“Why, though?” Gurgeh said tiredly, kicking at a blister of board metal. “Why did Nicosar order them to do all that?”
“He told them it was the only way to defeat the Culture and save him. They didn’t know he was doomed too; they thought he had some way of saving himself. Maybe they’d have done it regardless, even knowing that. They were very highly trained. Anyway; they obeyed their orders.” The machine made a chuckling noise. “Most of them, anyway. A few left the shelter they were supposed to blow up intact, and got some people into it with them. So you’re not unique; there are some other survivors. Mostly servants; Nicosar made sure all the important people were in here. The ship’s drones are with the survivors. We’re keeping them locked up until you’re safely away. They’ll have enough rations to last until they’re rescued.”
“Go on.”
“You sure you can handle all this stuff right now?”
“Just tell me why,” Gurgeh said, sighing.
“You’ve been used, Jernau Gurgeh,” the drone said matter-of-factly. “The truth is, you were playing for the Culture, and Nicosar was playing for the Empire. I personally told the Emperor the night before the start of the last match that you really were our champion; if you won, we were coming in; we’d smash the Empire and impose our own order. If he won, we’d keep out for as long as he was Emperor and for the next ten Great Years anyway.
“That’s why Nicosar did all he did. He wasn’t just a sore loser; he’d lost his Empire. He had nothing else to live for, so why not go in a blaze of glory?”
“Was all that true?” Gurgeh asked. “Would we really have taken over?”
“Gurgeh,” Flere-Imsaho said, “I have no idea. Not in my brief; no need to know. It doesn’t matter; he believed it was true.”
“Slightly unfair pressure,” Gurgeh said, smiling without any humour at the machine. “Telling somebody they’re playing for such high stakes, just the night before the game.”
“Gamespersonship.”
“So why didn’t he tell me what we were playing for?”
“Guess.”
“The bet would have been off and we came in all guns blazing anyway.”
“Correct.”
Gurgeh shook his head, brushed a little soot off one jacket sleeve, smudging it. “You really thought I’d win?” he asked the drone. “Against Nicosar? You thought that, even before I got here?”
“Before you left Chiark, Gurgeh. As soon as you showed any interest in leaving. SC’s been looking for somebody like you for quite a while. The Empire’s been ripe to fall for decades; it needed a big push, but it could always go. Coming in ‘all guns blazing’ as you put it is almost never the right approach; Azad — the game itself — had to be discredited. It was what had held the Empire together all these years — the linchpin; but that made it the most vulnerable point, too.” The drone made a show of looking around, at the mangled debris of the hall. “Everything worked out a little more dramatically than we’d expected, I must admit, but it looks like all the analyses of your abilities and Nicosar’s weaknesses were just about right. My respect for those great Minds which use the likes of you and me like game-pieces increases all the time. Those are very smart machines.”
“They knew I’d win?” Gurgeh asked disconsolately, chin in hand.
“You can’t know something like that, Gurgeh. But they must have thought you stood a good chance. I had some of it explained to me in my briefing… they thought you were just about the best game-player in the Culture, and if you got interested and involved then there wasn’t much any Azad player could do to stop you, no matter how long they’d spent playing the game. You’ve spent all your life learning games; there can’t be a rule, move, concept or idea in Azad you haven’t encountered ten times before in other games; it just brought them all together. These guys never stood a chance. All you needed was somebody to keep an eye on you and give you the occasional nudge in the right direction at the appropriate times.” The drone dipped briefly; a little bow. “Yours truly!”
“All my life,” Gurgeh said quietly, looking past the drone to the dull, dead landscape outside the tall windows. “Sixty years… and how long has the Culture known about the Empire?”
“About — ah! You’re thinking we shaped you somehow. Not so. If we did that sort of thing we wouldn’t need outsider ‘mercenaries’ like Shohobohaum Za to do the really dirty work.”
“Za?” Gurgeh said.
“Not his real name; not Culture-born at all. Yes, he’s what you’d call a ‘mercenary’. Just as well, too, or the secret police would have shot you outside that tent. Remember timid little me nipping out the way? I’d just shot one of your assailants with my CREW; on high X-ray so it wouldn’t register on the cameras. Za broke the neck of another one; he’d heard there might be some trouble. He’ll probably be leading a guerrilla army on Eä in a couple of days from now, I imagine.”
The drone gave a little wobble in the air. “Let’s see… what else can I tell you? Oh yes; the Limiting Factor isn’t as innocent as it looks, either. While we were on the Little Rascal we did take out the old effectors, but only so we could put in new ones. Just two, in two of the three nose blisters. We put the empty one on clear and holos of empty blisters in the other two.”
“But I was in all three!” Gurgeh protested.
“No, you were in the same one three times. The ship just rotated the corridors housing, fiddled with the AG and had a couple of drones change things round a bit while you were going from one to the other, or rather down one corridor up another and back to the same blister. All for nothing, mind you, but if we had needed some heavy weaponry it would have been there. It’s forward planning that makes one feel safe, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes,” Gurgeh said, sighing. He got to his feet and went back out on to the balcony, where the black soot-snow fell steadily and quietly.
“Talking about the Limiting Factor,” Flere-Imsaho said cheerily, “the old reprobate is overhead now. Module’s on its way. We’ll have you aboard in a minute or two; you can have a nice wash and change out of those dirty clothes. Are you ready to leave?”
Gurgeh looked down at his feet, scuffed some of the soot and ash across the flagstones. “What is there to pack?”
“Not a lot, indeed. I was too busy keeping you from baking to go in search of your belongings. Anyway, the only thing you seem to be fond of is that tatty old jacket. Did you get that bracelet thing? I left it on your chest when I went exploring.”
“Yes, thanks,” Gurgeh said, gazing out at the flat black desolation stretching to the dark horizon. He looked up; the module burst through the deep brown overcast, trailing strands of vapour. “Thanks,” Gurgeh said again, as the module swooped, dropping almost to ground level then racing across the scorched desert towards the castle, drawing a plume of ash and soot off the ground in its wake as it slowed and started to turn and the noise of its supersonic plummet cracked round the forlorn fortress like too-late thunder. “Thanks for everything.”
The craft swung its rear towards the castle, floating up until it was level with the edge of the balcony parapet. Its rear door opened, made a flat ramp. The man walked across the balcony, stepped up on to the parapet, and into the cool interior of the machine.