Consider Phlebas

by Iain M. Banks

  In the morning they made love, and afterwards he asked her, while he held her and their sweat dried, ‘Why?’ as their hearts slowed. ‘What changed your mind?’ The ship hummed distantly around them.

  She gripped him, hugging tighter still, and shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘nothing in particular, nothing important.’ He felt her shrug, and she turned her head away from his face, into his arm, towards the humming bulkhead. In a small voice she said, ‘Everything; Schar’s World.’

  Three days out, in the hangar, he watched the members of the Free Company work out and practise firing their guns at the screen. Neisin couldn’t practise because he still refused to use lasers after what had happened in the Temple of Light. He had stocked up on magazines of micro projectiles during his few sober moments in Evanauth.

  After firing practice, Horza had each of the mercenaries test their AG harnesses. Kraiklyn had purchased a cheap batch of them and insisted that the Free Company members who didn’t already have an anti-gravity unit in their suit buy a harness from him, at what he claimed was cost price. Horza had been dubious at first, but the AG units seemed serviceable enough, and certainly might be useful for searching the Command System’s deeper shafts.

  Horza was satisfied that the mercenaries would follow him in if they had to, down into the Command System. The long delay since the excitement of Vavatch, and the boring routine of the life on the Clear Air Turbulence, had made them hanker after something more interesting. As Horza had – honestly – described it, Schar’s World didn’t sound too bad. At least it was unlikely they would find themselves in a fire-fight, and nobody, including the Mind they might end up helping Horza search for, was going to start blowing things up, not with a Dra’Azon to reckon with.

  The sun of the Schar’s World system shone brightly ahead of them now, the brightest thing in the sky. The Glittercliff was not a visible feature of the sky ahead, because they were still inside the spiral limb and looking out, but it was noticeable that all the stars ahead were either quite close or very far away, with none in the gap between.

  Horza had changed the CAT’s course several times, but kept it on a general heading which, unless they turned, wouldn’t take it closer than two light-years from the planet. He would turn the craft and head in the following day. So far the journey had been uneventful. They had flown through the scattered stars without encountering anything out of the ordinary: no messages or signals, no distant flashes from battles, no warp wakes. The area around them seemed calm and undisturbed, as though all that was happening was what always happened: just the stars being born and dying, the galaxy revolving, the holes twisting, the gases swirling. The war, in that hurried silence, in their false rhythm of day and night, seemed like something they had all imagined, an inexplicable nightmare they had somehow shared, even escaped.

  Horza had the ship watching, though, ready to alarm at the first hint of trouble. They were unlikely to find out anything before they got to the Quiet Barrier, but if everything was as peaceful and serene as that name implied, he thought he might not go arrowing straight in. Ideally he would like to rendezvous with the Idiran fleet units which were supposed to be waiting near by. That would solve most of his problems. He would hand Balveda over, make sure Yalson and the rest of the mercenaries were safe – let them have the CAT – and pick up the specialised equipment Xoralundra had promised him.

  That scenario would also let him meet Kierachell alone, without the distraction of the others being there. He would be able to be his old self without making any concessions to the self the Free Company and Yalson knew.

  Two days out, the ship’s alarm went off. Horza was dozing in his bed; he raced out of the cabin and forward to the bridge.

  In the volume of space before them, all hell seemed to have been let loose. Annihilation light washed over them; it was the radiation from weapon explosions, registering pure and mixed on the vessel’s sensors, indicating where warheads had gone off totally by themselves or in contact with something else. The fabric of three-dimensional space bucked and juddered with the blast from warp charges, forcing the CAT’s automatics to disengage its engines every few seconds to prevent them being damaged on the shock waves. Horza strapped in and brought all the subsidiary systems up. Wubslin came through the door from the mess.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Battle of some sort,’ Horza said, watching the screens. The volume of affected space was more or less directly on the inward side of Schar’s World; the direct route from Vavatch passed that way. The CAT was one and a half light-years away from the disturbance, too far away to be spotted on anything except the narrow beam of a track scanner and therefore almost certainly safe; but Horza watched the distant blasts of radiation, and felt the CAT ride the ripples of disturbed space with a sensation of nausea, even defeat.

  ‘Message shell,’ Wubslin said, nodding at a screen. There, sorting itself out from the noise of radiation, a signal gradually appeared, the words forming a few letters at a time like a field of plants growing and flowering. After a few repetitions of the signal – and it was being jammed, not simple interfered with by the battle’s background noise – it was complete enough to read.

  VESSEL CLEAR AIR TURBULENCE. MEET UNITS NINETY-THIRD FLEET

  DESTINATION/S.591134.45 MID. ALL SAFE.

  ‘Damn,’ breathed Horza.

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Wubslin said. He punched the figures on the screen into the CAT’s navigational computer. ‘Oh,’ the engineer said, sitting back, ‘it’s one of the stars nearby. I guess they mean to rendezvous halfway between it and . . .’ He looked at the main screen.

  ‘Yes,’ Horza said, looking unhappily at the signal. It had to be a fake. There was nothing to prove it was from the Idirans: no message number, code class, ship originator, signatory; nothing genuine at all.

  ‘That from the guys with three legs?’ Wubslin said. He brought a holo display onto another screen, showing stars surrounded by spherical grids of thin green lines. ‘Hey, we’re not all that far away from there.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Horza said. He watched the continuing blasts of battle-light. He entered some figures into the CAT’s control systems. The vessel brought its nose round, angling it further over towards the Schar’s World system. Wubslin looked at Horza.

  ‘You don’t think it is from them?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Horza said. The radiation was fading. The engagement appeared to be over, or the action broken off. ‘I think we might turn up there and find a GCU waiting for us. Or a cloud of CAM.’

  ‘CAM? What – that stuff they dusted Vavatch with?’ Wubslin said, and whistled. ‘No thanks.’

  Horza switched the screen with the message off.

  Less than an hour later it all happened again: shells of radiation, warp disturbance, and this time two messages, one telling the CAT to ignore the first message, the other giving a new rendezvous point. Both seemed genuine; both were affixed with the word ‘Xoralundra’. Horza, still chewing the mouthful of food he’d been eating when the alarm went off for the second time, swore. A third message appeared, telling him personally to ignore those two signals and directing the CAT to yet another rendezvous area.

  Horza shouted with anger, sending bits of soggy food arcing out to hit the message screen. He turned the wide-band communicator off completely, then went back to the mess.

  ‘When do we reach the Quiet Barrier?’

  ‘A few more hours. Half a day perhaps.’

  ‘Are you nervous?’

  ‘I’m not nervous. I’ve been there before. How about you?’

  ‘If you say it’ll be all right, I believe you.’

  ‘It should be.’

  ‘Will you know any of the people there?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s been a few years. They don’t rotate personnel often, but people do leave. I don’t know. I’ll just have to wait and see.’

  ‘You haven’t seen any of your own people for a long time, have you?’

  ‘No.
Not since I left there.’

  ‘Aren’t you looking forward to it?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Horza . . . look, I know I told you we didn’t ask each other about . . . about everything before we came aboard the CAT, but that was . . . before a lot of things changed—’

  ‘But it’s the way we’ve been, isn’t it?’

  ‘You mean you don’t want to talk about it now?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. You want to ask me about—’

  ‘No.’ She put her hand to his lips. He felt them there in the darkness. ‘No, it’s OK. It’s all right; never mind.’

  He sat in the centre seat. Wubslin was in the engineer’s chair to Horza’s right, Yalson to his left. The rest had crowded in behind them. He had let Balveda watch; there was little that could happen which she could affect now. The drone floated near the ceiling.

  The Quiet Barrier was coming up. It showed as a mirrorfield directly in front of them, about a light-day in diameter. It had suddenly appeared on the screen when they were an hour out from the barrier. Wubslin had worried it was giving their position away, but Horza knew that the mirrorfield existed only in the CAT’s sensors. There was nothing there for anybody else to see.

  Five minutes out, every screen went black. Horza had warned the rest about it, but even he felt anxious and blind when it happened.

  ‘You’re sure this is meant to happen?’ Aviger said.

  ‘I’d be worried if it didn’t,’ Horza told him. The old man moved somewhere behind him.

  ‘I think this is incredible,’ Dorolow said. ‘This creature is virtually a god. I’m sure it can sense our moods and thoughts. I can feel it already.’

  ‘Actually, it’s just a collection of self-referencing—’

  ‘Balveda,’ Horza said, looking round at the Culture woman. She stopped talking and clapped a hand over her mouth, flashing her eyes. He turned back to the blank screen.

  ‘When’s this thing—’ Yalson began.

  APPROACHING CRAFT, the screen said, in a variety of languages.

  ‘Here we go,’ Neisin said. He was shushed by Dorolow.

  ‘I respond,’ Horza said, in Marain, into the tight-beam communicator. The other languages disappeared from the screen.

  YOU ARE APPROACHING THE PLANET CALLED SCHAR’S WORLD, DRA’AZON PLANET OF THE DEAD. PROGRESS BEYOND THIS POINT IS RESTRICTED.

  ‘I know. My name is Bora Horza Gobuchul. I wish to return to Schar’s World for a short while. I ask this with all respect.’

  ‘Smooth talker,’ Balveda said. Horza glared briefly at her. The communicator would only transmit what he said, but he didn’t want the woman to forget she was a prisoner.

  YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.

  Horza couldn’t tell if this was a question or not. ‘I have been to Schar’s World before,’ he confirmed. ‘I was one of the Changer sentinels.’ There seemed little point in telling the creature when; the Dra’Azon called every time ‘now’ even though their language used tenses. The screen went blank, then repeated:

  YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.

  Horza frowned and wondered what to say. Balveda muttered, ‘Obviously hopelessly senile.’

  ‘I have been here before,’ Horza said. Did the Dra’Azon mean that because he had already been there he could not return?

  ‘I can feel it, I can feel its presence,’ Dorolow whispered.

  THERE ARE OTHER HUMANS WITH YOU.

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said the drone, Unaha-Closp, from somewhere near the ceiling.

  ‘You see?’ Dorolow said, her voice almost whimpering. Horza heard Balveda snort. Dorolow staggered slightly; Aviger and Neisin had to hold onto her to stop her from falling.

  ‘I have not been able to set them down elsewhere,’ Horza said. ‘I ask your indulgence. If need be, they will stay on board this vessel.’

  THEY ARE NOT SENTINELS. THEY ARE OTHER HUMANOID SPECIES.

  ‘I alone need alight on Schar’s World.’

  ENTRY IS RESTRICTED.

  Horza sighed. ‘I alone request permission to land.’

  WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?

  Horza hesitated. He heard Balveda snort quietly. He said, ‘I seek one who is here.’

  WHAT DO THE OTHERS SEEK?

  ‘They seek nothing. They are with me.’

  THEY ARE HERE.

  ‘They . . .’ Horza licked his lips. All his rehearsing, all his thoughts about what to say at this moment, seemed to be useless. ‘They are not all here by choice. But I had no alternative. I had to bring them. If you wish, they will stay on board this craft in orbit around Schar’s World, or further away inside the Quiet Barrier. I have a suit, I can—’

  THEY ARE HERE AGAINST THEIR WILL.

  Horza hadn’t known Dra’Azon to interrupt before. He couldn’t imagine it was a good sign. ‘The . . . circumstances are . . . complicated. Certain species in the galaxy are at war. Choices become limited. One does things one would not normally do.’

  THERE IS DEATH HERE.

  Horza looked at the words written on the screen. He felt transfixed by them. There was silence on the bridge for a moment. Then he heard a couple of people moving awkwardly.

  ‘What does that mean?’ the drone Unaha-Closp said.

  ‘There . . . there is?’ Horza said. The words stayed on the screen, written in Marain. Wubslin tapped at a few buttons on his side of the console, buttons which would normally control the display on the screens in front of him, all of which now repeated the words on the main screen. The engineer was sitting in his seat, looking cramped and tense. Horza cleared his throat, then said, ‘There was a battle, a conflict near by. Just before we got here. It might still be going on. There may be death.’

  THERE IS DEATH HERE.

  ‘Oh . . .’ Dorolow said, and slumped into Neisin and Aviger’s arms.

  ‘We’d better get her to the mess,’ Aviger said, looking at Neisin. ‘Let her lie down.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Neisin said, glancing quickly at the woman’s face. Dorolow appeared to be unconscious.

  ‘I may be able to . . .’ Horza began, then gave a deep breath. ‘If there is death here I may be able to stop it. I may be able to prevent more death.’

  BORA HORZA GOBUCHUL.

  ‘Yes?’ Horza said, gulping. Aviger and Neisin manhandled Dorolow’s limp body out through the doorway into the corridor leading into the mess. The screen changed:

  YOU ARE LOOKING FOR THE REFUGEE MACHINE.

  ‘Ho-ho,’ said Balveda, turning away with a smile on her face and putting one hand to her mouth.

  ‘Shit!’ said Yalson.

  ‘Looks like our god isn’t so stupid,’ Unaha-Closp observed.

  ‘Yes,’ Horza said sharply. There seemed little point in trying to pretend now. ‘Yes, I am. But I think—’

  YOU MAY ENTER.

  ‘What?’ the drone said.

  ‘Well, ya-hoo!’ Yalson said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the bulkhead. Neisin came back through the door. He stopped when he saw the screen.

  ‘That was quick,’ he said to Yalson. ‘What did he say?’ Yalson just shook her head. Horza felt a wave of relief sweep through him. He looked at each word on the screen in turn, as though frightened that the short message could somehow conceal a hidden negation. He smiled and said:

  ‘Thank you. Shall I go down alone to the planet?’

  YOU MAY ENTER.

  THERE IS DEATH HERE.

  BE WARNED.

  ‘What death?’ Horza said. The relief waned; the Dra’Azon’s words about death chilled him. ‘Where is there death? Whose?’

  The screen changed again, the first two lines disappearing. Now it simply said:

  BE WARNED.

  ‘I do not,’ Unaha-Closp said slowly, ‘like the sound of that at all.’

  Then the screens were clear. Wubslin sighed and relaxed. The sun of the Schar’s World system shone brightly ahead of them, less than a standard light-year away. Horza checked the figures on the navigation computer as
its screen flickered back to normality along with the rest, displaying numbers and graphs and holographics. Then the Changer sat back in his seat. ‘We’re through all right,’ he said. ‘We’re through the Quiet Barrier.’

  ‘So nothing can touch us now, huh?’ Neisin said.

  Horza gazed at the screen, the single yellow dwarf star showing as a bright unwavering spot of light in the centre, planets still invisible. He nodded. ‘Nothing. Nothing outside, anyway.’

  ‘Great. Think I’ll have a drink to celebrate.’ Neisin nodded at Yalson, then swung his thin body out through the doorway.

  ‘Do you think it meant only you can go down, or all of us?’ Yalson asked. Still staring at the screen, Horza shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll go into orbit, then broadcast to the Changer base shortly before we try taking the CAT in. If Mr Adequate doesn’t like it, he’ll let us know.’

  ‘You’ve decided it’s male, then,’ said Balveda, just as Yalson said:

  ‘Why not contact them now?’

  ‘I didn’t like that bit about there being death here.’ Horza turned towards Yalson. Balveda was at her side; the drone had floated down a little to eye level. Horza looked at Yalson. ‘Just as a precaution. I don’t want to give anything away too soon.’ He turned his gaze to the Culture woman. ‘Last I heard, the regular transmission was due from the base on Schar’s World a few days ago. I don’t suppose you heard whether it had been received?’ Horza grinned at Balveda in a way that was meant to show he didn’t expect an answer, or at least not a truthful one. The tall Culture agent looked at the floor, seemed to shrug, then met Horza’s eyes.

  ‘I heard,’ she said. ‘It was overdue.’

  Horza stayed looking at her. Balveda didn’t take her eyes away. Yalson glanced from one to another. Eventually the drone Unaha-Closp said, ‘Frankly, none of this inspires confidence. My advice would be to—’ It stopped as Horza glared at it. ‘Hmm,’ it said, ‘well, never mind that for now.’ It floated sideways to the door and went out.