The Hydrogen Sonata

I can assure the Caconym and the others of the group that in a situation of such import, with the Subliming so close and yet so threatened, and a degree of panic and chaos seeming to infect even the highest echelons of Gzilt society, the last thing I shall be doing is indulging in any “blindness” or “self-deception”. I have already begun a more rigorous and assertive overview of the situation by various different methods and strategies. However, I might remind those who seek to tell me how to perform my task here that in a set of circumstances of such delicacy and sensitivity, being discovered to be behaving in what might be taken by our hosts as an aggressive or even threatening manner might only inflame matters further and make any contribution we may wish and be able to make to the solution of the problem itself problematic. This is not some bunch of lo- techs still struggling with the concept of four-dimensionality; this is an equiv-tech civilisation as old and as capable — point-by-point, if not in overall puissance — as our own and entirely able to prevent, discover and/or deal with the vast majority of any surveillance measures — for example — I might be able to emplace. It is also far from impossible that Gzilt is effectively under attack from outside and needs and expects our support, not our intrusive suspicions.

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xLOU Caconym

Had the Passing By And Thought I’d Drop In been taking a more intrusive and suspicious approach from the start — bugging/hacking/whatevering the relevant players — we would almost certainly know by now whether they are under attack from outside or not. And I bet, by the way, that they’re not.

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xGSV Contents May Differ

I’m sure all these points are well made. Perhaps we ought to wait and see what the response of the Gzilt hierarchy itself is to the president’s death before we decide what might be done next.

“Our Intelligence agencies have further, ah, determined, that these same people, the Ronte, have been directly responsible or, through their agents and abettors, been indirectly though culpably responsible for both the attack on the, ah, headquarters of the Fourteenth regiment, on the Fzan-Juym moon of Eshri, Izenion. Izenion system. And the tragic, despicable murder, assassination… of President Geljemyn. Also, for attacks on two fleet warships, one at Eshri and another at the planet of Ablation. Excuse me. Ablate. The planet of Ablate, too, was attacked. And so, accordingly, we are resolved to resist the arrival of the Ronte fleet with all force and demand their surrender. Surrender of their agents and representatives, here. Here on, ah, Zyse and elsewhere. Our security forces are already, this day, carrying out the, ah… such, ah, actions. Being carried, ah… out. Thank you.”

The new president and extremely old politician — Trime Int’yom, until a small ceremony in the president’s office a few minutes ago — fell silent. He looked uncertain; a small, old man with nervous eyes and skin that had had to repair itself under the light of too many different suns. The first questions were being shouted out by the media people. Acting President Int’yom asked for the first one to be repeated, then held up one hand as he consulted with his staff, four of whom were standing behind him on the podium and looking just as nervy.

“Dear Scribe’s piss,” Trime Yegres sighed, turning to Banstegeyn with his hand partially covering his mouth. “Gets the Ablate thing wrong twice and then barely remembers the name of the planet he’s fucking standing on. Worthy successor, eh?”

The septame nodded, after a moment.

Yegres frowned. “You all right, Banstegeyn?”

“Just… shocked, Yegres,” he said. He looked at the mass of cameras, in case any were aimed at him. At least, in here, only hand-helds were allowed and you were free from the threat of a float-cam poking a lens up your nose. One or two cameras might have been trained on him and Yegres. He kept his blank, shocked, almost uncomprehending look going, gazed downwards again.

“You, shocked?” Yegres sounded surprised. “Whatever next?”

“Who knows whatever next?” Banstegeyn said.

Yegres sighed. “This is very early for this sort of thing. I didn’t even manage breakfast. Too much to expect assassins to show more tact, I suppose. My belly’s empty as the new president’s head.” Yegres exhaled loudly. “And the old one’s, from the rumours of what the poison did to her. And that lovely girl, her AdC… Orpe, wasn’t it?”

Banstegeyn nodded. Yegres looked at the septame, leaned in towards him and put his hand over his mouth again. “Always thought she might be a bit keen on you, you know. Was that… was I…?”

“Septame,” a voice said from the other side of Banstegeyn, as the avatar of the Passing By And Thought I’d Drop In appeared suddenly. Banstegeyn took a deep breath. He’d have sworn the silver- skinned creature could slide through spaces it shouldn’t have been able to, insinuating itself through a press of bodies almost as though they weren’t there. Still, at least now he had an excuse not to answer Yegres. “We are deeply sorry,” Ziborlun continued, speaking very quiet and close to his ear, “to hear of the death of President Geljemyn and wish to extend both our sympathies and an offer of help — any help at all — to the Gzilt people. I do hope you and I can talk further, soon. I may have information that I can share only with you. Thank you, Septame,” the creature touched him once on the forearm, slipped away again.

Yegres leaned out, looking across Banstegeyn. “I assume that was condolences,” he muttered, “but it looked more like a betting tip.”

“…It is not known, at this moment in time,” the acting president was saying, “precisely and exactly who is responsible, beyond a… a reasonable belief that the Ronte, and their, ah, their agents and their, ah, abettors are, ahm, behind whoever that person or persons might be. So. There we are. Yes. You. What?”

Banstegeyn sighed. “How did this moron get to be a trime? Or a degan? Or a thirty-second, for that matter?”

Yegres cleared his throat. “You promoted him, old son.”

The septame stared at the older man. “What?” he whispered.

Yegres shrugged. “Oh, every available opportunity, maestro; gave him a helping hand whenever people wanted to kick him upstairs, which was often. Eventually you kicked him up above yourself, made the old duffer a trime.” Yegres looked at him blearily. “Fuck me, Banners, you’re not starting to forget which useful dipsticks you’ve supported over the years because they’ll always agree with you, are you? Prophet’s piss, you’ll be forgetting me next.” He shook his head, glanced at his time-to and muttered, “Wonder if the bars are serving yet…”

“This is much more satisfactory,” Team Principal Tyun told Cultural Mission Director Keril. Jelwilin Keril had been invited back aboard the Liseiden flagship, the Collective Purposes vessel Gellemtyan-Asool- Anafawaya, to be congratulated for whatever part he might have played in the recent turn-around in the fortunes of the Liseiden.

Keril floated in his transparent bubble within the ship’s command space, a genuine smile anchored on his face. He was sure that this expression, even if it was first-principles meaningless to the Liseiden — indeed, even if it was by some misfortune first-principles threatening to the Liseiden — would be suitably translated by the aquatic creatures’ AIs and its happy import transmitted to the Liseiden officers.

“I am very glad, sir, that your faith in me — and my faith, in turn, in Ambassador Mierbeunes — has turned out not to be misplaced. We are your faithful agents and servants, Team Principal, and are glad to have been able to fulfil this part of the mission we undertook for you.”

“Sir, is it true the Culture are suspected of having helped the Ronte?”

“I… Well, I’m not, that is, ah…” the acting president said, with the glazed look of somebody listening to something being said on their earbud. He raised one hand and appeared to be about to press his earbud further into his ear, then seemed to change his mind. “Excuse me.” The acting president turned and consulted his staff. He turned to face the front again. “Well,” he said. “There are rumours, apparently. Ah. There has been help of one ship, Culture ship, helping the fleet that has been approaching Gzilt. It is just one ship, and I’m sure our own fleets, own ships are entirely, ah, capable.”

“Sir, what about the GSV Passing By And Thought I’d Drop In, and the other Culture warships now stationed directly over Zyse itself?”

“Well, I can’t, I don’t… Excuse me,” he said, turning away again.

The screen cut to a different view, going back to the mass of media people again and zooming in on