Use of Weapons

they've seen a few planes and tanks laser-blasted from space, it's expected the fight will go out of the army.'

Sma stopped pacing, came to stand in front of him, on the far side of the little table. 'It all happens at dawn tomorrow. It should be fairly bloodless, really, Zakalwe. You might as well leave now; it would be best.' He heard her exhale. 'You've done… brilliantly, Cheradenine. It's worked; you did it; brought Beychae out, got him… motivated or whatever. We're grateful. We're very grateful, and it's not easy…'

He raised one hand to stop her. He heard her sigh. He looked up from the small table, up to her face. 'I can't leave right away. There are a few things I have to do. I'd rather you left now and then came back. Pick me up tomorrow; at dawn.' He shook his head. 'I won't desert them until then.'

Sma opened her mouth, then closed it, glanced at the drone. 'All right; we'll be back tomorrow. Zakalwe, I —»

'It's all right, Diziet,' he interrupted calmly, and slowly stood up. He looked into her eyes; she had to look away. 'It'll be as you say. Good-bye.' He didn't hold out his hand.

Sma walked to the door; the drone followed her.

The woman looked back. He nodded once; she hesitated, seemed to think the better of saying anything, and went out.

The drone stopped there too. 'Zakalwe,' it said. 'I just want to add —»

'Out!' he screamed, and in one movement turned, swooped, caught the small table between the legs and threw it with all his might at the floating machine. The table bounced off an invisible field and clattered to the floor; the drone swept out and the door closed.

He stood staring at it for some time.

II

He was younger then. The memories were still fresh. He discussed them with the frozen, seemingly sleeping people sometimes, on his wanderings through the cold, dark ship, and wondered, in its silence, if he really was mad.

The experience of being frozen and of then being woken up had done nothing to dull his memories; they remained keen and bright. He had rather hoped that the claims they made for freezing were over-optimistic, and the brain did indeed lose at least some of its information; he'd secretly desired that attrition, but been disappointed. The process of warming and revival was actually rather less traumatic and confusing than coming round after being knocked unconscious, something that had happened to him a few times in his life. Revival was smoother, took longer, and was really quite pleasant; in truth quite like waking up after a good night's sleep.

They left him alone for a couple of hours after they'd run the medical checks and pronounced him fit and well. He sat, wrapped in a big thick towel, on the bed, and — like somebody probing a diseased tooth with tongue or finger, unable to stop checking that it really does hurt every now and again — he called up his memories, going through the roll-call of those old and recent adversaries he'd hoped he might have lost somewhere in the darkness and the cold of space.

All his past was indeed present, and everything that had been wrong present too, and correct.

The ship was called the Absent Friends; its journey would take it over a century. It was a mercy voyage, in a way; its services donated by its alien owners to help assuage the after-effects of a terrible war. He had not really deserved his place, and had used false papers and a false name to secure his escape. He'd volunteered to be woken up near the middle of the journey to provide part of the human crew because he thought it would be a shame to travel in space and never really know it, never appreciate it, never look out into that void. Those who did not choose to do crew duty would be drugged on planet, taken into space unconscious, frozen out there, and then wake up on another planet.

This seemed undignified, to him. To be treated so was to become cargo.

The two other people on duty when he was woken were Ky and Erens. Erens had been supposed to return to the ranks of the frozen people five years earlier, after a few months of duty on the ship, but had decided to stay awake until they arrived at their destination. Ky had been revived three years later and should also have gone back to sleep, to be replaced after a few months by the next person on the crew rota, but by then Erens and Ky had started to argue, and neither wanted to be the first to return to the stasis of the freeze; there had been stalemate for two and a half years while the great slow ship moved, quiet and cold, past the distant pinprick lights that were the stars. Finally they'd woken him up, at last, because he was next on the rota and they wanted somebody else to talk to. As a rule, however, he just sat in the crew section and listened to the two of them argue.

'There's still fifty years to go,' Ky reminded Erens.

Eren waved a bottle. 'I can wait. It isn't forever.'

Ky nodded at the bottle. 'You'll kill yourself with that stuff, and all the other junk you take. You'll never make it. You'll never see real sunlight again, or taste rain. You won't last one year let alone fifty; you should go back to sleep.'

'It isn't sleep.'

'You should go back to it, whatever you want to call it; you should let yourself be frozen again.'

'And it isn't literally frozen… freezing, either.' Erens looked annoyed and puzzled at the same time.

The man they'd woken up wondered how many hundreds of times the two had been through this argument.

'You should go back into your little cold cubicle like you were supposed to, five years ago, and get them to treat you for your addictions when they revive you,' Ky said.

'The ship already treats me,' Erens told Ky, with a kind of slow drunken dignity. 'I am in a state of grace with my enthusiasms; sublimely tensioned grace.' So saying, Erens tipped the bottle back and drained it.

'You'll kill yourself.'

'It's my life.'

'You might kill us all; everybody on the whole ship, sleepers too.'

'The ship looks after itself,' Erens sighed, looking round the Crew Lounge. It was the only dirty place on the ship. Everywhere else, the ship's robots tidied, but Erens had worked out how to delete the Crew Lounge from the craft's memory, and so the place could look good and scruffy. Erens stretched, kicking a couple of small recyclable cups off the table.

'Huh,' Ky said. 'What if you've damaged it with all your messing around?'

'I have not been 'messing around' with it,' Erens said, with a small sneer. 'I have altered a few of the more basic housekeeping programs; it doesn't talk to us anymore, and it lets us keep this place looking lived-in; that's about it. Nothing that's going to make the ship wander into a star or start thinking it's human and what are these intestinal parasites doing in there. But you wouldn't understand. No technical background. Livu, here; he might understand, eh?' Erens stretched out further, sliding down the grubby seat, boots scraping on the filthy surface of the table. 'You understand, don't you, Darac?'

'I don't know,' he admitted (he was used to answering to Darac, or Mr Livu, or just Livu, by now). 'I suppose if you know what you're doing, there's no real harm.' Erens looked pleased. 'On the other hand, a lot of disasters have been caused by people who thought they knew what they were doing.'

'Amen,' Ky said, looking triumphant, and leant aggressively-towards Erens. 'See?'

'As our friend said,' Erens pointed out, reaching for another bottle. 'He doesn't know.'

'You should go back with the sleepers,' Ky said.

'They're not sleeping.'

'You're not supposed to be up right now; there's only supposed to be two people up at any point.'

'You go back then.'

'It isn't my turn. You were up first.'

He left them to argue.

Sometimes he would put a spacesuit on and go through the airlock into the storage sections, which were in vacuum. The storage sections made up most of the ship; over ninety-nine per cent of it. There was a tiny drive unit at one end of the craft, an even tinier living unit at the other, and — in between — the bulging bulk of the ship, packed with the un-dead.