"I'm getting impatient, Jernau Gurgeh. Time goes slower the faster you think, and I think very fast indeed. Let's say another four days, shall we? You have one hundred and twenty-eight hours before I tell Gunboat to make you even more famous than you are already." It tossed the wrecked terminal back to him; he caught it.
The little drone drifted off towards the edge of the clearing. "I'll be waiting for your call," it said. "Better get a new terminal, though. And do be careful on the walk back to Ikroh; dangerous to be out in the wilds with no way of summoning help."
"Five years?" Chamlis said thoughtfully. "Well, it's some game, I agree, but won't you lose touch over that sort of period? Have you thought this through properly, Gurgeh? Don't let them rush you into anything you might regret later."
They were in the lowest cellar in Ikroh. Gurgeh had taken Chamlis down there to tell it about Azad. He'd sworn the old drone to secrecy first. They'd left Hub's resident anti-surveillance drone guarding the cellar entrance and Chamlis had done its best to check there was nobody and nothing listening in, as well as producing a reasonable impression of a quietfield around them. They talked against a background of pipes and service ducts rumbling and hissing around them in the darkness; the naked walls" rock sweated, darkly glistening.
Gurgeh shook his head. There was nowhere to sit down in the cellar, and its roof was just a little too low for him to stand fully upright. So he stood, head bowed. "I think I'm going to do it," he said, not looking at Chamlis. "I can always come back, if it's too difficult, if I change my mind."
"Too difficult?" Chamlis echoed, surprised. "That's not like you. I agree it's a tough game, but—"
"Anyway, I can come back," he said.
Chamlis was silent for a moment. "Yes. Yes, of course you can."
He still didn't know if he was doing the right thing. He had tried to think it through, to apply the same son of cold, logical analysis to his own plight that he would normally bring to bear in a tricky situation in a game, but he just didn't seem to be able to do so; it was as though that ability could look calmly only on distant, abstract problems, and was incapable of focusing on anything so intricately enmeshed with his own emotional state.
He wanted to go to get away from Mawhrin-Skel, but — he had to admit to himself — he was attracted by Azad. Not just the game. That was still slightly unreal, too complicated to be taken seriously yet. The empire itself interested him.
And yet of course he wanted to stay. He had enjoyed his life, until that night in Tronze. He had never been totally satisfied, but then, who was? Looking back, the life he'd led seemed idyllic. He might lose the occasional game, feel that another game-player was unjustifiably lauded over himself, lust after Yay Meristinoux and feel piqued she preferred others, but these were small, small hurts indeed, compared both with what Mawhrin-Skel held on him, and with the five years" exile which now faced him.
"No," he said, nodding at the floor, "I think I will go."
"All right… but this just doesn't seem like you, Gurgeh. You've always been so… measured. In control."
"You make me sound like a machine," Gurgeh said tiredly.
"No, but more… predictable than this; more comprehensible."
He shrugged, looked at the rough rock floor. "Chamlis," he said, "I'm only human."
"That, my dear old friend, has never been an excuse."
He sat in the underground car. He'd been to the university to see Professor Boruelal; he'd taken with him a sealed, hand-written letter for her to keep, to be opened only if he died, explaining all that had happened, apologising to Olz Hap, trying to make clear how he'd felt, what had made him do such a terrible, stupid thing… but in the end he hadn't handed the letter over. He'd been terrified at the thought of Boruelal opening it, accidentally perhaps, and reading it while he was still alive.
The underground car raced across the base of the Plate, heading for Ikroh again. He used his new terminal to call the drone named Worthil. It had left after their last meeting to go exploring in one of the system's gas-giant planets, but on receiving his call had itself displaced by Chiark Hub to the base underside. It came in through the speeding car's lock. "Jernau Gurgeh," it said, condensation frosting on its casing, its presence entering the car's warm interior like a cold draught, "you've reached a decision?"
"Yes," he said. "I'll go."
"Good!" The drone said. It placed a small container about half its own size down on one of the padded car seats. "Gas-giant flora," it explained.
"I hope I didn't unduly curtail your expedition."
"Not at all. Let me offer you my congratulations; I think you've made a wise, even brave choice. It did cross my mind that Contact was only offering you this opportunity to make you more content with your present life. If that's what the big Minds were expecting, I'm glad to see you confounding them. Well done."
"Thank you." Gurgeh attempted a smile.
"Your ship will be prepared immediately. It should be on its way within the day."
"What kind of ship is it?"
"An old «Murderer» class GOU left over from the Idiran war; been in deep storage about six decades from here for the last seven hundred years. Called the Limiting F actor. It's still in battle-trim at the moment, but they'll strip out the weaponry and emplace a set of game-boards and a module hanger. I understand the Mind isn't anything special; these warship forms can't afford to be sparkling wits or brilliant artists, but I believe it's a likeable enough device. It'll be your opponent during the journey. If you want, you're free to take somebody else along with you, but we'll send a drone with you anyway. There's a human envoy at Groasnachek, the capital of Eä, and he'll be your guide as well… were you thinking of taking a companion?"
"No," Gurgeh said. In fact he had thought of asking Chamlis, but knew the old drone felt it had already had enough excitement — and boredom — in its life. He didn't want to put the machine in the position of having to say no. If it actually wanted to go, he was sure it wouldn't be afraid to ask.
"Probably wise. What about personal possessions? It could be awkward if you want to take anything larger than a small module, say, or livestock larger than human size."
Gurgeh shook his head. "Nothing remotely that large. A few cases of clothes… perhaps one or two ornaments… nothing more. What sort of drone were you thinking of sending?"
"Basically a diplomat-cum-translator and general gofer; probably an old-timer with some experience of the empire. It'll have to have a comprehensive knowledge of all the empire's social mannerisms and forms of address and so on; you wouldn't believe how easy it is to make gaffes in a society like that. The drone will keep you clear as far as etiquette goes. It'll have a library too, of course, and probably a limited degree of offensive capability."
"I don't want a gun-drone, Worthil," Gurgeh said.
"It is advisable, for your own protection. You'll be under the protection of the imperial authorities, of course, but they aren't infallible. Physical attack isn't unknown during a game, and there are groups within the society which might want to harm you. I ought to point out the Limiting Factor won't be able to stay near by once it's dropped you on Eä; the empire's military have insisted they will not allow a warship to be stationed over their home planet. The only reason they're letting it approach Eä at all is because we're removing all the armament. Once the ship has departed, that drone will be the only totally reliable protection you have."
"It won't make me invulnerable, though, will it?"
"No."