The State of the Art(4)

'You won't be able to see them.Anyway; they'll be

some of the Guard, Naval brass, some

Administration flunkeys, Secret Service agents

What do you care about them?' Kaddus patted my

damp shoulder. 'You can do it.'

I looked away from his tired grey eyes, down at the

gun, quiet in my fist, small screen glowing

faintly.Betrayed by my own skin, my own touch.I

thought about that hospital bill again.I felt like

crying, but that wasn't the done thing amongst the

men here, and what could I say? I was a woman.I

was Culture. But I had renounced these things, and now I am a man, and now I am here in the Free

City of Vreccis, where nothing is free.

'All right,' I said, a bitterness of my mouth, 'I'll do

it.'

Cruizell looked disappointed.Kaddus nodded.

'Good.The ship arrives Ninthday; you know what it

looks like?' I nodded. 'So you won't have any

problems,' Kaddus smiled thinly. 'You'll be able to

see it from almost anywhere in the City.' He pulled

out some cash and stuffed it into my coat pocket.

'Get yourself a taxi.The underground's risky these

days.' He patted me lightly on the cheek; his hand

smelt of expensive scents. 'Hey, Wrobik; cheer up,

yeah?You're going to shoot down a fucking

starship.It'll be an experience.' Kaddus laughed,

looking at me and then at Cruizell, who laughed

too, dutifully.

They went back to the car; it hummed into the night,

tyres ripping at the rain-filled streets.I was left to

watch the puddles grow, the gun hanging in my

hand like guilt.



'I am a Light Plasma Projector, model LPP 91,

series two, constructed in A/4882.4 at Manufactury

Six in the Span-shacht-Trouferre Orbital, Ørvolöus

Cluster.Serial number 3685706.Brain value point

one.AM battery powered, rating:

indefinite.Maximum power on single-bolt: 3.1 X 8

10 joules, recycle time 14 seconds.Maximum rate

of fire: 260 RPS.Use limited to Culture genofixed

individuals only through epidermal gene

analysis.To use with gloves or light armour, access

modes store via command buttons.Unauthorized

use is both prohibited and punishable.Skill

requirement 12-75%C.Full instructions follow; use

command buttons and screen to replay, search,

pause or stop

'Instructions, part one:Introduction.The LPP 91 is

an operationally intricate general-purpose peace -

rated weapon not suitable for full battle use; its

design and performance parameters are based on

the recommendations of-'

The gun sat on the table, telling me all about itself

in a high, tinny voice while I lay slumped in a

lounger, staring out over a busy street in Vreccis

Low City.Underground freight trains shook the

rickety apartment block every few minutes, traffic

buzzed at street level, rich people and police

moved through the skies in fliers and cruisers, and

above them all the starships sailed.

I felt trapped between these strata of purposeful

movements.

Far in the distance over the city, I could just see

the slender, shining tower of the city's Lev tube,

rising straight towards and through the clouds, on

its way to space.Why couldn't the Admiral use the

Lev instead of making a big show of returning from

the stars in his own ship?Maybe he thought a

glorified elevator was too

undignified.Vainglorious bastards, all of

them.They deserved to die (if you wanted to take

that attitude), but why did I have to be the one to

kill them?Goddamned phallic starships.

Not that the Lev was any less prick-like, and

anyway, no doubt if the Admiral had been coming

down by the tube Kaddus and Cruizell would have

told me to shoot it down; holy shit.I shook my

head.

I was holding a long glass of jahl - Vreccis City's

cheapest strong booze.It was my second glass, but I

wasn't enjoying it.The gun chattered on, speaking

to the sparsely furnished main room of our

apartment.I was waiting for Maust, missing him

even more than usual.I looked at the terminal on my

wrist; according to the time display he should be

back any moment now.I looked out into the weak,

watery light of dawn.I hadn't slept yet.

The gun talked on.It used Marain, of course; the

Culture's language.I hadn't heard that spoken for

nearly eight standard years, and hearing it now I

felt sad and foolish.My birthright; my people, my

language.Eight years away, eight years in the

wilderness.My great adventure, my renunciation of

what seemed to me sterile and lifeless to plunge

into a more vital society, my grand gesture well,

now it seemed like an empty gesture, now it looked

like a stupid, petulant thing to have done.

I drank some more of the sharp-tasting spirit.The

gun gibbered on, talking about beam-spread

diameters, gyroscopic weave patterns, gravity-

contour mode, line-of-sight mode, curve shots,

spatter and pierce settings I thought about glanding