The Player of Games

giggled as he watched the few seconds of action. He replayed it a few more times, in slow motion, clapping his hands, then called for another drink. The frothing bowl came quicker this time, the module's synthesisers having wisely kept the previous coding. Gurgeh sat down again, seeing that Za wasn't thinking of leaving just yet. Gurgeh ordered some snacks; Za snorted in derision when offered food, and crunched the roasted weirdberries that came with his foaming cocktail.

They watched imperial broadcasts while Za slurped slowly at his drink. Outside, one sun went down and the city lights sparkled in the half-light. Flere-Imsaho appeared without its disguise — Za took no notice of it — and announced it was on its way out, making yet another foray into the avian population of the planet.

'Don't think that thing fucks birds, d'you?' Za said after it had disappeared.

'No,' Gurgeh said, drinking his light wine.

Za snorted. 'Hey; you want to come out again some time? That visit to the Hole was a real hoot. I really enjoyed it in a weird son of way. How about it? Except let's go totally wild this time; show these constipated bonebrains what Culture guys are like when they really put their minds to it.'

'I don't think so,' Gurgeh said. 'Not after that last time.'

'You mean you didn't enjoy it?' Za said, astonished.

'Not that much.'

'But we had a great time! We got drunk, we got stoned, we got well one of us got laid, and you nearly did — we had a fight, which we won dammit, and then we ran away… holy shit; what more do you want?'

'Not more, less. Anyway; I have other games to play.'

'You're crazy; that was… a wonderful night out. Wonderful.' He rested his head on the seat-back and breathed deeply.

'Za,' Gurgeh said, sitting forward, chin in hand, elbow on knee, 'why do you drink so much? You don't need to; you've got all the usual glands. Why?'

'Why?' Za said, his head coming upright again; he looked round as though startled to see where he was for a moment. 'Why?' he repeated. He hiccuped. 'You ask me 'Why?'?' he said.

Gurgeh nodded.

Za scratched under one armpit, shook his head and looked apologetic. 'What was the question again?'

'Why do you drink so much?' Gurgeh smiled tolerantly.

'Why not?' Za's arms flapped once. 'I mean, have you never done something just… just because? I mean… It's um… empathy. This is what the locals do, y'know. This is their way out; this is how they escape their place in the glorious imperial machine… and a fucking grand position it is to appreciate its finer points from too… it all makes sense, y'know Gurgeh; I worked it out.' Za nodded wisely, tapped the side of his head very slowly with one limp finger. 'Worked it out,' he repeated. 'Think about it; the Culture's all its…' The same finger made a twirling motion in the air. '… built in glands; hundreds of secretions and thousands of effects, any combination you like and all for free… but the Empire, ah ha!' The finger pointed upwards. 'In the Empire you got to pay; escape is a commodity like anything else. And it's this stuff; drink. Lowers the reaction time, makes the tears come easier…' Za put two swaying fingers to his cheeks. '… makes the fists come easier…' Now his hands were clenched, and he pretended to box; jabbing. '… and…' He shrugged. '… it eventually kills you.' He looked more or less at Gurgeh. 'See?' He spread his arms wide again and then let them fan back limply on the seat. 'Besides,' he said, in a suddenly weary voice. 'I don't have all the usual glands.'

Gurgeh looked up in surprise. 'You don't?'

'Nup. Too dangerous. The Empire would disappear me and do the most thorough PM you ever seen. Want to find out what a Culturnik's like inside, see?' Za closed his eyes. 'Had to have almost everything taken out, and then… when I got here, let the Empire do all sorts of tests and take all sorts of samples… let them find out what they wanted without causing a diplomatic incident, disappearing an ambassador…'

'I see. I'm sorry.' Gurgeh didn't know what else to say. He honestly hadn't realised. 'So all those drugs you were advising me to gland…'

'Guesswork, and memory,' Za said, eyes still shut. 'Just trying to be friendly.'

Gurgeh felt embarrassed, almost ashamed.

Za's head went back and he started to snore.

Then suddenly his eyes opened and he jumped up. 'Well, must be toddling,' he said, making what looked like a supreme effort to pull himself together. He stood swaying in front of Gurgeh. 'D'you think you could call me an air cab?'

Gurgeh did that. A few minutes later, after receiving clearance from Gurgeh via the guards on the roof, the machine arrived and took Shohobohaum Za away, singing.

Gurgeh sat for a little while as the evening wore on and the second sun set, then he finally dictated a letter to Chamlis Amalk-ney, thanking the old drone for the Orbital bracelet, which he still wore. He copied most of the letter to Yay, too, and told them both what had happened to him since he'd arrived. He didn't bother to disguise the game he was playing or the Empire itself, and wondered how much of this truth would actually get through to his friends. Then he studied some problems on the screen and talked over the next day's play with the ship.

He picked up Shohobohaum Za's discarded bowl at one point, discovering there were still a few mouthfuls of drink left inside. He sniffed it, then shook his head, and told a tray to tidy the debris up.

Gurgeh finished Lo Wescekibold Ram off the next day with that the press described as 'contempt'. Pequil was there, looking little the worse for wear save for a sling bandage on his arm. He said he was glad Gurgeh had escaped injury. Gurgeh told him how sorry he was Pequil had been hurt.

They went to and returned from the game-tent in an aircraft; the Imperial Office had decided Gurgeh was at too much risk travelling on the ground.

When he got back to the module again, Gurgeh discovered he was to have no interval between that game and the next; the Games Bureau had couriered a letter to say his next ten game would start the following morning.

'I'd have preferred a break,' Gurgeh confessed to the drone. He was having a float-shower, hanging in the middle of the AG chamber while the water sprayed from various directions and was sucked away through tiny holes all over the semi-spherical interior. Membrane plugs prevented the water from going into his nose, but speaking was still a little spluttery.

'No doubt you would,' Flere-Imsaho said in its squeaky voice. 'But they're trying to wear you out. And of course it means you'll be playing against some of the best players, the ones who've also managed to finish their games quickly.'

'That had occurred to me,' Gurgeh said. He could only just see the drone through the spray and steam. He wondered what would happen if somehow the machine hadn't been made quite perfectly and some water got into it. He turned lazily head over heels in the shifting currents of ai and water.

'You could always appeal to the Bureau. I think it's obvious you're being discriminated against.'

'So do I. So do they. So what?'

'It might do some good to make an appeal.'

'You make it then.'

'Don't be stupid; you know they ignore me.'

Gurgeh started humming to himself, eyes closed.

One of his opponents in the ten game was the same priest he'd beaten in the first one, Lin Goforiev Tounse; he'd won through his second-string games to rejoin the Main Series. Gurgeh looked at the priest when the apex entered the hall of the entertainment complex where they'd be playing, and smiled. It was an Azadian facial gesture he'd found himself practising occasionally, unconsciously, rather like a baby attempts to imitate the expressions on the faces of the adults around it. Suddenly it seemed like the right time to use it. He would never get it quite right, he knew — his face simply wasn't built quite the same as an Azadian's — but he could imitate the signal well enough for it to be unambiguous.

Translated or not, though, Gurgeh knew it was a smile that said, 'Remember me? I've beaten you once and I'm looking forward to doing it again'; a smile of self-satisfaction, of victory, of superiority. The priest tried to smile back with the same signal, but it was unconvincing, and soon turned to a scowl. He looked away.