Excession

He tried opening one eye. It didn't seem too keen on cooperating. Try the other one. No, that one didn't want to face the world either. Very dark. Like being wrapped up inside a big dark cloak or some-

He jerked; both eyes tore open, making both smart and water.

He was looking at some sort of big screen, in-holo'd. Space; stars. He looked down, finding it difficult to move his head. He was held inside a large, very comfortable but very secure chair; it was made of some sort of soft hide, it was half reclined and it smelled very pleasant, but it had big padded hoops that had clamped themselves over his forearms and his lower legs. A similar hide-covered bar looped over his lower abdomen. He tried moving his head again. It was held inside some sort of open-face helmet which felt like it was attached to the headrest of the chair.

He looked to one side. Hide-covered wall; polished wood. A panel or screen showing what looked like an abstract painting. It was an abstract painting; a famous one. He recognised it. Ceiling black, light studded. In front just the screen. Floor carpeted. Looked much like the inside of a standard Culture module so far. Very quiet. Not that that meant anything. He looked to his right.

There were two more seats like his across the width of the cabin — it was probably a cabin and this was almost certainly a nine or twelve person module; he couldn't see behind to tell. The seat in the middle, the one nearer him, was occupied by a bulky, rather antique-looking drone, its flat-topped bulk resting on the cushion of the seat. People always said drones looked a bit like suitcases but this one reminded Genar-Hofoen of an old-fashioned sledge. Somehow, it gave the impression that it was staring at the screen. Its aura field was flickering as though it was undergoing rapid mood-changes; mostly it displayed a mixture of grey, brown and white.

Frustration, displeasure and anger. Not an encouraging combination.

The seat on the far side of the cabin held a beautiful young woman who looked just a little like Dajeil Gelian. Her nose was smaller, her eyes were the wrong colour, her hair was quite different. It was hard to tell whether her figure bore any resemblance to the other woman because she was inside what looked like a jewelled space suit; a standard-ish Culture hard suit plated in platinum or silver and liberally plastered in gems that certainly glittered and flashed in the overhead lights as though they were things like rubies, emeralds, diamonds and so on. The suit's helmet, equally encrusted, rested on the arm of her seat. She wasn't shackled into place in the seat, he noticed.

The girl bore on her face a frown so deep and severe he imagined it would have made almost anybody else look quite supremely ugly. On her it looked rather fetching. Probably not the desired effect at all. He decided to risk a smile; the open-faced helmet he was wearing ought to let her see it.

'Umm, hello,' he said.

The old drone rose and flicked round as if glancing at him. It thumped back into the seat cushion, its aura fields off. 'It's hopeless,' it announced, as though it hadn't heard what the man had said. 'We're locked out. Nowhere to go.'

The girl in the far seat narrowed her fiercely blue eyes and glared at Genar-Hofoen. When she spoke, her voice was like an ice stiletto. 'This is all your fault, you ghastly piece of shit,' she said.

Genar-Hofoen sighed. He was losing consciousness once more but he didn't care. He had absolutely no idea who this creature was, but he liked her already.

It went dark again.

IV

[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28.882.4656]

xLSV Serious Callers Only

oEccentric Shoot Them Later

It's war! Those insane fucks have declared war! They're mad!

oo

[stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @4.28.882.4861]

xEccentric Shoot Them Later

oLSV Serious Callers Only

I was about to call. I just got the message from the ship I requested attend Pittance. This looks bad.

oo

Bad? It's a fucking catastrophe!

oo

Did your girl get her man?

oo

Oh, she got him all right, but then a few hours later the Affront High Command announced the birth of a bouncing baby war. The ship Phage sent to Tier was standing a day's module travel away; it decided it had better things to do than hang around on a mission it had never been very happy with even from the beginning. I think the declaration of war came almost as a relief to it. It promptly announced its position to the Steely Glint and was immediately asked to ship out at maximum speed on some desperate defence mission. Bastard wouldn't even tell me where. Took me real milliseconds to argue it out of confessing all to the Steely Glint and telling it exactly why it was anywhere near Tier in the first place. I was able to persuade it Phage's honour rested on it keeping quiet; I don't think it'll squeal. I let it know I give serious grudge.

oo

But it was Demilled. Hasn't it just gone back to Phage for munitioning?

oo

Ha! Demilitarised my backup. Fucker left Phage fully tooled. Phage's own idea, sneaky scumbag. Always was over-protective. What comes of being that geriatric I suppose. Anyway, the Frank Exchange Of Views is cannoned to the gunwales and itching for a brawl, apparently. Whatever; it has gone. Which leaves our lass and the captive Genar-Hofoen floating in a module nearly a day out of Tier with nowhere to go. Tier is requesting — make that insisting — all Culture and Affront craft and personnel leave it for the duration of the hostilities and nobody's being allowed in. I've tried to find somebody else within range to pick them up but it's hopeless.

A Tier deep-scan inventory has already identagged their module. The Meatfucker is skimming in a day away and the module can make, oh, all of two hundred lights… Guess what happens next. We've failed.

oo

So it would appear. Was this the aim and is this now the result of the conspiracy? War with the Affront?

oo

I believe so. The Excession is still the more important matter, but its appearance and the possibilities it may open up have been used by the conspiracy to tempt the Affront into initiating hostilities. Pittance is worse, though.

That Pittance has fallen implies entrapment. It points to treachery. The Killing Time believes there was another Culture or ex-Culture ship there; not one of the stored vessels but another craft, something no less old than the stored vessels, but wiser and more experienced; something that's been around as long as they, but awake all that time.

It believes that this ship was taking the part of the Pittance Mind when it communicated with it on its approach. I suspect it will prove to be a warship which apparently went Eccentric or Ulterior at some point in the last five hundred years and was — supposedly, not actually — demilitarised by one of the conspirators. I have a list of suspects.

The Killing Time suggests that this ship tricked its way beneath the Pittance Mind's guard and either destroyed it or took it over. The store was then turned over to the Affront. They now have a ready-made instant battle fleet of Culture warcraft tech generations of development beyond their own ships and just nine days' journey from the Excession. Nothing we can put in place in the time available can stop them.