when he really stood in the viewing gallery of Masaq’ Orbital Hub—seemed to pass in one of the Estodien’s ears and out the other. Quilan fought the urge to laugh, and concentrated on listening intently to what the older male was saying.
“The Mind that is now that of Masaq’ Hub was once embodied within a warship which played a major part in the Idiran War. It had to destroy three Culture Orbitals during the same battle to prevent them falling into enemy hands. It will commemorate the battle, and the two stellar explosions in particular, when the light of first one and then the other passes through the system Masaq’ lies within.
“You must gain access to the Hub and make the Displacement before the second nova. Do you understand, Major Quilan?”
“I do, Estodien.”
“The destruction of the Hub will be timed to coincide with the real-space light from the second nova arriving at Masaq’. It will therefore appear that the Hub Mind destroyed itself in a fit of contrition due to its guilty conscience over the actions it was responsible for during the Idiran War. The death of the Hub Mind and the humans will look like a tragedy, not an outrage. The souls of those Chelgrians held in limbo by the dictates of honour and piety will be released into heaven. The Culture will suffer a blow that will affect every Hub, every Mind, every human. We will have our numerical revenge and no more, but we will have that extra satisfaction that costs no more lives, only the additional discomfiture of our enemies, the people who, in effect, carried out an unprovoked surprise attack on us. Do you see, Quilan?”
“I see, Estodien.”
“Watch, Major Quilan.”
“I’m watching, Estodien.”
They had quit the orbiting space station. He and Visquile were in the two-person runabout. The two alien drones were in a slightly larger cone-shaped black-body craft alongside.
One of the ancient space station’s pressurised containment vessels had suffered a carefully contrived blowout which looked exactly like a chance catastrophe due to long-term neglect. It started to fall away on an altered orbit, its new heading taking it quickly towards the vast outpouring of energies erupting from the airsphere-facing side of the sun-moon.
They watched for a while. The station curved closer and closer to the edge of the invisible light column. The little runabout’s head-up display printed a line across the canopy for each of them, showing where that edge was. Just before the station encountered the column’s perimeter, Visquile said, “That last warhead was not a dummy, Major. It was the real thing. The other end of the wormhole is located possibly inside the sun-moon itself, or possibly inside something very like it, a long way away. The energies involved will be very similar to what will happen to Masaq’ Hub. That is why we are here rather than anywhere else.”
The station never quite hit the edge of the light column. An instant before it would have, its slowly spinning, erratically configured shape was replaced with a shockingly, blindingly bright blast of light which caused the runabout’s canopy to black out over half its area. Quilan’s eyes closed instinctively. The after-image burned behind his eyelids, yellow and orange. He heard Visquile grunt. Around them, the small runabout hummed and clicked and whined.
When he opened his eyes only the after-image was still there, glowing orange against the anonymous black of space and jumping ahead of his gaze every time he shifted it about, trying, in vain, to see what might be left of the stricken, tumbling space station.
~ There.
~
“There,” Tersono said, placing a ring of red light onto the screen, over a group of lakes in one continent. “That is where the Stullien Bowl is. The venue for tomorrow’s concert.” The drone turned to the avatar. “Is everything ready for the concert, Hub?”
The avatar shrugged. “Everything except the composer.”
“Oh! I’m sure he is just teasing us,” Tersono said quickly. Its aura field positively shone with ruby light. “Of course Cr Ziller will be there. How could he not be? He’ll be there. I’m quite certain.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Kabe rumbled.
“No, he will! I’m quite positive.”
Kabe turned to the Chelgrian. “You will be taking up your invitation, won’t you, Major Quilan?… Major?”
“What? Oh. Yes. Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Of course.”
“Well,” Kabe said, nodding massively, “they’ll find somebody else to conduct, I dare say.”
The major seemed distracted, Kabe thought. Then he seemed to pull himself together. “Well, no,” he said, looking to each of them in turn. “If my presence is really going to prevent Mahrai Ziller from attending his own first night then of course I’ll stay away.”
“Oh no!” Tersono said, aura flushing briefly blue. “There’s no need for that. No, not at all; I’m sure that Cr Ziller has every intention of being there. He may leave it until the last moment before he sets off, but set off he will, I’m quite positive. Please, Major Quilan, you must be there for the concert. Ziller’s first symphony in eleven years, the first ever premiere outside Chel, you, coming all this way, you two the only Chelgrians for millennia… You
Quilan looked steadily at the drone for a moment. “I think Mahrai Ziller’s presence at the concert is of more importance than mine. To go knowing that I would be keeping him away would be a selfish, impolite and even dishonourable act, don’t you think? But please, let’s talk no more of it.”
He left the airsphere the next day. Visquile saw him off from the little landing stage behind the giant hollowed-out husk which had provided their quarters.
Quilan thought the older male seemed distracted. “Is everything all right, Estodien?” he asked.
Visquile looked at him. “No,” he said, after what looked like a little thought. “No, we had an intelligence update this morning and our wizards of counter-espionage have come up with two pieces of worrying news rather than the more common single bombshell; it appears that not only do we have a spy amongst our number, but also there may be a Culture citizen here somewhere in the airsphere.” The Estodien rubbed the top of his silver stave, frowning at his distorted reflection there. “One might have hoped they could have told us these things earlier, but I suppose later is better than never.” Visquile smiled. “Don’t look so worried, Major, I’m sure everything is still under control. Or soon will be.”
The airship touched down. Eweirl stepped out. The white-furred male smiled broadly and bowed minutely when he saw Quilan. He bowed more deeply when he faced the Estodien, who patted him on the shoulder. “You see, Quilan? Eweirl is here to take care of things. Go back, Major. Prepare for your mission. You will have your co- pilot before too long. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Estodien.” Quilan glanced at the grinning Eweirl, then bowed to the older male. “I hope everything goes well here.”
Visquile let his hand rest on Eweirl’s shoulder. “I’m sure it will. Goodbye, Major. It’s been a pleasure. Again, good luck, and do your duty. I’m sure you will make us all proud.”
Quilan stepped aboard the little airship. He looked out through one of the gauzy windows as the craft lifted away from the platform. Visquile and Eweirl were already deep in conversation.
The rest of the journey was a mirror-image of the route he had taken on the way out except that when he got to Chel he was taken from Equator Launch City in a sealed shuttle straight to Ubrent, and then by car, at night, directly to the gates of the monastery at Cadracet.
He stood on the ancient path. The night air smelled fragrant with sigh tree resin, and seemed thin like water after the soup-thick atmosphere of the airsphere.
He had returned only to be called away. As far as the official records were concerned, he had never left, never been taken away by the strange lady in her dark cloak all those months ago, never descended with her to the road that led back to the world and was spotted with fresh blood.
Tomorrow he would be summoned to Chelise itself, to be asked to undertake a mission to the Culture world called Masaq’, to attempt to persuade the renegade and dissident Mahrai Ziller, composer, to return to his home-
