Might not this all, in fact, be a set-up?
Think about this; is this not just the sort of thing you would be proud to have thought up? Such foresight, such patience, such attention to the long game, such plausible protestations of innocence should the coincidence be remarked upon or revealed! I know I'd be pleased with myself had I been part of such a plan.
Lastly, on the committee of Minds which oversaw the choice of these stores, the names Woetra, Different Tan and Not Invented Here all sound rather familiar, think ye not?
Taken all together, and even recognising that this is almost certainly a blind alley, I thought it irresponsible not to have a sharp eye attached to a sympathetic mind in the vicinity of that precious little rock.
oo
All right. Point taken.
oo
And what of whatever you were working on?
oo
My original idea was to attempt to find someone acceptable on Tier who might be persuaded to our purpose; however, this proved impractical; there is considerable Contact and SC presence on the habitat but nobody I think we could risk sharing our apprehensions with. Instead, I have the tentative agreement of an old ally to support our cause should the occasion arise. It is a month or more from Tier, and the Excession lies beyond there on its orientation, but it has access to a number of warships. The tricky part is that some of them may be called up in the mobilisation, but a few may be put at our disposal. Not as warships, I hasten to add, certainly not against other Culture ships, but as counters, as it were, or delivery systems, if and when we find a vulnerable point in the conspiracy we believe might exist.
This Genar-Hofoen person; I may make my own inquiries in that direction, if I can avoid stepping on the metaphorical toes of our co-concernee.
The Affront angle is the one that worries me. So aggressive! Such drive! For all our oft-repeated horror at their effects on others, there exists, I think, a kind of grudging admiration in many Culture folk for the Affront's energy, not to mention their apparent freedom from the effects of moral conscience. Such an easy threat to see, and yet so difficult a problem to deal with. I dread to think what awful plan might be hatched with a thoroughly clear conscience by perfectly estimable Minds to deal with such a perceived menace.
Equally, given the qualitative scale of the opportunity which may be presented by the Excession, the Affront are just the sort of species — and at precisely the most likely stage in their development — to attempt some sort of mad undertaking which, however likely to fail, if it did succeed might offer rewards justifying the risk. And who is to say they would be wrong in making such a judgement?
oo
Look, the damned Excession hasn't done anything yet. All this nuisance has been caused by everybody's reaction to it. Serve us all right if it turned out it is a projection of some sort, some God's jest. I'm growing impatient, I don't mind telling you. The Fate Amenable To Change stands off, watching the Excession doing nothing and reporting on it every now and again, various low-level Involveds are puffing themselves up and girding their scrawny loins with a view to taking a sight-seeing trip to the latest show in town and in the vague hope that if there is some sort of action they'll be able to pick up some of it, and all that the rest of us are doing is sitting around waiting for the big guns to arrive. I wish something would happen!
V
"Good travelling with you, Genar-Hofoen," Fivetide boomed. They slapped limbs; the man had already braced one leg and the gelfield suit absorbed the actual impact, so he didn't fall over. They were in the Entity Control area of the Level Eight docks, Affronter section, surrounded by Affronters, their slaved drones and other machines, a few members of other species who could tolerate the same conditions as the Affront, as well as numerous Tier sintricates — floating around like little dark balls of spines — all coming and going, leaving or joining travelators, spin cars, lifts and inter-section transport carriages.
"Not staying for some rest and recreation?" Genar-Hofoen asked the Affronter. Tier boasted a notoriously excellent Affront hunting reserve section.
"Ha! On the way back, perhaps," Fivetide said. "Duty calls elsewhere in the meantime." He chuckled.
Genar-Hofoen got the impression he was missing a joke here. He wondered about this, then shrugged and laughed. "Well, I'll see you back on God'shole, no doubt."
"Indeed!" Fivetide said. "Enjoy yourself, human!" The Affronter turned on his tentacle tips and swept away, back to the battle-cruiser Kiss The Blade. Genar-Hofoen watched him go, and watched the lock doors close on the transit tunnel, with a frown on his face.
— What's worrying you? asked the suit.
The man shook his head. ~ Ah, nothing, he said. He stooped and picked up his hold-all.
"Human male Byr Genar-Hofoen plus gelfield suit?" said a sintricate, floating up to him. It looked, Genar-Hofoen thought, like an explosion in a sphere of black ink, frozen an instant after it began.
He bowed briefly. "Correct."
"I am to escort you to the Entity Control, human section. Please follow me."
"Certainly."
They found a spin car, little more than a platform dotted with seats, stanchions and webbing. Genar-Hofoen hopped on, followed by the sintricate, and the car accelerated smoothly into a transparent tunnel which ran out along the underside of the habitat's outer skin. They were heading spinward, so that as the car gained speed they seemed to lose weight. A field shimmered over the car, seeming to mould itself to the curved roof of the tunnel. Gases hissed. They went underneath the huge hanging bulk of one of the other Affronter ships, all blades and darkness. He watched as it detached itself from the habitat, falling massively, silently away into space and the circling stars. Another ship, then another and another dropped away after it. They disappeared.
— What was the fourth ship? the man asked.
— The Comet class light cruiser Furious Purpose, the suit said.
— Hmm. Wonder where they're off to.
The suit didn't reply.
It was getting misty in the car. Genar Hofoen listened to gases hiss around him. The temperature was rising, the atmosphere in the field-shrouded car changing from an Affronter atmosphere to a human atmosphere. The car zoomed upwards for lower, less gravity intense levels, and Genar-Hofoen, used to Affronter gravity for these last two years, felt as though he was floating.
— How long before we rendezvous with the Meatfucker? he asked.
— Three days, the suit told him.
— Of course, they won't let you into the world proper, will they? the man said, as though realising this for the first time.
— No, said the suit.
— What'll you do while I'm off having fun?
— The same; I've already inquired ahead and come to an arrangement with a visiting Contact ship GP drone. So I shall be in Thrall.