Not as smart as they thought they were.
Guff-Fuff-fucking-Kuff-Fuff.
Shit.
He wondered why they were bothering to embody him, either in the Real or in a decent sim. But then even when you had all the information, sometimes it could be difficult to find the bit you really wanted. Embodying helped. Especially when you looked upon what you had downloaded as some sort of strange alien.
That was what he was to them. An alien. An alien they had refashioned from comms-code-information into something at least resembling what resulted from genetic information; a creature of flesh and blood. Him. And now they would want the truth.
“Meeting,” Lagoarn-na said, with what might have been a smile.
“GFCF. Pan-hu-man Vipperz. Scheme. War in afterlife. Tsung Disk? Tsung Disk.” The creature nodded.
Shit; it already knew too much of it. Had he told them that already, inadvertently? What more would they ask? He couldn’t see any obvious torture instruments about the creature’s webbing and pouches, but who knew?
Please not torture. Why did so much of everything have to come down to pain? We are creatures of pain, creatures of suffering. He had been through this, done this. Not more, please not more.
“You not to worry,” the creature told him. It gestured encompassingly. “Is one of trillions scarnations,” it told him. “Quantum stuff. In one you bound to tell trute. Maybes this one.”
The creature tipped its head to one side and Vatueil felt a feeling of utter relief and almost boundless pleasure wash through him. He knew he was being manipulated, but he didn’t care.
Lagoarn-na didn’t want to hurt him, had no intention of hurting him. The Nauptre had every right to the information he had. All they wanted was the truth.
The truth. All so simple. Just stick to the truth and it made life so much simpler. Just the one set of facts or assertions to remember. The force of this simple truth – the truth about truth! – hit him like a cannon shell.
He really was experiencing bliss. This was only just short of sexual.
“What do you want to know?” he heard himself say, dreamily.
“Relate meeting,” Lagoarn-na said, and crossed its long, furmembraned arms across its chest, its wide unblinking yellow eyes seeming to stare into his soul.
“All right,” he heard himself say. He marvelled at how relaxed and unconcerned he sounded. “First let me introduce myself. My name is Vatueil; Gyorni Vatueil, my most recent rank – that I recall – being that of Space Marshal …”
He had never enjoyed relating anything more. Lagoarn-na proved to be a very good listener.
Twenty-four
Atdministrator-Captain Quar-Quoachali, commander of the GFCF Minor Destructor Vessel Fractious Person, took the priority call from Legislator-Admiral Bettlescroy-Bisspe-Blispin III in his cabin, as ordered. The Legislator-Admiral was shown sitting at his private desk, a roller keyboard displayed on the surface in front of him. As Quar watched, Bettlescroy snicked a couple of keys into place, then folded his elegant hands under his chin, elbows on desk, leaving the keyboard’s Commit key winking.
He looked up at Quar, smiled.
“Sir!” Quar sat as upright in his seat as he could.
“Quar, good day.”
“Thank you, sir! To what do I owe the honour?”
“Quar, we have never really got on, have we?”
“No, sir! My apologies for that, sir. I have always hoped—”
“Accepted. Anyway, I thought that we might enter into a new phase in our professional relationship, and to that end I believe I need to divulge to you something of our plans regarding the Culture ship Hylozoist.”
“Sir, this is an honour, sir!”
“I’m sure. The thing is, the Hylozoist has just been informed that there are unauthorised ships being constructed in the fabri-caria of the Disk.”
“I had no idea, sir!”
“I know you didn’t, Quar. That was deliberate.”
“Sir?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be blunt, Quar. We need to take action against the Culture ship; disable it at the very least, if not actually destroy it.”
“Sir? You mean, attack it?”
“As ever, your perspicacity and tactical awareness astonishes me, Quar. Yes, I mean attack it.”
“A … Culture ship, sir? Are we sure?”
“We are perfectly sure, Quar.”
Quar swallowed, gulped. “Sir,” he said, sitting even more upright in his seat, “I and the other officers aboard the Fractious Person are at your disposal, sir; however I understood the Culture ship was most lately returned to the vicinity of the Disk Initial Contact Facility.”
“It still is, Quar; we have succeeded in detaining it there with administrational drivel until now, but it is about to depart again, and it is as it departs that we intend to attack it.”