"Very well, Jernau Gurgeh. I'll be happy to do that."
Gurgeh bade the ship goodnight. He completed his study of the single-game problem, then switched the screen off. He stood and stretched, yawning. He strolled out of the module, into the orange-brown darkness of the hotel roof-garden. He almost bumped into a large, uniformed male.
The guard saluted — a gesture Gurgeh never did know bow to reply to — and handed him a piece of paper. Gurgeh took it and thanked him; the guard went back to his station at the top of the roof-stairs.
Gurgeh walked back into the module, trying to read the note.
"Flere-Imsaho?" he called, uncertain whether the little machine was still around or not. It came floating through from another part of the module in its undisguised, quiet form, carrying a large, richly illustrated book on the avian fauna of Eä.
"Yes?"
"What does this say?" Gurgeh flourished the note.
The drone floated up to the piece of paper. "Minus the imperial embroidery, it says they'd like you to go to the palace tomorrow so they can add their congratulations. What it means is, they want to take a look at you."
"I suppose I have to go?"
"I would say so."
"Does it mention you?"
"No, but I'll come along anyway; they can only throw me out. What were you talking to the ship about?"
"It's going to register my Premises for me. It was also giving me a lecture on sociological conditioning."
"It means well," said the drone. "It just doesn't want to leave such a delicate task to someone like you."
"Just going out, were you, drone?" Gurgeh said, switching on the screen again and sitting down to watch it. He brought up the game-player's channel on the imperial waveband and flicked through to the draw for the single games in the second round. Still no decision; the draw was still being decided; expected any minute.
"Well," Flere-Imsaho said, "There is a very interesting species of nocturnal fish-hunter that inhabits an estuary just a hundred kilometres from here, and I was thinking—"
"Don't let me keep you," Gurgeh said, just as the draw started to come through on the imperial game-channel; the screen started to fill with numbers and names.
"Right. I'll say goodnight, then." The drone floated away.
Gurgeh waved without looking round. "Goodnight," he said. He didn't hear whether the drone replied or not.
He found his place in the draw; his name appeared on the screen beside that of Lo Wescekibold Ram, governing director of the Imperial Monopolies Board. He was ranked as Level Five Main, which meant he was one of the sixty best game-players in the Empire.
The following day was Pequil's day off. An imperial aircraft was sent for Gurgeh and landed beside the module. Gurgeh and Flere-Imsaho — which had been rather late returning from its estuarial expedition — were taken out over the city to the palace. They landed on the roof of an impressive set of office buildings overlooking one of the small parks set within the palace grounds, and were led down wide, richly carpeted stairs to a high-ceilinged office where a male servant asked Gurgeh if he wanted anything to eat or drink. Gurgeh said no, and he and the drone were left alone.
Flere-Imsaho drifted over to the tall windows. Gurgeh looked at some portrait paintings hanging on the walls. After a short while, a youngish apex entered the room. He was tall, dressed in a relatively unfussy and businesslike version of the uniform of the Imperial Bureaucracy.
"Mr Gurgeh; good day. I'm Lo Shav Olos."
"Hello," Gurgeh said. They exchanged polite nods, then the apex walked quickly to a large desk in front of the windows and set a bulky sheaf of papers down on it before sitting down.
Lo Shav Olos looked round at Flere-Imsaho, buzzing and hissing away near by. "And this must be your little machine."
"Its name is Flere-Imsaho. It helps me with your language."
"Of course." The apex gestured to an ornate seat on the other side of his desk. "Please; sit down."
Gurgeh sat, and Flere-Imsaho came to float near him. The male servant returned with a crystal goblet and placed it on the desk near Olos, who drank before saying, "Not that you must need much help, Mr Gurgeh." The young apex smiled. "Your Eächic is very good."
"Thank you."
"Let me add my personal congratulations to those of the Imperial Office, Mr Gurgeh. You have done far better than many of us expected you to do. I understand you were learning the game only for about a third of one of our Great Years."
"Yes, but I found Azad so interesting I did little else during that time. And it does share concepts with other games I've studied in the past."
"Nevertheless, you've beaten people who've been learning the game all their lives. The priest Lin Goforiev Tounse was expected to do well in these games."
"So I saw," Gurgeh smiled. "Perhaps I was lucky."
The apex gave a little laugh, and sat back in his chair. "Perhaps you were, Mr Gurgeh. I'm sorry to see your luck didn't extend to cover the draw for the next round. Lo Wescekibold Ram is a formidable player, and many expect him to better his previous performance."
"I hope I can give him a good game."
"So do we all." The apex drank from his goblet again, then got up and went to the windows behind him, looking out over the park. He scratched at the thick glass, as though there was a speck on it. "While not, strictly speaking, my province, I confess I'd be interested if you could tell me a little about your plans for the registration of Premises." He turned and looked at Gurgeh.
"I haven't decided quite how to express them yet," Gurgeh said. "I'll register them tomorrow, probably."
The apex nodded thoughtfully. He pulled at one sleeve of the imperial uniform. "I wonder if I might advise you to be… somewhat circumspect, Mr Gurgeh?" (Gurgeh asked the drone to translate "circumspect'. Olos waited, then continued.) "Of course you must register with the Bureau, but as you know, your participation in these games is in a purely honorary capacity, and so exactly what you say in your Premises has only… statistical value, shall we say?"
Gurgeh asked the drone to translate "capacity'.
"Garbleness, game-playeroid," Flere-Imsaho muttered darkly in Marain. "Twiddly-dee; you that word capacity beforely usedish Eächic in. Placey-wacey's buggy-wuggied. Stoppy-toppy deez guys spladdiblledey-dey-da more cluettes on da lingo offering, righty?"
Gurgeh suppressed a smile. Olos went on. "As a rule, contestants must be prepared to defend their views with arguments, should the Bureau find it necessary to challenge any of them, but I hope you will understand that this will hardly be likely to happen to you. The Imperial Bureau is not blind to the fact that the… values of your society may be quite different from our own. We have no wish to embarrass you by forcing you to reveal things the press and the majority of our citizens might find… offensive." He smiled. "Personally, off the record, I would imagine that you could be quite… oh, one might almost say «vague»… and nobody would be especially bothered."
""Especially"?" Gurgeh said innocently to the humming, crackling drone at his side.
"More gibberish biltrivnik ner plin ferds, you're quontstipilish trying nomonomo wertsishi my zozlik zibbidik dik fucking patience, Gurgeh."
Gurgeh coughed loudly. "Excuse me," he said to Olos. "Yes. I see. I'll bear that in mind when I draw up my Premises."
"I'm glad, Mr Gurgeh," Olos said, coming back to his chair and sitting again. "What I've said is my personal view, of course, and I have no links with the Imperial Bureau; this office is quite independent of that body. Nevertheless, one of the great strengths of the Empire is its cohesion, its… unity, and I doubt that I could be very wide of the mark in judging what the attitude of another imperial department might be." Lo Shav Olos smiled indulgently. "We really do all pull together."