House of Suns (3 page)

‘Might I ask how you came by such an unusual specimen, shatterling? It’s been a very long time since we saw the likes of Doctor Meninx - several hundred thousand years, at the very least.’

‘I can’t take any credit for him. He was foisted on me.’

‘You make it sound like a punishment.’

‘It was. The rest of my Line felt it would give me ample opportunity to demonstrate that I could shoulder responsibility, and put up with a difficult guest.’

Purslane said, ‘It was Campion’s bad luck, Mister Nebuly. Gromwell - another shatterling - showed up at our last reunion with Doctor Meninx as a guest. By then, Gromwell was looking for any excuse to fob him off onto someone else. That was around the time that Campion threaded a strand that happened to include a visit to the Vigilance.’

‘You know all about the Vigilance,’ I said.

Mister Nebuly looked to the sky, in the approximate direction of the Absence. He wore a tight-fitting pinstripe suit that reached down to the point where his human torso merged seamlessly with the groomed chestnut of his horse body. ‘This and that, shatterling. Which is not to say we’ve ever had direct contact with them.’

Purslane sipped her wine. ‘The thing is, it turned out that Doctor Meninx’s ultimate goal was to reach the Vigilance. Apart from being a staunch Disavower, he fancies himself a scholar of remote history.’

‘Which is how Campion came to be burdened with the doctor’s presence,’ Mister Nebuly said.

‘In addition to monitoring the stardam, I was told to ferry Doctor Meninx to the Vigilance and use my contacts there to secure him privileged scholar status - unrestricted access to the deep archives, that kind of thing. They don’t much like Disavowers, and they definitely don’t like aquatics, but it was assumed I’d be able to talk them around.’

Mister Nebuly flexed his torso to look out to sea again, a thoughtful expression appearing on his face. ‘One can only conclude that you were not entirely successful in that venture, shatterling?’

‘No, everything’s still on track,’ I said. ‘Since this was the doctor’s last chance for a swim before the Vigilance, he jumped at it. I second Purslane’s thanks for making the necessary arrangements, by the way.’

The Centaur waved a dismissive hand at the twinkling barrier on the horizon, beyond which Purslane’s hovering ship - much too large for the landing area - rose like a tarnished silver moon. ‘It was nothing. There are no large predators in this ocean, but for your guest’s peace of mind it was a simple matter to establish the impasse across the bay. I just hope we adjusted the salinity to his tastes.’

The conversation lulled. Mister Nebuly had not come up to our table to pass the time of day. He was here to tell me what value he placed on the items I had offered for sale. Much depended on his offer, though I was doing my utmost not to let him know it.

‘It was good of you to open your trove for examination,’ Mister Nebuly said.

I nodded encouragingly, while Purslane maintained a tense, diplomatic smile. ‘I hope you found something of interest in it.’

‘I found much of interest in it. You have travelled far, traded intelligence with other starfarers and amassed a great deal of knowledge, much of it of considerable rarity. It was a privilege to sift through your data.’

‘And did you find anything in there that you might like to purchase?’

Mister Nebuly shifted on his iron-shod hooves. ‘I did find several things, shatterling, but I must confess that much of what you have to offer is not of direct value to me, despite its rarity. If you had arrived twenty kilo-years ago, things might have been different. But it is only eleven since we were visited by a shatterling of Gentian Line, and only two since a Marcellin was in our airspace.’

‘Those Marcellins get everywhere,’ Purslane said, through tight lips.

‘The items that did interest you ...’

‘I have a breakdown here,’ the Centaur said, reaching into a pocket of his business suit to remove a handkerchief-sized square of material. He flicked it open and it enlarged to the width of our tabletop. He let it hang in the air, where it hovered against the breeze. It was series of tabulated columns, in the written variant of Tongue.

The Centaurs had been known to Gentian Line for more than eight circuits. They were the thirteenth form of human to live in this system, having emerged from the post-civilisational ruins of the last culture. They owned this system and the handful of scaped worlds inside it, but had never ventured further than their cometary halo. Their main world was a panthalassic, a superoceanic planet smothered in water, with a thick, blue atmosphere containing photo-disassociated oxygen. Scapers had thinned out that atmosphere and made it less corrosive, dropped floating landmasses onto the world-enveloping sea and scattered a multitude of hardy pelagic organisms into that sterile ocean. The planet’s gravity had never been adjusted, which was why the Centaurs had attained their present, sure-footed form. They had a dim recollection of where they had come from, which was more than could be said for all postemergents. According to the statistical forecast of the Universal Actuary, they stood an excellent chance of persisting for at least another one or two million years, provided their ambitions remained modest. In the long run, the best strategy for cultural longevity was either to sit tight in a single system, or become like the Lines, entirely unshackled from planetary life. Expansionism worked for a while, but was ultimately futile. Not that that stopped new emergents from trying, even when they had six million years of sobering history to mull over.

We called it turnover: the endless, grinding procession of empires. The Centaurs had done well not to climb onto that wheel.

‘As you can see,’ Mister Nebuly said, ‘our offers are not unreasonable.’

‘No, your terms are very generous,’ I said. ‘I was just hoping you’d bid for some of the larger items in the trove.’

‘I wish that were possible. Unfortunately there would be little sense in bidding for data we already possess.’

‘Are you absolutely certain we can’t find some middle ground?’

‘We are inclined to generosity, shatterling, but there have to be limits. We feel that these terms are fair. It’s a shame that your trove does not contain more of value to us, but that does not preclude you from visiting us again, when you have something new to offer.’ The Centaur paused, three of his hooves in full contact with the ground, the rear left touching only by its tip. ‘Would you like a moment alone, to discuss our offer?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

‘I shall return shortly. Would you like some more wine?’

‘We’re fine,’ I said, raising a hand.

Mister Nebuly turned and trotted away along the curving road that lay on this side of the revetments. In the distance stood two other Centaurs, dressed in red uniforms and carrying the pennanted staffs of some civic guild.

Mister Nebuly joined his compatriots and watched us patiently.

‘We’re doomed,’ I said, not really caring if my words were intercepted.

Purslane finished off her wine. ‘Could be worse. He’s prepared to offer you something.’

‘Not enough to make a difference.’ Parked in orbit around the Centaurs’ world was an assortment of second-hand ships, most of which were up for sale. If Nebuly had liked enough of the data in my trove, he could have made me an offer sufficient to buy one of those vehicles. With a faster ship, I could have kept my promise to Doctor Meninx and made it back to the reunion only slightly later than anticipated. ‘I suppose I could hold out, see if he changes his mind.’

‘He’d have to change it a lot. He could double his offer and it wouldn’t buy you a quarter of one of those ships. The best thing we can do now is take Mister Nebuly’s money. You can’t replace
Dalliance
, but you can still upgrade some of her systems.’

‘It won’t make her faster.’

‘I’d settle for safer, if I were you. If you turn him down, we might as well never have come here. We could have gone straight to the Vigilance and got fish-face off our backs.’

It was as if Doctor Meninx had heard Purslane, for as she spoke the bathing machine bellowed its engine and began to labour back into the sea, clouds of filthy smoke emerging from slats in its rear. I watched as the door swung up and water sluiced in. I half-considered raising the binoculars again, but my curiosity had dissipated. The barnacled form crested the waves momentarily and vanished back into the bathing machine. The door clammed down and the machine began to crawl back onto dry land.

‘There’s another possibility,’ I said quietly.

Purslane looked at me with practised scepticism. ‘There always is, where you’re concerned.’

‘Before we landed I had a look at the nearby systems, just in case Mister Nebuly wasn’t as forthcoming as I’d hoped. Less than a hundred lights from here, and more or less on our way home, is a place called Nelumbium. According to the trove—’

“‘According to the trove.” Where have I heard that before?’

‘Hear me out. There’s supposed to be an entity, a posthuman, called Ateshga. He’s supposed to have ships, a lot more than Nebuly, and he’s unlikely to charge as steeply.’

‘Why didn’t we go there first?’

‘The trove entry isn’t as up to date as I’d like, so there’s an element of uncertainty.’

‘An element. I’ve heard that before as well.’

‘Also, it would have taken us even further from the Vigilance - if we’d gone straight to Nelumbium, there’d have been no possibility of dropping off Doctor Meninx.’

‘If the trove isn’t up to date, what’s to say Ateshga’s there at all?’

‘I ran the Actuary - the prognosis looked good.’

Purslane leaned back in her wickerwork seat, measuring me with those mismatched Gentian eyes. ‘So what you’re proposing is, you limp to the Vigilance, deliver the doctor, then continue to Ateshga.’

‘Actually ... no. What I’m proposing is, I skip the Vigilance completely.’

The hard notch of a frown ate into her brow. ‘Leave him here?’

‘The choice’ll be his. If he wants, I’ll take him all the way back to the reunion world.’

‘He won’t like it.’

‘He doesn’t like anything - haven’t you noticed?’

A thin figure was stalking across the sand from the direction of the bathing machine. As the walker neared, climbing the crumbling steps up to the road, it revealed itself to be a paper cut-out of a harlequin, inked in watery diamonds. The two-dimensional figure - which resisted the breeze just as effectively as Mister Nebuly’s hanging sheet - was a humanoid avatar of Doctor Meninx. At the same time as the avatar approached, Nebuly left the red-suited centaurs and started trotting back in our direction. He arrived first, the avatar still a good hundred metres away.

‘Might I assume that you’ve reached a decision, honoured shatterling?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you down,’ I said. ‘I’m not saying your terms aren’t generous, but I have to be realistic. I think I can get a better deal for my trove somewhere else.’

‘If you are thinking of Ateshga, I’d caution against it. He has a very bad reputation.’

I scratched sand from my eyes. ‘Ateshga - who’s he?’

‘Merely a warning, shatterling - it’s up to you whether you heed it.’ He brushed his hands against the breast of his pinstripe suit. ‘Well, I am sorry we could not close a deal, but it won’t stop us parting as friends. We are very happy that you visited our world, and I trust your stay here has been rewarding.’

‘It has,’ Purslane said. ‘You’ve been excellent hosts, Mister Nebuly; I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the rest of the Line.’

‘That is very kind of you.’ He turned around to greet the approaching avatar, bowing slightly from the point where his human torso joined his horse body. ‘You finished your swim very quickly, Doctor: I trust all was satisfactory?’

‘No,’ the avatar said in his high-pitched, piping voice. ‘The swim was . very far from satisfactory, which is why I aborted it at the earliest opportunity. There were things in the water - dark, moving things that my sonar could not easily resolve - and the temperature and salinity were not at all to my tastes.’ The paper face bent in my direction. ‘I was given to understand that you had communicated my needs to the relevant authorities, Campion.’

I shifted on my seat. I had told the Centaurs what the doctor needed, and I had no doubt that they had done their best to meet his requirements. Nothing was ever good enough for Doctor Meninx, though; no effort ever sufficient.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I must have mixed up the figures. All my fault, I’m afraid.’

‘I shall lay the blame where I choose to lay it,’ the avatar said. ‘And I was so looking forward to my swim. But what’s done is done; shortly I shall take my leave of this dreary world and continue my odyssey to the Vigilance. Perhaps they will know the fit way to treat a guest.’

‘I’m sure Mister Nebuly did his best,’ I said.

‘Yes, he probably did,’ the avatar said, as if our host was not present.

The moment, the one I had been dreading since Mister Nebuly had delivered his verdict on my trove, was now upon me. I could postpone it no longer, though at that instant there was nothing I would rather have done than walk into the sea and swim all the way to that twinkling horizon, where, depending on the effectiveness of its setting, the impasse would have dissuaded, rebuffed, stunned, wounded or simply annihilated me.

‘Doctor Meninx,’ I said, after drawing a deep, invigorating breath, ‘there’s something we need to discuss.’

It would be a mistake to say that Campion was lazy, laziness being a trait that Abigail went out of her way to scrub from our personalities. But Campion was certainly a masterful prevaricator. He did not just put things off until tomorrow; he put them off for tens of kilo-years, until his delays and evasions consumed significant chunks of an entire circuit. His motto might have been
Why do today what you can still do in a quarter of a million years?