The machine’s aura field dipped briefly to one side; a drone shrug. “Yes. Probably because the wood our host is burning is bonise; it was developed millennia ago by the old Waverian civilisation specifically for its fragrance when ignited.”
“Yes, well, it’s a nice smell,” Yay said, getting up and going back to the windows. She shook her head. “Sure as shit rains a lot here though, Gurgeh.”
“It’s the mountains,” the man explained.
Yay glanced round, one eyebrow arched. “You don’t say?”
Gurgeh smiled and smoothed one hand over his neatly trimmed beard. “How is the landscaping going, Yay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She shook her head at the continuing downpour. “What weather.” She tossed her drink back. “No wonder you live by yourself, Gurgeh.”
“Oh, that isn’t the rain, Yay,” Gurgeh said. “That’s me. Nobody can stand to live with me for long.”
“He means,” Chamlis said, “that he couldn’t stand to live for long with anybody.”
“I’d believe either,” Yay said, coming back to the couch again. She sat cross-legged on it and played with one of the pieces on the game-board. “What did you think of the game, Chamlis?”
“You have reached the likely limits of your technical ability, but your flair continues to develop. I doubt you’ll ever beat Gurgeh, though.”
“Hey,” Yay said, pretending injured pride. “I’m just a junior; I’ll improve.” She tapped one set of fingernails against the other, and made a tutting noise with her mouth. “Like I’m told I will at landscaping.”
“You having problems?” Chamlis said.
Yay looked as though she hadn’t heard for a moment, then sighed, lay back on the couch. “Yeah… that asshole Elrstrid and that prissy fucking Preashipleyl machine. They’re so… unadventurous. They just won’t listen.”
“What won’t they listen to?”
“Ideas!” Yay shouted at the ceiling. “Something different, something not so goddamn conservative for a change. Just because I’m young they won’t pay attention.”
“I thought they were pleased with your work,” Chamlis said. Gurgeh was sitting back in his couch, swilling the drink in his glass round and just watching Yay.
“Oh they like me to do all the easy stuff,” Yay said, sounding suddenly tired. “Stick up a range or two, carve out a couple of lakes… but I’m talking about the overall plan; real radical stuff. All we’re doing is building just another next-door Plate. Could be one of a million anywhere in the galaxy. What’s the point of that?”
“So people can live on it?” Chamlis suggested, fields rosy.
“People can live anywhere!” Yay said, levering herself up from the couch to look at the drone with her bright green eyes. “There’s no shortage of Plates; I’m talking about art!”
“What did you have in mind?” Gurgeh asked.
“How about,” Yay said, “magnetic fields under the base material and magnetised islands floating over oceans? No ordinary land at all; just great floating lumps of rock with streams and lakes and vegetation and a few intrepid people; doesn’t that sound more exciting?”
“More exciting than what?” Gurgeh asked.
“More exciting than this!” Meristinoux leapt up and went over to the window. She tapped the ancient pane. “Look at that; you might as well be on a planet. Seas and hills and rain. Wouldn’t you rather live on a floating island, sailing through the air over the water?”
“What if the islands collide?” Chamlis asked.
“What if they do?” Yay turned to look at the man and the machine. It was getting still darker outside, and the room lights were slowly brightening. She shrugged. “Anyway; you could make it so they didn’t… but don’t you think it’s a wonderful idea? Why should one old woman and a machine be able to stop me?”
“Well,” Chamlis said, “I know the Preashipleyl machine, and if it thought your idea was good it wouldn’t just ignore it; it’s had a lot of experience, and—”
“Yeah,” Yay said, “too much experience.”
“That isn’t possible, young lady,” the drone said.
Yay Meristinoux took a deep breath, and seemed about to argue, but just spread her arms wide and rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. “We’ll see,” she said.
The afternoon, which had been steadily darkening until then, was suddenly lit up on the far side of the fjord by a bright splash of sunlight filtering through the clouds and the easing rain. The room slowly filled with a watery glow, and the house lights dimmed again. Wind moved the tops of the dripping trees. “Ah,” Yay said, stretching her back and flexing her arms. “Not to worry.” She inspected the landscape outside critically. “Hell; I’m going for a run,” she announced. She headed for the door in the corner of the room, pulling off first one boot, then the other, throwing the waistcoat over a chair, and unbuttoning her blouse. “You’ll see.” She wagged a finger at Gurgeh and Chamlis. “Floating islands; their time has come.”
Chamlis said nothing. Gurgeh looked sceptical. Yay left.
Chamlis went to the window. It watched the girl — down to a pair of shorts now — run out along the path leading down from the house, between the lawns and the forest. She waved once, without looking back, and disappeared into the woods. Chamlis flickered its fields in response, even though Yay couldn’t see.
“She’s handsome,” it said.
Gurgeh sat back in the couch. “She makes me feel old.”
“Oh, don’t you start feeling sorry for yourself,” Chamlis said, floating back from the window.
Gurgeh looked at the hearth stones. “Everything seems… grey at the moment, Chamlis. Sometimes I start to think I’m repeating myself, that even new games are just old ones in disguise, and that nothing’s worth playing for anyway.”
“Gurgeh,” Chamlis said matter-of-factly, and did something it rarely did, actually settling physically into the couch, letting it take its weight. “Settle up; are we talking about games, or life?”
Gurgeh put his dark-curled head back and laughed.
“Games,” Chamlis went on, “have been your life. If they’re starting to pall, I’d understand you might not be so happy with anything else.”
“Maybe I’m just disillusioned with games,” Gurgeh said, turning a carved game-piece over in his hands. “I used to think that context didn’t matter; a good game was a good game and there was a purity about manipulating rules that translated perfectly from society to society… but now I wonder. Take this; Deploy.” He nodded at the board in front of him. “This is foreign. Some backwater planet discovered just a few decades ago. They play this there and they bet on it; they make it important. But what do we have to bet with? What would be the point of my wagering Ikroh, say?”
“Yay wouldn’t take the bet, certainly,” Chamlis said, amused. “She thinks it rains too much.”
“But you see? If somebody wanted a house like this they’d already have had one built; if they wanted anything in the house” — Gurgeh gestured round the room— “they’d have ordered it; they’d have it. With no money, no possessions, a large part of the enjoyment the people who invented this game experienced when they played it just disappears.”
“You call it enjoyment to lose your house, your titles, your estates; your children maybe; to be expected to walk out on to the balcony with a gun and blow your brains out? That’s enjoyment? We’re well free of that. You want something you can’t have, Gurgeh. You enjoy your life in the Culture, but it can’t provide you with sufficient threats; the true gambler needs the excitement of potential loss, even ruin, to feel wholly alive.” Gurgeh remained silent, lit by the fire and the soft glow from the room’s concealed lighting. “You called yourself ‘Morat’ when you completed your name, but perhaps you aren’t the perfect game-player after all; perhaps you should have called yourself ‘Shequi’; gambler.”