Cossont swallowed once more. Her throat was still tingling. She could remember the breath whistling through her, being torn out of her lungs, like throwing up air.
“I need to get to… a place,” she said.
Berdle assumed a studiedly neutral expression. “You may need to be a trifle more specific.”
“I know, I know, but will you take me there, if I tell you where I need to go?”
The avatar smiled tolerantly. “You mean you want me to commit myself to taking you somewhere—”
“No, no,” Cossont said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “That’s not going to — I can see… you’re a… I’m just — I’m sorry, I’m not…”
While the human was screwing up her eyes and wittering, a signal arrived.
?
xMSV
oUe
Tripped a pop-flag on this one, com: specs on your guests included the live bio’s name (rLC Vyr Cossont). Data from one interested party assertively idents a certain individual: C. cit. (
You were right; contents/passengers you rescued from craft/Eshri surface not random.
Ms Cossont may be our best lead.
Sound out. Stick with.
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The avatar smiled wearily but warmly. “Let’s suppose, for the sake of brevity if nothing else,” it said, “that our interests lie parallel. Why don’t you tell me where you want to go?”
Cossont had a think about this, and couldn’t see a way round it.
“Centralised Dataversities,” she said. “Ospin.”
The avatar made every show of thinking about this save actually stroking its chin. “Hmm,” it said at last. “Do-able. But the other ships I’m talking to will want to know why I’m going there; they’ll probably have their own good reasons for sending me somewhere else. I need to give them something if I’m to go charging off on the whim of a shipwrecked human I just picked up.”
“I’m looking for something,” Cossont said.
Pyan stuck one corner up, into Cossont’s face. Two circles like extemporised eyes popped into existence on its folded fabric. “Are you? What?” it asked.
Cossont put one hand over the familiar’s impromptu face and pushed it back down. “Something I gave to one of the orders there,” she told Berdle, “for safe keeping.”
The avatar looked interested but still sceptical.
“Something to do with one of your own people,” Cossont told it.
“One of our people?”
“A Culture person.” She held all four hands up. This had proved to be a useful gesture when used in front of humans — stopped them in their tracks, normally — though she had no idea how it would work on a machine. “Can’t say more for now.”
The avatar’s eyes narrowed. “Okay,” it said. “So, to be clear: you’re happy that we head there directly, I make no mention of picking you up to anybody in your own regiment, and I can leave Ar Parinherm deactivated until we get there?”
Cossont nodded. “That all sounds fine to me.”
?
oUe
xMSV
So there we are.
?
Indeed. Ospin. Home of the Centralised Dataversities and the conglomerate of associated hangers-on. Something QiRia gave her? Too precious or too dangerous?
?
Or something she made, perhaps, or recorded, which she’d thought to leave to posterity.
?
If it’s a Culture artefact it might have some processing or ident tech embedded. Useful to have that pinned.
?
Point.
?
One way to find out. Try and get her to be more specific, though you are already the nearest asset we know of, so no way apparent of getting somebody there before you arrive.
?
The avatar bowed. “We are now on our way to the Ospin System.”
“Brilliant.”
“And may I dispose of the trooper’s body?”
“Yes. Wait; how?”
“I thought I’d just leave it floating in space with the suit’s comms broadcasting a weak signal; that ought to attract a Gzilt ship before too long. Then he can be disposed of as you would normally think fit.”
Cossont nodded. “Fair enough. Also, do you have any food? I am fucking famished.”
“Septame, I am a mild-mannered man, I am known for my forbearance and general good humour, my tolerance and my indefatigable desire to give the other person the benefit of the doubt in all matters and at all times, but in all my wide and valuable experience in matters of inter-species diplomacy I have to say that even I, sir, even
“My dear Mierbeunes,” Banstegeyn said, putting one hand on the other man’s arm. “I hear everything you say. I do. I am as appalled as you are.”
“I doubt that, sir! I doubt that most severely!”
They sat in a tiny bower in the parliament building’s gardens. The Liseiden in their strange floating fish bowls had departed in a huff to their ship in orbit, leaving the humanoid Iwenick, Ambassador Mierbeunes, to speak on their behalf. Banstegeyn had listened as patiently as he could, but he was starting to wonder if the fellow was being paid by the word.
“May we speak in absolute confidence?” Banstegeyn said, sitting still closer to the other man.
Mierbeunes was shaking his head. “What price confidentiality, sir, when trust, when honesty itself, is nowhere to be found?”
“I will have this reversed,” Banstegeyn assured the ambassador, patting him gently again. “You have my word on it. You may rely on that absolutely. Now, Mierbeunes,” he continued, as the ambassador took a breath, opened his mouth, shook himself and generally showed every sign that he was working up to some fresh, or at least subsequent, diatribe, “this was not my fault. Even I cannot be everywhere at all times. I have as much cause to feel betrayed as you and our dear Liseiden friends, in some ways, for I put my trust in others and was let down. They said they would vote one way, then turned and voted another. Unforgivable. Utterly—”
“That wretch, that bastard Quvarond!” the Iwenick said, sounding like he was almost in tears. Banstegeyn had made it very clear who was behind the horrifying vote earlier.
“Yes, unforgivable, I know, but it has happened. I assure you I have looked into ways of undoing this
