The State of the Art(8)

find you're glad of the change.You'll be a hit

wherever you go, my beauty; I'll probably have to

kill some knife-fighter to win you back.'

'Please, please come with me,' I sobbed into his

gown.

'I can't, my love, I just can't.I'll come to wave you

goodbye, but I can't come with you.'

He held me while I cried; the gun lay silent and

dull on the table at his side, surrounded by the

debris of our meal.



I was leaving.Fire escape from the flat just before

dawn, over two walls clutching my travelling bag,

a taxi from General Thetropsis Avenue to

Intercontinental Station then I'd catch a Railtube

train to Bryme and take the Lev there, hoping for a

standby on almost anything heading Out, either

trans or inter.Maust had lent me some of his

savings, and I still had a little high-rate credit left;

I could make it.I left my terminal in the apartment.It

would have been useful, but the rumours are true;

the police can trace them, and I wouldn't put it past

Kaddus and Cruizell to have a tame cop in the

relevant department.

The station was crowded.I felt fairly safe in the

high, echoing halls, surrounded by people and

business.Maust was coming from the club to see

me off; he'd promised to make sure he wasn't

followed.I had just enough time to leave the gun at

Left Luggage.I'd post the key to Kaddus, try to

leave him a little less murderous.

There was a long queue at Left Luggage; I stood,

exasperated, behind some naval cadets.They told

me the delay was caused by the porters searching

all bags and cases for bombs; a new security

measure.I left the queue to go and meet Maust; I'd

have to get rid of the gun somewhere else.Post the

damn thing, or even just drop it in a waste bin.

I waited in the bar, sipping at something

innocuous.I kept looking at my wrist, then feeling

foolish.The terminal was back at the apartment; use

a public phone, look for a clock.Maust was late.

There was a screen in the bar, showing a news

bulletin.I shook off the absurd feeling that

somehow I was already a wanted man, face liable

to appear on the news broadcast, and watched

today's lies to take my mind off the time.

They mentioned the return of the Admiral of the

Fleet, due in two days.I looked at the screen,

smiling nervously. Yeah, and you'll never know

how close the bastard came to getting blown out

of the skies. For a moment or two I felt important, almost heroic.

Then the bombshell; just a mention - an aside,

tacked on, the sort of thing they'd have cut had the

programme been a few seconds over - that the

Admiral would be bringing a guest with him; an

ambassador from the Culture.I choked on my drink.

Was that who I'd really have been aiming at if I'd gone ahead?

What was the Culture doing anyway?An

ambassador?The Culture knew everything about

the Vreccile Economic Community, and was

watching, analyzing; content to leave ill enough

alone for now.The Vreccile people had little idea

how advanced or widely spread the Culture was,

though the court and Navy had a fairly good

idea.Enough to make them slightly (though had they

known it, still not remotely sufficiently)

paranoid.What was an ambassador for?

And who was really behind the attempt on the

ship?Bright Path would be indifferent to the fate of

a single outworlder compared to the propaganda

coup of pulling down a starship, but what if the gun

hadn't come from them, but from a grouping in the

court itself, or from the Navy?The VEC had

problems; social problems, political

problems.Maybe the President and his cronies

were thinking about asking the Culture for aid.The

price might involve the sort of changes some of the

more corrupt officials would find terminally

threatening to their luxurious lifestyles.

Shit, I didn't know; maybe the whole attempt to

take out the ship was some loony in Security or the

Navy trying to settle an old score, or just skip the

next few rungs on the promotion ladder.I was still

thinking about this when they paged me.

I sat still.The station PA called for me, three

times.A phonecall.I told myself it was just Maust,

calling to say he had been delayed; he knew I was

leaving the terminal at the apartment so he couldn't

call me direct.But would he announce my name all

over a crowded station when he knew I was trying

to leave quietly and unseen?Did he still take it all

so lightly?I didn't want to answer that call.I didn't

even want to think about it.

My train was leaving in ten minutes; I picked up

my bag.The PA asked for me again, this time

mentioning Maust's name.So I had no choice.

I went to Information.It was a viewcall.

'Wrobik,' Kaddus sighed, shaking his head.He was

in some office; anonymous, bland.Maust was

standing, pale and frightened, just behind Kaddus'

seat.Cruizell stood right behind Maust, grinning