In some ways it seemed so little to ask.
“Septame,” a voice said. “Thank you so much for seeing me.” The avatar Ziborlun bowed from the doorway of the spherical observation pod. It smiled, its silver-skinned face lit by the soft glow of the light reflecting from the planet beneath.
“Ziborlun,” Banstegeyn said.
There was a particular way of saying somebody’s name — you pronounced it as you gave a small sigh — that informed them, assuming they had the wit to recognise the sign, that they were being seen as an indulgence, as a duty even, when really you had so many more important matters to attend to. It was in that manner that the septame had said the avatar’s name.
The avatar, being an avatar, picked up the signal immediately; the smile turned self-deprecatory, almost apologetic, and the creature said, “I won’t keep you long, Septame.”
“It is a busy time,” Banstegeyn agreed.
The avatar floated into the pod as the door shushed closed behind it. Ziborlun immediately assumed a very natural and relaxed-looking position, ankles together, knees splayed. It hovered in mid-air a couple of metres away from Banstegeyn, as steady as if it had a metal rod protruding from its back anchoring it to the wall a metre behind. Banstegeyn had never seen anybody maintain such a static position in a weightless environment. Well, it was a ship avatar, he supposed; it ought to be good at this sort of thing. He, on the other hand, was burred onto a drysticky patch near the viewing port by part of his zero-G suit and yet he was still sort of moving around a bit.
“Yes,” the avatar said. “Sadly busy, given the shocking event at Eshri. What ought to be a time of contemplation and quiet preparation becomes a time of mourning, bitterness, and even recrimination. I just wanted to reiterate the Culture’s condolences and to reinforce our offer of help.”
“Both much appreciated. I hope you will take it as a sign of our confident closeness, not our arrogance, that we had assumed no less.”
“Sometimes what goes without saying is best said anyway,” the avatar said, smiling.
Banstegeyn smiled too, politely, but kept quiet. It was slightly less rude than saying, Well, if that’s all, or glancing at his time-to.
“You will of course also have our help in the search for the culprits.”
“Thank you.”
“Indeed. And we may, shortly, be able to make good on that offer.”
“Oh? How so?” This, he’d be prepared to admit, had his attention.
“Luckily, we had a ship in the volume quite shortly after the attack on the HQ of the Fourteenth. It thought it best to leave almost immediately in case, in the ensuing confusion, it was mistaken for a hostile; however, it was able to take certain readings that might help in any investigation into the attack.”
“Really? And what would those readings indicate?”
“It is too early to say,” the avatar said apologetically. “Besides, it might be best for us, preferentially, and initially at least, to present the data raw, rather than interpreted, lest we be seen to be trying to influence the investigation.”
“So, you’re willing to submit this data to the relevant authorities?” Banstegeyn asked.
“Indeed.”
“I take it you’re aware that I’ve appointed the First, the Home Regiment, to look into the matter.”
“Hmm,” the avatar said, with an odd, tight expression on its face. Banstegeyn reckoned he’d learned to read avatar expressions pretty well over the years. If the creature had held up a sign saying “Yeah, are you sure about that?” the signal would hardly have been any clearer. “That is not what one would normally expect, is it?”
“Normally a Combined Regimental Committee would perform such a task,” Banstegeyn agreed. “However, given the time constraints imposed by the up-coming Instigation, the depletion of the relevant ranks due to Storage and the disarray within so much of the fleet due to the number of ships that have already Sublimed, it was decided that, as the single most cohesive element of the defence forces still functioning, the First ought to shoulder the load.”
“So that is not just an interim measure?” the avatar asked. “There seemed to be some confusion. I thought you might know better than anybody what was planned.”
Banstegeyn smiled. “I am a mere septame, not the president or a trime or a general. But to the best of my knowledge First will be allowed to continue to pursue the investigation until a satisfactory conclusion is reached. That would be my suggestion, at least.”
“I see. I’ll let the relevant ships know. We have yet to decide whether the information we hold would help or hinder the investigation.”
“That would be your choice.”
“If I may touch on another matter, I think we were all surprised at the result of the decision regarding the Scavenging situation and would hope that this will not lead to any unpleasantness. We would accordingly like to offer the cooperation of the ships which are accompanying elements of the Liseiden and Ronte fleets. Your fleet people are already aware of their names, locations and so on, but please allow us to work with you to prevent any conflicts of any nature between the parties involved.”
“That is kind, and thoughtful,” Banstegeyn said. He gave a tight little smile of his own, glanced at the viewing port, towards the planet.
“Thank you for your time, Septame.”
“My pleasure. My only regret is that there is so little of it to go around at the moment.”
The avatar unfolded itself as the door behind it opened. It flowed gracefully through the doorway. Banstegeyn heard it exchange a few words with his AdC and secretary, waiting outside. He turned his attention back to the port and the view of Zyse, listening to Jevan and Solbli enter with a rustling of clothes. He heard the door close. They’d already called with the gist of it: bad news.
“Nothing at all?” he said, turning back to them. Jevan and Solbli both looked solemn, and tired. Jevan looked as unkempt as he ever did and Solbli very nearly looked her age. He supposed he ought to feel flattered they had spent so much of their own real time searching for a solution, rather than just leaving agents and data-trawls to do all the work for them.
“Nothing, Septame,” Jevan said with a sigh.
They did, in the end, care about him, Banstegeyn realised. A lot more than he really cared about them, which was the right way round, and made their devotion all the sweeter in a way.
“Trime Quvarond was very careful to follow all procedures correctly,” Solbli added.
The same was true of Orpe. The President’s AdC was here on the orbital base too, for the same regiment-sponsored security conference; there ought to be time for some zero-G sex later. He thought the experience was a little over-rated, personally, though the girl seemed to like it. The real pleasure, he felt, lay more in being able to watch the planet turn beneath you as you fucked. There was something very satisfying about that. He hoped it would still feel as satisfying even though, this time, he would not be looking down on it knowing that one day it would carry his name.
“We are here because somebody destroyed an entire regimental HQ and fate alone knows what else. We are not far off being at war, arguably. If we were, technically, at war… would that…?”
Jevan was already shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, Septame.”
“You might persuade the president not to sign the order,” Solbli suggested, with a thin smile.