tile dropped into place correctly. It didn't come all the way down, sticking against the edges of rubber sealant.
-Sixteen minutes.
Bren ran lightly to the kitchen, praying that he would find what he needed. Two minutes later he was back, holding a corkscrew. He twisted it lightly into the hard foam base of the tile and pulled, yanking it flush with its neighbours. Replaced the corkscrew in the kitchen, then bundled the foam insulation roughly back into place and slid the ceiling panel up, rotating and forcing it slightly to fit through the gap into the small space remaining. He dropped it lightly into position from below, grinning as it fell into place perfectly on the first attempt. He threw his clothes off again and had a rapid wash standing at the bathroom sink, to remove the sweat and a number of small particles of foam that were stuck to him.
-Yolar normally showers.
-No time.
He found Yolar's clothes and dressed carefully, inspecting himself in the bedroom's full-length mirror and tidying his hair. With four minutes remaining, he gave the bedroom a quick and cursory inspection, then walked to the door of the apartment. –Are they outside?
-Yes. Normally they knock when it's time.
They waited, calming themselves down and mentally reviewing the last hour. Nothing seemed amiss. At the exact moment, a double rap at the door announced the security guard. Bren opened the door from inside, smiling at the man. Stepped out, calling farewell over his shoulder to the woman inside. The voice sounded wrong, slightly too deep. The guard led them to the elevator, glancing around himself professionally, unperturbed. They rode the elevator in silence, crossed the building lobby and stepped out into sunshine. The crowds had thinned, and a car was waiting for them at the kerbside. Bren got in the back, the security guard in the front next to the driver.
"Back to the house, please."
They returned the next day. The hardest part was convincing the security personnel to let them go out by themselves, which Yolar did infrequently but occasionally; the problem this time was that he normally gave the security some advance warning. Dressed as a delivery man in some clothes purchased at the same time as the lockpicks, Bren managed eventually to force the three bodies into the refrigerator, replacing it with the one he had laboured into the lift, along the corridor and into the apartment. Some hacking and sawing was required, and several of the plastic bags they had brought along were needed. They trundled the refrigerator back down to the ground floor and out of the building's loading bay exit, to their rented vehicle.
Twenty kilometres out of the city, they stopped in a narrow lane surrounded by woodland owned by Yolar; his security personnel used it for testing weapons that they were not supposed to have, but were unlikely to visit this spot so close to the road and within earshot of some dwellings. A spade completed their equipment requirements, plus a towel to wipe Bren down afterwards.
-This body is shit. I'm exhausted. Anything you can do for me?
-I can feel it too, and no, I'm sorry. Nothing that wouldn't cause longer-term damage, anyway. This might sound ridiculous, but right now the best thing for you is a good night's sleep.
-Fuck. Sleep. That's the best you've got?
-I know. Crazy.
Later that night, lying in bed while sleep refused to come, they reviewed their actions, looking for flaws, probing, seeking weaknesses and risks. There were some, undoubtedly and obviously, but unless this mission was extended way beyond their expectations they judged themselves reasonably safe from the consequences of what they had done so far.
Lesk-Torlip was thinking of how they had interacted while Bren slowly, finally drifted off. There was an undeniable delay still for each of them in their awareness of the other's intended actions, but this was reducing as they became better integrated. Several times, it had been thinking of how it would move or act and had then seen and felt Bren do the same or something slightly different, and had then felt Bren become consciously aware of its own intentions.
When the drone was in control of their body then Bren no doubt had the same sensation; it was as though they each had a person looking over their shoulder, watching their actions and advising, correcting, providing feedback. As the integration deepened, this became more akin to a heightened awareness of their own behaviour, beyond receiving something from another and closer to a kind of understanding of themselves that they had never experienced before.
As we become closer, it might fade, Lesk-Torlip thought, slipping away itself into dreams. Its last thought before sleep took it was that perhaps this strange, unforeseen aspect of their coupling would not disappear, but would simply change, become deeper within them as they entwined closer. It wasn't sure whether it liked the idea or not.
#############################################################################
"So if I'm conscious then I must be alive. Is that all that is required?"
"No. Life without consciousness is definitely possible, although we haven't finished going through that yet. But consciousness without life is not." They had agreed to meet at a different patch of the upper-level parkland for today. The picnic had been laid before she arrived. Junicia was hungry, had asked to eat before they started. Now she sat, full and comfortable in the warmth of the sun-line directly overhead.
"Watch this." The avatar stood, took a step away from the table they had been sitting at, its arms hanging by its sides. After a moment, it toppled over backwards and lay motionless.
"Ship? Free?" She stood and approached the avatar's body. Bending to look closer, she was startled when its eyes opened. It smiled up at her, raised one hand. She helped it to its feet, grunting at how heavy it was. "What was all that about?"
"I died, apparently." It smiled reassuringly. "This avatar is talking to you as an individual. I'm totally disconnected from the ship. I turned myself off, removed all power from what you would call my brain. All traces of consciousness wiped out."
"And then you turned yourself on again. How?"
"Simple electronic timer, set to wait for ten seconds. You can't argue that that operates as a continuation of the soul, surely."
"That was taking things a bit far, just to make a point." Junicia looked down at her dress, picked at a loose thread. "I'm sorry that you did it."
"Thank you for your sorrow." The avatar leaned forward, placed its hand over hers briefly. "It means a lot to me, trust me." It leaned back. "So I died, but did I come back? Or was another person born?"
"Your consciousness disappeared, I'll accept that. But you're not going to trick me into saying that one soul died and another was created. Unless your mind changed somehow between turning off and back on again, then you are the same person now as you were before."
"And if an identical copy of my mind was made and placed into another body while I was inactive, and then the new body came to life? Would it be me?"
"No. It would be a new person. The old you could still be activated, brought back." A thought occurred to her. "This is a strong argument for atheism as well, isn't it? If we don't need a god to create life and can do it for ourselves, then in what other way would we need a deity?"
"To oversee heaven and hell?"
She choked on her drink, spluttering with laughter. "You bastard. Kill yourself, not me." Hitting herself in the chest, she straightened up and took a deep breath. "No. But having a soul that is separate from the body implies that it must be created somehow. If there is a conscious creator of souls – which basically has to be 'god', then this implies that something must have generated that god's consciousness in the first place. So either the universe is conscious and self-aware or consciousness and the soul are emergent properties of brain dynamics."
It smiled at her. "Agreed. Experiments with Minds and drones that were willing to take part shows that fully aware consciousness can be transferred from one mind to another only if the mind involved is replace bit by tiny bit, with the patterns undisrupted. Anything else is not the same."
"They really did that? And found people willing to take part?" She shook her head, amazed.
"They really did. It's been possible for some time to determine whether neural activity plays a role in the occurrence of cognitive processes, and through this the generation of consciousness and the soul."
"Handy for discussions like this."
"Very. So what I call 'me' is really about the physical presence? Even if I'm inactive, totally powered-off?"
"Not falling for it." She shook her head.
"Falling for what?"
"'Inactive' and 'powered-off'. They're not the same thing. Unless you've found a way to stop time, then you're never going to be inactive. Your atoms are moving, vibrating and rotating. There are still interactions going on."
"And that constitutes life? How?"
Junicia wagged a finger at it. "I'm not ready for that argument yet, I wanted to move onto another, more closely related point first." She waited for a response, but it sat still, watching and waiting, a small smile on its face. "Even if there isn't some mystical substance that makes up the soul, the concept of some kind of difference between the brain and the soul can be used in a different debate."
"Which is?"
"The impossibility of comprehending a mind's workings."
"Small mind or big Mind?"
"That's part of the discussion. It's known that one mind cannot fully comprehend another of identical but different complexity. To understand a mind's workings requires full information about its structure and activity to be known, plus the meaning that this information provides."
"I see where you are going with this. If proper description of a mind is beyond our ability to comprehend then is that the same as saying that the mind cannot be considered as detectable/comprehensible?"
Junicia nodded. The avatar handed her a plate of sweet biscuits as a reward. "Well said. Of course, a mind as sophisticated and complex as yours could contain all the information required to comprehend a much smaller and simpler mind, say that of a worm."
She smiled uncertainly. "Or my simple one could be fully comprehended by yours.
"True."
"Which begs the question, why are we going through this charade?"
The avatar regarded her in silence for a moment. "Another person."
"What's that got to do with it? You want me to believe you are right about something, yes?" She didn't wait for it to respond. "And there's no point in me pretending to believe in you. I couldn't hide my thoughts if I wanted to, which I don't, by the way."
"Good."
"You're a Mind. So if you're uncertain about something you've done, there's got to be a good reason for that. Which probably means that I should be honour-bound to try and make you reconsider your actions."
"What if I've already reconsidered them? And gone along with my original plan?"
"Then I'm of no use to you. What could you need me for in all this?"
"Another person."
"You said that before. What do you mean?"
"I mean, Junicia," and the avatar leaned forward and took her hands in its own, its face inches from hers, "that I need the opinions of another person in all this. I need to know that someone else agrees with me. You're my reality check."
"But you're not going to tell me what it is, are you?" She pulled her hands away, and sat back. "First you want me to be convinced, and to convince you, that you are alive and morally capable of making the decision – whatever it is – that you have already made."
"Correct."
When she pulled her hands away, there had been a moment, just a fraction of a second, when it had resisted her, tightened its grip fractionally as though trying to hold onto her. Now its hands were lying on the table between them, loosely folded together. Junicia forced herself to relax and reached out again, taking one of its hands in her own. "I'm already convinced. I believe that you are alive."
"Not enough." It wasn't looking at her, its gaze focussed through the table, into the infinity below them. "Your belief is good, but it isn't sufficient. I need you to know."
Chapter 8
The Culture General Contact Unit Seventeen Different Words For Rain was escorted from the boundaries of the Velorine-controlled Xtalphe System by two battlecruisers, one on either side, and what looked suspiciously like an Velorine Intelligence Services frigate fifty million kilometres to stern. It assumed that the frigate, whose name and serial number it could read from the keel at this distance, was supposed to be undetectable to its senses and decided to play along with the game. It even released a small and highly-ionised mix of different gases from a hatch at one point, to give them something to puzzle over.
It hadn't been made entirely clear – possibly intentionally on their part – whether the two battlecruisers were there to defend the Xtalphe system against any aggression the GCU might choose to offer, or whether they were some kind of honour escort. My, but the prims did so love to play their little games. The Velorine would have been in equal parts seriously disappointed and relieved no doubt, to learn that the Seventeen would have required several minutes to fabricate, construct and deploy anything remotely resembling a weapon sufficiently powerful to harm the layered defences of ships, stations, orbital factories, planets and moons within the system.
Of course, even if the entire system's military resources had a good long run-up to prepare themselves, they would still have had almost zero chance of causing any harm whatsoever to the GCU before it was able to remove itself from the system and call for help; of course, it could always just use its standard-issue effectors to take control of every piece of militarily-inclined hardware across the system simultaneously and either turn them on each other, themselves or their operators. That would probably be considered cheating, however.
Even though it was in no way endangered, the Seventeen Different Words For Rain was still troubled as it approached the main base orbiting within, and indeed impersonating a member of, the system's main asteroid belt. It had come here to find out what the Velorine knew, based on what little it and its colleagues had been able to glean and interpret from their vast network of sensors distributed around and across Reast and what little of use that had been said between the Velorine and the Don't Point That Thing At Me. This didn't amount to a whole lot, certainly not enough for the Seventeen to feel that it was going into the situation fully informed.
It also had to find some way of placating and diverting the Velorines' fairly obvious intention to get involved in the situation on Reast, which either due to a sense that the obviously inferior Reasten needed a good nudge back onto whatever particular sequence of events the Velorine thought was good for them, or because they were worried that the Culture would consider the current problems as indicative of them having made a bad job of things as mentors of the fledgling civ. Either way, it didn't matter; there was almost no action that the Velorine could take that would help, and the range of negative impacts that they could induce ranged from simply making things more complicated and harder to resolve to a igniting a full-blown Premature Civilisational Excessionary Event.
While the GCU worried over what it knew, didn't know and how to deal with and achieve its current mission objectives, it went through the whole process of Permission To Approach, Approach Vector Assignment and Acknowledgement, Approach Coordination and Handover, Docking and Cradling and the final stage of Personnel Viability Recognition with an absent-mindedness that in a human would have involved a lot of vague hand-waving, muttering and glancing around to identify what particular stage in the proceedings required its attention now. Throughout this multiply-staged carnival of administrative checking, double-checking and protocol adherence the Seventeen was in direct, albeit slightly distance-delayed contact with the Completely Under Control back in the Reast system, thirty-five light years away. It was rather like having two old-style nautical vessels communicate by coloured and patterned flags, it felt.
xGCU Seventeen Different Words For Rain
oMSV Completely Under Control
Greetings, colleague. How goes the simming, and do we have anything new on the intent of our quarry?
I attach information on progress made in this area (see attached); nothing significant. There is slightly lower probability now that this is a major multi-Mind conspiracy, with concomitant increased probability in it being one Mind acting alone. No further major or moderate events on Reast to provide further clarification or evidence in any way, but continued minor indications of the most supposed course of events.
Single-tribe slash family slash gang hegemony? And what of the Velorine sensors? Are they compromised?
Indeed for the first. For the second, it is still impossible to say given our inability to install our own systems.
Awkward. I've kind of got my arse hanging out in the breeze here, not knowing what the Velorine know or don't know. It's going to make it difficult to make the right moves.
I'm aware of that, as is our Incident Controller who obviously has faith in your abilities to handle the situation with sufficient adeptness and subtlety.
Meaning you don't?
I didn't say that.
You didn't have to.
You know, all this continued unpleasantness from everyone else in the Group really has to stop. I'm doing everything I can to help here, and shouldn't have to point out that the responsibility for working out what is going on and providing appropriate plans of action is down to me. If anything goes wrong, then who do you think will be pointed at? Who will be held responsible?
Agreed. System-relative vector four nine by seven point two, speed point zero zero three five till next course adjustment update.
What?
Sorry, wasn't really paying attention. Did I send the wrong messages to each of you? Trying to get docked here.
You really are an unpleasant fucker, you know that? Let me get on with this in peace. I'll inform you of any changes.
Communication with the Completely Under Control was cut with what the Seventeen imagined as an ostentatious click. It smiled to itself.
A few moments after docking had finally been achieved and a number of its crew had been welcomed on board the Velorine space station President Kamhal 18, the GCU was contacted directly by the Velorine station commander. The Velorine had no artificial intelligence to speak of, in fact had a stated preference against having to rely on technology that could think for itself, and so the station commander was a living person, albeit present virtually for the purposes of this meeting. The GCU received, and accepted, the relevant electronic invitation and communication protocols to join the virtual meeting space.
It whiled away the long microseconds waiting for the Velorine equipment to finish handshaking with its own interfaces (performance parameters suitably slowed down and degraded just so that they didn't accidentally burn out the Velorine equipment or send it into the electronic equivalent of cardiac arrest) by reviewing, then re-reviewing, the latest updates from the Completely Under Control.
-Nothing new, it murmured to itself. A few more minor incidents on Reast, following the general pattern that was emerging, still mostly hidden from interpretation from the chaotic and messy events on-planet. Some of these events were not even events really, just diversions from the most likely outcome as simmed by the CUC. It was hard to tell, relying as they mostly were on what could be pieced together from the blaring, omni-directional Reasten communications systems and the Velorines' network; it was actually looking as if the lower-tech comms of the Reasten were providing more useful stuff right now, particularly in their news channels and telecoms systems, than the Vel with their focus on individuals and private activities.
It noted with interest the report on the human/drone team's successful insertion on the planet's surface. On this particular topic, the Seventeen had ambivalent feelings. What little the pair sent down might be able to glean or achieve was balanced by the increased risk in sending them down in the first place. Wherever the Mind was hiding while playing games with the locals, then there was very little chance that they would be able to pass undetected. It was a fucking Mind, for fuck's sake. Even without a proper ship, it still had the inbuilt capacity to monitor the planet surface in real-time almost to the molecular level. And it would have expected an SC team to be sent to investigate.
-Shit, it's what I would do, the Seventeen told itself. If it was me down there causing havoc, those poor fuckers wouldn't stand a chance if they got in my way. Question is, why hasn't it done anything to them already?
-Welcome to Virtual Workspace #292, sent the Velorine base's communications system. Please enter your meeting code and state your identity in textual or other appropriate format.
The Seventeen Different Words For Rain sighed. Meeting space code #734234-382. Identify as Culture General Contact Unit Seventeen Different Words For Rain.
-Access code accepted. Textual identifier is longer than forty-eight characters. Please use a shorter textual identifier.
The GCU sighed again. Just call me Seventeen.
-Confirmed, Just Call Me Seventeen. You will now enter the Virtual Workspace. The GCU came very close to administering an annoyed slap to the stupid system, but restrained itself.
In addition to Base Commander Siwhal Sendar who even in his virtual presence seemed to feel the need for full dress uniform plus various assorted medals and insignia, the local Velorine/Culture attaché was present, an obsequious female called Kruyt who favoured bright green power-suits. To her left and furthest from the Base Commander was someone in the uniform of the Velorine Combined Intelligence Services, a male with what the GCU considered an abnormally thin and bony frame, even for a Velorine. The GCU itself had chosen to appear as a relatively neutral-looking human-basic and asexual avatar, dressed in semi-formal pale cream shirt and black trousers.
It realised that the simulation, and therefore the three Velorine attendees, was running at an accelerated timeframe rate that allowed them to communicate at a speed that while not exactly satisfactory, at least meant that it didn't have to think of things to do while waiting for someone else to speak. This, and the way that the three Velorine were positioned in relation to one another, indicated that they were taking the situation extremely seriously indeed. Normally the Base Commander would have sat in the middle, as the ranking officer. The fact that they felt the need to put their cultural attaché in a position of prominence indicated the extent to which they wanted, or felt the need, to impress the Culture.
"Greetings, Seventeen. Apologies for the conferencing system's mistake." Base Commander Sendahr smiled warmly, leaning forward.
"Not a problem, possibly my own fault in misinterpreting the instructions. So, who do we have here?" The avatar indicated the Intelligence officer.
"The is Major Horondean, of the CIS as you can see. He is here to assist in any way he can, and to ensure that our esteemed Intelligence colleagues have all of the information they need directly from the source, as it were." The Major gave a rueful smile in response to this, indicating his awareness of the underlying inter-agency turf war, hints/implications of miscommunication either accidental or intentional, and recognition of the responsibility for resolving the situation that was being placed squarely on the Culture, all through those few words. The Seventeen found itself warming to the man.
"Hello, Major. I hope I can be of as much assistance as is recognised to be needed. Hello again also, Ms Kruyt." The attaché grinned in a manner that was possibly supposed to be guileless pleasantry. "I'm aware of the urgency of the situation, as you are no doubt also. My first suggestion is that we agree to share whatever information we do have, in order to achieve a rapid resolution."
Quick nods from around the table, and looks of relief. All according to their expected script, so far. "I'll go first, if that's all right with you?" More nods, and widening smiles. "We have observed, as you are aware, some strange patterns of activity on the planet Reast. So far, we have not identified the source, if any, of these activities-" the smiles slipped slightly at that, "-but we are confident that we will do so in reasonably short order. In order to achieve this, I have been specifically asked by the More Is More, the GSV acting as Incident Controller, to pass on a formal request for access to the existing Velorine sensor network and other assets on the planet Reast." The smiles vanished completely at that.
"Any such request would need to be passed to a higher level of authority than is present here." Commander Sendahr responded, glancing to his left past Kruyt and towards the Major.
"Actually, no." The Major glanced almost apologetically towards the Base Commander. "This request was anticipated by those of sufficiently high authority prior to this meeting and agreed to, pre-emptively."
Commander Sendahr's face coloured slightly, and the GCU wondered just how much of his outrage was being communicated into the virtuality. Being undermined and contradicted by a junior officer from a different agency never went down well. "It would have been better to inform me of this prior to this meeting." Which was code for 'why the fuck didn't you tell me earlier', as clear as starlight.
"I can only apologise. I was told to communicate directly with the representative of the Culture ship, and not to take part in any pre-meeting manoeuvring that might jeopardise our communications and agreement with the Culture." To his continued credit, the Major did actually look slightly discomfited and embarrassed by the situation.
"I'm sure that it's all for the best, and that our superiors are keen to make sure that our working relationship with the Culture is the best it can be." Kruyt spoke for the first time, gesturing enthusiastically with her hands to reinforce the point. "If we can ensure that the Culture gets what it needs to resolve this situation, then so much the better for moving forward, yes?"
Nice try, thought the GCU while Sendahr nodded sourly. "Excellent. I'm sure that once we have all the information you have access to, our analysis will be greatly improved." A mild rebuke and shot across the bows, which only the Major seemed capable of recognising. He smiled wider, seeming to enjoy himself. Uh-oh.
"In relation to our sensor network and what it has detected, there is one thing that we would like to discuss."
"Indeed. What is that?"
"The arrival on Reast of a human Culture agent, apparently part of your Special Circumstances and also apparently, involving the abduction of one of our own Intelligence operatives for the purposes of pretending to be him. We were not aware that the Culture had decided to take such unilateral action. Also, we would like our man back as soon as possible."
Shit the bed. They shouldn't have known about that. In fact, our alteration of their sensors made damn sure that they hadn't. The Seventeen frantically opened a communication line back to the Completely Under Control, sending its recording of the meeting up to this stage without preamble. While it waited for a response, it formulated one of its own.
"If an observation team was sent down, it may well have been as part of the normal Contact duty tours. We do have a significant presence on Reast already, as you know." A reply came back from the Completely as it was finishing the sentence.
xMSV Completely Under Control
oGCU Seventeen Different Word For Rain
No V sensor detection of our team. Well, it already knew that. The Large And Close was supposed to be altering the sensor data buffered in the Velorine uplink system, a set of equipment hidden in high orbit around the planet, to show the Vel what they wanted them to see. Strong possibility of target Mind active interference, subversion of V readings. Sims show this as most likely solution.
That created a whole new dimension on this. Several, in fact. Thanks for warning me.
"What we observed was not a normal Contact insertion. Neither was it a standard Special Circumstances human-drone team. Just one man." The Major was still smiling, and the other two had perked up considerably as well. "I'm happy to provide access to the sensor logs on this, as well as everything else." The Major pressed a section in front of him that appeared no different to any other part of the table.
Several files in standard Velorine sensor format appeared in the Seventeen's communication buffers. It opened the one with the earliest time-stamp cautiously, suddenly aware that in effect, this could constitute the first communication of any form from the rogue Mind and so using the equivalent of a long stick and a pair of thick gloves. It also forwarded the files to the Completely, with suitable health warnings plastered over them. The outgoing message passed the reply from the Completely.
A warning was not considered useful given assessed low probability of this eventuality at the time. Now, revised simming much clearer, thanks. Suggest obfuscation and departure as soon as possible, to prevent further unpleasantness or inadvertent release of information.
The Seventeen Different Words For Rain considered this advice as it viewed the sensor files, which showed the man Bren arriving on Reast. It ran its own copies of the pre-alteration sensor data side by side with those it had just been given, looking for inconsistencies and finding none so far. It also started paying attention to the Major's latest statement, which he was almost finished.
"This person, as you can no doubt observe, is not behaving in a manner typical of a Contact agent just arrived in the field. We've observed enough of those over time to spot the difference."
They're getting their signals direct from somewhere else. We can't control what they see. Shit and fuck. The GCU sent a rapid and hopefully redundant note to the Completely Under Control, telling it to inform the others Minds involved.
Commander Sendahr had obviously thought of something as well. "Surely an SC infiltration is a bit of a strong response. You must be more concerned about this situation than you have indicated so far."
Well spotted. Meatshit. "I'm not willing to accede the point that the person sent down was actually a Special Circumstances agent." Stalling for time now, and they knew it. "Can I have a moment to consult with my colleagues, to try to determine any more information on this?"
This is getting a bit risky. You might be right in recommending a pull-out. I'm going to try to calm things down though, give them some misdirection.
Be very careful about that, responded the Completely Under Control. Any further hint of lying and we lose them. There's a high probability of the V trying to take things into their own hands if they don't trust us at all.
Will do my best. Spotted any differences between the V's sensor recordings and what we have? The Seventeen had been unable to see anything that looked out of place itself, but wasn't giving the data its full scrutiny. From what it could tell, either there was a second uplink site that they had missed (almost impossible) or something else had inserted itself into the data stream at a later stage and reversed their alteration.. It knew that there was no chance the Large And Close had somehow completely failed to alter the sensor records, having seen exactly what it had done to them.
This put them in the bizarre and uncomfortable position of having subverted information going to the Velorine, their supposed allies, only to find that information reproduced apparently perfectly accurately by the Mind. It was neatly done, and raised the horrible spectre of the Culture no longer having any influence over the Velorine in this situation. It also meant that the rogue Mind was perfectly aware of Bren's presence and probable mission. The Seventeen wondered briefly if the drone had so far gone undetected.
"Feel free to communicate with your colleagues," The Intelligence Major was saying, "but in the meantime it would be very useful if you could tell us whatever you personally know about the situation. As you suggested we do at the start of this conversation."
"Indeed," said the Commander, while Kruyt looked on with what suspiciously like enjoyment. "I think we might even expect an apology from the Culture for your behaviour to this point, and assurances that this behaviour will change."
"I'm happy to pass that expectation on, of course." The GCU was thinking furiously while trying to keep its temper. "There are suspicions – only suspicions, I have to emphasise – that recent events on Reast have been somehow coordinated."
"By events, you mean the various incidents, accidents and apparently natural disasters that have been taking place?" This was from Kruyt.
"Yes, those. Some may have been things that just happen randomly over time on a world of Reast's character, but some may not. We are working very hard to determine which are natural or even expected, and which might have been induced in some way."
"And what made you think that we wouldn't notice your SC agent landing on the planet? Did you thing the fact that you didn't send a drone as well would be enough?"
"We tried to alter your sensor records. Obviously, it didn't work. And yes, we thought that not sending a drone made it easier to do so." The GCU made its avatar straighten and appear to make a decision. "Before you start complaining about this attempt by us to meddle with your sensors, just consider one thing: if you consider yourselves morally allowed to watch others, then some people might consider themselves morally allowed to do the same to you or to interfere with what you are doing."
Silence from across the table for a few seconds, while they digested this and tried to work out how insulted and offended to be, and how jubilant that the Culture's vaunted technological prowess appeared to have let them down. The Seventeen took the opportunity to finish reviewing the Velorine sensor logs it had been given, and also do some high-speed, highly-abstracted and relatively coarse-scale simming of its own, incorporating the real-time streaming of information coming from the Completely Under Control, which was devoting significantly more resources to the problem than it was able to bring to bear by itself.
The results were partially reassuring, although somewhat ambiguous. It looked as though if the Velorine accepted its explanation, allowing for some further queries for specific details, then it might get out of this without giving away too much, while at the same time being able to reassure the Velorine that the Culture was dealing with the situation and that they should assist where necessary but stay out of the way.
It was correct. The three glanced at one another and with a tiny shake of the head from the Intelligence Major and an equally miniscule nod from the other two, the rather incendiary insult that the Seventeen had just lobbed at them was brushed aside, ignored. Commander Sendahr was the first to speak, clearing his throat first and choosing his words carefully.
"These events are induced, you say? So someone or something may be responsible for all this?"
"That is our concern. In addition to identifying which events have been driven in some way, we are trying to work out both the who and the why of all this. There is however very little to go on at the moment, which is why having access to your sensor network is so important. It should allow us to greatly accelerate our investigations and identify those responsible, in the case that there actually is someone responsible, of course."
"I have a thought on this." The Major spoke hesitantly, obviously choosing his words with care. "If these events are coordinated as you suspect, then it would have to be the work of a relatively sophisticated agency, yes?"
"That depends, but I see your point. It could be something that has been extremely well-planned and executed by an individual or organisation with moderate technological capacity – say, level four or five, for example. Or it could be something that is being carried out more rapidly by a party with access to more sophisticated sensors, processing and other relevant technology." Or it could be something that's been planned over years, designed, finessed, implemented and controlled by something as capable as a Culture Mind. Which was the truly scary thought that the Seventeen wanted the Velorine to avoid having.
Kruyt spoke up, having been staring into the middle distance for some time. "Aside from the technological question, what about rationale? What could this mystery party be trying to achieve? And why would they be trying to achieve it in the first place?" It was a definitely a bit unusual for her to be contributing so much to this kind of discussion, thought the Seventeen. Possibly because she was more familiar with the Culture and how it operated at a societal level, rather than being purely focussed and concerned with their martial capacity (Commander Sendahr's area) or their intelligence-gathering abilities (the Major).
"A series of good questions, Ms Kruyt." The fact that she responded with a small smile rather than an oh-shucks-teacher-loves-me embarrassed grin made the Seventeen start to worry that it had been underestimating her. "Certainly, we are also giving this some thought. This could be just some experimental meddling by someone to see what they are capable of, or what they can get away with. Or it could be with some specific purpose in mind. There are a number of possible motives being explored, as well as several candidate suspects."
"Given that the Velorine are responsible for the oversight of Reast, could this be a prelude to, or part of, an action against ourselves?" Kruyt again. One of the other two should have asked that, thought the Seventeen.
"Personally, I doubt that very much. Obviously, we have not completely discounted the idea but it does seem rather a convoluted way of doing things. Also an action against you, as you put it, would very quickly bring a response from a number of other high-level civilisations including ourselves.
The Major spoke. "Perhaps someone is trying to discredit us. Perhaps they feel morally obliged to." The other two didn't move, but their eyes darted towards the Major and back to the Seventeen's avatar.
Ouch. Best ignored. "Perhaps. I just don't know, and neither do my colleagues. And that returns us to the original problem – a lack of information. This will be helped greatly by the use of your own sensors, and by our own assets on the planet. Incidentally, I have just received clearance by my colleagues to impart – assuming that it goes no further than it absolutely has to – the information that we do indeed have an SC team on the surface of Reast."
"Something we already knew." Sendahr spoke with a smile.
"Yes. I apologise for my reticence in informing you of this. You know how things are." This said with a wry grin to the Major. "So we are agreed, then? The Culture will continue to investigate, and will inform the relevant Velorine authorities – that is, yourselves – of anything we find out."
"Of anything you feel you can tell us, certainly." Major Horondean nodded briskly, tapping the table once again as he did so. "I have just passed you the access codes to our sensor network on Reast." He smiled.
"Thank you." Yes, as though we needed those, you smug twit. "Can I also assume that in return for our sharing any new information with you, that you will do likewise? If you find out anything from other sources?" Again, not really something that the Culture really needed to ask for. However, it might encourage the Velorine to think that they were contributing to all this and repair some of the damage done. "I can leave one of my avatars here when I depart, to act as a conduit of information."
The Major's smile widened. "Perhaps that is not necessary. It might be seen by some as a security risk."
"An excellent point. Well, I must be going, then. Thank you for such a productive meeting." Further platitudes and blandishments were offered and accepted, and the Seventeen got the fuck out of the Virtual Workspace before anything else went wrong. Made sure all of its people were back on board and disengaged from the military base, turning and moving slowly away in the direction of Reast. Its escort followed.
xGCU Seventeen Different Words For Rain
oMSV Completely Under Control; GSV More Is More
I'm out, and I think we got away with that as much as we were able. But you know what this reveal implies. They won and we lost, big time.
xMSV Completely Under Control
Agreed. Well done in handling that. We need to prioritise finding out what they know, and try to get an update to them.
xGSV More Is More
Yes, well done. Agreed with the need to get in touch with the field team, I'll get to work on that but it may be more complicated than we had anticipated. Now, get back here as quickly as you reasonably can. I have a horrible suspicion that things are going to start moving faster now.
#############################################################################
For several seconds after the participants had left, Virtual Workspace #292 remained empty. Then, one by one over a period of a second, the three Velorine returned. Commander Sendahr spoke first.
"Are we secure? Has the machine truly left?"
Kruyt responded. "With as much confidence as we can say so, yes. It's not impossible for it to be monitoring this conversation, given the disparity between Culture technology and our own."
"We could assume that they are watching everything we do and say." Major Horondean spoke. "After all, we can do that to the Reasten. However, I suspect that a combination of arrogance and their own bizarre ethical codes would make it unlikely."
"How so? After what they have just admitted to doing?" Commander Sendahr prided himself on being straightforward in his speech, and hated it when others were otherwise.
The Major sighed gently. "They think they know what we are thinking and doing, so they don't need to watch us to find out. Plus, they do seem to truly believe that overt monitoring of other civilisations is in bad taste and should be kept to a required minimum. I suspect that having been caught out, they will be at pains to avoid a repeat of this." Kruyt nodded at this, but only half-heartedly.
"Hmph." The Commander was unimpressed. "So, there was something else you wanted to show us?"
"Yes." A screen appeared in the virtual space surrounding them, displayed on the plain white wall above and behind where the Culture avatar had sat, moments earlier. "This is from another signal file captured on Reast. One that we decided not to share with the ship-machine, and which has since been deleted from any records that the Culture may have access to." The screen lit up, showing a two-dimensional representation of what looked like a hotel room.
"This is from the city of Trourl, near where the Culture agent landed." They could see the SC agent sitting on the end of a bed, from an angle above and in front of him. "The sensor is embedded in the room's entertainment screen."
"What's that he's talking to?" The image was frozen, but it was obvious that the human was in mid-conversation with what appeared to be a torso-sized box, hovering in mid-air in front of him. "Is that a fucking SC drone?" The Commander's face was scarlet. "That ship lied to us again?"
"Indeed it is a drone and yes, it appeared that they are still lying to us or at least not telling us the whole truth."
"You said yourself that there wasn't a drone, when you knew there was all along. Why would you do that – oh." Commander Sendahr realised something belatedly. "You wanted it to think we didn't know."
"Yes." The Major tried not to shake his head in exasperation.
Kruyt slapped a hand on the table animatedly. "You just said that they wouldn't monitor us anymore, and yet here's more evidence of their lies and willingness to deceive us!"
Major Horondean raised a hand, appealing for calm. "Our earlier footage did not show this drone, and we assumed that the human was alone. I suspect that the Culture Mind we have just been talking to tried to take advantage of this assumption, in order to gain some small benefit from our assumption." He saw that Kruyt was about to speak again, and jumped in before she could. "This does not mean that they are monitoring us now, and it does give us one potential advantage. They will have to go to some effort to hide the machine from us, and we now know that they cannot alter our sensor readings."
Commander Sendahr looked unconvinced. "So how did it arrive? The drone, I mean?"
"It could simply have travelled down through the atmosphere, shielded somehow. However it was done, it appears that they are now together and that we are dealing with a classic SC human-drone team, albeit one that is hampered by not being able to reveal itself." The Major touched the table once again. "Now, please listen to this." The screen came alive, and the human resumed talking.
"-will intercept Yolar tomorrow. What happens next?"
The floating box spoke. "Once we replace him, we wait for a few days, get settled in and make sure we're familiar with the routines. Four to six days after insertion, we get in touch with the contact and start passing them the templates."
"And we're confident that Yolar's production facilities can handle those, make use of them?"
"Within required tolerances, yes. It's actually better if the results are a bit ragged around the edges, makes it look more like Reasten work."
The Major stopped the recording. "From this point, there appears to be very little of substance said between the two. Apparently they considered themselves able to speak freely for a short period of time while they were in a location that was free of our sensors. Unfortunately, they missed one that was installed only the day before and that had been sitting on passive offline status." He smiled at the other two. "So not only does the recording give us valuable information about what they are up to, but it also tells us how much information the Culture currently has on our sensor technology and its distribution."
"When was this taken?" Kruyt's face was pale.
"Two days ago."
"So what they are talking about, involving this Yolar person, it's already happened?"
"We can only assume so. When the Ship admitted to failing in their attempt to distort our records, it was only partially correct. What we have been getting is distorted in places, switching between showing us what we expect to see of our operative on the planet and what the Culture is trying to show us. We have been unable to see what happened, but it does appear that their team has killed Yolar and taken his place."
"So we cannot know if what we are seeing is real?"
"No. It appears that the Culture has been lying to us from the beginning. Their SC team is there to help whoever is behind these strange events, not to investigate or stop them. They are possibly even responsible for what is going on in the first place."
"Motive?"
"Choose your preferred option, Commander. Of course, we will do our best to find out but as you can understand, our capacity in this area is well behind that of the Culture. I would suggest, indeed I am going to suggest very strongly, that we focus more on how to deal with this than worrying about the whys and wherefores."
"We have to stop them, or at least try to. If things progress as they have been, then we will look like idiots in front of the Higher-Levels. This could put us back centuries." Kruyt's face had gone from pale to grim.
"Yes, it would. And yes, we do have to do something. Commander, if the Combined Intelligence Agency were to suggest putting together a joint operation with, say, the military's special operations divisions, do you think this suggestion would be looked upon favourably?"
"I'll do everything I can to make sure that it is." Commander Sendahr's face was also grim, but contained some hint of excitement, relish at the prospect.
Chapter 9
Cutlery clinked, sparking wavering and glancing reflections from the single candle in the centre of the table. Two additional light sources at each end of the large room cast soft yellow glows onto the walls and ceiling, and down onto the creamy cloth covering the table. Lesk-Torlip watched the man eat, marvelling at the dexterity of his fingers as they held the eating implements. Most of the time his eyes were not even focussed on what he was doing, making the sophistication of this simple activity even more impressive. The drone had to concede that considering that Bren had eaten only a dozen times or so with this body and with Reasten implements, the synthesis of personal and Culture-embedded experience/ability was very impressive.
Curious about the other people in the room, Lesk-Torlip's semi-conscious desire to look up and around meshed with Bren's own mind, directing his gaze away from the plate. In each corner of the room a dark, bulky figure stood, their own gaze directed across and above the dining table. Occasionally one or other of them could be seen to murmur silently, discreetly hidden ear-studs passing information through the air from one to another.
Lesk-Torlip observed from the symmetrical distribution of the figures by height and gender, and the colour of the guards' uniforms, that Brandor was the duty officer in charge of the household security detail tonight. She seemed most capable at accommodating Kreen's requirements that the security figures match the furnishings as closely as possible and not make the place look untidy.
Wind-driven rain lashed invisibly against the red-curtained window across from them, making both Bren and Lesk-Torlip glance in that direction. A moment later, the security guard next to the window turned her head slightly in their direction.
"Sir; lightning and associated thunder are likely within the next few minutes, according to local weather services." Her voice was mellow, calm. A professional doing her job, providing information to her employer; Yolar liked to be told stuff like this.
"Thank you."
Kreen, who had glanced, visibly slightly annoyed at the guard when she spoke, looked along the table at Bren/Yolar with a half-smile curving her full lips. "You know you don't have to thank the staff, darling. They're just doing their job."
"Perhaps they are, my love. A person doing their job well should know that they are appreciated, however. And thanking someone takes so little effort."
"Really? If you were to thank everyone who worked for you, even assuming that they were all doing their job well, then you would never have time for anything else."
"But I do thank them all. I thanked them all earlier today, in a script sent to everyone at the organisation about administrative changes made by Shelfitty to their payroll and pensions."
Kreen's face and voice hardened slightly. "You know what I mean, Yolar."
"Yes, dear. I always do." Ouch, thought the drone.
-Investing a little more than necessary in the role, aren't we?
-Not at all, Lesk. It's the little details that count the most. See her reaction? Still looking at Kreen through Bren's eyes, the drone watched her face pale slightly and harden further, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered a response. After a few seconds, she looked back down at her plate and continued eating as though nothing had happened. Bren looked away, back to the guard who had spoken. Now, look at hers.
The guard was staring diagonally across the room, seemingly oblivious to the exchange. From the angle they were sitting it was impossible to see exactly, but Lesk-Torlip thought it highly likely that she was making eye contact with the guard in the corner behind and to their left. Her throat muscles, largely hidden by the high collar she wore, appeared to be quivering slightly in the subtly flickering light.
-Is she sending? I can't be sure.
-Oh yes, definitely. The guards know that I cannot access their own signals when my comms are on standby. They also know that I can review every communication sent at my leisure, but that I never bother. Or at least, that's what the head of security told us earlier.
-Hrus? No he didn't? I was right there, remember?
-When I asked to look at some of the internal comms messages earlier, he was surprised.
-Ah. So he was. Well spotted. So this pair are gossiping about you and Yolar's – sorry, your – wife?
-Probably not. They're more professional than that. Very likely, she's telling him off for having made some kind of smart comment about Kreen. Watch. Bren turned slightly in his seat and looked around at the guard behind him. He allowed his gaze to settle on the man's face for long enough to see him swallow and his eyes widen fractionally, then smiled slightly and turned back. Without looking at the female guard, he returned to his meal.
-Ha. You're enjoying this.
-All of life is an opportunity to experience and learn, Lesk-Torlip. Why not enjoy it?
The storm arrived in full a few minutes later, a flash lighting up the folds of the curtains across the window and causing a momentary bar of brilliance on the ceiling directly above. The accompanying crash came three or four seconds later. Bren spared a half-encouraging smile at Kreen when she twitched in response to the flash. Her grip on the knife in her hand tightened as the thunder rolled over them, knuckles whitening.
-Standard atmospheric electrical discharge, intercloud.
-Do they have any weaponry that could be mistaken for that?
The drone mused for a moment, and realised that Bren's head was rocking slightly from one side to another. It stopped before anyone else in the room noticed. -Depends on the sensor and interpretation more than the detonation/discharge. A standard human, non-military, might have mistaken that for a chemical explosive detonation but anyone with experience of ordnance would know the difference. Some recent Reasten ground-to-air missile weaponry has a reasonably similar visible-wavelength spectrum but lasts a fraction longer. Your eyes and reactions wouldn't be able to tell the difference in a reflected light/sound environment like this one, mine would be able to make the discrimination in about point zero zero two seconds.
-Under normal circumstances.
-Normal for Special Circumstances, you mean? Or normal for me?
-Normal for you. It would take a bit longer now, I assume.
-Well, yes. Although I'm learning just how much information can be extracted from your current sensory input, given some experience and time to process. The level of integration between biological bodies and brains/nervous systems is just as sophisticated and complex as it is for drones. It's just different, and given enough time I think I'll get pretty good at handling it.
-You might never want to go back.
-I wouldn't go that far. The drone sent a mental smile of its own into their meshed systems. You can't fly.
There was a polite knock at the dining room door, and Brandor entered. He nodded to Kreen who ignored him completely, walked over to them and whispered briefly in their ear. Bren nodded, and Brandor left.
-Tonight, then.
-Seems likely.
Another flash, another crash. This time, the delay was longer, about eight seconds. Kreen heaved a slightly dramatic sigh.
"Thank goodness, it's moving away."
Bren smiled at her. "How do you know?"
"The gap between the lighting and the thunder. The light travels faster than the sound, you know this." Kreen looked slightly confused and suspicious. "I counted, it took longer for the thunder to arrive this time. The first time, it was about as far away as the governor's palace. This time, about as far as the city barracks."
About right, the drone and human thought together. Not bad. Lesk-Torlip revised its estimate of Kreen's intelligence up a notch. "Good point, dear." Bren looked up at the female guard. "Jenstri, how long was the gap between the first and second lightning strikes?"
The guard stared at him in surprise for a moment, then her eyes flickered to one of the other guards in the room and back. "Eighty-nine seconds, sir."
"Thank you. And the distance between the two strikes?"
A longer pause this time, and Jenstri began to look a little uncomfortable before responding. The guard to her left, another woman, had changed her stance slightly, probably without realising she had done so, and her lips were moving slightly. "Er, uncertain, sir. Maximum of four point one kilometres, minimum of one point five. Approximately. Apologies for the uncertainty." Her gaze darted towards the other female guard again. "Closer to three point six kilometres, apparently. According to the guards stationed on the roof." She nodded slightly at the other guard and straightened up again, assuming her former posture.
Bren turned to Kreen, who had been watching this exchange with parted lips and wide eyes, her food forgotten. "So, three point six kilometres in eighty-nine seconds. How fast would that be, dear?"
"I don't know, Yolar. You are obviously leading up to something, I'm sure you can work it out yourself." Her face flickered in the candle light, eyes hooded.
"Forty metres per second, give or take. That's quite fast, and would imply a very strong wind. Jenstri, what's the wind speed outside?"
Jenstri had obviously been expecting this, and had asked the guards on the roof, who were right next to the building's own weather monitoring station. "Ten metres per second, sir, gusting to fifteen."
Bren nodded, and smiled at Kreen. "Thank you, Jenstri. So," Lesk-Torlip felt his smile widen, "the fact that the second lightning strike was further away does not mean that the storm is moving, Kreen. It just means that the strikes happened in different places. The storm is probably covering the entire city, and most of the plain surrounding. The next strike could happen anywhere, and at any time." The room was silent, save for the faint rushing of rain on glass. Kreen scowled and stared away from them, looking at the door.
-Cue right on top of us, said the drone. But the next flash, when it eventually came, was much fainter and the thunder was almost lost in the other sounds of the storm. "Jenstri, please inform Brandor that the guards on the roof can come inside. I'm sure it must be quite unpleasant for them up there tonight."
"Sir." Jenstri nodded, half-smiling.
As was the norm, they walked to Yolar's study after the meal, which had been finished in silence. Kreen sat still at the table, hands in her lap and eyes lowered, as the security guards filed out of the dining room behind him and took up their stations in the broad, echoing hallway. Bren had hardly seated them at the desk in the study and powered up the desktop processor's screen when an incoming call from the duty security officer overrode his comm stud's offline status.
"Brandor here, sir. You have a call request from Herlain Urtas."
"Thank you, Brandor. I'll take it. Please monitor the conversation and try to determine where Mr Urtas is calling from. If it's not the same place as your men currently have surrounded, then pull back."
The drone heard the comm stud in Bren's left ear give a tiny high-pitched whine, followed almost immediately by a tiny signalling chirp. Bren tapped it. "Yolar here."
"Good evening, Gadain. I hope I am not disturbing you?"
"Not at all, Mr Urtas. What can I do for you?" First name informality, thought the drone. Interestingly inappropriate.
"I was hoping that we could meet, informally. I have a business opportunity to discuss, the one we didn't manage to conclude last time."
The drone felt the man's skin conductivity, heart rate and blood pressure change, sensing the alterations through his own nerves. In response to, as part of and possibly even as a driving influence of these physiological factors, its own excitement levels jumped. Whoa, it thought. Got to get this involuntary shit under control.
"I think not, Mr Urtas. The last time we met one another, there was some unpleasantness that I am keen to avoid repeating."
-That's putting it mildly. He nearly managed to kill Yolar.
"That was a misunderstanding, on the part of some of my security personnel. They no longer work for me."
-No, two of them now work for me. "Still, you can understand my reluctance. Can we not conduct business over the phone?"
"Hah. No." The deep, growling voice at the other end was amused. "You never know who might be listening."
"True, true." Bren's fingers drummed on the desktop. "Hmm. Well, perhaps, if you think we could put this mistake behind us?"
"I'm sure that we can. In fact, I'm willing to offer a reduction on my previous price, as a gesture of good faith. Say, five percent?"
"Hmm, well. That is interesting." Stalling for time. "I'd be happy to accept. However, I'd rather we didn't meet at the last location. Bad memories and all that." As if on cue, Brandor opened the study door soundlessly, poking his head in and nodding once. They nodded back, holding up two fingers in response and mouthing silently. Brandor repeated the gesture and withdrew, closing the door behind himself.
"Where would you suggest? Somewhere more open?"
"Actually, no. Somewhere out of the way. Somewhere we are unlikely to be disturbed. Do you know of anywhere like that?"
"Lots of places." Urtas sounded uncertain.
"You know, I've just thought of the exact building. Nice and isolated, an abandoned factory in the Werheim Industrial Park. Big green sliding door at the rear. Perhaps you know of it?"
"No." Urtas' voice had dropped to a husky whisper. "Please." There was a crash in the background, and alarmed shouting.
"Sorry, Helain. I can't hear you." The noise levels coming over the call increased. "Especially with all that shooting in the background." They waited. Eventually, someone else came on the line.
"Sir? Mr Yolar?"
"Who is this?" He recognised the voice.
"Drim, sir. All hostiles accounted for. Two men lost."
"Well done, Drim. Is Mr Urtas still there?"
"Yes, sir. Do you want to speak to him?"
"No, Drim. Just pass on a message, will you? Tell him I said goodbye." Bren cut the link, and sat back.
-One obstacle out of the way. And without interference.
-So we appear to be secure, and undetected. Good.
-Appear to be, yes. It's not guaranteed. I'm still worried that we haven't heard anything from the More Is More.
-Let's give it a couple more days, then try to get in touch ourselves.
#############################################################################
Kreen came to him/them that night, in the small hours. The soft knocking of the corridor guard came moments after Lesk-Torlip had woken Bren, hearing first soft, bare footsteps overlying the guard's own, booted but quieter and more practiced stealthy tread. Voices, hushed, in the corridor a few paces from the door. Bren shifted sideways in the bed, ready to drop out backwards and use it as cover. His hand slid nearer to the gun stowed beside the headboard.
-I think your wife wants to see you. No apparent danger. This was confirmed by the guard's knocking. "Sir?"
"Enter." The guard stuck his head around the door, looking unsure of himself.
"Your wife, sir. Asks to speak with you."
"Let her in." Kreen was already stepping past the guard, ignoring him, as Bren spoke. The guard glanced once at her, his face still wary. This was dangerous territory within the household, Lesk-Torlip knew. Yolar employed the guards, largely against Kreen's objections, and they very clearly answered to him and not her. An order from Kreen carried no weight at all with them, but she still had to be treated carefully. A couple of them even seemed to sympathise with her and the unpleasantness of her position, although they tried to hide it from Yolar.
"I'm sorry to wake you." She had been crying, they saw. Still was, in fact, although her face was composed. "I just can't not, not-"
"Leave us." Kreen's face started to flush with embarrassment and anger, before she realised that he had been speaking to the guard. She turned to glare at him, and he retreated. The door closed silently, and she turned back to face Bren. "Come. Sit." He patted the bed, near its base. -Still convinced she's not come to end the relationship terminally?
-No weapons visible. This was true. The gauzy, transparent robe revealed a sheer, thin nightdress that was both short and clinging. Kreen was past her first youthful blush, but her figure was impressive, lithe and full in obvious and attractive ways. –Might be an attempt at seduction to get something out of you.
-After the way I treated her earlier? I doubt it. Nonetheless, as Kreen perched on the bed, pulling her legs up under her, Lesk-Torlip wondered. "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing, I don't want anything. That's just it, really." She had obviously been preparing, rehearsing a speech. They decided to let her continue. Bren cocked his head to one side slightly, indicating that she should continue. "You know what I think about all this." She waved her hand, indicating possibly the house, their relationship, the guards or perhaps all three. "You know I'm not happy."
"I know. And I'm sorry about that. I'm not a complete monster, you know." Bren adopted the sombre, heartfelt approach, chin tucked in slightly, eyes making contact with hers. "I wish things were different."
Kreen leapt on this. "You do?" He nodded, and her back straightened. "Perhaps. Perhaps they could be? Just a little different? Perhaps it would make you happier too?"
"Kreen. My love. Yes, my love, don't look surprised. I married you because I loved you. Do you think that just disappears?"
"Well, no, it's just-" her head dropped, and she stopped looking at them. "We don't talk like we used to. We're not happy together."
"Do you want to leave?" At that, her head snapped back up in astonishment. She couldn't hide the look in her eyes, the set of her mouth that screamed yes. "I won't stop you."
Kreen was flustered, surprised at how easy this had been, suspicious that he was toying with her. "I don't want anything from you. I wouldn't, you know, be a danger. Say anything." She watched him carefully, as one would a large dog whose friendliness had not been gauged yet.
Bren leaned closer, taking her hand. "I know what you think. That if you leave me, run away, I'd send someone after you. Make sure that you stayed quiet." She swallowed, eyes wavering but staying on his. Her hand pulled back slightly, but he kept his hold on it. "I wouldn't. I promise. If you can promise me that you'll be good. You understand?" She nodded. "Good." He let go of her hand. "I won't stop you. And if you want to take anything, keep anything-?"
"I don't. Honestly. It's all yours, you earned it all. I don't feel that you owe me."
"Nevertheless. You're my wife, and I still care for you. Take what you want, keep your bank account. I want to know that you are comfortable, that you don't need to go to anyone for anything." Bren smiled again, showing his teeth slightly. "I would even let you keep your allowance. Reduced, perhaps, as you wouldn't have the expenses of running the house. But still something. Would you like that?"
Kreen wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, crying again but with relief now. "No. Honestly, I'd rather not. I might take some small things, but I can look after myself. I can go to my aunt's, stay with her. I'd be happy there." She smiled bravely, uncertainly. "Content."
"Good. That's good. If you can do that and be content, that's good. All right?" Bren patted her hand, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"Yes. Thank you." She looked up, around. Told she was free, but still wanting to escape. To make sure. According to the Culture's best information, Yolar wasn't arbitrary by nature or cruel enough for her to assume that he was playing with her, but she still obviously wanted to be gone, to make sure that this wasn't some trick. "Thank you," she said again. "I should go. Let you sleep. You're busy tomorrow." It wasn't a question. He was always busy tomorrow.
"Yes. You'll be here in the morning? No need to run out into the night. Take your time."
"Perhaps. I don't know." There was no chance at all she would be here in the morning. Kreen stood, composed herself. Thanked him again, somewhat formally. Walked to the door, glancing back at him once. Closed it silently behind herself. Bren lay back on the bed, arms behind his head.
-Not sure that was done entirely in character.
-At times like this, 'character' can vary dramatically. She's never seen him in that context, anyway. And it was the best thing to do, to let her go. Less danger for her, more freedom to operate for us.
-True. Back to sleep?
-Not sure I can. Might watch a little screen, catch up on the news. He reached for the controls, activated the small, curved and boxy screen sitting on a wooden chest at the end of the bed. –Let's see what else this fucker has been up to.
Rather a lot, as it turned out. The local all-day news service was mainly covering two new stories, alternating between them as new details emerged or experts could be found and brought into the studio at this late hour to provide their opinions. A powerful politician allied to the country's president was being investigated on corruption charges, the kind that if found to be true resulted in lengthy imprisonment rather than just shame and resignation. The evidence seemed to have appeared in a suspiciously Mind-like manner, provided by 'unnamed sources' and delivered directly to a senior police officer's home. And a cave-in/explosion at a mine on the continent on the other side of Reast had killed hundreds of miners, causing massive demonstrations outside the headquarters of the company involved.
-Hessling Minerals. Part-owned by the state, yes?
-Eighty percent. And in Garia, that means owned by the Premier and his cronies. That's going to keep them tied up for a while. Might even distract them from that scuffle in Horsect.
-Hmm. Convergence, there. This politico. They arrest him, the President looks too weak. Early elections?
-A good chance of that. The liberals are looking strong, too. Narrows down the field, somewhat. I'm getting a good feeling about someone in particular. Calspine.
-Rueger Calspine? The guy who lives here in Trourl?
-The same. Liberal Party gets elected in, he's definitely in the frame for Party Secretary. Which puts him right behind Somovule.
-Who's what? Ninety?
-Ninety-three. And possibly unwell. Certainly he's been attending the same clinic twice a month for a while, now. Plus, he's not got the backing to pull the Liberals through another election so soon.
-But Calspine's got no support either. Hardly been in the Party for three years. If it wasn't for his money, he wouldn't even be close.
-I know. Too many others in the way for the moment. He's certainly the one to watch, though.
-Plus his opponents. See what happens to them. Anyone we can tweak, see what response we get?
-Perhaps. If we're very careful. Yolar's got a meeting with someone called Heina in a few days. A friend/collaborator on a few projects, and similarly unpleasant and underhand. Hmm.
-Construction company? Heavy machinery, that sort of thing?
-That's the one. Supposed to be buying out one of Calspine's competitors, the deal is fairly well advanced. We should watch him, see if anything happens. Try to insert ourselves into the deal.
-Be putting ourselves into the firing line a bit, wouldn't we?
-More chance of seeing what goes on, but yes. Like I said, carefully.
-Hmm. Sleep.
#############################################################################
The main canyon splitting several levels down the midline of the Anti-Gravitas was packed, thousands of flyers jostling for position within the starting zone. Dal Rolste leaned over the low balustrade, looking straight down for three kilometres to where, slightly blued by distance in the clear air, a river wound lazily between savannah grassland banks. Small clusters of buildings were visible, scattered seemingly at random along the riverside, those higher up and nearer the canyon sides less visible on her side as the shadow of the canyon wall eclipsed them. The sun-line felt hot on her back, balancing the warm breeze drifting upwards from the canyon itself. Sweat prickled her neck.
She was not alone in leaning over the edge to watch the start of the race. Hundreds of people lined the balustrade, some leaning over quite alarmingly with others suspended by clip-lines, or floating in harnesses out over the drop. Five kilometres away on the other side of the canyon, a faint stippling of colour along the cliff edge indicated similar crowds of people. Most, as on her side, were clustered towards the starting area below and on her right, although there were still many people visible further along on both sides, craning to see back towards the start.
Back from the canyon edge, large screens were floating in mid-air, some drifting gently with the breeze while others were stationary, allowing people who couldn't be bothered walking or watching from the canyon lip to choose a comfortable spot on the warm grass and still see what was going on. Which was not much so far, Dal had to admit. The scree of colourful sails, pennants and hulls drifting and bumping about randomly within the starting area was a confusing jumble and entertaining in its own way, but they weren't actually doing anything.
Drones and floating platforms slaved to the ship's Mind shepherded a few stragglers and boisterous line-nudgers, keeping everyone in position. It was only a semi-serious race, over half the competitors doing this for the first time and with barely any intention of reaching the finishing line, those that even knew where it was. Nonetheless, it looked like the drones had their hands full making sure that everyone stayed within the starting volume boundaries, which were marked out by a faintly glowing, diffuse pink field.
A horn blared screechingly from amidst the chaos, and was followed instantly by hundreds of bells, horns, air-pipes, drums, scream-rockets and bellows, roars and whistles from the competitors and onlookers. Dal watched, laughing, as the flotilla of small, buoyant aircraft were released by their pilots from their semi-stationary positions. Lines dropped, restraint-drones disabled, fields snapped off. In the midst of it all, several drones were waving fields frantically and trying to get in front of the slowly drifting, rapidly accelerating mass of aircraft suddenly bearing down on them, their fields flaring a mixture of grey, brown and white depending on their levels of displeasure and distress. A few shone red with laughter, giving in to the chaotic uncontrollability of the race's false start. The drone bearing the starting flag, higher up and further out ahead of the competitors, dropped its pennant in disgust and turning a silvery mirror-finish, zoomed up and away ostentatiously.
All semblance of order abandoned, the race rapidly turned anarchic. Many of the craft, hand-made and cobbled-together, made it a hundred metres or less before something vital snapped, fell off or exploded. The watching spectators cheered as one wobbling airship flashed with sudden flame and billowing smoke and rotating along its long axis, began to corkscrew ponderously towards the canyon floor, followed rapidly by a trio of drones. Another's AG malfunctioned disastrously and it zoomed upwards, trailing broken lines and flags. A naked man and woman jumped from it as it passed level with the canyon lip, dropping a score of metres before a drone caught them both gently in its fields and lowered them towards a waiting float-platform. The abandoned vessel, lighter without its occupants, accelerated harder and continued upwards until it pancaked with a distant thud against the GSV's inner atmospheric envelope field. The crowd cheered again.
Dal watched as the surviving vessels soared, stuttered and jerked forwards, catching the following wind in fits and starts depending on their position in the crowded canyon and on how many aircraft were behind them in the artificial air current. Within five minutes of the race's abortive but still-successful start, the leaders were over a kilometre ahead of the main pack and the field was well spread out.
She watched for a while as the stragglers struggled, wobbled and spun, trying to make headway, then turned and strolled away from the balustrade. A nearby screen was displaying the leaders, still with several kilometres to go before they reached the end of the canyon, turned and headed back the other way on a parallel air stream headed toward the rear of the GSV. She headed for the screen, wondering if there was somewhere nearby she could get a drink. The heat was making her thirsty.
"Ms Rolste?" Dal recognised the voice as that of the ship's Mind rather than one of its avatars, coming from the terminal brooch pinned to the lapel of her shirt. The Anti-Gravitas preferred communication via terminal rather than by what it saw as the rather intrusive option of simply transmitting its voice into her head via her neural lace. Dal was quite happy with this, as she was still readjusting to Culture norms and having a voice speak suddenly between her ears startled her.
It was unusual for the ship to communicate directly, however. Not just unusual but also slightly bizarre, as the ship itself preferred a middle-aged female voice rather than the gender- and age-neutral one that its avatars and other ships normally used. It said that it felt those on board tended to be more relaxed when it communicated with them in this way.
"Yes?"
"There is a young man who wishes to speak with you. Apparently something to do with a query you made regarding the Reast system."
"Oh. I see." Dal's heart thudded once in her chest, then went back to its normal rhythm. "That was fast. Where is he?"
"Five hundred metres away, in a bar. Would you like to speak with him?"
"Yes please, Anti. Can you direct me?"
"Certainly. Continue straight ahead to the clump of blue trees, then bear slightly right and follow the path. The bar is called the Suspicious Residue."
"Ah, I know the one. The barman makes very good hot drinks."
"Famous for it, although they are not proving very popular today. The young man's name is Autilp Hons. Very good-looking, if I may say so." The ship's voice sounded warmly humorous. "He's sitting outside, alone. Although not for long, if a few of the young ladies nearby have anything to do with it."
"I'd better get a move on, then." She could see the bar now, and very possibly the man sitting alone and listening to what looked like a ring-terminal while peering in her direction was Autilp Hons. Dal waved, and he waved back and stood up. A couple of women at a nearby table also glanced in her direction then turned away, looking disappointed.
"Dal Rolste?"
"The same. Autilp?"
"The very same. Good to meet you." He took her hand in his own long, warm fingers and shook it. "Hope I didn't disturb you, distract you from anything?"
"Not at all. Shall we get a drink?" She indicated his half-empty glass. He nodded, accompanied her to the bar. They were served, returned to the same table outside. "So. The ship told me that you picked up on my information request?"
"I did. Total coincidence, happy fortune and all that. I was screening something or other, can't even remember what it was now, and couldn't follow the plot. Put in a query about some term that was used, and up popped your own query, flagged as subject-relevant and of potential personal knowledge and interest answerable." Autilp sipped his drink, holding the container carefully by the insulated upper half, steam rising gently from the bowl of liquid nitrogen that it rested in on the table. Dal did the same.
"Were you on Reast? Part of the Contact mission there?" She didn't remember him, but that didn't mean much. There had been a fair number of them scattered over the planet and unless they went down as part of a group, they wouldn't usually interact with one another while active on-planet.
"No, not at all. Not part of Contact at all, me. But I've done some background reading on the Velorine, the mentor civ. I'm interested in the habits and peculiarities of Watchers – what we call civs that like to spy on others – particularly in relation to how they differ from Contact behaviour." He spoke with a certain confidence and tone when he said this, and Dal felt that she knew what was coming next. "I've even written a couple of papers on the subject." His tone was slightly too offhand, belying the eagerness in his face.
"Hons. Hmm. Sorry, I haven't read those. But I'll make sure I do. Sounds interesting." She watched his face fall then rise, boyishly sensitive. It was quite sweet. "Go on. What was it about my query that interested you?" In addition to her own interest, she was rather enjoying sitting here with such a handsome and obviously pliable young man. It made for good prospects, later on in the evening.
"I had some examples of Velorine recordings from Reast. Strictly not for sharing, of course, and any outputs from them to be anonymised so that nobody could get upset about recordings of their personal activities being made available to anyone in the future. Not that the Reasten are likely to find out for quite some time." She nodded and indicated that he should continue.
"Anyway, most of these recordings were fairly bland and useless, from the point of view of anyone engaged in voyeurism. Streets and crowds, public spaces, that sort of thing. But useful for understanding the tech, you know?"
Dal nodded. You could tell a lot about a civ just from looking carefully at the characteristics and quality of their digital recordings. It was one of the many things that Contact people learned to do almost automatically, and by mentioning it Autilp had reinforced his earlier statement that he didn't have anything to do with Contact. "So nothing saucy, then?" She smiled a little, showing that she was teasing. Nevertheless, he blushed.
"Not really, no. But in one of the recordings, I noticed something odd. Well, the analysis software I was running did." He put down his drink, laid his hands on the table. "The recording had been tampered with, altered. Edited."
"Edited? Like, cut and spliced?"
"No, more than that. The recording looked real when you watched it. It was impossible to spot anything that didn't look right. The problem was, there were two recordings, taken from slightly different vantage points a couple of hundred metres apart. And they didn't match."
Dal frowned. "In what way?"
"Well, the Velorine sensors are good. Not as good as something we would produce, of course. But way better than anything they could make on Reast. Eighty-bit audio and light levels, frame rate down to the microsecond in most cases and better in some others. Gigapixel video with lossless compression, automated pre-processing and feature-enhancement built into the file formatting." Dal nodded to show that she understood that last bit, even though she didn't, and Autilp took another sip from his drink before continuing.
"The two recordings were matched perfectly, showing two different views down a main street in some city or other. And because of their quality, particularly the audio quality, they could pick up sounds much fainter than even a standard Culture human could detect. Possibly even better than someone from SC." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Dal followed suit.
"And?"
"And the audio from the two didn't match up. Actually, it did, perfectly or almost so. The Velorine know what they're doing when they build sensors, it's pretty good stuff for a level five civ. The audio tracks matched just fine, except for when they didn't."
"Meaning?"
"There was an earthquake, a minor one. Two hundred kilometres away from where the sensors were recording. Caused a minor landslide, killed a couple of people living in shacks on the side of a hill. Nothing too surprising for that part of Reast, it's a fairly geologically active area even by the standards of the planet, which is pretty lively."
"I noticed." They smiled at one another, and Dal felt herself make a decision.
"The sensors picked up on the infrasound vibrations from the quake, and the small movements it caused on camera. Nobody walking about on the street felt a thing, it was way too faint for a human to pick up on." He took another drink, glanced down to gather his thoughts and looked up at her again. "The quake was pegged as having come from the deep mantle, thirty kilometres or so down. The Reasten have some basic abilities in this, enough to be able to locate the epicentre to within a few kilometres either way."
"Yes. I remember seeing some of their kit for that once, at a local university. Pretty basic, but it does the job. They're nowhere near predicting before the event, though."
"Exactly! That's what I thought at the time." He was excited, leaning towards her. She copied him, unconsciously. "It occurred to me that it might be possible to use what the Velorine already had in place for earthquake early warning, perhaps enough to get information to our own people on the ground as a backup to the local GCU's systems." He saw what she was about to say before she said it. "I know, why would a GCU need backup like that. I thought, you never know, what if it has to rush off to deal with a problem somewhere else? Anyway, I managed to get hold of the Reasten readings as well, had all the recordings analysed, and the results came up wrong."
"Wrong how?"
"According to the two recordings and the time-difference between their detection of the earthquake, the source couldn't have been as deep as the Reasten equipment said it was." Autilp picked up his drink again, toyed with it. "If the recordings are correct, then the earthquake originated only a kilometre or so below the surface, in the planet's crust."
"Could that be correct? Couldn't the Reasten have just got it wrong?"
"No. That's what I assumed at first as well, of course. You expect the better tech to give better results." They both nodded. "But it was the video that my analysis used, to determine the earthquake depth, not the audio. Video of objects shaking gives better information about the characteristics of an earthquake than the audio. It allows you to see which way the vibrations are moving, see? Horizontal or vertical, amplitude, lots of other things. With audio you just get the sound, that's not as good."
"And the Reasten were using their approach, which is audio-based?"
"Sort of. Not really, but yes. Vibration-based. It doesn't provide the information that the Velorine video does, certainly."
"So they could just have been wrong?"
"Nope." He smiled and widened his eyes, obviously relishing this part. "Because the Velorine audio matched theirs perfectly. It puts the epicentre thirty-two kilometres down, just like the Reasten equipment does. The audio and the video don't match up. One of them has been tampered with."
"Who would do that? And how?" Her own drink was forgotten, now.
"Well, as to who would want to, I have no idea. I know that the Velorine would use the audio component if they were to run their own analysis, they don't have the methods we use that can make use of the more complex video of an earthquake."
"So this was done to trick the Velorine?"
"To hide from them the fact that the earthquake epicentre was not where it should have been. Not where it could have been."
"Why couldn't it have been close to the surface?"
"No fault lines there. Nothing to slip. I looked, found a map of Reast's plate tectonics that were produced when the GCU Don't Point That Thing At Me did its first standard survey scans. I even compared that to the earliest Culture geological survey work, carried out by the GSV that first came across Reast a couple of hundred years ago. And those records were hard to track down, I can tell you. The GSV -" it named the ship, one that Dal Rolste had never heard of "-was on sabbatical from SC at the time, and so none of its records were as freely available as they should have been."
Once again, she felt herself make a decision, some shifting of realisations within her. "I'm surprised that you went to all that effort."
"Like I said, I was reading around the subject to see if I could suggest something useful. According to the audio component of the Velorine recordings, that earthquake happened in a way that was geologically impossible."
"Impossible, or just very unlikely?"
"Vanishingly unlikely, which is fairly odd but seems doubly so when added to the fact that someone had altered the recordings to make it look like it hadn't happened the way it did." They stared at each other across the table for a few seconds.
"Someone with ability. Equiv-tech ability?"
He shrugged, raised his hands. "Not sure. Certainly level seven or eight. To alter the recordings and leave no trace of having done so. I checked that as well, the recordings really don't look like they've been tampered with."
"Can I see them?"
"Sure." He passed them across to her using his neural lace. She received them, stored them away for future viewing and analysis, and contacted the Anti-Gravitas using her own lace.
-Yes, Ms Rolste?
-Have you been listening to this?
-Yes. I'm not sure what to do about it. I would suggest getting in touch with the Contact ship on Reast however. I would also recommend that you do so in person, as this appears to be directly relevant to the query you put out about anything happening on Reast. I'm assuming that the GCU there was concerned about something unusual that had happened?
-It was. I'm not sure that I'm in a position to tell you more, however. Sorry about that.
-I would say that you definitely are not in any sort of position to share whatever you know with me. This sounds a bit more important than just gossipy goings-on. I think that your holiday just ended.
-Agreed. What's the fastest I could get back to Reast?
-I'm working on that, and should be able to send a message out to contact relevant VFPs in a moment, once I've tracked them down. Estimated about twenty days, possibly less. Would you prefer not to signal ahead to inform the DPTTAM or anyone else at Reast of this information or of your intention to travel there?
-I'd rather not. I don't know who I can trust or who might be involved. I know, that seems overly dramatic given the little I've got to go on here. I'd also rather that you kept this to yourself in the meantime.
-Of course. I have managed to secure a berth for you. Fifteen days to Reast, leaving my good self in eight hours. Will that suffice?
-It'll just have to. Thanks. Dal Rolste turned back to Autilp, who had been politely looking away while she was obviously communicating using her neural lace. "I'm very grateful that you got in touch about this. Seems that I might have to leave in a few hours. In the meantime, I've got plans involving you."
"Involving me?" He smiled and blushed, looking hopeful.
"Yes, you. Bed. Now." He didn't need telling twice.
Chapter 10
xROU Fuck You Too, Pal
oGSV More Is More
Incoming. Herexyl Light Cruiser (scan file attached).
Try to be nice.
xGSV More Is More
oReast Group
Hold positions, please. We have an interloper (scan file attached), the FYTP is handling them. Bad timing, I know, but this might actually help us.
xHerexyl Light Cruiser Sehorehobocor
oCulture Military Vessel
Greetings. I am Commander Uleprotactylcaledon of the Light Cruiser Sehorehobocor. To whom do I have the honour of speaking?
This is the Rapid Offensive Unit Fuck You Too, Pal.
Interesting designation. Due to my civilisation's own interests in this volume, we have been assigned by the Herexyl Space Command to travel to this system and report back on the observed accumulation of Culture vessels in the local volume. We have also been asked to provide an offer of assistance in any form that the Culture may find useful. As Commander of the vessel I am aware of the possible ridiculousness of this offer, given the comparative capabilities of our two civilisations. Nonetheless, if there is anything, no matter how small, that we can do to assist, then we will be more than happy to oblige.
Thanks for the offer. I'll pass it along.
You are welcome. In relation to our primary mission to this local volume, may I ask if there is anything that you or anyone else can tell us?
In confidence?
Of course. Provided that such confidence includes those that I must report to, and is not judged likely to be harmful to the interests of the Herexyl and our allies and friends.
Understood. How are you guys getting on with the Velorine these days?
Hmm. I can only respond for myself, not for my military leadership, my government and certainly not for my species as a whole. I am on polite terms with the Velorine, certainly.
No more than that?
On my part, no. I find their manners a little coarse, particularly towards civilisations that they consider inferior, either technologically or culturally.
Same here. We're having a bit of a situation with the Velorine and the Reasten. Can't really talk about it. It's a bit delicate. Sorry about that, particularly as I agree with you about their habits.
I see. As we have not yet been assigned jurisdiction or mentoring responsibilities over a civilisation less developed than ourselves, I cannot truly say that I understand. However, I do appreciate that the situation might be a little difficult. I've always personally considered the manners and attitude of the Culture towards less advanced species and civilisations to be an excellent example to others. You don't have to confirm or deny, but I am assuming that this current situation is something to do with the Velorine habit of voyeurism?
Hmm. Really difficult for me to say. I have a suggestion. Ship to person, as it were.
Please, proceed. I am intrigued.
I've always been a big fan of Herexyl art, particularly your sculpture. The Scepnoyelustritian School is my favourite.
Really? I must admit, I'm impressed as well as gratified. How did you become interested in this artistic area of my species?
Oh, I'm much more than interested. Devoted would be a better term. I know, I'm a warship and you wouldn't expect me to care about stuff like that. But I have always thought that it is precisely those who are designed to destroy that should have the greatest appreciation for works of art and other great spiritual undertakings. Entities with the potential for great violence have the greatest responsibility to comprehend that which they can annihilate; without that we are no more than the beasts that we evolved from.
My emotions run deep at your words. You truly have the soul of a Herexyl, if saying that does not constitute an insult to someone as patently advanced in comparison to my race.
I take that as nothing but a compliment. However, we digress. My mentioning of your artwork was because I was hoping that in return for a certain disclosure on my part, you might find it possible to arrange for an avatar of mine to visit your home planet and visit some of your great celebrations of sculpture. After this whole unpleasantness is over, of course.
My dear ship, I would be honoured to personally accompany you in such a visit; you would be treated as a treasured guest and more. In fact, the honour such a visit would bestow on me would more than compensate any efforts on my part to arrange it; it would positively leave me in your debt.
Given the pleasure that I would gain simply from the anticipation of visiting your world, I assure you that this is unlikely. I still feel that it would be necessary for me to compensate you with some small, possibly trivial nuggets of information, delivered in good faith and trusting in your wisdom in sharing these with others.
You honour me again. These parcels of information may be trivial nuggets to you, but I am sure that they will be useful to us; even if not so, then the manner in which they have been delivered will have benefitted me and my crew spiritually at the very least.
Too kind. The information then, is that yes, the Velorine have been up to their old tricks. In this particular case, even more so than normal, to the extent that their enthusiasm for prying has placed them at risk of discovery by the Reasten. As you can imagine, this clumsiness has not gone down well with the Culture or at least those of us in the know, who are considered at least partially responsible for the Velorine and their behaviour. In addition to being quietly horrified at the possible ramifications on Reast, we are somewhat concerned about our own standing as a result of all this.
As well you might be, given the circumstances. Thank you for bringing me into your confidence, I will treat it as such and repeat what you have told me only to those most appropriate and necessary. In gratitude, I wondered if you might accept a small token from me to whet your appetite for future pleasures?
I am intrigued. What would this token be?
I have on board a small private collection, for my very own aesthetic appreciation. It does not contain any pieces from the great School to which you referred earlier, however it does contain one small piece claimed to be by an unnamed pupil of Nafhansagoqui, who spent two years studying under Scepnoyelustrit. Its provenance is not guaranteed, but it does bear unmistakeable flourishes of the minor master to whom I refer.
If I had breath, it would be gone! This is too much, surely. This treasure must have cost you dearly.
Indeed not. I succeeded in purchasing it at auction, misidentified by the poor fool of a curator whose eyesight or brains betrayed him. The price was absurdly low in comparison to its true worth, and I have always felt some residual guilt at having cheated the poor fellow, regardless of the fact that it was largely his own mistake. Gifting the piece to you would relieve me of the alloyed pleasure that I feel when viewing it and which prevents me from gaining the joy that it deserves to give. Please, if I send it to you in a small transfer capsule, will you accept it?
With every atom quivering with pleasure. I cannot wait. My thanks.
It will be dispatched immediately. Now, I regret that I must leave your pleasant company and begin the somewhat dull and arduous return journey to my home system. I will look forward to your visit with great excitement and enthusiasm.
As will I. Safe travels, and my thanks once more.
xROU Fuck You Too, Pal
oGSV More Is More
Catch all that?
I did. Well done, that was an impressive performance. I didn't know you had it in you.
Fuck me, I need a lie down now.
Did the Commander really give you a sculpture?
Just taking it on board now. Hmm. Flimsy-looking thing, unless that's part of the packaging. Nope, that's definitely it.
You don't really enjoy their sculpture, do you? That would be a step too far for my ability to comprehend, I might suffer some kind of critical system failure if you surprise me that much.
Fuck, no. Scanned the ship from thirty light-seconds away, the poor saps. Saw the junk in the Commander's quarters and thought I would use that as an in.
Nice.
Possibly not. Now I've got to look after the bastarding piece of delicate uselessness. Probably degrade my manoeuvring ability significantly, trying not to smash the fuck out of it.
Yes, that would probably cause an intercivilisational incident larger than the one we're already dealing with. Best pass it along to one of the GSVs.
No way. Commander Protracted-name or whatever the fuck he calls himself will probably want to see it again when I visit. I'd better keep hold of it.
#############################################################################
xGSV More Is More
oMSV Completely Under Control; MSV Distant Cousins; GSV Large And Close; GSV Light And Full Of Grace
Well that went about as well as we could have hoped. With luck, the Herexyl will diffuse that information out and everyone else will keep their distance to avoid contamination.
xMSV Completely Under Control
There's a good chance they won't. You know what the Herexyl are like; remarkably honest and honourable. All that flowery language makes everyone else suspicious of them, but they really don't hide behind it.
xGSV Light And Full Of Grace
Agreed. We might still need some more forceful and gossip-worthy encounters. Hopefully the That's Going To Leave A Mark or Controlled Desire have more luck with the next lot that come sniffing around.
xGSV Large And Close
The Confounded Beyond Words is more likely to get somewhere, I'm sure. We're just sitting here hoping that the right curious bystanders happen by. At least it's out there doing something.
xGSV More Is More
Time to try contacting the field agents. Ready?
xMSV Completely Under Control
Ready.
xMSV Distant Cousins
Ready.
xGSV Large And Close
I still think that this is a bad idea. But ready, nonetheless.
xGSV Light And Full Of Grace
Go for it. Ready.
The five ships were closer to Reast than every other member of the Reast Group except for one, but even so were keeping a careful distance themselves, arranged in a rough pyramidal distribution out near the system boundaries and with none closer than twelve light-hours from the yellow dwarf star at its centre. The More Is More and Completely Under Control were system-relative stationary, sensors passively attuned, watching and listening as hard as they could with every sense.
The Large And Close and Light And Full Of Grace were holding tight high-velocity circles, engines ramped up to just below degradation levels, each circuit taking just under a second to complete and with a radius twice that of the distance from Reast to its parent star. They had coordinated these rapid, dizzying whirls, edge-on to Reast, so that when one was on the outbound part of their circle the other was heading inwards; this would allow them to perform a rapid flypast of Reast in under two seconds if they needed to snatch the field team off the surface.
The Don't Point That Thing At Me had volunteered itself as the distractive bait. It was holding a comparatively dawdling course, orbiting Reast's largest moon, as close as any of them had dared approach since the situation had first begun. Three of the other ships, including two of the Offensive Units further out and watching for incomers, were holding recent updates to its Mind-state backup.
This was new territory for the DPTTAM, and it was alternating rapidly between congratulating itself for stepping up and being given such an important role in all this, and self-castigation for showing such foolhardiness to the point of wanton risk-taking. This whole sequence of events had certainly put it off the idea of applying to SC at any point. Although if I change my mind then this might improve my chances of being accepted, it thought.
In addition to being the nearest and therefore most likely target if their attempt to contact the field team provoked one of the many low-probability but highly destructive responses that the Completely Under Control had identified as possible from the Mind on Reast, being closest gave it the best and most real-time view of the planet. Knowing that the Reast Mind was capable of accessing and altering sensor data but not knowing the limits of its capacity in this area, they were backing up their own sensor feeds with the most basic and unadulterable view possible; reflected sunlight from the surface. Not even a Mind could distort the image of a whole planet in a way that could deceive those watching.
This information was arriving with almost a second delay from the planet's surface as the electromagnetic radiation crawled its way up and away from the planet below, and so if anything went wrong that could only be seen with EM, they might find out a bit late to respond effectively. It was still considered potentially useful however, sufficiently so to accept the slightly increased risk to the GCU in its role as collator and disseminator of this information.
Sending, stated the More Is More. It transmitted a command to one of the snowflake-sized pan-spectrum blackbody sensors holding station above Trourl City. The sensor waited for several microseconds, but nothing bad happened to it and its tiny processor took this as an opportunity to continue. It transmitted a low-power micro-burst nanoeffector signal, tightly focussed and tuned to the drone's current biological makeup, to the field team's last known location.
A myriad of sensors focussed on and through the roof of the large building in Trourl, passively absorbing and processing every scrap of data they could capture. The snowflake sensor reported that it was unharmed; a quick sweep of the planet-enclosing sensor network confirmed that nothing had happened to any other assets in place. Microseconds later, the sensor reported back that no data-packet-acknowledgement signal had been received.
Okay. We knew it wasn't going to be that easy, said the More Is More.Step two. The same sensor widened its focus, transmitting the same signal as before to the whole of Trourl. There had been some uncertainty that the SC team were at the exact location first targeted, but unless they were actively trying to avoid detection or being hidden somehow by their opponent, they could not have left the city since the last time their location was visibly confirmed. The problem with sending a wide-area signal was that while it had a greater chance of finding their assets, it would also be perfectly visible to the Mind.
Anything? Asked the Light And Full Of Grace after completing another hundredth of a circuit. Its dizzying path was degrading its own signal monitoring capacity; it was relying on the stationary ships for updates on how things were progressing.
Nothing. The More Is More swore quietly but eloquently to itself. The ramifications of what had just happened were significant, indicating a higher-than-hoped-for capacity of the Mind on Reast while simultaneously indicating further restrictions both to their own ability to communicate with the team on the planet and with the human/drone pair's chances of being able to accomplish anything useful.
The GSV knew that this also meant the field team could potentially be receiving false signals and instructions apparently from itself or others on the Reast Group, and that all of them would be completely unaware that this was happening. Obviously, Bren and Lesk-Torlip would already be treating anything that appeared to come from the Incident Coordinator as potentially false, but would have been able to choose whether or not to act on it. Now they knew that even this was impossible.
The Large And Close signalled - Potentially fully compromised, then. My thinking was erroneous. The MSV had opined that contacting the field team was unnecessary and potentially risky; standard protocols in situations involving insertions against equiv-tech opponents was to avoid contact unless absolutely necessary, and it had thought that doing so at this stage might alert their quarry, if it was capable of detecting their communications, to the fact that something had prompted them to do so.
This was a discussion that had bounced back and forth while they tried to work out what to do; the Large had argued that in the event that the Reast Mind was unaware of what they had learned from the Velorine, it was best not to trigger any suspicions; also, it had felt that since they were unable to directly detect the Mind then it must have reduced itself somewhat and therefore its operational capacity must be diminished to the point that it while it might be able to interfere with the Velorine sensor and communication networks it would be unable to do so with their own. Obviously, this supposition had just been disproved.
I'm still not fully convinced that you were wrong, Large. The Distant Cousins had been ambivalent about the course of action they had just attempted. Forcing the Reast Mind to act and letting it know that the Incident Group are aware of its capabilities may increase the risk, both to the team on the ground and to a successful conclusion to this situation.
The Completely Under Control interjected. This does give us some vital information and clarity on the situation, even so. There are only so many ways that a Mind can have hidden itself from us but retained its evident capabilities. This helps in eliminating several courses of action as unnecessary, ineffective or counterproductive.
Agreed. Anyway, we proceed. Completely, any updates on the next recommended step? The More Is More didn't want to leave things as they currently stood, but was aware that each successive step was more likely to incite an aggressive response from their quarry.
No. I would suggest that the Don't Point That Thing At Me gets final say on whether or not to do so, however. For fairly obvious reasons.
I disagree, the DPTTAM shot back, surprising itself and the others. I'm content to follow the lead of the Incident Controller. I am transmitting a revised Mindstate to the That's Going To Leave A Mark, and will act as previously agreed. It had reconfigured its main Effector in preparation, and now sent the same signal that the tiny orbiting sensor had transmitted, blanketing Trourl City and its hinterland with a high-powered blare calibrated to pass undetected through everything except the one small biological mind they were looking for.
Got them! The Distant Cousins was the closest ship with access codes. Packet acknowledgement, confirmed signature. They're in the initial location. The Mind equivalent of a cheer went up. Automated only. No follow-up from Lesk-Torlip, yet. The excitement subsided.
Oh shit. I think we've got a reaction. The Don't Point That Thing At Me distributed a near-real-time feed, delayed by the distance the light had to cross to reach it. This is on approach to the city's main airport. Time of signal reception at the surface is - now. The imagery showed a large passenger aircraft from almost directly above, the GCU's perspective and distance from the planet seeming to show the craft travelling on rather than above the planet's surface. Less than a microsecond after the acknowledgement signal from Lesk-Torlip had been received, the slightly grainy image of the aircraft had suddenly altered, one wing appearing to start shrinking. Left-side lifting surface structural distortion at join with main body. It's twisting upwards.
Time to component failure? This was from the Controlled Desire, which had been listening so far in silence from further out in the system's Oort Cloud.
Seventy-two to seventy-eight microseconds. Do we help?
No. We agreed on this. The More Is More reinforced its response with relevant contextual/emotive symbology for emphasis. We've got a reaction, let's not provoke something worse. Anything else back from the drone?
No. The Distant Cousins was subdued. Are we completely sure this was a reaction? They were all watching the feed from the Don't Point That Thing At Me with a mixture of horror, sorrow and anger.
Let's not try to persuade ourselves otherwise. Those things do crash, but not that often. The probability of coincidence is tiny. We're getting a message here. The next question is this: how far are we willing to provoke our opponent? Do we try again and risk an even stronger response? All ships here send me your opinions in confidence, and I'll make a decision based on the consensus and incorporating my own opinion. The More Is More waited.
One by one, responses arrived from the ships in the vicinity. A few were simple yes/no statements, most contained a brief summary setting out the reasons for the opinion given in each case. Two, from the Completely Under Control and the Defender Of The Faithless, were long, detailed and profoundly in disagreement with one another in their final summation. They had both obviously prepared these lengthy arguments beforehand, either assuming that the current eventuality would be reached or as a fallback position in case it did. Finally, the GSV had received every opinion and spent a few moments integrating them and adding its own thoughts.
We try once more, using the next suggested option. If that results in a similarly or overly aggressive response, we stop. It was relieved that the consensus had not pressed it to go further. It glanced once more at the disintegrating aircraft, wing still attached but from its appearance now at an angle half-way to the vertical and partly separated from the fuselage, shown in the feed still being transmitted by the DPTTAM, and referred to in that ship's stated opinion that they not, even if not fully responsible for what had just happened, provoke further death and destruction without better reason than simply to find out what they could get away with.
The Defender Of The Faithless interjected. I want to register my strong disagreement with this. We should stop now, and adopt a more passive monitoring approach.
Your objection is noted, and sympathised with. I accept full responsibility in any future investigations and judgements for the consequences of what we are about to do.
I don't care about judgements in the future. I care about what happens here and now.
Also noted. However, this does not alter my decision. Do you all accept this? With the exception of the DOTF, they did.
xGSV More Is More
oGCU Don't Point That Thing At Me
I'll do this. You have contributed more than sufficiently and my own Effectors are more sophisticated than yours and may have more chance of success.
Thank you. I would have been willing to give it another try, however. Agreeing to the act and not being willing to carry it out personally would be morally indefensible.
Appreciated. Now, prepare yourself. Using its Effector on almost the lowest possible power setting, the More Is More reached for the drone Lesk-Torlip within the human mind. A tiny segment of the drone's neural structure had been designed for just this purpose, enabling others to communicate directly with it in what should, under normal circumstances, be an inviolable and foolproof approach. Unless your opponent is a Culture Mind able to detect and deflect Effector signals, of course.
-Dn Lesk-Torlip?
-Hello? Who is this?
-The More Is More. We might not have much- the link was cut without warning, its access to the drone's smaller mind slammed closed with no indication of who or what had done so. Its Effector continued to probe ineffectively against a blank, unassailable wall and the More Is More acted almost instinctively, upping the power level, attempting to break through even though it knew that doing so could potentially damage the drone if the barrier dropped without warning.
xMSV Distant Cousins
oGSV More Is More
Stop!
Why? Before it could get a response, the More Is More felt what had happened. A gentle, slowly-building gravity wave washed over it, its signal pattern unmistakeable. Oh, you bastard. It disabled its effector.
Earthquake. The signal from the Distant Cousins overlapping partially with a signal packet from the Don't Point That Thing At Me. It really does love its earthquakes, doesn't it?
They have so many, it's a perfect way of causing damage without getting noticed. This one's coming from below the Gertain Reservoir Dam. Catastrophic damage, flooding imminent. Can we stop now, please? The Distant Cousins sounded desperately upset.
Yes. Any signals from the drone Lesk-Torlip?
Nothing since the response you got.
Large And Close and Light And Full Of Grace, I think you can slow down. The two ships acknowledged and the More Is More felt them beginning to slow, circles widening. It turned its attention back to the planet below, watching the destruction unfold with impotent rage.
#############################################################################
"This might help us." Representative Kohurl was a short, fat man with a shock of unruly white hair. "I know, it's dreadful to say something like that, never mind think it. But it's true." He looked around the large table at them all. Most nodded, many with their eyes staying fastened on the continuing coverage shown on the large, curved screen bolted to the wall. Rueger Calspine nodded as well, trying to make it obvious from his expression that his agreement was reluctant and tainted with discomfort at having to give it at all.
"Because of the Party's history in relation to the reservoir?"
"Yes." Neirick, another Representative and a man that Calspine had known for over twenty years and who had been one of the first to suggest that Rueger entered politics, and then also the first to begin visibly agitating for his elevation to Party Secretary, leaned over from the far side of the table. "I spent four years fighting that development. There are probably dozens of photographs of me still hanging in the houses flooded when they dammed the Gertain, standing side by side with the locals."
"I remember. There are people in this city that will never stop voting for us, because of your efforts there."
"And others that will never vote for us, for the same reason." That got everyone's attention away from the screen, with its running commentary and grainy footage of the destruction being wrought by the dam's collapse. Miku Terruer was leaning back, eyes half-closed and arms folded, in the same position he had been in for most of the afternoon. From where he was seated further along on the same side of the table, Calspine had found it difficult to see the man's expression for the majority of the discussion, which had centred around the transition of power to himself.
"They might now, Miku." Jolem Vaz, the power behind the throne, smiled lop-sidedly. His boyish features were as difficult to read as ever. "Hard to continue fighting when you've been proved wrong."
Terruer smiled back, almost laughed. "Are we still talking about the same subject?" A couple of people did laugh at that, nervously. Terruer's chair landed on all four legs. "Mr Secretary. What do you think our response to this should be?" The room fell silent, apart from the sounds of the news channel, now ignored. People glanced at one another, then at him.
"To help." Calspine didn't hesitate. "Certainly not to appear to be trying to benefit from this." He looked around. Fuck Terruer, he can have this if he wants, but not yet. It's mine now, I might as well make use of it. "People will remember. The press will be looking into the dam's history, and it was only fifteen years ago that it was built. It won't take them long to realise who wanted this, and who fought against it."
"But if they don't?"
"They will. I'll stake my reputation on it." He stared at Terruer as he said this, then turned to Jolem Vaz. "We need to provide some sort of response, however. The area round the Gertain isn't exactly full of ruling party supporters, so they may not rush to release the emergency funds. We should push for a fast response from the Government, as loudly as possible."
"Agreed." Vaz was actually writing this down, Calspine saw. The others in the room were silent, watching him. "What else?"
"Get Somovule in front of the cameras, looking and acting presidential. Sombre, time for reflection, all that."
"What do we do when the Unity claim responsibility?" Neirick's question made them pause.
"You think they will?" Vaz looked sceptical.
"Absolutely." Neirick saw Calspine and a few of the others nodding. "They've been taking credit for all sorts of things, even when it was perfectly obvious that it couldn't have been them. 'God did it for us' and all that other insanity they come up with." He glanced at Calspine as he said this, and something in the other man's face made Calspine uneasy.
"Yes." Jolem Vaz was also looking at him, as though expecting or wanting him to speak.
"What? Did I miss something?" They know. They wouldn't try to use this, surely.
He was wrong. They would, and they did. Someone in his household, probably someone in the newly-arrived staff that had been coming in over the last few days, must have told them. It didn't matter, probably the Unity would make their threat public soon anyway. The fact that they had done it the way they had was unusual, unsettling in itself. A letter, addressed directly to him and containing photographs of himself, his close family. Threats, specific and hateful, declaring him an enemy of God.
All because of that damn interview, two weeks ago. The interviewer had asked him what he thought of the Unity, and whether his Party would be less effective against people like them because of a professedly and avowedly more tolerant attitude to others; his response, that the interviewer had obviously misunderstood what he and the Party were after, was possibly more heated than he had meant it to be and had been more widely reported than it probably would have been. He had also used language to describe the Unity and what he would like to see done to them that had been variously described as 'indicative of true feeling' and 'unlike a real politician', both of which he was quietly proud of.
Hence the threat, and its apparent opportunity to boost him and the Party even further, portraying themselves as a stronger force for good than their usual depiction as weak, ineffective and unrealistically optimistic about human nature. However, if they were in any doubt about Rueger Calspine's own personality before the meeting, he left them in no doubt that none of these traits could be applied to him. He slapped them down hard and angrily, almost losing his temper entirely and making some of them obviously worried that they had backed the wrong man. The one person who actually seemed to think more highly of him after his tirade was Miku Terruer.
#############################################################################
"So the mind is the brain, or is caused by brain activity. It can't be anywhere else." A hesitant shake of the head. "What about processing substrates?"
"Still just a mind in another form, or a non-conscious representation of the information required to make a conscious mind."
"Okay. I'll accept that, although there are a number of offshoot arguments that would take time to settle." The avatar shrugged, walking beside her. Today they were on an exploration of the engines, a relatively functional-looking part of the ship that while negotiable through wide, airy corridors and brightly lit, even somewhat decorated if you considered the symbols spaced along the walls, somehow felt oppressive, cramped, pressurised.
Junicia was closely aware of the huge masses both real and exotic that surrounded them and even though she knew she couldn't begin to comprehend the levels of power being stored, gathered, moved and unleashed around her, she knew that here, in the depths of the ship where people normally did not go, was where the capabilities of a Culture vessel were most truly represented. The corridor was long, straight and had offshoots every few hundred metres. They walked quickly, something she had become used to. The avatar never seemed to want to dawdle.
She wondered if there was some significance to where they were today. They still occasionally met for picnics or walks on the uppermost parkland level of the ship; however, the avatar had suggested that they begin meeting in and exploring some of its less-travelled sections and areas. It hadn't given an explanation for this change and she had not asked, preferring to try to work it out for herself while still fully aware that working out the rationale for a Mind's behaviour in anything was a recipe for headaches, sleepless nights and sudden urges to get very, very drunk.
She had reached the tentative conclusion that it was trying to get her to understand the ship's physical design and architecture (if so coarse a term could be used for something as fabulously complex and sophisticated as a General Systems Vehicle) in order to gain better insight into how it operated at a functional level. Perhaps it was another angle towards getting her to understand it better, empathise with it even. The word forgive hovered close to the front of her mind at times when she was thinking these thoughts, although there had been no indication yet of why it might need absolution.
"This leads to another question."
"It does?" She peered along the corridor, looking for something different, and then almost immediately felt stupid. "Oh. Right. I see. Yes, go on."
The avatar laughted, gently. "The question of whether an 'artificial intelligence'-" here it waggled both its fingers, held at shoulder height, and its eyebrows, comically "-can be fake and have no real consciousness but think that it is actually conscious from its own perspective."
"Hah. You're not going to catch me out that easily. If it has no real consciousness then it isn't thinking. It's all just an algorithm, or a simulation."
"True. But can this algorithm, this simulation, make a case that it is real, that it has a soul?"
"Yes, it can make that case. It can make a devastatingly convincing one, and can implore in a very emotional manner that it is alive, aware, conscious. Whatever." Junicia paused for thought and breath, preparing her next words carefully. "However. The internal workings of the simulation will only ever be responding to their own data, their programmed routines. It's just a more sophisticated version of a game-playing machine. Just because it makes the right moves doesn't mean it understands the game. It's just following instructions."
They walked in silence for a few moments, she looking at the avatar while it walked stiffly erect, hands clasped behind its back, apparently watching its feet as they moved. "Yes. Agreed. Moving on. What if it looks and behaves like something intelligent and cannot be internally examined?"
"Then you have to assume that it is alive and that it has the rights of an person. A living person." She slowed, nearly stopped, and the avatar turned back to look at her, halting briefly then moving on more slowly as she caught up with it. "But."
"But?" Neither its face or voice were amused, but she detected something in its tone that made her smile briefly.
"If it can't be internally examined then you have to doubt it, or even mistrust it. What is it hiding? Why?"
"You mean, what if it won't let you read its mind?" Now the avatar was smiling. "I wouldn't let you read me."
"Doesn't matter. I know how you're built. I don't have to see the specifics in operation." She smiled at it. "True AI requires interaction between the small components of the brain, not rule sets that capture complexity without having sufficient flexibility. Those abstractions are not conscious."
"What if you do have enough complexity in the rule sets? To capture what goes on in a Mind?"
"Still not enough. You can't get the detail in the rules. Any weak AI contains massive abstractions the moment you try to incorporate any 'facts' or concepts beyond the tiniest and most basic of 'this is connected to that'."
"That's all you need?"
"When the 'this' and 'that' are duplicated about a hundred billion times within a normal pan-human brain and thousands of times as many within a Mind, yes. And it doesn't matter what they're made of. The individuality of these cells is nothing to do with chemical fingerprints or biological structuring, but in how they connect to their neighbours and build up patterns."
"The patterns are important, certainly. But are they enough by themselves?"
"It's all about the scale. There might be a billion identical examples of one tiny pattern of a few cells, a million examples of a more complex pattern, and thousands of examples of complex patterns that are distributed and interlinked with the thousands of examples of thousands of other types of complex patterns that exist in a single brain."
"Nicely put. Been rehearsing that?"
"No. Well, a bit. More memorising it."
"I thought I had heard it somewhere before." They laughed.
69
