of black lacquer, a large four-fold screen with
peacocks sewn onto it, the myriad feathers like
displayed eyes
'What did it tell you?' Linter asked.
I shrugged. 'What I said.It said it wanted me to
have a talk with you.'
He smiled in an unimpressed sort of way as though
the whole conversation was hardly worth the
effort, then looked away, through the window.He
didn't seem to be going to say anything.A flash of
colour caught my eye, and I looked over at a large
television, one of those with small doors that close
over the screen and make it look like a cabinet
when it isn't in use.The doors weren't fully shut,
and it was switched on behind them.
'Do you want -?' Linter said.
'No, it's -' I began, but he rose out of the seat,
gripping its elegant arms, went to the set and
spread its doors open with a dramatic gesture
before resuming his seat.
I didn't want to sit and watch television, but the
sound was down so it wasn't especially
intrusive.The control unit's on the table,' Linter
said, pointing.
'I wish you - somebody - wish you'd tell me what's
going on.'
He looked at me as though this was an obvious lie
rather than a genuine plea, and glanced over at the
TV.It must have been on one of the ship's own
channels, because it was changing all the time,
showing different shows and programmes from a
variety of countries, using various transmission
formats, and waiting for a channel to be selected.A
group in bright pink suits danced mechanically to
an unheard song.They were replaced with a picture
of the Ekofisk platform, spouting a dirty brown
fountain of oil and mud.Then the screen changed
again, to show the crowded cabin scene from A
Night At The Opera.
'So you don't know anything?' Linter lit a
Sobranie.This, like the ship's 'Hmm', had to be for
effect (unless he liked the taste, which has never
been a convincing line).He didn't offer me one.
'No, no, no I don't.Look I can see the ship wanted
me here for more than this talk but don't you play
games too.That crazy thing sent me down here in
that Volvo; the whole way.I half expected it not to
have baffled it either; I was waiting for a pair of
Mirages to come to intercept.I've got a long drive
to Berlin as well, you know?So just tell me, or tell
me to go, all right?'
He drew on the cigarette, studying me through the
smoke.He crossed his legs and brushed some
imaginary fluff off the trouser cuffs and stared at
his shoes. 'I've told the ship that when it leaves, I'm
staying here on Earth.Regardless of what else
might happen.' He shrugged. 'Whether we contact
or not.' He looked at me, challenging.
'Any particular reason?' I tried to sound unfazed.I
still thought it must be a woman.
'Yes.I like the place.' He made a noise between a
snort and a laugh. 'I feel alive for a change.I want
to stay.I'm going to.I'm going to live here.'
'You want to die here?'
He smiled, looked away from me, then back. 'Yes.'
Quite positively.This shut me up for a moment.
I felt uncomfortable.I got up and walked round the
room, looking at the bookshelves.He seemed to
have read about the same amount as me.I wondered
if he'd crammed it all, or read any of it at normal
speed:Dostoevsky, Borges, Greene, Swift,
Lucretius, Kafka, Austin, Grass, Bellow, Joyce,
Confucius, Scott, Mailer, Camus, Hemingway,
Dante. 'You probably will die here, then,' I said
lightly. 'I suspect the ship wants to observe, not
contact.Of course -'
'That'll suit me.Fine.'
'Hmm.Well, it isn't official yet, but I that's the way
it'll go, I suspect.' I turned away from the books. 'It
does? You really want to die here?Are you
serious?How -'
He was sitting forward in the chair, combing his
black hair with one hand, pushing the long, ringed
fingers through his curls.A silver stud decorated
the lobe of his left ear.
'Fine,' he repeated. 'It'll suit me perfectly.We'll
ruin this place if we interfere.'
'They'll ruin it if we don't.'
'Don't be trite, Sma.' He stubbed the cigarette out
hard, breaking it in half, mostly unsmoked.
'And if they blow the place up?'
'Mmm.'
'Well?'
'Well what?' he demanded.
A siren sounded on the St Germain, dopplering.
'Might be what they're heading for.Want to see
them moth themselves in front of their own -'
'Ah, bullshit.' His face crinkled with annoyance.
'Bullshit yourself,' I told him. 'Even the ship's
worried.The only reason they haven't made a final
decision yet is because they know how bad it'll
look short term if they do.'
'Sma, I don't care.I don't want to leave.I don't want
to have any more to do with the ship or the Culture
or anything connected with it.'
'You must be crazy.As crazy as they are.They'll kill
you; you'll get crushed under a truck or mangled in
a plane crash or burned up in some fire or