The Hydrogen Sonata c-10

by Iain M. Banks

  ∞

  xUe Mistake Not…

  oGSV Kakistocrat

  Got here a tad too late; post system-outskirts arrival event list attached. Looks like a them-on-them to me but feel free to pick over. Snapped up a dead guy, a human with a syn-pet and a weird musical instrument, plus a fairly sharp combat android which I’m keeping deactivated for now. Specs attached for all concerned. Android’s current instructions also attached. Ignore bit about it all being a sim. My current status: hiding while a swarm of wee angry ships boils about the place. Big scary ship which was most likely responsible for the attack meanwhile still in volume, possibly.

  Would deeply appreciate knowing what the fuck is going on. Prompt answers the in thing this season, apparently; trust you’ve heard.

  ∞

  Bad luck. Being kept in dark too. Reluctantly passing you over to somebody closer to the decision-making. Appreciate not being out-cluded subsequently, if poss.

  Take great care, but smite promptly and thoroughly if/when situation calls.

  ∞

  “So, what light can you shed on what’s been going on?” the avatar asked.

  “Not much,” Cossont said. “Pretty confused myself. I was on Fzan-Juym to be briefed, but it all went a bit crazy before we could, you know, complete everything. Barely arrived when they were throwing us off again.”

  “Did you know many people on Fzan-Juym?”

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid it’s—”

  “Destroyed. I know.” She thought of Reikl, hoped she’d survived.

  “There might have been a few other survivors, but I’m not sure. Few appear to have survived the initial attack and almost all of those seem to have been hunted down and killed. You may be the only survivors.”

  Cossont closed her eyes. Pyan held still. The avatar was silent for a while.

  ∞

  xMSV Pressure Drop

  oUe Mistake Not…

  Greetings. Good work getting to Izenion so quickly. You deserved to get there in time to do more, if there was anything that could have been done, but what you’ve been able to do is much appreciated.

  ∞

  Uh-huh. I’m looking for answers, not a pat on the metaphorical. Why was I sent here? What’s going on? This anything to do with the Ablate anomaly?

  ∞

  Of course. I was aiming for politeness but may have achieved obsequiousness; please accept my apologies.

  You’re there because the Passing By… spotted something heading fast for Izenion from Zyse and we had nothing else to go on; seemed something might be going to happen and you were nearest. We weren’t expecting a shooting war quite so quick and severe. Or a civil war at all.

  High probability First attacking Fourteenth, with at least political backing if not instigation. Not yet sure why (but see below).

  Ablate possibly first symptom of whatever’s wrong; still working on how deep the problem goes (but see following).

  We’re a little constrained for now by confidentiality issues, but — bilge-bottom — this is probably a Z-Remnanter responsibility, and the big S itself may be — or be seen to be — at risk. So all a bit delicate. Our main interests would appear to imply cautious support for legitimate authorities (which might get tricky depending on who sanctioned the Ablate and Fzan-Juym attacks), not getting too involved, and certainly not revenging.

  ∞

  I see. And “We”?

  ∞

  Would be myself, the LOU Caconym, the GSVs Contents May Differ and Just The Washing Instruction Chip In Life’s Rich Tapestry, plus the GCU Displacement Activity. I am and will be copying to them. I’ll be asking the Passing By And Thought I’d Drop In to join in too. Other C. craft in Gzilt space are probably going to be involved on a need-to-know basis, as and when. Meanwhile, any and all subsequently discovered info appreciated.

  ∞

  Okay. Till.

  ∞

  “I’ll be honest with you, Ms Cossont,” Berdle said at last. Cossont opened her eyes again. The avatar was looking at her with an expression of regret. “Given the warlike and lethal turn of events hereabouts, and not being sure whose side it might be on, I gave myself leave to interrogate the systems of your android companion here,” it told her. “Aside from a baffling but apparently sincere belief that it’s been in a simulation for several hours, Android… Parinherm? Is that its name?”

  Cossont nodded. “So I’m told.”

  “Yes, well, Ad Parinherm here does seem a very capable and advanced device, of a type that would normally only be employed in matters of some importance to the Gzilt military, or Gzilt in general. My initial speculation was that it, you and the unfortunate trooper captain here were a group assembled effectively by chance as people scrambled to get off Fzan-Juym as best they could during the brief period when it became clear that an attack on it was immanent; however the android’s most recent and still current orders are that it protect you as a matter of utmost importance and provide full and unstinting support and assistance in your mission, whatever that may be — its orders were frustratingly unclear on that point. So, given that another way of looking at your early and possibly uniquely successful escape from the destruction of the regimental HQ of Fzan-Juym might imply that you were prioritised above even the regimental High Command, you’ll understand that this mission of yours has become a subject of some interest of to me.”

  Cossont nodded. “No kidding,” she said.

  The avatar nodded. “Let me expand upon my honesty,” it continued, “by admitting that my presence here was not coincidental. I was elsewhere in Gzilt space on a relatively routine task involving helping to monitor the actions of one of the so-called Scavenger groups currently present due to the up-coming Subliming when I was asked to get here, to the Izenion system, as quickly as possible, though with no indication regarding exactly why.” The avatar looked thoughtful.

  It’s a ship, Cossont told herself, watching this little display. A Mind. It thinks a gazillion times faster than you do. It never needs to stop and think, not when talking to a human. This is all just for show.

  “Though I was informed,” the avatar said, “that arriving with all my weapon systems fully primed and readied might be advisable.”

  “Uh-huh,” Cossont said.

  “Now,” the avatar continued, “I know that you know something of the Culture, having been with us as a student in the past, so perhaps you understand that being ‘asked’ as I was by some fellow ships — senior fellow ships of considerable repute and responsibility in matters of inter-civilisational dealings — is tantamount to an order, and that being requested to make my way here as quickly as I was required to meant that my engines suffered a small, temporary but still significant degree of damage — an action/outcome I take no more lightly than any Culture vessel. Then, when I get here, I find I’m four hours or so too late to prevent a hi-tech-level attack on one of our Gzilt hosts’ most important military installations, an attack that might — according to certain details indicative of the weapons apparently used — have been carried out by another part of the Gzilt military.” The avatar spread its hands. “So now you know, to all intents and purposes, as much as I do, Ms Cossont. And a little more, of course, as you — I assume — know what this mission of yours is, while I don’t. Frankly, I’m still waiting on further instructions here, but knowing your part in this might, I’d hazard, be quite helpful, pretty much regardless.”

  “Right,” Cossont swallowed. “You guys,” she said. The avatar didn’t have eyebrows as such, just little sloped creases above each eye. It raised those. She stumbled on. “You don’t, I mean… you’re not allowed to torture people are you?”

  The avatar closed its eyes briefly before letting them flutter open again. “I believe the consensus is it remains one of the few temptations we don’t indulge,” it said. It could see she was still uncertain. Berdle sighed. “You are under no obligation to tell me what you don’t want to tell me, Ms Cossont, nor are you being
threatened. You are also free to go as soon as I can find somewhere safe for you to go to. At the moment there is a state of some confusion reigning within the Izenion system, with a lot of trigger-happy minor ships of the Fourteenth milling around looking for something to shoot at, and at least the chance that the craft that destroyed Fzan-Juym is or are still in the volume.”

  Cossont came to a decision. “I was told to report to General Reikl, or the next most senior officer in the regiment,” she said.

  “The High Command are probably all dead,” the avatar told her. “The next most senior person could be some distance down the ranks. Locally, for all we know, you are the most senior ranking officer. Given the outbreak of hostilities, and according to my reading of the Gzilt military code, your reserve status has already automatically been rescinded; even if you weren’t before, you were effectively called up again as soon as the first particle beam hit the Fzan-Juym regimental HQ.”

  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 Pressure Drop

  oUe Mistake Not…

  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. (congen) QiRia, Ngaroe (no further nom. detail avail.). If not fraud, semi-mythic figure. Vyr Cossont met him 20 years ago (cert. ≥99%). Link likely germane.

  You were right; contents/passengers you rescued from craft/Eshri surface not random.

  Ms Cossont may be our best lead.

  Sound out. Stick with.

  ∞

  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 Mistake Not…

  xMSV Pressure Drop

  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 I am shocked to find my clients and — yes, my friends, my valued friends, for so they have become, and I am absolutely not ashamed to say it, no; in fact I am proud to, proud to say it, I am — the Liseiden legation being so roundly deceived and so ill-used is as appalling as it is shocking. Their good nature, their instinctive trust, their admiration for a species they have long looked up to and desired, why, to… to praise, to honour, indeed, by their emulation; all have been taken advantage of, in a most shameful and unbefitting way.”

  “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 immediately, but there are no grounds. This was most cunningly, cunningly done, believe me. No
grounds at all. So, we must fall back for now, regroup. But this is not the end. We will prevail here, dear Mierbeunes, and sense will be seen. But you must understand that I must risk more, to accomplish this, and so I need you to ask one more thing of our friends, when the time comes.”

  “Sir!” the ambassador said, almost despairing, “how can I possibly—?”

  “Please, please listen, Mierbeunes. My hope, my desire, always — and let us not call it a price, because it is more, far more noble than that — but my desire has always been to have this world, the world of my birth, my cradle, my home, named after one of its most loving and honoured sons.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “No, please, please do listen. Let me say just this. Let me say just four words. Will you listen, please, dear Mierbeunes? Four words; just four words.”

  Mierbeunes sighed heavily, nodded.

  Banstegeyn moved still closer, whispering into the ambassador’s ear. “Mierbeunes’ World. Banstegeyn’s Star.”

  She should have known. So should QiRia.

  Sklom, the sylocule-resembling avatar of the Warm, Considering, played the bodily acoustic Antagonistic Undecagonstring superbly, as though born to it.

  The ship had programmed its avatar to do so. It had reviewed all the literature, looked up the specs, watched and analysed every available screen and sound-only recording and then simmed the resulting models exhaustively until the virtual version of the blue-furred avatar could exactly reproduce the performances of all the great virtuosi of the past. The essence of all that had then been downloaded into the avatar.

  Sklom sat naturally inside the enormous instrument as though it had been designed around him, grasped both bows as if they’d been made to measure, produced recently grown padded finger substitutes from his paws and extended beautiful music from the very first touch of bow on string.

  Cossont listened with an expression of growing horror on her face, even as she found herself close to weeping at the beauty of the music — one of those pieces she knew she knew but could not quite recall the name of out of her own head.

  “It’s a bit… rich,” QiRia said, glancing at her.