The Player of Games c-2

by Iain M. Banks

  He turned them all down. It gave him a rather pleasant feeling. There was a communication from a GCU which claimed to have discovered a world on which there was a game based on the precise topography of individual snowflakes; a game which, for that reason, was never played on the same board twice. Gurgeh had never heard of such a game, and could find no mention of it in the usually up-to-date files Contact collated for people like him. He suspected the game was a fake — GCUs were notoriously mischievous — but sent a considered and germain (if also rather ironic) reply, because the joke, if it was a joke, appealed to him.

  He watched a gliding competition over the mountains and cliffs on the far side of the fjord.

  He turned on the house holoscreen and watched a recently made entertainment he'd heard people talking about. It concerned a planet whose intelligent inhabitants were sentient glaciers and their iceberg children. He had expected to despise its preposterousness, but found it quite amusing. He sketched out a glacier game, based on what sort of minerals could be gouged from rocks, what mountains destroyed, rivers dammed, landscapes created and bays blocked if — as in the entertainment — glaciers could liquefy and re-freeze parts of themselves at will. The game was diverting enough, but contained nothing original; he abandoned it after an hour or so.

  He spent much of the next day swimming in Ikroh's basement pool; when doing the backstroke, he dictated as well, his pocket terminal tracking up and down the pool with him, just overhead.

  In the late afternoon a woman and her young daughter came riding through the forest and stopped off at Ikroh. Neither of them showed any sign of having heard of him; they just happened to be passing. He invited them to stay for a drink, and made them a late lunch; they tethered their tall, panting mounts in the shade at the side of the house, where the drones gave them water. He advised the woman on the most scenic route to take when she and her daughter resumed their journey, and gave the child a piece from a highly ornamented Bataos set she'd admired.

  He took dinner on the terrace, the terminal screen open and showing the pages of an ancient barbarian treatise on games. The book — a millennium old when the civilisation had been Contacted, two thousand years earlier — was limited in its appreciation, of course, but Gurgeh never ceased to be fascinated by the way a society's games revealed so much about its ethos, its philosophy, its very soul. Besides, barbarian societies had always intrigued him, even before their games had.

  The book was interesting. He rested his eyes watching the sun going down, then went back to it as the darkness deepened. The house drones brought him drinks, a heavier jacket, a light snack, as he requested them. He told the house to refuse all incoming calls.

  The terrace lights gradually brightened. Chiark's farside shone whitely overhead, coating everything in silver; stars twinkled in a cloudless sky. Gurgeh read on.

  The terminal beeped. He looked severely at the camera eye set in one corner of the screen. "House," he said, "are you going deaf?"

  "Please forgive the over-ride," a rather officious and unapologetic voice Gurgeh did not recognise said from the screen. "Am I talking to Chiark-Gevantsa Jernau Morat Gurgeh dam Hassease?"

  Gurgeh stared dubiously at the screen eye. He hadn't heard his full name pronounced for years. "Yes."

  "My name is Loash Armasco-Iap Wu-Handrahen Xato Koum."

  Gurgeh raised one eyebrow. "Well, that should be easy enough to remember."

  "Might I interrupt you, sir?"

  "You already have. What do you want?"

  "To talk with you. Despite my over-ride, this does not constitute an emergency, but I can only talk to you directly this evening. I am here representing the Contact Section, at the request of Dastaveb Chamlis Amalk-ney Ep-Handra Thedreiskre Ostlehoorp. May I approach you?"

  "Providing you can stay off the full names, yes," Gurgeh said.

  "I shall be there directly."

  Gurgeh snapped the screen shut. He tapped the pen-like terminal on the edge of the wooden table and looked out over the dark fjord, watching the dim lights of the few houses on the far shore.

  He heard a roaring noise in the sky, and looked up to see a farside-lit vapour-trail overhead, steeply angled and pointing to the slope uphill from Ikroh. There was a muffled bang over the forest above the house, and a noise like a sudden gust of wind, then, zooming round the side of the house, came a small drone, its fields bright blue and striped yellow. It drifted over towards Gurgeh. The machine was about the same size as Mawhrin-Skel; it could, Gurgeh thought, have sat comfortably in the rectangular sandwich plate on the table. Its gunmetal casing looked a little more complicated and knobbly than Mawhrin-Skel's. "Good evening," Gurgeh said as the small machine cleared the terrace wall.

  It settled down on the table, by the sandwich plate. "Good evening, Morat Gurgeh."

  "Contact, eh?" Gurgeh said, putting his terminal into a pocket in his robe. "That was quick. I was only talking to Chamlis the night before last."

  "I happened to be in the volume," the machine explained in its clipped voice, "in transit — between the GCU Flexible Demeanour and the GSV Unfortunate Conflict Of Evidence, aboard the (D)ROU Zealot. As the nearest Contact operative, I was the obvious choice to visit you. However, as I say, I can only stay for a short time."

  "Oh, what a pity," Gurgeh said.

  "Yes; you have such a charming Orbital here. Perhaps some other time."

  "Well, I hope it hasn't been a wasted journey for you, Loash…. I wasn't really expecting an audience with a Contact operative. My friend Chamlis just thought Contact might… I don't know; have something interesting which wasn't in general circulation. I expected nothing at all, or just information. Might I ask just what you're doing here?" He leant forward, putting both elbows on the table, leaning over the small machine. There was one sandwich left on the plate just in front of the drone. Gurgeh took it and ate, munching and looking at the machine.

  "Certainly. I am here to ascertain just how open to suggestions you are. Contact might be able to find you something which would interest you."

  "A game?"

  "I have been given to understand it is connected with a game."

  "That does not mean you have to play one with me," Gurgeh said, brushing his hands free of crumbs over the plate. A few crumbs flew towards the drone, as he'd hoped they might, but it fielded each one, flicking them neatly to the centre of the plate in front of it.

  "All I know, sir, is that Contact might have found something to interest you. I believe it to be connected with a game. I am instructed to discover how willing you might be to travel. I therefore assume the game — if such it is — is to be played in a location besides Chiark."

  "Travel?" Gurgeh said. He sat back. "Where? How far? How long?"

  "I don't know, exactly."

  "Well, try approximately."

  "I would not like to guess. How long would you be prepared to spend away from home?"

  Gurgeh's eyes narrowed. The longest he'd spent away from Chiark had been when he'd gone on a cruise once, thirty years earlier. He hadn't enjoyed it especially. He'd gone more because it was the done thing to travel at that age than because he'd wanted to. The different stellar systems had been spectacular, but you could see just as good a view on a holoscreen, and he still didn't really understand what people saw in actually having been in any particular system. He'd planned to spend a few years on that cruise, but gave up after one.

  Gurgeh rubbed his beard. "Perhaps half a year or so; it's hard to say without knowing the details. Say that, though; say half a year… not that I can see it's necessary. Local colour rarely adds that much to a game."

  "Normally, true." The machine paused. "I understand this might be rather a complicated game; it might take a while to learn. It is likely you would have to devote yourself to it for some time."

  "I'm sure I'll manage," Gurgeh said. The longest it had taken him to learn any game had been three days; he hadn't forgotten any rule of any game in all his life, nor ever had to learn one twice.
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  "Very well," the small drone said suddenly, "on that basis, I shall report back. Farewell, Morat Gurgeh." It started to accelerate into the sky.

  Gurgeh looked up at it, mouth open. He resisted the urge to jump up. "Is that it?" he said.

  The small machine stopped a couple of metres up. "That's all I'm allowed to talk about. I've asked you what I was supposed to ask you. Now I report back. Why, is there anything else you would like to know I might be able to help you with?"

  "Yes," Gurgeh said, annoyed now. "Do I get to hear anything else about whatever and wherever it is you're talking about?"

  The machine seemed to waver in the air. Its fields hadn't changed since its arrival. Eventually, it said, "Jernau Gurgeh?"

  There was a long moment when they were both silent. Gurgeh stared at the machine, then stood up, put both hands on his hips and his head to one side and shouted, "Yes?"

  "…. Probably not," the drone snapped, and instantly rose straight up, fields flicking off. He heard the roaring noise and saw the vapour-trail form; it was a single tiny cloud at first because he was right underneath it, then it lengthened slowly for a few seconds, before suddenly ceasing to grow. He shook his head.

  He took out the pocket terminal. "House," he said. "Raise that drone." He continued to stare into the sky.

  "Which drone, Jernau?" the house said. "Chamlis?"

  He stared at the terminal. "No! That little scumbag from Contact; Loash Armasco-Iap Wu-Handrahen Xato Koum, that's who! The one that was just here!"

  "Just here?" the house said, in its Puzzled voice.

  Gurgeh sagged. He sat down. "You didn't see or hear anything just now?"

  "Nothing but silence for the last eleven minutes, Gurgeh, since you told me to hold all calls. There have been two of those since, but—"

  "Never mind," Gurgeh sighed. "Get me Hub."

  "Hub here; Makil Stra-bey Mind subsection. Jernau Gurgeh; what can we do for you?"

  Gurgeh was still looking at the sky overhead, partly because that was where the Contact drone had gone (the thin vapour-trail was starting to expand and drift), and partly because people tended to look in the direction of the Hub when they were talking to it.

  He noticed the extra star just before it started to move. The light-point was near the trailing end of the little drone's farside-lit contrail. He frowned. Almost immediately, it moved; only moderately fast at first, then too quickly for the eye to anticipate.

  It disappeared. He was silent for a moment, then said, "Hub, has a Contact ship just left here?"

  "Doing so even as we speak, Gurgeh. The (Demilitarised) Rapid Offensive Unit—"

  -Zealot," Gurgeh said.

  "Ho-ho! It was you, was it? We thought it was going to take months to work that one out. You've just seen a Private visit, game-player Gurgeh; Contact business; not for us to know. Wow, were we inquisitive though. Very glamorous, Jernau, if we may say so. That ship crash-stopped from at least forty kilolights and swerved twenty years… just for a five-minute chat with you, it would seem. That is serious energy usage… especially as it's accelerating away just as fast. Look at that kid go… oh, sorry; you can't. Well, take it from us; we're impressed. Care to tell a humble Hub Mind subsection what it was all about?"

  "Any chance of contacting the ship?" Gurgeh said, ignoring the question.

  "Dragging away like that? Business end pointed straight back at a mere civilian machine like ourselves…?" The Hub Mind sounded amused. "Yeah… we suppose so."

  "I want a drone on it called Loash Armasco-Iap Wu-Handrahen Xato Koum."

  "Holy shit, Gurgeh, what are you tangling with here? Handrahen? Xato? That's equiv-tech espionage-level SC nomenclature. Heavy messing…. Shit…. We'll try…. Just a moment."

  Gurgeh waited in silence for a few seconds.

  "Nothing," the voice from the terminal said. "Gurgeh, this is Hub Entire speaking here; not a subsection; all of me. That ship's acknowledging but it's claiming there is no drone of that name or anything like it aboard."

  Gurgeh slumped back in the seat. His neck was stiff. He looked down from the stars, down at the table. "You don't say," he said. "Shall I try again?"

  "Think it'll do any good?"

  "No."

  "Then don't."

  "Gurgeh. This disturbs me. What is going on?"

  "I wish," Gurgeh said, "I knew." He looked up at the stars again. The little drone's ghostly vapour-trail had almost disappeared. "Get me Chamlis Amalk-ney, will you?"

  "On line … Jernau?"

  "What, Hub?"

  "Be careful."

  "Oh. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

  "You must have annoyed it," Chamlis said through the terminal.

  "Very likely," Gurgeh said. "But what do you think?"

  "They were sizing you up for something."

  "You think so?"

  "Yes. But you just refused the deal."

  "Did I?"

  "Yes, and think yourself lucky you did, too."

  "What do you mean? This was your idea."

  "Look, you're out of it. It's over. But obviously my request went further and quicker than I thought it would. We triggered something. But you've put them off. They aren't interested any more."

  "Hmm. I suppose you're right."

  "Gurgeh; I'm sorry."

  "Never mind," Gurgeh told the old machine. He looked up at the stars. "Hub?"

  "Hey; we're interested. If it had been purely personal we wouldn't have listened to a word, we swear, and besides, it'd be notified on your daily communication statement we were listening."

  "Never mind all that." Gurgeh smiled, oddly relieved the Orbital's Mind had been eavesdropping. "Just tell me how far away that ROU is."

  "On the word «is», it was a minute and forty-nine seconds away; a light month distant, already clear of the system, and well out of our jurisdiction, we're very glad to say. Hightailing it in a direction a little up-spin of Galactic Core. Looks like it's heading for the GSV Unfortunate Conflict Of Evidence, unless one of them's trying to fool somebody."

  "Thank you, Hub. Goodnight."

  "To you too. And you're on your own this time, we promise."

  "Thank you, Hub. Chamlis?"

  "You might just have missed the chance of a lifetime, Gurgeh… but it was more likely a narrow escape. I'm sorry for suggesting Contact. They came too fast and too hard to be casual."

  "Don't worry so much, Chamlis," he told the drone. He looked back at the stars again, and sat back, swinging his foot up on to the table. "I handled it. We managed. Will I see you at Tronze tomorrow?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. I'll think about it. Good luck — I mean against this wonderchild, at Stricken — if I don't see you tomorrow."

  He grinned ruefully into the darkness. "Thanks. Goodnight, Chamlis."

  "Goodnight, Gurgeh."

  The train emerged from the tunnel into bright sunlight. It banked round the remainder of the curve, then set out across the slender bridge. Gurgeh looked over the handrail and saw the lush green pastures and brightly winding river half a kilometre below on the valley floor. Shadows of mountains lay across the narrow meadows; shadows of clouds freckled the tree-covered hills themselves. The wind of the train's slipstream ruffled his hair as he drank in the sweet, scented mountain air and waited for his opponent to return. Birds circled in the distance over the valley, almost level with the bridge. Their cries sounded through the still air, just audible over the windrush sound of the train's passing.

  Normally he'd have waited until he was due in Tronze that evening and go there underground, but that morning he'd felt like getting away from Ikroh. He'd put on boots, a pair of conservatively styled pants and a short open jacket, then taken to the hill paths, hiking over the mountain and down the other side.

  He'd sat by the side of the old railway line, glanding a mild buzz and amusing himself by chucking little bits of lodestone into the track's magnetic field and watching them bounce out again. He'd thought about Yay's floating islands.

 
He'd also thought about the mysterious visitation from the Contact drone, on the previous evening, but somehow that just would not come clear; it was as though it had been a dream. He had checked the house communication and systems statement: as far as the house was concerned, there had been no visit; but his conversation with Chiark Hub was logged, timed and witnessed by other subsections of the Hub, and by the Hub Entire for a short while. So it had happened all right.

  He'd flagged down the antique train when it appeared, and even as he'd climbed on had been recognised by a middle-aged man called Dreltram, also making his way to Tronze. Mr Dreltram would treasure a defeat at the hands of the great Jernau Gurgeh more than victory over anybody else; would he play? Gurgeh was well used to such flattery — it usually masked an unrealistic but slightly feral ambition — but had suggested they play Possession. It shared enough rule-concepts with Stricken to make it a decent limbering-up exercise. They'd found a Possession set in one of the bars and taken it out on to the roof-deck, sitting behind a windbreak so that the cards wouldn't blow away. They ought to have enough time to complete the game; the train would take most of the day to get to Tronze, a journey an underground car could accomplish in ten minutes.

  The train left the bridge and entered a deep, narrow ravine, its slipstream producing an eerie, echoing noise off the natched rocks on either side. Gurgeh looked at the game-board. He was playing straight, without the help of any glanded substances; his opponent was using a potent mixture suggested by Gurgeh himself. In addition, Gurgeh had given Mr Dreltram a seven-piece lead at the start, which was the maximum allowed. The fellow wasn't a bad player, and had come near to overwhelming Gurgeh at the start, when his advantage in pieces had the greatest effect, but Gurgeh had defended well and the man's chance had probably gone, though there was still the possibility he might have a few mines left in awkward places.

  Thinking of such unpleasant surprises, Gurgeh realised he hadn't looked at where his own hidden piece was. This had been another, unofficial, way of making the game more even. Possession is played on a forty-square grid; the two players" pieces are distributed in one major group and two minor groups each. Up to three pieces can be hidden on different initially unoccupied intersections. Their locations are dialled — and locked — into three circular cards; thin ceramic wafers which are turned over only when the player wishes to bring those pieces into play. Mr Dreltram had already revealed all three of his hidden pieces (one had happened to be on the intersection Gurgeh had, sportingly, sown all nine of his mines on, which really was bad luck).