Use of Weapons

by Iain M. Banks

  In the corridor between the lounge lock and the ship, he heard Sma's voice, tiny in his ear. 'That's it, Zakalwe. Can't tight beam on the ship without being spotted. We'll only contact in a real emergency. Use the Solotol phonelink if you want to talk, but remember it'll be monitored. Goodbye; good luck.'

  And then he and Beychae were through another air lock, and on the clipper Osom Emananish, which would take them into interstellar space.

  He spent the hour or so before departure walking round the clipper, just checking it all out, so that he knew where everything was.

  The speaker system, and most of the visible screens, announced their departure. The clipper drifted, then dawdled, then raced away from the station; it swung away past the sun and the gas-giant Soreraurth. Soreraurth was where the module was having to keep hidden, a hundred kilometres deep in the vast perpetual storm that was the mighty planet's atmosphere. An atmosphere that would be plundered, mined, stripped and altered by the Humanists, if they had their way. He watched the gas-giant fall astern, wondered who was really right and wrong, and felt an odd helplessness.

  He was passing through the bustle of a small bar, on his way to check on Beychae, when he heard a voice behind him say, 'Ah; sincere hellos, and things! Mr Starabinde, isn't it?'

  He turned slowly.

  It was the small doctor from the scar party. The little man stood at the crowded bar, beckoning to him.

  He walked over, squeezing between the chattering passengers.

  'Doctor; good day.'

  The little man nodded, 'Stapangarderslinaiterray; but call me Stap.'

  'With pleasure, and even relief.' He smiled. 'And please call me Sherad.'

  'Well! Small cluster, isn't it? May I buy you a drink?' He flashed his toothy grin, which - caught in a small spotlight above the bar - glared quite startlingly.

  'What an excellent idea.'

  They found a small table, wedged up against one bulkhead. The doctor wiped his nose, adjusted his immaculate suit.

  'So, Sherad, what brings you along on this little jaunt?'

  'Well, actually... Stap,' he said quietly. 'I'm travelling sort of... incognito, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't... broadcast my name, you know?'

  'Absolutely!' Doctor Stap said, nodding fiercely. He glanced round conspiratorially, leaned closer. 'My discretion is exemplary. Have had to "travel quietly"...' his eyebrows waggled '... myself, on occasion. You just let me know if I can be of any help.'

  'You're very kind.' He raised his glass.

  They drank to a safe voyage.

  'Are you going to the "end of the line", to Breskial?' Stap asked.

  He nodded. 'Yes; myself and a business associate.'

  Doctor Stap nodded, grinning. 'Ah, a "business associate" Ah.'

  'No, doctor; not a "business associate", a business associate; a gentleman, and quite elderly, and in a different cabin... would that all three descriptions were their opposite, of course.'

  'Ha! Quite!' the doctor said.

  'Another drink?'

  'You don't think he knows anything?' Beychae asked.

  'What's to know?' He shrugged. He glanced at the screen, on the door of Beychae's cramped cabin. 'Nothing on the news?'

  'Nothing,' Beychae said. 'They mentioned an all-ports security exercise, but nothing directly about you or me.'

  'Well, we probably aren't in any more danger because the doc's aboard than we were already.'

  'How much is that?'

  'Too much. They're bound to work out what happened eventually; we'll never get to Breskial before they do.'

  'Then?'

  'Then, unless I can think of something, the Culture either has to let us be taken back, or take this ship over, which is going to be tricky to explain, and bound to remove some of your credibility.'

  'If I decide to do as you ask, Cheradenine.'

  He looked at the other man, sitting alongside him on the narrow bed. 'Yeah; if.'

  He prowled the ship. The clipper seemed cramped and crowded; he'd got too used to Culture vessels, he supposed. There were plans of the ship available on-screen, and he studied them, but they were really just for people to find their way about, and provided little useful information on how the ship might be taken over or disabled. Judging from watching the crew when they appeared, entry to crew-only areas was by voice and/or hand-print match.

  There was little flammable on board, nothing explosive, and most of the circuitry was optical rather than electronic. Doubtless the Xenophobe could make the clipper Osom Emananish dance and sing with the effector equivalent of one hand tied behind its back, from somewhere in the next stellar system, but without the combat suit or a weapon, he was going to have a tough job trying to do anything, if and when it came to it.

  Meanwhile the clipper crawled through space; Beychae stayed in his cabin, catching up on the news via the screen, and sleeping.

  'I seem to have swapped one subtle form of imprisonment for another, Cheradenine,' he observed, the day after they left, as the other man brought him supper.

  'Tsoldrin, don't go cabin crazy; if you want to go out, go out. It's a little safer this way, but... well, only a little.'

  'Well,' Tsoldrin said, taking the tray and lifting the cover to inspect the contents. 'For now it's easy enough to treat the news and current affairs casts as my research material, so I do not feel unduly confined.' He set the cover aside. 'But a couple of weeks might be asking rather too much, Cheradenine.'

  'Don't worry,' he said, dejectedly. 'I doubt it'll come to that.'

  'Ah; Sherad!' The small fussy shape of Doctor Stap sidled up to him a day later, while people were watching a magnified view of an impressive gas-giant in a nearby system slide past on the principle lounge main screen. The small doctor took his elbow. 'I'm having a small private party, this evening, in the Starlight Lounge; one of my, um, special parties, you know? I wondered if you and your hermit-like business partner might like to participate?'

  'They let you aboard with that thing?' he laughed.

  'Shh, good sir,' the doctor said, pulling the other man away from the press of people. 'I have a long-standing arrangement with the shipping line; my machine is recognised as being of primary medical importance.'

  'Sounds expensive. You must have to charge a lot, doctor.'

  'There is, of course, a small consideration involved, but well within the means of most cultured people, and I can assure you of some very exclusive company, and complete discretion, as ever.'

  'Thank you for the offer, Doctor, but I'm afraid not.'

  'It really is the opportunity of a lifetime; you are most lucky to have the chance a second time.'

  'I'm sure. Perhaps if it occurs a third time. Excuse me.' He patted Stap on the shoulder. 'Oh; shall I see you for drinks this evening?'

  The doctor shook his head. 'I'll be setting up; preparing, I'm afraid, Sherad.' He looked somehow plaintive. 'It is a great opportunity,' he said, toothily.

  'Oh, I'm well aware of that, Doctor Stap.'

  'You're a wicked man.'

  'Thank you. It's taken years of diligent practice.'

  'I bet.'

  'Oh no; you're going to tell me you're not wicked at all; I can see it in your eyes. Yes; yes, it's there; purity! I recognise the symptoms. But,' he put one hand on her forearm, 'don't worry. It can be cured.'

  She pushed him away, but only with the softest of pressures. 'You're terrible.' The hand that had pushed him away lingered just for a moment on his chest. 'You're bad.'

  'I confess. You have seen into my soul...' He looked round for a second, as the background noise of the ship altered. He smiled back at the lady. 'But, ah, it gives me such succour to confess to one so close to a goddess-like beauty.'

  She laughed throatily, her slender neck exposed as she put her head back. 'Do you normally get anywhere with this line?' she asked, shaking her head.

  He looked hurt, shook his head sadly. 'Oh, why are beautiful women so cynical these days?'

  Then he saw he
r gaze shift to somewhere behind him.

  He turned. 'Yes, Officer?' he said to one of the two junior officers he found standing behind him. Both had guns in open holsters.

  'Mr... Sherad?' the young man said.

  He watched the young officer's eyes and suddenly felt sick; the man knew. They'd been traced. Somebody somewhere had put the numbers together and come up with the right answer. 'Yes?' he said, grinning rather stupidly. 'You guys wanna drink?' He laughed, looked round at the woman.

  'No thank you, sir. Would you come with us please?'

  'Whassa matter?' he said, sniffing, then draining his glass. He wiped his hands on the lapels of his jacket. 'Captain need some help steering the ship, yeah?' he laughed, slid off his bar stool, turned to the woman, took her hand and kissed it. 'My dear lady; I bid you farewell, until we meet again.' He put both hands to his chest. 'But always remember this; there is forever a piece of my heart that belongs to you.'

  She smiled uncertainly. He laughed loudly, turned and bumped into the bar stool. 'Whoops!' he said.

  'This way, Mr Sherad,' the first one said. 'Yeah; yeah; just wherever.'

  He'd hoped they'd take him into the crew-only section, but when they got into the small lift, they pressed for the lowest deck; stores, non-vacuum luggage, and the brig.

  'I think I'm going to be sick,' he said, as soon as the doors closed. He bent over, retched, forcing out the last few drinks.

  One jumped out of the way, to keep his shiny boots clean; the other, he sensed, was bending down, putting one hand to his back.

  He stopped throwing up, slammed one elbow up into the man's nose; he crashed back into the elevator's rear doors. The second man hadn't quite recovered his balance. He straightened and punched him straight in the face. The second one folded, knees then backside hammering into the floor. The lift chimed, stopped between decks, its weight-limit alarm triggered by all the commotion. He thumped the topmost button and the lift started up.

  He took the guns from the two unconscious officers; neural stunners. He shook his head. The elevator chimed again. The floor they'd left. He stepped forward, stuffing the two stun guns into his jacket as he braced his feet in the far corners of the small space, straddling the two men, and pressed his hands against the doors. He grunted with the effort of holding the doors closed, but eventually the elevator gave up the struggle. Still holding the doors with both hands, he twisted his body until he got his head to the topmost button, and pressed it with his forehead. The lift hummed upwards again.

  When the doors opened, three people stood outside, on the private lounge level. They looked at the two unconscious guards and the small watery pool of vomit. Then he zapped them with the stun guns, and they fell. He pulled one of the officers half out of the elevator so the lift couldn't close its doors, and used a stun gun on both men too.

  The Starlight Lounge door was closed. He pressed the button, looking back down the corridor, where the lift doors pulsed gently against the fallen officer's body like some unsubtle lover. There was a distant chime, and a voice said, 'Please clear the doors. Please clear the doors.'

  'Yes?' said the door to the Starlight Lounge.

  'Stap; it's Sherad. I changed my mind.'

  'Excellent!' The door opened.

  He went quickly inside, hit the shut button. The modest lounge was full of drug smoke, low light, and mutilated people. Music played, and all eyes - not all of them in their sockets - turned to him. The doctor's tall grey machine was over near the bar, where a couple of people were serving.

  He got the doctor between him and the others, stuck the stun gun under the little man's chin. 'Bad news, Stap. These things can be fatal at close range, and this one's on maximum. I need your machine. I'd prefer to have your co-operation, too, but I can get by without it. I'm very serious, and in a terrible hurry, so what's it to be?'

  Stap made a gurgling noise.

  'Three,' he said, pressing the stun gun a little harder into the little doctor's neck. 'Two,...'

  'All right! This way!'

  He let him go, following Stap across the floor to the tall machine he used for his strange trade. He kept his hands together, stun pistols hidden up each sleeve; he nodded to a few people as they passed. He spotted a clear line of fire to somebody on the far side of the room, just for an instant. He zapped them; they fell spectacularly onto a laden table. While everybody was looking there, he and Stap - prodded once to keep going when the crash came from the distant table - got to the machine.

  'Excuse me,' he said to one of the bar girls. 'Would you help the doctor?' He nodded behind the bar. 'He wants to move the machine through there, don't you, Doc?'

  They entered the small store room behind the bar. He thanked the girl outside, closed the door, locked it, and shifted a pile of containers in front of it. He smiled at the alarmed-looking doctor.

  'See that wall behind you, Stap?'

  The doctor's gaze flicked that way.

  'We're going through it, Doc, with your machine.'

  'You can't! You...'

  He put the stun gun against the man's forehead. Stap closed his eyes. A corner of handkerchief, protruding from a breast pocket, trembled.

  'Stap; I think I know how that machine must work to do what it does. I want a cutting field; a slicer that'll take molecular bonds apart. If you won't do it, and right now, I'll put you out and try it myself, and if I get it wrong and fuse the fucker, you're going to have some very, very unhappy customers out there; they might even do what you've done to them, but without the old machine here, hmm?'

  Stap swallowed. 'Mm...' he began. One of his hands moved slowly towards his jacket. 'Mmm... mmm... my t-t-tool k-kit.'

  He took the wallet of tools out, turned shakily to the machine and opened a panel.

  The door behind them chimed. He found some sort of chromed bar utensil on a shelf, moved the containers in front of the door aside - Stap looked round, but saw the gun was still pointed at him, and turned back - and jammed the piece of metal into the gap between the sliding door and its housing. The door gave an outraged chirp, and a red light blinked urgently on the open/close button. He slid the containers back again.

  'Hurry up, Stap,' he said.

  'I'm doing all I can!' the little doctor yelped. The machine made a deep buzzing noise. Blue light played around a cylindrical section about a metre from the floor.

  He looked at the section, eyes narrowing.

  'What are you hoping to do?' the doctor said, voice shaking.

  'Just keep working, Doc; you have half a minute before I try doing it myself.' He looked over the doctor's shoulder, saw him fiddling with a circular control mapped out in degrees.

  All he could hope to do was get the machine going and then attack whatever parts of the ship he could. Disable it, somehow. All ships tended to be complicated, and, to a degree, the cruder a ship was, paradoxically the more complicated it was too. He just had to hope he could hit something vital without blowing the thing up.

  'Nearly ready,' the doctor said. He looked nervously backwards, one shaking finger going towards a small red button.

  'Okay, Doc,' he told the trembling man, looking suspiciously at the blue light playing round the cylindrical section. He squatted down level with the doctor. 'Go on,' he nodded.

  'Um...' The doctor swallowed. 'It might be better if you stood back, over there.'

  'No. Let's just try it, eh?' He hit the little red button. A hemi-disc of blue light shot out over their heads from the cylindrical section of the machine and sliced through the containers he had stacked against the door; fluids spurted out of them. The shelves to one side collapsed, supports severed by the humming blue disc. He grinned at the wreckage; if he'd still been standing, the blue field would have cut him in half.

  'Nice try, Doc,' he said. The little doctor slumped to the floor like a pile of wet sand as the stun pistol hummed. Snack packets and drink cartons showered onto the floor from the demolished shelves; the ones falling through the blue beam hit the floor
shredded; drink poured from the punctured containers in front of the door. There was a thumping noise coming from behind the containers.

  He rather appreciated the heady smell of alcohol filling the store room, but hoped there weren't enough spirits involved to cause a fire. He spun the machine around, splashing through the drink gradually collecting on the floor of the small store room; the flickering blue half-disc cut through more shelves before sinking into the bulkhead opposite the door.

  The machine shook; the air filled with a teeth-cracking whine, and black smoke spun round against the wrecked shelves as though propelled by the cutting blue light and then fell quickly to the surface of the sloshing drink filling the bottom decimetre of the store room, where it collected like a tiny dark fogbank. He started manipulating the controls on the machine; a little holo screen showed the shape of the field; he found a couple of tiny joysticks that altered it, producing an elliptical field. The machine thumped harder; the noise rose in pitch and black smoke poured out around him.

  The thumping from behind the door got louder. The black smoke was rising in the room, and already he felt light-headed. He pushed hard against the machine with his shoulder; it trundled forward, howling; something gave.

  He put his back against the machine and pushed with his feet; there was a bang from in front of the machine and it started to roll away from him; he turned, pushed with his shoulder again, staggering past smoking shelves through a glowing hole into a wrecked room full of tall metal cabinets. Drink spluttered through the gap. He held the machine steady for a moment; he opened one of the cabinets, to find a glittering mass of hair-fine filaments wrapped round cables and rods. Lights winked on a long thin control board, like some linear city seen at night.

  He pursed his lips and made a kissing sound at the fibres. 'Congratulations,' he said to himself. 'You have won a major prize.' He hunkered down at the humming machine, adjusted the controls to something like the way Stap had had them, but producing a circular field, then switched it to full power.

  The blue disc slammed into the grey cabinets in a blinding maelstrom of sparks; the noise was numbing. He left the machine where it was and waddled away under the blue disc, splashing back into the control room. He eased himself over the still unconscious doctor, kicked the containers away from the door and removed the metal tool from the door. The blue beam wasn't extending far through the gap from the control room, so he stood up, shoved the door open with his shoulder, and fell out into the arms of a startled ship's officer, just as the field machine blew up and blasted both of them across the bar and into the lounge. All the lights in the lounge went out.