and dirty tricks department.)
—
— Plus I've got a job to do here, Genar-Hofoen interrupted. ~ I've got another audience with the Grand Council in a month to tell them to be nicer to their neighbours or we're going to think about slapping their paddles. I want details of this exciting new opportunity or you can shove it.
—
— Are you denying that you are?
—
— So stop fucking around. Who the hell else is going to start hauling a gifted and highly effective ambassador off — ?
—
—
—
— There you are; that's exactly what you can shove; all that SC need-to-know crap. I don't care how fucking delicate the task is, I'm not even going to consider it until I know what's involved.
The scratchounds were in mid-pounce now, both of them twisting as they leapt. Shit, thought Genar-Hofoen; this might be one of those scratchound bouts where the whole thing was decided on the initial lunge, depending entirely on which beast got its teeth into the neck of the other first.
—
The scratchounds were meeting in the air a metre above the centre of the bait-pit, their jaws aimed as best they could at each other's throats. It was still a little hard to tell, but Genar-Hofoen didn't think it was looking too good for Fivetide's animal.
— Yeah yeah yeah, well I've heard all this sort of thing before, D and G. What's in it for me? Why the hell should I-? Oh, fuck…
—
But Genar-Hofoen's attention was elsewhere.
The two scratchounds met and locked, falling to the floor of the bait-pit in a tangle of slowly thrashing limbs. The blue-collared animal had its jaws clamped around the throat of the red-collared one. Most of the Affronters were starting to cheer. Fivetide and his supporters were screaming.
Shit.
— Suit? Genar-Hofoen thought.
—
— Never mind that now. See that blue scratchound?
—
— Effectorise the fucker; get it off the other one.
—
~ Fivetide's arse is hanging way out the merry-go-round on this, suit. Do it now or take personal responsibility for a major diplomatic incident. Up to you.
—
~ Effectorise it now, suit. Come on; I know that last upgrade let you sneak it under their monitors. Oh! Look at that. Ow! Can't you just
—
There was a buzzing sensation on top of Genar-Hofoen's right shoulder. The red scratchound jerked, the blue one doubled up around its midriff and loosened its grip. The red-collared beast wriggled out from underneath the other and, twisting, turned on the other beast and immediately reversed the situation, fastening its prosthetic jaws around the throat of the blue-collared animal. At Genar-Hofoen's side, still in slow motion, Fivetide was starting to rise into the air.
— Right, D and G, what were you saying?
—
— Never mind. Like you said, time's a wasting. Get on with it.
—
— Golly, let me think. Can I have my own ship?
—
— I'll bet.
—
— Oh, of course.
—
— D and G, you're
—
From the corner of one eye, Genar-Hofoen watched one of Fivetide's limbs begin to flip towards him. He readied his slow-reacting body for the blow.
— I'll think about it.
—
— Quit that signal, suit. Tell the module not to wait up. Now, suit — command instruction: take yourself off- line until I call on you.
Genar-Hofoen halted the effects of the
IV
The horror came for the commandant again that night, in the grey area that was the half-light from a full moon. It was worse this time.
In the dream, he rose from his camp bed in the pale light of dawn. Down the valley, the chimneys above the charnel wagons belched dark smoke. Nothing else in the camp was moving. He walked between the silent tents and under the guard towers to the funicular, which took him up through the forests to the glaciers.
The light was blinding white and the cold, thin air rasped the back of his throat. The wind buffeted him, raising veils of snow and ice that shifted across the fractured surface of the great river of ice, contained between the jagged banks of the rock-black and snow-white mountains.