The Player of Games

uniformed guard with a CREW rifle stood in his way, looking uncertainly up at the platform. Gurgeh went to run past him, ducking as he did so. Still a few metres in front of Gurgeh, the guard started to put one hand out and unhitch the laser from his shoulder. A look of almost comic surprise appeared on his flat face, an instant before one side of his chest burst open and he spun round into Gurgeh's path, knocking him over.

Gurgeh rolled again, clattering over the dead guard. He sat up. Yomonul was ten metres away, running awkwardly towards him, reloading. The guard's rifle was at Gurgeh's feet. He reached out, grabbed it, aimed at Yomonul and fired.

The Star Marshal ducked, but Gurgeh was still allowing for recoil after a morning shooting the projectile rifle. The laser-shot slammed into Yomonul's face; the apex's head blew apart.

Yomonul didn't stop. He didn't even slow down; the running figure, head-cage almost empty, trailing strips of flesh and splintered bone behind it like pennants, neck spouting blood, speeded up; it ran faster towards him, and less awkwardly.

It aimed the rifle straight at Gurgeh's head.

Gurgeh froze, stunned. Too late, he started to sight the CREW gun again, and began struggling to get up. The headless exoskeleton was three metres away; he stared into the silencer's black mouth and he knew he was dead. But the bizarre figure hesitated, empty headshell jerking upwards, and the gun wavered.

Something crashed into Gurgeh — from the back, he realised, surprised, as everything went dark; from the back, not from the front — and then came nothing.

His back hurt. He opened his eyes. A bulky brown drone hummed between him and a white ceiling.

'Gurgeh?' the machine said.

He swallowed, licked his lips. 'What?' he said. He didn't know where he was, or who the drone was. He had only a very vague idea who he was.

'Gurgeh. It's me; Flere-Imsaho. How do you feel?'

Flear Imsah-ho. The name meant something. 'Back hurts a bit,' he said, hoping not to be found out. Gurgi? Gurgey? Must be his name.

'I'm not surprised. A very large troshae hit you in the back.'

'A what?'

'Never mind. Go back to sleep.'

'…. Sleep.'

His eyelids felt very heavy and the drone looked blurred.

His back hurt. He opened his eyes and saw a white ceiling. He looked around for Flere-Imsaho. Dark wooden walls. Window. Flere-Imsaho; there it was. It floated over to him.

'Hello, Gurgeh.'

'Hello.'

'Do you remember who I am?'

'Still asking stupid questions, Flere-Imsaho. Am I going to be all right?'

'You're bruised, you've got a cracked rib and you're mildly concussed. You ought to be able to get up in a day or two.'

'Do I remember you saying a… troshae hit me? Did I dream that?'

'You didn't dream it. I did tell you. That's what happened. How much do you remember?'

'Falling off the stand… platform,' he said slowly, trying to think. He was in bed and his back was sore. It was his own room in the castle and the lights were on so it was probably night. His eyes widened. 'Yomonul kicked me off!' he said suddenly. 'Why?'

'It doesn't matter now. Go back to sleep.'

Gurgeh started to say something else, but he felt tired again as the drone buzzed closer, and he closed his eyes for a second just to rest them.

Gurgeh stood by the window, looking down into the courtyard. The male servant took the tray out, glasses clinking.

'Go on,' he said to the drone.

'The troshae climbed the fence while everybody was watching you and Yomonul. It came up behind you and sprang. It hit you and then bowled over the exoskeleton before it had time to do much about it. Guards shot the troshae as it tried to gore Yomonul, and by the time they dragged it off the exoskeleton it had deactivated.'

Gurgeh shook his head slowly. 'All I remember is being kicked off the stand.' He sat down in a chair by the window. The far edge of the courtyard was golden in the hazy light of late afternoon. 'And where were you while this was happening?'

'Back here, watching the hunt on an imperial broadcast. I'm sorry I left, Jernau Gurgeh, but that appalling apex was kicking me, and the whole obscene spectacle was just too gory and disgusting for words.' Gurgeh waved one hand. 'It doesn't matter. I'm alive.' He put his face in his hands. 'You're sure it was I who shot Yomonul?'

'Oh yes! It's all recorded. Do you want to wa—'

'No.' Gurgeh held up one hand to the drone, eyes still closed. 'No; I don't want to watch.'

'I didn't see that bit live,' Flere-Imsaho said. 'I was on my way back to the hunt as soon as Yomonul fired his first shot and killed the person on the other side of you. But I've watched the recording; yes, you killed him, with the guard's CREW. But of course that just meant whoever had taken control of the exoskeleton didn't have to fight against Yomonul inside it. As soon as Yomonul was dead the thing moved a lot faster and less erratically. He must have been using all his strength to try and stop it.'

Gurgeh stared at the floor. 'You're certain about all this?'

'Absolutely.' The drone drifted over to the wall-screen. 'Look, why not watch it on your—'

'No!' Gurgeh shouted, standing, and then swaying.

He sat down again. 'No,' he said, quieter.

'By the time I got there, whoever was jamming the exoskeleton controls had gone; I got a brief reading on my microwave sensors while I was between here and the hunt, but it switched off before I could get an accurate fix. Some kind of phased-pulse maser. The imperial guards picked up something too; they'd started a search in the forest by the time we took you away. I persuaded them I knew what I was doing and had you brought here. They sent a doctor in to look at you a couple of times, but that's all. Lucky I got there when I did or they might have taken you to the infirmary and started doing all sorts of nasty tests on you…' The drone sounded perplexed. 'That's why I have a feeling this wasn't a straight security-service job. They'd have tried other, less public ways to kill you, and they'd have been all set up to get you into the hospital if it hadn't quite worked… all too disorganised. There's something funny going on, I'm sure.'

Gurgeh put his hands to his back, carefully tracing the extent of the bruising again. 'I wish I could remember everything. I wish I could remember whether I meant to kill Yomonul,' he said. His chest ached. He felt sick.

'As you did, and you're such a bad shot, I'd assume the answer is no.'

Gurgeh looked at the machine. 'Don't you have something else you could be doing, drone?'

'Not really. Oh, by the way; the Emperor wants to see you, when you're feeling well.'

'I'll go now,' Gurgeh said, standing slowly.

'Are you sure? I don't think you should. You don't look well; I'd lie down if I were you. Please sit down. You're not ready. What if he's angry because you killed Yomonul? Oh, I suppose I'd better come the with you…

Nicosar sat in a small throne in front of a great bank of slanting, multi-coloured windows. The imperial apartments were submerged in the deep, polychromatic light; huge wall tapestries sewn with precious metal threads glittered like treasures in an underwater cave. Guards stood impassively around the walls and behind the throne; courtiers and officials shuffled to and fro with papers and flat-screens. An officer of the Imperial Household brought Gurgeh to the throne, leaving Flere-Imsaho at the other end of the room under the watchful eyes of two guards.

'Please sit.' Nicosar motioned Gurgeh to a small stool on the dais in front of him. Gurgeh sat down gratefully. 'Jernau Gurgeh,' the Emperor said, his voice quiet and controlled, almost flat. 'We offer you our sincere apologies for what happened yesterday. We are glad to see you have made such a rapid recovery, though we understand you are