The State of the Art(7)

head.I hadn't eaten much; partly hangover, partly

nerves.It was a muggy, enervating mid-morning;

the tenement's conditioning plant had broken down

again.

'Is what they're asking really so terrible?' Maust

pulled his robe tighter, balancing plates expertly.I

watched his slim back as he moved to the kitchen.

'I mean, you won't even tell me.Don't you trust me?'

His voice echoed.

What could I say?That I didn't know if I did trust

him?That I loved him but: only he had known I was

an outworlder.That had been my secret, and I'd

told only him.So how did Kaddus and Cruizell

know?How did Bright Path know?My sinuous,

erotic, faithless dancer.Did you think because I

always remained silent that I didn't know of all the

times you deceived me?

'Maust, please; it's better that you don't know.'

'Oh,' Maust laughed distantly; that aching, beautiful

sound, tearing at me. 'How terribly

dramatic.You're protecting me.How awfully

gallant.'

'Maust, this is serious.These people want me to do

something I just can't do.If I don't do it they'll

they'll at least hurt me, badly.I don't know what

they'll do.They they might even try to hurt me

through you.That was why I was so worried when

you were late; I thought maybe they'd taken you.'

'My dear, poor Wrobbie,' Maust said, looking out

from the kitchen, 'it has been a long day; I think I

pulled a muscle during my last number, we may not

get paid after the raid - Stelmer's sure to use that as

an excuse even if the filth didn't swipe the takings -

and my ass is still sore from having one of those

queer-bashing pigs poking his finger around inside

me.Not as romantic as your dealings with gangsters

and baddies, but important to me.I've enough to

worry about.You're overreacting.Take a pill or

something; go back to sleep; it'll look better later.'

He winked at me, disappeared.I listened to him

moving about in the kitchen.A police siren moaned

overhead.Music filtered through from the

apartment below.

I went to the door of the kitchen.Maust was drying

his hands. 'They want me to shoot down the

starship bringing the Admiral of the Fleet back on

Ninthday,' I told him.Maust looked blank for a

second, then sniggered.He came up to me, held me

by the shoulders.

'Really?And then what?Climb the outside of the

Lev and fly to the sun on your magic bicycle?' He

smiled tolerantly, amused.I put my hands on his

and removed them slowly from my shoulders.

'No.I just have to shoot down the ship, that's all.I

have they gave me a gun that can do it.' I took the

gun from the jacket.He frowned, shaking his head,

looked puzzled from a second, then laughed again.

'With that, my love?I doubt you could stop a

motorized pogo-stick with that little -'

'Maust, please; believe me.This can do it.My

people made it and the ship the state has no

defence against something like this.'

Maust snorted, then took the gun from me.Its lights

flicked off. 'How do you switch it on?' He turned it

over in his hand.

'By touching it; but only I can do it.It reads the

genetic make-up of my skin, knows I am

Culture.Don't look at me like that; it's true.Look.' I

showed him.I had the gun recite the first part of its

monologue and switched the tiny screen to

holo.Maust inspected the gun while I held it.

'You know,' he said after a while, 'this might be

rather valuable.'

'No, it's worthless to anyone else.It'll only work

for me, and you can't get round its fidelities; it'll

deactivate.'

'How faithful,' Maust said, sitting down and

looking steadily at me. 'How neatly everything

must be arranged in your Culture .I didn't really

believe you when you told me that tale, did you

know that, my love?I thought you were just trying

to impress me.Now I think I believe you.'

I crouched down in front of him, put the gun on the

table and my hands on his lap.'Then believe me

that I can't do what they're asking, and that I am in

danger; perhaps we both are.We have to

leave.Now.Today or tomorrow.Before they think

of another way to make me do this.'

Maust smiled, ruffled my hair. 'So fearful, eh?So

desperately anxious.' He bent, kissed my forehead.

'Wrobbie, Wrobbie; I can't come with you.Go if

you feel you must, but I can't come with you.Don't

you know what this chance means to me?All my

life I've wanted this; I may not get another

opportunity.I have to stay, whatever.You go; go for

as long as you must and don't tell me where you've

gone.That way they can't use me, can they?Get in

touch through a friend, once the dust has

settled.Then we'll see.Perhaps you can come back;

perhaps I'll have missed my big chance anyway

and I'll come to join you.It'll be all right.We'll

work something out.'

I let my head fall to his lap, wanting to cry. 'I can't

leave you.'

He hugged me, rocking me. 'Oh, you'll probably