The Player of Games

Factor had picked up from the GSV. He and Flere-Imsaho had boarded the little craft and said their au revoirs to the old warship, which was to stand off the Empire, waiting to be recalled. The hangar blister had rotated and the module, escorted by a couple of frigates, had fallen towards the planet while the Limiting Factor made a show of moving very slowly and hesitantly away from the gravity well with the two battlecruisers.

'What's what?' Flere-Imsaho said, floating beside him, disguise discarded and lying on the floor.

'That,' Gurgeh said, pointing at the screen, which displayed the view looking straight down. The module was flying overland towards Groasnachek, Ea's capital city; the Empire didn't like vessels entering the atmosphere directly above its cities, so they'd come in over the ocean.

'Oh,' Flere-Imsaho said. 'That. That's the Labyrinth Prison.'

'A prison?' Gurgeh said. The complex of walls and long, geometrically contorted buildings slid away beneath them as the outskirts of the sprawling capital invaded the screen.

'Yes. The idea is that people who've broken laws are put into the labyrinth, the precise place being determined by the nature of the offence. As well as being a physical maze, it is constructed to be what one might call a moral and behaviouristic labyrinth as well (its external appearance offers no clues to the internal lay-out, by the way; that's just for show); the prisoner must make correct responses, act in certain approved ways, or he will get no further, and may even be put further back. In theory a perfectly good person can walk free of the labyrinth in a matter of days, while a totally bad person will never get out. To prevent overcrowding, there's a time-limit which, if exceeded, results in the prisoner being transferred for life to a penal colony.'

The prison had disappeared from beneath them by the time the drone finished; the city swamped the screen instead, its swirling patterns of streets, buildings and domes like another sort of maze.

'Sounds ingenious,' Gurgeh said. 'Does it work?'

'So they'd have us believe. In fact it's used as an excuse for not giving people a proper trial, and anyway the rich just bribe their way out. So yes, as far as the rulers are concerned, it works.'

The module and the two frigates touched down at a huge shuttleport on the banks of a broad, muddy, much bridged river, still some distance from the centre of the city but surrounded by medium-rise buildings and low geodesic domes. Gurgeh walked out of the craft with Flere-Imsaho — in its fake antique guise, humming loudly and crackling with static — at his side; he found himself standing on a huge square of synthetic grass which had been unrolled up to the rear of the module. Standing on the grass were perhaps forty or fifty Azadians in various styles of uniform and clothing. Gurgeh, who'd been trying hard to work out how to recognise the various sexes, reckoned they were mostly of the intermediate or apex sex, with only a smattering of males and females; beyond them stood several lines of identically uniformed males, carrying weapons. Behind them, another group played rather strident and brash-sounding music.

'The guys with the guns are just the honour guard,' Flere-Imsaho said through its disguise. 'Don't be alarmed.'

'I'm not,' Gurgeh said. He knew this was how things were done in the Empire; formally, with official welcoming parties composed of imperial bureaucrats, security guards, officials from the games organisations, associated wives and concubines, and people representing news-agencies. One of the apices strode forward towards him. 'This one is addressed as «sir» in Eachic,' Flere-Imsaho whispered. 'What?' Gurgeh said. He could hardly hear the machine's voice over the humming noise it was making. It was buzzing and crackling loud enough to all but drown the sound of the ceremonial band, and the static the drone was producing made Gurgeh's hair stick out on one side.

'I said, he's called sir, in Eachic,' Flere-Imsaho hissed over the hum. 'Don't touch him, but when he holds up one hand, you hold up two and say your bit. Remember; don't touch him.'

The apex stopped just in front of Gurgeh, held up one hand and said, 'Welcome to Groasnachek, Ea, in the Empire of Azad, Murat Gurgee.'

Gurgeh controlled a grimace, held up both hands (to show they were empty of weapons, the old books explained) and said, 'I am honoured to set foot upon the holy ground of Ea,' in careful Eachic. ('Great start,' muttered the drone.)

The rest of the welcoming passed in something of a daze. Gurgeh's head swam; he sweated under the heat of the bright binary overhead while he was outside (he was expected to inspect the honour guard, he knew, though quite what he was supposed to be looking for had never been explained), and the alien smells of the shuttleport buildings once they passed inside to the reception made him feel more strongly than he'd expected that he really was somewhere quite foreign. He was introduced to lots of people, again mostly apices, and sensed they were delighted to be addressed in what was apparently quite passable Eachic. Flere-Imsaho told him to do and say certain things, and he heard himself mouth the correct words and felt himself perform the acceptable gestures, but his overall impression was of chaotic movement and noisy, unlistening people — rather smelly people, too, though he was sure they thought the same of him. He also had an odd feeling that they were laughing at him, somewhere behind their faces.

Apart from the obvious physical differences, the Azadians all seemed very compact and hard and determined compared to Culture people; more energetic and even — if he was going to be critical — neurotic. The apices were, anyway. From the little he saw of the males, they seemed somehow duller, less fraught and more stolid as well as being physically bulkier, while the females appeared to be quieter — somehow deeper — and more delicate- looking.

He wondered how he looked to them. He was aware he stared a little, at the oddly alien architecture and confusing interiors, as well as at the people… but on the other hand he found a lot of people — mostly apices, again — staring at him. On a couple of occasions Flere-Imsaho had to repeat what it said to him, before he realised it was talking to him. Its monotonous hum and crackling static, never far away from him that afternoon, seemed only to add to the air of dazed, dreamlike unreality.

They served food and drink in his honour; Culture and Azadian biology was close enough for a few foods and several drinks to be mutually digestible, including alcohol. He drank all they gave him, but bypassed it. They sat in a long, low shuttleport building, simply styled outside but ostentatiously furnished inside, around a long table loaded with food and drink. Uniformed males served them; he remembered not to speak to them. He found that most of the people he spoke to either talked too fast or painstakingly slowly, but struggled through several conversations nevertheless. Many people asked why he had come alone, and after several misunderstandings he stopped trying to explain he was accompanied by the drone and simply said he liked travelling by himself.

Some asked him how good he was at Azad. He replied truthfully he had no idea; the ship had never told him. He said he hoped he would be able to play well enough not to make his hosts regret they had invited him to take part. A few seemed impressed by this, but, Gurgeh thought, only in the way that adults are impressed by a respectful child.

One apex, sitting on his right and dressed in a tight, uncomfortable-looking uniform similar to those worn by the three officers who'd boarded the Limiting Factor, kept asking him about his journey, and the ship he'd made it on. Gurgeh stuck to the agreed story. The apex continually refilled Gurgeh's ornate crystal goblet with wine; Gurgeh was obliged to drink on each occasion a toast was proposed. Bypassing the liquor to avoid getting drunk meant he had to go to the toilet rather often (for a drink of water, as much as to urinate). He knew this was a subject of some delicacy with the Azadians, but he seemed to be using the correct form of words each time; nobody looked shocked, and Flere-Imsaho seemed calm.

Eventually, the apex on Gurgeh's left, whose name was Lo Pequil Monenine senior, and who was a liaison official with the Alien Affairs Bureau, asked Gurgeh if he was ready to leave for his hotel. Gurgeh said he thought that he was supposed to be staying on board the module. Pequil began to talk rather fast, and seemed surprised when Flere-Imsaho cut in, talking equally quickly. The resulting conversation went a little too rapidly for Gurgeh to follow perfectly, but the drone eventually explained that a compromise had been reached; Gurgeh would stay in the module, but the module would be parked on the roof of the hotel. Guards and security would be provided for his protection, and the catering services of the hotel, which was one of the very best, would be at his disposal.

Gurgeh thought this all sounded reasonable. He invited Pequil to come along in the module to the hotel, and the apex accepted gladly.

'Before you ask our friend what we're passing over now,' Flere-Imsaho said, hovering and buzzing at Gurgeh's