∞
And the Contents May Differ vouches for the ship and it for the human?
∞
xGSV Contents May Differ
Within the usual limits, yes.
∞
xGSV Just The Washing Instruction Chip In Life’s Rich Tapestry
Then I say go ahead.
∞
xGSV Contents May Differ
Any objections?… No?… Very well. Signal sent. I’ll keep you all informed. Meanwhile, after some pressure, the Empiricist’s Delinquent pair the Headcrash and the Xenocrat have — finally — been persuaded to give up their smatter-bagging competition at Loliscombana and make haste for Gzilt; heading straight to Zyse at the request of something called the Gzilt Combined Regimental Fleet Command — this would appear to be some new overview structure recently set up by this Banstegeyn fellow under Marshal Chekwri. The two ships are due there in seven days. Due to an agreement required to bring about the aforesaid pressure, the Empiricist will now become part of the group at the next signal, though it has expressed a preference for haunting rather than manifesting, as it were. The Empiricist itself now expects to be arriving at Zyse in eleven or twelve days. That’s all for now.
∞
xGSV Just The Washing Instruction Chip In Life’s Rich Tapestry
oGSV Contents May Differ
Oh, hurrah. Now the Empiricist gets to hover glowering over everything and step in when it thinks we’ve done enough of the hard work to make the outcome sufficiently positive to enhance its gloriousness.
∞
Size has its privileges.
∞
More to the point, we need to start thinking now about what we’re going to do if we do find out the truth — via Mr Q, or any other route. Do we tell the Gzilt? And if we tell, do we tell only those at the top — who might already know/have guessed — or do we take it upon ourselves to broadcast the embarrassing news (assuming it is) to all?
∞
Good question. I suspect a vote might be called for. Right now, personally, I’d probably plump for shutting the hell up and letting the Gzilt get on with it.
∞
Which begs the question, why, then, are we bothering to hunt down this truth at all?
∞
The Z-R asked us to help. Also, it’s just interesting. Here’s something we don’t know but we can maybe find out, and it’s something that other people don’t want us to know. How much more seductive can you get?
∞
Maybe there are some truths not worth chasing down. Maybe there are times when it’s best to remain ignorant.
∞
Very funny.
∞
I’m being serious.
∞
Sure you are. Anyway, how goes your batch of the Simming? Mine is gnarlsome, raspulescent, grislesque.
∞
Never mind. Hitting both Problems, since you ask. Trying to work around, but it’s getting all moral in one direction and chaotic in the other. Suspect it’s basically Intrinsically Unamenable on both counts, but will keep on trying.
∞
Have a lie down, as one of one’s humans might say to another.
∞
Shut up and get back to your work, as they also might say.
∞
Ha! Good simming. Over and outload!
A ship dance of celebration was required.
The fleet had already split into separate squadrons of eight ships apiece (save for the flagship squadron of twelve ships plus the accompanying Culture craft Beats Working) and these squadrons had flown in different directions towards their appointed places of interest where they might hope to accrue technology which would prove advantageous to the Ronte. Therefore a full fleet dance could not be performed. Instead a coordinated split-fleet dance would be performed, each squadron and ship and crew being made conscious of the movements of all the others so that the distributed dance would be accomplished as a joyous whole, virtually.
Accordingly, the dance “Multiple New Swarmqueens, Brought Together By Advantageous Zephyrs, Display Together In The Light Of The Two Home Suns At Double Zenith” was performed, to glorious effect. At the respectful request of the Culture ship, a place was found for it to become part of the dance as well, a task of honour it executed with diligence, understanding and precision, to the greater glory of the Ronte people, who had, against all expectation, been granted the Preferred status that they had known they deserved but had doubted would be conferred.
The Culture ship Beats Working accordingly accrued additional inferred alien cachet value (positive), honorary, with made-awareness of award status deferred.
The fleet squadrons reconfigured to reflect their new status. All but a few adjusted their courses for more important sources of technology, infrastructure and territory, given that these were likely now to fall to them without dispute. The flagship squadron turned to set a course for Zyse, the Gzilt capital and home system.
“People were targeted, I tell you, Banstegeyn,” Yegres told him as they walked in the grounds of the trime’s villa in the hills overlooking the city. The parliament building shimmered whitely in the distance, blurred with warm air rising, the Presence a dark inverted drip-shape above it, made tiny by the distance.
A pair of light cruisers, their smooth, kilometre-long hulls silvered, hung in the air ten thousand metres above the city. This was supposed to be reassuring for the remaining populace after the shock of the attack on the Regimental HQ of the Fourteenth at Eshri.
“Targeted,” Yegres repeated, glancing at Banstegeyn. The two crunched along a gravel path, followed at a discreet distance by Solbli and Jevan. Banstegeyn’s chief secretary and aide-de-camp were seemingly muttering to themselves, partially sub-vocalising as they communicated elsewhere. He’d given them the job of continuing to try and find a way to nullify the Scavenger vote earlier. There had been over ten millennia of inherently convoluted and frequently murky parliamentary business, all of it faithfully recorded; there had to be a precedent in there somewhere. It would be a start if nothing else.
Yegres was accompanied by a float-tray. It held a glass and decanter; he helped himself. “Frix was offered an introduction to some girl he’d had his eye on — or Quvarond’s wife or something; I don’t know — Yenivle took a case of Kolymkin… something; some priceless vintage.” Yegres frowned. “Wish the bugger had offered me that. So thoughtless.” He shrugged, shook his head. “Not sure what Jurutre was offered, but seemingly something furtive regarding a child. Not filthy, or even illegal, just… sad… Anyway, it was all terribly well organised. Done with military precision.” He barked a laugh. “Better than that, actually; didn’t miss and hit their own people.”
“And you?” Banstegeyn asked. “What did Trime Quvarond offer you?” He found it hard to keep the sneer out of his voice.
“Nothing at all, dear boy,” Yegres said amiably, waving one hand around. “I voted against you because I just don’t like you.”
Banstegeyn was stopped in his tracks. He heard Jevan and Solbli stop at the same time, gravel rasping under their feet. They’d gone silent, poised.
Yegres wandered on, oblivious, for another couple of steps before stopping too. He looked back at Banstegeyn.