“I was merely gaining height the better to ascertain wh—”
“You dropped,” Za told Gurgeh, still without looking at him, “and rolled; I thought they’d got you, actually. I managed to knock one of these bods on the head and I think the police burnt the other one.” Za’s gaze settled momentarily on the knot of people beyond the cordon of police, where the sobbing was coming from. “Somebody in the crowd got hit too; the bullets meant for you.”
Gurgeh looked down at one of the dead apices; his head lay at right-angles to his body, across his shoulder; it would have looked wrong on almost any humanoid. “Yeah, that’s the one I hit,” Za said, glancing briefly at the apex. “Bit too hard I think.”
“I repeat,” Flere-Imsaho said, moving round in front of Gurgeh and Za, “I was merely gaining height in order to—”
“Yes, we’re glad you’re safe, drone,” Za said, waving the buzzing bulk of the machine away like a large and cumbersome insect and guiding Gurgeh forward to where an apex in police uniform was gesturing towards the cars. Whooping noises sounded in the sky and the surrounding streets.
“Ah, here’s the boys,” Za said, as a wailing noise dopplered its way over the park, and a large orange-red airvan rushed out of the sky to land in a storm of dust on the grass near by; the marquee fabric flapped and banged and rippled in the blast of air. More heavily armed police jumped out of the van.
There was some confusion about whether they ought to go to the cars or not; finally they were taken back into the marquee and statements were taken from them and some other witnesses; two cameras were confiscated from protesting news-people.
Outside, the two dead bodies and the wounded attacker were loaded on to the airvan. An air-ambulance arrived for Pequil, who was lightly wounded in the arm.
As Gurgeh, Za and the drone finally left the marquee to be taken back to the hotel in a police aircraft, a groundcar-ambulance was pulling in through the park gates to pick up the two males and a female also injured in the attack.
“Nice little module,” Shohobohaum Za said, throwing himself into a formseat. Gurgeh sat down too. The noise of the departing policecraft echoed through the interior. Flere-Imsaho went quiet as soon as they got in and disappeared through to another part of the module.
Gurgeh ordered a drink from the module and asked Za if he would like anything. “Module,” Za said, sprawling out over the seat and looking thoughtful, “I’d like a double standard measure of staol and chilled Shungusteriaung warp-wing liver wine bottoming a mouth of white Eflyre-Spin cruchen-spirit in a slush of medium cascalo, topped with roasted weirdberries and served in a number three strength Tipprawlic osmosis-bowl, or your best approximation thereof.”
“Male or female warp-wing?” the module said.
“In this place?” Za laughed. “Hell; both.”
“It will take some minutes.”
“That is perfectly all right.” Za rubbed his hands together and then looked at Gurgeh. “So, you survived; well done.”
Gurgeh looked uncertain for an instant, then said, “Yes. Thanks.”
“Think comparatively little of it.” Za flapped one hand. “Quite enjoyed myself, actually. Just sorry I killed the guy.”
“I wish I could take such a magnanimous view,” Gurgeh said. “He was trying to kill me. And with bullets.” Gurgeh found the idea of being hit by a bullet particularly horrible.
“Well,” Za shrugged, “I’m not sure it makes much difference whether you’re killed by a projectile or a CREW; you’re just as dead. Anyway, I still feel sorry for those guys. Poor bastards were probably just doing their jobs.”
“Their jobs?” Gurgeh said, mystified.
Za yawned and nodded, stretching out in the folds of the accommodating formseat. “Yeah; they’ll be imperial secret police or Bureau Nine or something like that.” He yawned again. “Oh, the story’ll be they’re disaffected civilians… though they might try to hang it on the revs… but that’d be a bit unlikely…” Za grinned, shrugged. “Na; they might try it anyway; just for a laugh.”
Gurgeh thought. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t understand. You said these people were police. How—”
“Secret police, Jernau.”
“… But how can you have a secret policeman? I thought one of the points of having a uniform for the police was so that they could be easily identified and act as a deterrent.”
“Good grief,” Za said, covering his face with his hands. He put them down and gazed at Gurgeh. He took a deep breath. “Right… well; the secret police are people who go about listening to what people say when they aren’t being deterred by the sight of a uniform. Then if the person hasn’t actually said anything illegal, but has said something they think is dangerous to the security of the Empire, they kidnap them and interrogate them and — as a rule — kill them. Sometimes they send them to a penal colony but usually they incinerate them or throw them down an old mineshaft; the atmosphere here’s rich with revolutionary fervour, Jernau Gurgeh, and there are some rich seams of loose tongues beneath the city streets. They do other things as well, these secret police. What happened to you today was one of those other things.”
Za sat back and made an expansive, shrugging gesture. “Or, on the other hand, I suppose it isn’t impossible they really were revs, or disaffected citizens. Except that they moved all wrong… But that’s what secret police do, take it from me. Ah!”
A tray approached bearing a large bowl in a holder; vapour rose dramatically from the frothing, multi-coloured surface of the liquid. Za took the bowl.
“To the Empire!” he shouted, and drained it in one go. He slammed the bowl back on to the tray. “Haaa!” he exclaimed, sniffing and coughing and wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his tunic. He blinked at Gurgeh.
“Sorry if I’m being slow,” Gurgeh said, “but if these people were imperial police, mustn’t they have been acting on orders? What’s going on? Does the Empire want me dead because I’m winning the game against Ram?”
“Hmm,” Za said, coughing a little. “You’re learning, Jernau Gurgeh. Shit, I thought a game-player would have a bit more… natural deviousness about him… you’re a babe amongst the carnivores out here… anyway, yes, somebody in a position of power wants you dead.”
“Think they’ll try it again?”
Za shook his head. “Too obvious; they’d have to be pretty desperate to try something like that again… in the short term at least. I think they’ll wait and see what happens in your next ten game, then if they can’t ditch you in that they’ll get your next single opponent to use the physical option on you and hope you’ll scare off. If you get that far.”
“Am I really such a threat to them?”
“Hey, Gurgeh; they realise now they’ve made a mistake. You didn’t see the ’casts before you got here. They were saying you were the best player in the whole Culture and you were some sort of decadent slob, a hedonist who’d never worked a day in your life, that you were arrogant and totally convinced you were going to win the game, that you had all sorts of new glands sewn into your body, that you’d fucked your mother, men… animals for all I know, that you were half computer… then the Bureau saw some of your games you’d been playing on the way here, and announced—”
“What?” Gurgeh said, sitting forward. “What do you mean they’d seen some of the games I’d been playing?”
“They asked me for some recent games you’d played; I got in touch with the Limiting Factor — isn’t that thing a bore? — and had it send me the moves in a couple of your recent games against it. The Bureau said on the strength of those they were more than happy to let you play using your drug-glands and everything else… I’m sorry; I’d assumed the ship asked your permission first. Didn’t it?”