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~ A fucking Culture term?
~ Yes, sir.
~ I see. And what the hell does this metalogical section of ours actually do?
~ It tries to tell us how other Involveds think.
~ Involveds?
~ Also one of their terms. It means space-faring species beyond a certain
technological level which are willing and able to interact with each other.
~ I see. Always a bad sign when you start using the enemy's terminology.
Quilan glanced at the avatar sitting in the seat next to him. It smiled
uncertainly at him.
~ I would agree with that, sir.
He returned his gaze to the view of the Culture warship. It was, indeed, rather
ugly. Before Huyler had expressed his own thoughts, Quilan had been
thinking how brutally powerful the craft looked. How odd to have somebody
else in your head who looked through the same eyes and saw exactly the same
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things you did and yet came to such different conclusions, experienced such
dissimilar emotions.
The craft filled the screen, as it had since they had set off. They were
approaching it quickly, but it had been a long way off; some few hundred
kilometres. A read-out at the side of the screen was counting the
magnification level back towards zero. Powerful, Quilan thought - entirely to
himself - and ugly. Perhaps, in some sense, that was always the case. Huyler
broke into his thoughts:
~ I take it your servants are already aboard?
~ I am not taking any servants, sir.
~ What?
~ I am going alone, sir. Apart from yourself, of course.
~ You're going without servants? Are you some sort of fucking outcast or
something, Major? You're not one of these embryonicist Caste Deniers, are
you?
~ No, sir. Partly, my not bringing servants reflects some of the changes that
have occurred in our society since your body-death. These will no doubt be
explained in your briefing files.
~ Yes, well, I'll be taking a further look at those when I have the time. You
wouldn't believe the amount of tests and stuff they've been putting me
through, even while you were asleep. I had to remind them that constructs
need naps, too, or they'd have burned me out in here. But look, Major; this
thing about servants. I read up on the Caste War, but I thought it ended up a
draw. Dear scum in heaven, does this mean we lost it?
~ No, sir. The war ended in a compromise following the Culture's
intervention.
~ I know that, but a compromise which involves having no servants?
~ No, sir. People still have servants. Officers still employ squires and
equerries. However I am of an order which eschews such personal help.
~ Visquile mentioned you were some sort of monk. I didn't realise you'd be
quite so self-denying.
~ There is another reason for travelling alone, sir. If I might remind you, the
Chelgrian we are being sent to meet is a Denier.
~ Oh, yeah, this Ziller guy. Some spoiled, fur-rending liberal brat who thinks
it's his God-given duty to do the whining for those who can't be bothered
whining for themselves. Best thing you can do with these people is kick them
out. These shits don't understand the first thing about responsibility or duty.
You can't renounce your caste any more than you can renounce your species.
And we're indulging this arse-leaf?
~ He is a great composer, sir. And we didn't chuck him out; Ziller left Chel to
go into self-exile in the Culture. He renounced his Given status and took-
~ Oh, let me guess. He declared himself an Invisible.
~ Yes, sir.
~ Pity he didn't go the whole way and make himself a Spayed.
~ At any rate, he is not well disposed to Chelgrian society. The idea was that
by going without an entourage I might make myself less intimidating and
more acceptable to him.
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~ We should not be the ones having to make ourselves acceptable to him,
Major.
~ We are in a position where we have no choice, sir. It has been decided at
cabinet level that we must try to persuade him to return. I have accepted that
mission, as indeed you have yourself. We cannot force him to return, so we
must appeal to him.
~ Is he likely to listen?
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