"Very well," the ship said, while Gurgeh sat stroking his beard, thinking that, if nothing else, he'd been given the choice. But if they hadn't been going to remove the evidence and possibly cause a diplomatic incident anyway, would Contact have been so accommodating? It didn't matter. But he knew in his heart, after that conversation, he'd lost the will to win.
The ship had more news. It had just received a signal from Chamlis Amalk-ney, promising a longer message soon, but for the mean time just letting him know that Olz Hap had finally done it; she'd achieved a Full Web. A Culture player had — at last — produced the ultimate Stricken result. The young lady was the toast of Chiark and the Culture game-players. Chamlis had already congratulated her on Gurgeh's behalf, but expected he'd want to send her a signal of his own. It wished him well.
Gurgeh switched the screen off and sat back. He sat and stared at the blank space for a while, unsure what to know, or think, or remember, or even be. A sad smile touched one side of his face, for a while.
Flere-Imsaho floated over to his shoulder.
"Jernau Gurgeh. Are you tired?"
He turned to it eventually. "What? Yes; a little." He stood up, stretched. "Doubt I'll sleep much, though."
"I thought that might be the case. I wondered if you would like to come with me."
"What, to look at birds? I don't think so, drone. Thanks anyway."
"I wasn't thinking of our feathered friends, actually. I have not always gone to watch them when I've gone out at nights. Sometimes I went to different parts of the city; to look for whatever species of birds might be there, at first, but later because… well; because."
Gurgeh frowned. "Why do you want me to come with you?"
"Because we might be leaving here rather quickly tomorrow, and it occurred to me that you've seen very little of the city."
Gurgeh waved one hand. "Za showed me quite enough of that."
"I doubt he showed you what I'm thinking of. There are many different things to see."
"I'm not interested in seeing the sights, drone."
"The sights I'm thinking of will interest you."
"Would they now?"
"I believe so. I think I know you well enough to tell. Please come, Jernau Gurgeh. You'll be glad, I swear. Please come. You did say you wouldn't sleep, didn't you? Well then, what do you have to lose?" The drone's fields were their normal green-yellow colour, quiet and controlled. Its voice was low, serious.
The man's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, drone?"
"Please, please come with me, Gurgeh." The drone floated off towards the nose of the module. Gurgeh stood, watching it. It stopped by the door from the lounge. "Please, Jernau Gurgeh. I swear you won't regret this."
Gurgeh shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, all right." He shook his head. "Let's go out to play," he muttered to himself.
He followed the drone as it moved towards the module nose. There was a compartment there with a couple of AG bikes, a few floater harnesses and some other pieces of equipment.
"Put on a harness, please. I won't be a moment." The drone left Gurgeh to fasten the AG harness on over his shorts and shirt. It reappeared shortly afterwards holding a long, black, hooded cloak. "Now put this on, please."
Gurgeh put the cloak on over the harness. Flere-Imsaho shoved the hood up over his head and tied it so that Gurgeh's face was hidden from the sides and in deep shadow from the front. The harness didn't show beneath the thick material. The lights in the compartment dimmed and went out, and Gurgeh heard something move overhead. He looked up to see a square of dim stars directly above him.
"I'll control your harness, if that's all right with you," the drone whispered. Gurgeh nodded.
He was lifted quickly into the darkness. He did not dip again as he'd expected, but kept going up into the fragrant warmth of the city night. The cloak fluttered quietly around him; the city was a swirl of lights, a seemingly never-ending plain of scattered radiance. The drone was a small, still shadow by his shoulder.
They set out over the city. They overflew roads and rivers and great buildings and domes, ribbons and clumps and towers of light, areas of vapour drifting over darkness and fire, rearing towers where reflections burned and lights soared, quivering stretches of dark water and broad dark parks of grass and trees. Finally they started to drop.
They landed in an area where there were relatively few lights, dropping between two darkened, windowless buildings. His feet touched down in the dirt of an alley.
"Excuse me," the drone said, and nudged its way into the hood until it was floating up-ended by Gurgeh's left ear. "Walk down here," it whispered. Gurgeh walked down the alley. He tripped over something soft, and knew before he turned it was a body. He looked closer at the bundle of rags, which moved a little. The person was curled up under tattered blankets, head on a filthy sack. He couldn't tell what sex it was; the rags offered no clue.
"Ssh," the drone said as he opened his mouth to speak. "That is just one of the loafers Pequil was talking about; somebody shifted off the land. He's been drinking; that's part of the smell. The rest is him." It was only then that Gurgeh caught the stench rising from the still sleeping male. He almost gagged.
"Leave him," Flere-Imsaho said.
They left the alley. Gurgeh had to step over another two sleeping people. The street they found themselves on was dim and stank of something Gurgeh suspected was supposed to be food. A few people were walking about. "Stoop a little," the drone said. "You'll pass for a Minan disciple dressed like this, but don't let the hood fall, and don't stand upright."
Gurgeh did as he was told.
As he walked up the street, under the dim, grainy, flickering light of sporadic, monochrome streetlamps, he passed what looked like another drunk, lying against a wall. There was blood between the apex's less, and a dark, dried stream of it leading from his head. Gurgeh stopped.
"Don't bother," came the little voice. "He's dying. Probably been in a fight. The police don't come here too often. And nobody's likely to call for medical aid; he's obviously been robbed, so they'd have to pay for the treatment themselves."
Gurgeh looked round, but there was nobody else near by. The apex's eyelids fluttered briefly, as though he was trying to open them. The fluttering stopped.
"There," Flere-Imsaho said quietly.
Gurgeh continued up the street. Screams came from high up in a grimy housing block on the far side of the street. "Just some apex beating up his woman. You know for millennia females were thought to have no effect on the heredity of the children they bore? They've known for five hundred years that they do; a viral DNA analogue which alters the genes a woman's impregnated with. Nevertheless, under the law females are simply possessions. The penalty for murdering a woman is a year's hard labour, for an apex. A female who kills an apex is tortured to death over a period of days. Death by Chemicals. Said to be one of the worst. Keep walking."
They came to an intersection with a busier street. A male stood on the corner, shouting in a dialect Gurgeh didn't understand. "He's selling tickets for an execution," the drone said. Gurgeh raised his eyebrows, turned his head fractionally. "I'm serious," Flere-Imsaho said. Gurgeh shook his head all the same.
Filling the middle of the street was a crowd of people. The traffic — only about half of it powered, the rest human-driven — was forced to mount the pavements. Gurgeh went to the back of the crowd, thinking that with his greater height he would be able to see what was happening, but he found people making way for him anyway, drawing him closer to the centre of the crowd.