Chekwri stood, walked to the window overlooking the stepped gardens and the city beyond the curve of river. “My, I do believe some people have started fires,” she said. “I thought that wasn’t our style.” She looked back at Banstegeyn. “One lot of aliens is about to trash another. The mighty Empiricist, no less, has signalled the miscreants telling them to play nicely but the rumour is it’s being ignored. I just wanted to be sure you were happy that we let things be and allow what might happen to happen. This is not to say that they’d take any notice of us, either, but in theory we might threaten to withdraw Scavenger cooperation. This has been suggested.”
“By whom?”
“Media, Culture, one or two politicos. There’d be more, but of course everybody’s distracted.”
“You’re the brave space marshal. What would your advice be?”
“I’d be indifferent; doesn’t affect us… save for the fact that our returned bad boy and what sounds like its entire marine force are just about to tangle with a Culture ship, out at Xown. That could get messy. Might require extraneous distractions to keep people from concerning themselves with it.” She crossed her arms. “Intelligence has crunched some more numbers and now thinks that particular side-show might all turn on this absurdly old Culture guy, and Cossont, the girl who survived Fzan-Juym and the fracas at Bokri. I think we take no chances and continue to let our assets around the Girdlecity do whatever’s needed; does that sound—?”
“Yes. Yes, it does. Do whatever’s needed,” the septame said, not looking up. “Is that all?” he asked. “Lot of signing required, winding up an entire civilisation, and the president was only too happy to delegate to his trimes and septames. Then I’ve got the joy of back-to-back receptions for a variety of newly arrived aliens and recently de-Stored self-important political nonentities to attend.”
“You should just tell them to fuck off,” Chekwri said cheerfully. “Go for a walk. Get laid. Start a fire.” She headed for the door. “Why not?”
The door closed, leaving him alone. He brought his head up, gazing at the closed door for a moment. Then his eyes flicked to one side for an instant, he made a small keening noise and bent quickly back to his task, the nib of the stylo scratching drily at the desk screen.
“Salvage and Reprocessing Team Principal, Ny-Xandabo Tyun?”
“I have that honour. And you?” Tyun had been called back to the bridge from his private cabin half an hour early. It appeared the Culture ship wanted to talk and was falling back towards them, leaving the Ronte fleet to crawl on without it. Tyun watched the representation of the situation on a giant screen stretching right across the forward part of the bridge.
“I am the Culture ship Beats Working,” the voice said, in perfect, unaccented Liseiden Formal.
“Sir,” Tyun’s combat officer broke in, “a contact, registering less than ten metres in length and flagging as an unarmed civilian personnel craft, has left the Culture ship. Divergent course; peeling away. Slung and slowing.”
Tyun could see the tiny trace, curving away from the approaching Culture ship; a thread from a speck. “Could it be a warhead?” he asked.
“Technically possible, sir,” the combat officer said. “Something improvised. Big, though, for such a small craft. They’re not supposed to carry any weapons anywhere near—”
“Deploy an HRMP to track it, slow approach. Keep the platform between the new contact and us.”
“Heavy Remote Missile Platform launched, sir. Launch authority for the missiles?”
“What would you recommend, officer?”
“Zero automaticity, sir. Our direct positive command.”
“That, then.”
“Team Principal?” the Culture ship said.
Tyun clicked back to speak to the Culture ship again. “Yes?”
“I take it you’ve noticed that I have despatched my human crew in a small shuttle craft. Their identities and the craft’s course are appended. They and the shuttle are entirely unarmed.”
“Why are your crew abandoning ship?”
“I asked them to, and advised them that they ought to.”
“Why would that be?”
“In case there are any hostilities.”
“Why should there be any hostilities?”
“I believe you mean some harm to the Ronte.”
“Not at all. You presume too much. I might as well assume that you mean harm to me and my ships because you have loosed what, for all I know, might be a warhead disguised as a shuttle.”
“The shuttle craft is drawing further away from you all the time and its course is set. Also, it is demonstrably unarmed.”
“Seven minutes until the Culture ship’s in range, sir,” the combat officer told him.
“Are we in range of it yet?” Tyun asked. He checked the magnification the screen was using, shown as a logarithmically scaled bar on one side.
“Shouldn’t be, sir; not a Scree class. They’re almost unarmed.”
“And you,” Tyun asked, clicking back to talk to the Culture ship. “Are you unarmed, machine? And what are your intentions?”
“I have only very limited military capability. My intention is to prevent you engaging with the Ronte ships ahead of you.”
“What makes you think we wish to engage with them?”
“You are pursuing them.”
“Hmm. I would not care to define it as such. We are merely following them.”
“You have targeted them.”
“We have illuminated them the better to track their progress.”
“This is not fully plausible. I believe you mean them harm.”
“Not at all. We may ask them to heave to and submit to our inspection; we are entitled to do so under the terms of our agreement with the Gzilt, as long as the Ronte or any unauthorised military or semi-military forces are in Gzilt space. Which they are, of course.”
“You know the Ronte will never permit such a thing.”
“That’s their problem. Certainly they have proved treacherous in the past and gone back on their agreements with us, so we are unable, sadly, to take their word regarding any questions we may have for them regarding cargo, weaponry and intentions. As I say, our initial approach will be entirely non-violent, simply requesting them to halt and cooperate.”
“Such an approach virtually guarantees there will be conflict. I believe you know this.”
“I know no such thing, ship. I am acting within my rights according to the recently signed agreement between the Liseiden people and the Gzilt; an agreement which rescinds and cancels any previous agreements your… clients might have thought they’d inveigled the Gzilt into signing with them. And I wonder that a Culture ship appears so determined to ally itself with those barbaric ruffians, the Ronte. I wonder, are we suffering from a degree of guilt at having enabled your Ronte friends to encroach so far into Gzilt space? If so, ship, I understand that you might feel some shame, some wounded pride, but our… contention at this time is not with you. If it is with anyone, it is with them. I must ask you to break off what is beginning to look like an attack run on our — far superior — force before we are compelled to take defensive action, which may, I’m afraid to say, include interception munitions.”
“I intend to continue on my present course, Team Principal.”
On the giant screen, the Culture ship looked very close now. Tyun clicked out. “Navigation, prepare to split the squadron in two: three right, three left, to half a light second apart. On my order. We’ll let the Culture ship go straight through the gap between. All ships target and prepare to fire on any hostile action from the Culture ship. We can afford to ignore the Ronte for a short while, yes?”
“Maybe five minutes, on present velocities,” his navigation officer said.