~Good day, the Culture ship sent. ~I’m the Mistake Not… I believe you are the 8*Churkun.
~Correct. And I am its captain. Might we ask what brings you here?
~Got personnel inside the Girdlecity, though I suspect you’ve already guessed that.
~We are providing support for persons in there ourselves. Further to that, this is now a zone of operational interest, so we do have to ask you to leave.
~I see. You still have my module, I believe.
~We do. Though not actually aboard, as it were. Just in case. We’re inclined to treat it as captured hostile equipment, especially given the way it was delivered. Perhaps we might return it to you, following your departure, once this is no longer a zone of operational interest, which, we repeat, we must ask you to leave. Immediately.
~Ah, keep it if you like. Not that bothered. But I do need to stick around for a bit.
~It is not going to be possible to accommodate that desire. Obviously, we have no wish to engage in any hostilities with you, but, if it comes to it, we are entirely prepared to do just that if you do not leave, immediately.
~Be a bit close-range. Like nukes in a shed.
~Well, whatever it might take. This is though, sadly, not open for negotiation. We must ask you to leave immediately. One Culture ship has already met its end within Gzilt space in the last few hours. I assume you have heard of the fate of the Beats Working.
~Yes. It’s just the kind of thing us Culture ships natter about.
~It would be unfortunate in the extreme if it were not to remain the only casualty of such status hereabouts. Please leave. And do understand that this is not a reduction in the force of our demand that you do so — which remains in force and is, as of this statement, up to its fourth re-statement. It is, rather, an additional plea from those of us aboard with some respect for Culture vessels that you accede, without delay, to our demand before anything unfortunate occurs.
~Of course… not the only casualty, hereabouts, the plucky little Beats Working.
~Indeed, twelve Ronte ships were lost as well.
~With all hands. And then, in addition to that, there was that Z-R ship out at Ablate, twenty-two days ago.
~Really?
~Really. Kind of kicked off this whole rolling unpleasantness. Everything was spinning along pretty much fine until that bit of… well, how would one characterise it? Illegality? Cowardice? Piracy? Bullying to the point of murder? Just… murder?
~How little the differences between these terms mean to those subject to the act concerned. You ought to pay heed.
~Me that spotted it, too. I was rendezvousing with our Liseiden chums out at Ry when it happened. Caught the blink of that particular little atrocity.
~Remarkable. That is some distance away. Well spotted. Now, we really must ask you to leave, for the last time. There will be no more requests, only action. Our patience is, truly, exhausted.
~We could start by sort of tussling with fields. I did that out at Bokri, in Ospin, with your pal the Uagren. That was fun. Not something you get to do every day. Bestial, nearly, like locking horns. Actually, more like naked wrestling, all oiled up. I found it quite erotic, to tell the truth. Homo-erotic, I suppose, technically, as we’re all just ships together and we’re all the same gender: neutral, or hermaphrodite or whatever, don’t you think?
The Churkun’s reply was to attempt to wrap a burst field all around the smaller Culture ship, an element of its field enclosure pulsing suddenly, nearly instantly out like a loop of a sun’s magnetic field flicking, releasing a pulse of charged particles.
~Not even a nice try, shipfucker, the Culture ship sent, already dodged before the field bubble got anywhere near it. ~And now, watch this.
It flickered, shimmering in hyperspace as it fell, powering the trivial distance from where it had been, down the curve of the planet’s gravity well, to the Girdlecity. Then it disappeared.
The first sign of alarm had been the warbling of a siren in the distance as he and the arbites had progressed along a broad, downward-slanting corridor. He hadn’t noticed at first as he was busy trying to re-establish contact with the ship.
~Marine operations officer? he sent, then waited.
A few civilians walked in the distance. Many were dressed in white shifts similar to those he had seen earlier.
~Captain?
Some more white-clad civilians appeared from an elevator, just ahead; they stopped and stared when they saw Agansu and the disturbance in the air caused by the arbites’ camouflage; effectively invisible to the naked eye from as little as ten metres away, the machines weren’t fooling anybody this close, not when they moved. Even the blind would know they were there; the machines were marching carefully out of step and treading as delicately as they were able, but there was still a noticeable vibration shuddering along the wide floor of the corridor.
~Captain? Still no answer. ~Communications officer?
~Communication with the ship is not possible within this shielded environment, Arbite One told him.
~We have no link to other assets aboard? he asked.
~None at present, the arbite replied.
“Hey!” somebody shouted behind them. “Stop! On the floor, now!”
Agansu turned round to see a helmeted security person, armed with what was probably a stun rifle, running down the corridor towards them. ~Stun, he said to One.
The security guard staggered but didn’t collapse.
~Stunning ineffective, Arbite One said.
The guard dropped to one knee and raised the gun.
Light flared, the guard’s head flicked backwards and the figure collapsed.
~Weapon aimed, action taken, Arbite One sent, when Agansu looked at it. ~Standing orders.
Now people were screaming; the group at the open elevator were crowding back in. In the direction they had been heading, those who had been walking in front of them were stationary, looking back.
Lights — red, situated every fifteen metres along the corner the walls made with the ceiling — started to flash. Another siren had joined the first.
~I think, to put it in the vernacular idiom, our cover is blown, Agansu told the marine arbites. ~Resume full capacity including AG and field.
The arbites seemed to collapse in on themselves, compacting to the size of bulky backpacks, and hovering.
Agansu thought his own AG on. It was as though an invisible seat rose beneath him, bringing his legs up as he lay back. He had flown like this before in training and simulations; a familiar-feeling virtual glove-control seemed to fill his hand. He held the kin-ex side-arm in the other hand.
~Follow me, he sent to the four arbites. He raced down the corridor, a metre and a half off the floor, feet first. This was the luge configuration; others preferred the toboggan, though Agansu had always thought such head-first antics both intrinsically more dangerous and a little showy.
The arbites flew in a horizontal square formation around him. They rose very close to the ceiling as they tore over the crowd of people they’d been following earlier, passing overhead without incident, though he heard somebody screaming. They had all dropped to the floor anyway. The piercing sound of the scream dopplered oddly as they swept past above, still following the downward curve of the corridor.
Seconds later, some distance ahead, he could see a crowd of white-clad people clustered around a broad circular staircase leading upwards.