Excession

by Iain M. Banks

  Lellius chuckled and drank from a strawed flask. ‘Not that, then. What?’

  ‘Are we alone?’ Leffid asked quietly.

  Lellius stared blankly at him for a moment. ‘Yes; my lace is now turned off. There is nothing else I know of watching or listening. What is this thing you saw?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Leffid took a napkin from the table’s slot and from a pocket in his shirt extracted the terminal he was using instead of the neural lace. He looked at the markings on the instrument as though trying to remember something, then shrugged and said, ‘Umm, terminal; become a pen, please.’

  Leffid wrote on the napkin, producing a sequence of seven pendant rhombi each composed of eight dots or tiny circles. When he’d finished he turned the napkin towards Lellius, who looked carefully down at it and then equally deliberately up at Leffid.

  ‘Very pretty,’ he wheezed. ‘What is it?’

  Leffid smiled. He tapped the rightmost symbol. ‘First, it’s an Elench signal because it’s base eight and arranged in that pattern. This first symbol is an emergency distress mark. The other six are probably - almost certainly, by convention - a location.’

  ‘Really?’ Lellius did not sound especially impressed. ‘And the location of this location?’

  ‘About seventy-three years into the Upper Swirl from here.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lellius said with a sort of rumbling noise that probably meant he was surprised. ‘Just six digits to define such a precise point?’

  ‘Base two-five-six; easy,’ Leffid said, shrugging his wings. ‘But what’s interesting is where I saw this signal.’

  ‘Mm-hmm?’ Lellius said, momentarily distracted by something happening on the race track. He took another drink then returned his attention to the other man.

  ‘It was on an Affronter light cruiser,’ Leffid said quietly. ‘Burned into its scar-hull. Very lightly, very shallowly; at an angle across the blades--’

  ‘Blades?’ Lellius asked.

  Leffid waved one hand. ‘Decoration. But it was there. If I hadn’t been very close to the ship - in a yacht - as it was approaching Tier I’d never have seen it. And the intriguing possibility exists, of course, that the ship doesn’t know it bears this message.’

  Lellius stared at the napkin for a moment. He sat back. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Mind if I turn on my lace?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Leffid said. ‘I already know the ship’s called the Furious Purpose and it’s back here unscheduled, in Dock 807b. If it’s a mechanical problem it’s got, I can’t imagine it’s anything to do directly with the scarring. As for the location in the signal; it’s about half way between the stars Cromphalet I/II and Esperi . . . slightly closer to Esperi. And there’s nothing there. Nothing that anybody knows about, anyway.’

  Leffid tapped at the pocket terminal and after some experimentation got the beam to brighten until it ignited the napkin he’d written on. He let it burn and was about to sweep the ashes into the table’s disposal slot when Lellius - who was slumped back in the seat, looking blank - reached out one red hand and absently ground the ashes under his palm before scattering them to the breeze; they fell floating away from the carousel in an insubstantial cloud, towards the seats and private boxes stacked below.

  ‘Some minor running-gear problem,’ Lellius said. ‘The Affronter ship.’ He was silent a moment longer. ‘The Elench may have had a problem,’ he said, nodding slowly. ‘A clan-fleet - eight ships - left here a hundred days ago to investigate the Swirl.’

  ‘I remember,’ Leffid said.

  ‘There have been,’ Lellius paused, ‘. . . indications - barely even rumours - that not all has been right with them.’

  ‘Well,’ Leffid said, placing his palms flat on the table and making to rise from his seat, ‘it may be nothing, but I just thought I’d mention it.’

  ‘Kind,’ Lellius wheezed, nodding. ‘Not sure what the Tendency can do with it; last ship we had coming here went Sabbatical on us, ungrateful cur, but we might be able to trade it to the Mainland.’

  ‘Yes, the dear old Mainland,’ Leffid said. It was the term the AhForgetIt Tendency usually employed to refer to the Culture proper. He smiled. ‘Whatever.’ He held his wings away from the seat-back as he stood.

  ‘Sure you won’t stay?’ Lellius said, blinking. ‘We could have a betting competition. Bet you’d win.’

  ‘No thanks; this evening I’m playing host to a lady who needs two place settings at a time and I have to go polish my cutlery and make sure my flight feathers are fettled for ruffling.’

  ‘Ah. Have armfuls of fun.’

  ‘I suspect I shall.’

  ‘Oh, damn,’ Lellius said sadly, as a great shout went up from below and to most sides; the race was over.

  Lellius leant over and scratched out another couple of numbers on the wax tablet.

  ‘Never mind,’ Leffid said, patting the vice-consul on his ample shoulder as he headed for the swaying cable bridge that would take him back to the main trunk of the huge artificial tree.

  ‘Yes,’ Lellius sighed, looking at the smudge of ash on his hand. ‘I’m sure there’ll be another race starting in a while.’

  III

  The black bird Gravious flew slowly across the re-creation of the great sea battle of Octovelein, its shadow falling over the wreckage-dotted water, the sails and decks of the long wooden ships, the soldiers who stood massed on the decks of the larger vessels, the sailors who hauled at ropes and sheets, the rocketeers who struggled to rig and fire their charges, and the bodies floating in the water.

  A brilliant, blue-white sun glared from a violet sky. The air was crisscrossed by the smoky trails of the primitive rockets and the sky seemed supported by the great columns of smoke rising from stricken warships and transports. The water was dark blue, ruffled with waves, spattered with the tall feathery plumes of crashing rockets, creased white at the stem of each ship, and covered in flames where oils had been poured between ships in desperate attempts to prevent boarding.

  The bird flew over the edge of the sea scene, where the water ended like a still, liquid cliff and the unadorned floor of the general bay resumed, just five metres below, its surface also covered with what looked like wreckage - as though the tide had somehow gone out in this part of the bay but not the other - but which on closer inspection proved to be objects - parts of ships, parts of people - which had been in the process of construction. The incomplete sea battle filled less than half of the bay’s sixteen square kilometres. This would have been the Sleeper Service’s master-work, its definitive statement. Now it might never be finished.

  The black bird flew on, passing a few of the ship’s drones on the surface of the bay, gathering the construction debris and loading it onto an insubstantial conveyor belt which appeared to consist of a thin line of shady air. It kept beating. Its goal lay on the far end of the doubled general bay, between this internal section and the bay that opened to the rear of the ship. Damn the woman for choosing to stay at the bows, nearest to where the tower had been. Bad luck the place it had to be was so close to the stern.

  It had already flown through twenty-five kilometres of interior space, down the gigantic, dark internal corridor in the centre of the ship, between closed bay doors where a few dim lights glowed and utter silence reigned, a kilometre of air below its gently flapping wings, another above and one to each side.

  The bird had looked about it, taking in the huge, gloomy volumes and supposing it ought to feel privileged; the ship had kept it out of these places for the last forty years, restricting it to the upper kilometre of its hull which housed the old accommodation areas and the majority of its Storees. Gravious had senses beyond those normally available to an ordinary animal, and it had employed a couple of them in an attempt to probe the bay doors and find out what lay behind them, if anything. As far as it could tell, the thousands of bays were empty.

  That had only taken it as far as the general bay engineering space, the biggest single volume in the ship with the divisions down
; nine thousand metres deep, nearly twice that across and filled with noise and flickering lights and blurringly fast motion as the ship created thousands of new machines to do . . . who-knew-what.

  Most of the engineering space wasn’t even filled with air; the material, components and machines could move faster that way. Gravious was flying down a transparent traveltube set into the ceiling. Nine kilometres of that took it to a wall which led into the relative serenity - or at least, stillness - of the sea battle tableau. It was half way across that now; just another four thousand metres to go. Its wing muscles ached.

  It landed on the parapet of a balcony which looked out into the rear of this set of general bays. Beyond were thirty-two cubic kilometres of empty air; a perfectly empty general bay, the sort of place where a normal GSV of this size would be building a smaller GSV, playing host to one which was visiting, housing an alien environment like a gigantic guests’ room, turning over to some sports venue, or sub-dividing into smaller storage or manufacturing spaces.

  Gravious looked back at the modest tableau on the balcony, which in its previous existence, before the GSV had decided to go Eccentric, had been part of a café with a fine view of the bay. Here were posed seven humans, all with their backs to the view of the empty bay and facing the hologram of a calm, empty swimming pool. The humans wore trunks; they sat in deck chairs around a couple of low tables full of drinks and snacks. They had been caught in the acts of laughing, talking, blinking, scratching their chin, drinking.

  Some famous painting, apparently. It didn’t look very artistic to Gravious. It supposed you had to see it from the right angle.

  It lifted one leg up from the parapet, and slipped, falling into the air of the general bay. It hit something between it and the bay and fell, bouncing off the bay’s rear wall, then off the invisible wall, then found its bearings, flapped close and parallel to the wall, twisted in the air when it got back to the level of the balcony, and returned to it.

  Uh-huh, it thought. It risked using again the senses it was not supposed to have. Solidity in the bay. What it had hit was not glass, and not a field between it and the empty bay; the bay was not empty, and what it had hit was the field-edge of a projection. On the far side, for at least two kilometres, there was solid matter. Dense, solid matter. Partially exotic dense solid matter.

  Well, there you were. The bird shook itself and preened a little, combing its feathers smooth with its beak. Then it looked around and half hopped, half flew over to one of the posed figures. It inspected each one briefly, staring into an eye here, seemingly looking for a juicy parasite in an ear here, peering at a stray hair here and carefully studying a nostril here.

  It often did this, studying the next ones to go, the ones who would next be revived and taken away. As though there was something to be learned from their carefully artificial postures.

  It pecked, in a desultory, barely interested sort of way at a stray hair in one man’s armpit, then hopped away, studying the group from a variety of nearby tables and angles, trying to find the correct perspective from which to view the scene. Soon to be gone, of course. In fact, they were all going. This lot with the rest, but this lot to re-awakening whereas most of them would just be Stored somewhere else. But this lot, when they were woken in a few hours, would be coming back to life, somewhere. Funny to think of it.

  Finally, the bird shook its head, stretched its wings, and hopped through the hologram and into the deserted café beyond, ready to begin the first leg of its journey back to its mistress.

  A few moments later, the avatar Amorphia stepped out of another part of the hologram, turned once to glance back at where the bird had hopped through the projection, then went and squatted before the figure of the man at whose armpit Gravious had pecked.

  IV

  [tight beam, M32, tra.@n4.28.864.0001]

  xEccentric Shoot Them Later

  oGSV Anticipation Of A New Lover’s Arrival, The

  It was me.

  ∞

  [tight beam, M32, tra. @n4.28.864.1971]

  xGSV Anticipation Of A New Lover’s Arrival, The

  oEccentric Shoot Them Later

  What was you?

  ∞

  I was the go-between for the information transmitted from the AhForgetIt Tendency to SC. One of our people on Tier saw the Affront light cruiser Furious Purpose as it arrived back there; it had a location in Elench code burned onto its scar-hull. The information was transmitted from the Tendency mission on Tier to me; I passed it on to the Different Tan and the Steely Glint, my usual contacts in the Group/Gang. I would guess the signal was then relayed to the GSV Ethics Gradient, home ship of the GCU Fate Amenable To Change, which subsequently discovered the Excession.

  So in a sense, this is all my fault. I apologise.

  I had hoped this confession would never be necessary, but having turned this over in my mind I have concluded that - as was the case concerning the passing-on of the original information regarding the scar-hull signal in the first place - I had no choice. Had you guessed? Had you started to? Do you still trust me?

  ∞

  It had occurred to me, but I had no access to Tendency transmission records and was unwilling to ask the other Gang members directly. I trust you no less for what you say. Why are you telling me now?

  ∞

  I would like to retain that trust. Have you discovered anything else?

  ∞

  Yes. I think there is a link to a man called Genar-Hofoen, a Contact representative with the Affront on a habitat called God’shole, in the Fernblade. He left there the day after the Excession was discovered; SC has hired three Affronter battle cruisers to take him to Tier. They are due there in fourteen days. His biography: (files attached). You see the connection? That ship again.

  ∞

  You think it involved beyond what we believe we have agreed to already?

  ∞

  Yes. And the Grey Area.

  ∞

  The times look a little unlikely; if it really pushed itself the GA can reach Tier in, what? . . . three days or so after this human gets there? But that still leaves our other concern two months or more out of touch.

  ∞

  I know. Still, I think there is something going on. I am following up all the avenues of investigation I can. I’m making further inquiries through the more likely contacts mentioned in his file, but it’s all going terribly slowly. Thank you for your candour. I shall remain in touch.

  ∞

  You’re welcome. Do keep me informed.

  [stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28.865.2203]

  xEccentric Shoot Them Later

  oLSV Serious Callers Only

  Got fed up waiting; I called it (signal file attached).

  ∞

  [stuttered tight point, M32, tra. @n4.28.865.2690]

  xLSV Serious Callers Only

  oEccentric Shoot Them Later

  And now it ‘trusts you no less’. Ha!

  ∞

  I remain convinced it was the right thing to do.

  ∞

  Whatever; it is done. What of the ship you asked to head for Pittance?

  ∞

  On its way.

  ∞

  And why Pittance?

  ∞

  Is it not obvious? Perhaps not. Mayhap the paranoia of The Anticipation Of A New Lover’s Arrival is contagious . . . However that may be, let me make my argument: Pittance houses a veritable cornucopia of weaponry; indeed, the weapons deployed there just to protect the main cache of munitions - that is, the ships - alone represents a vast stockpile of potential destruction. Certainly the store’s course takes it nowhere near the Excession, but it has taken it into the general volume within which the Affront have some interest. Now, while it has almost certainly gone unnoticed and even if it is spotted and tracked it can be of no interest to the Affront (and, of course, it is anyway well able to defend itself), and it is not part of the subtle mobilisation being organised by the Steely Glint, it
nevertheless represents the greatest concentration of matériel in the vicinity.

  I start to wonder; when, roughly, did the Culture start to have doubts - serious doubts - about the Affront? And when was Pittance chosen as one of the ship stores? Around the same time. Indeed, Pittance was chosen, fitted out and stocked entirely within the time-scale of the debate which took place at the end of the Idiran War regarding military intervention against the Affront. There are billions of bodies like Pittance; the galaxy is littered with such pieces of wreckage wandering between the stars. Yet Pittance was chosen as one of only eleven such stores; a rock whose slow progress would take it into Affronter space within five or six centuries - depending on how fast the Affront expanded their sphere of influence - and which might well remain within that sphere for the foreseeable future, given that Affronter influence could easily push its borders out at a greater rate than that of a slowly tumbling rock moving at much less than a per cent of light speed. How fortuitous to have such a wealth of weaponry embedded in Affront space!

  Might not this all, in fact, be a set-up?

  Think about this; is this not just the sort of thing you would be proud to have thought up? Such foresight, such patience, such attention to the long game, such plausible protestations of innocence should the coincidence be remarked upon or revealed! I know I’d be pleased with myself had I been part of such a plan. Lastly, on the committee of Minds which oversaw the choice of these stores, the names Woetra, Different Tan and Not Invented Here all sound rather familiar, think ye not?

  Taken all together, and even recognising that this is almost certainly a blind alley, I thought it irresponsible not to have a sharp eye attached to a sympathetic mind in the vicinity of that precious little rock.

  ∞

  All right. Point taken.

  ∞

  And what of whatever you were working on?

  ∞

  My original idea was to attempt to find someone acceptable on Tier who might be persuaded to our purpose; however, this proved impractical; there is considerable Contact and SC presence on the habitat but nobody I think we could risk sharing our apprehensions with. Instead, I have the tentative agreement of an old ally to support our cause should the occasion arise. It is a month or more from Tier, and the Excession lies beyond there on its orientation, but it has access to a number of warships. The tricky part is that some of them may be called up in the mobilisation, but a few may be put at our disposal. Not as warships, I hasten to add, certainly not against other Culture ships, but as counters, as it were, or delivery systems, if and when we find a vulnerable point in the conspiracy we believe might exist.