The drone followed and the door closed.
The module blasted suddenly away, sucking a great swirling fountain of ash and soot after it as it climbed, flashing through the dark clouds above the castle like some solid lightning bolt, while its thunder broke across the plain and the castle and the low hills behind. Ash settled again; the soot continued its soft and gentle fall.
The module returned a few minutes later, to pick up the ship’s drones and the remains of the alien effector equipment, then left the castle for the last time, and rose again to its waiting ship.
A little while later, the small band of dazed survivors — released by the two ship’s drones, and mostly servants, soldiers, concubines and clerks — stumbled into the day-time night and the soot-like-snow, to take stock of their temporary exile in the once great fortress, and claim their vanished land.
4. The Passed Pawn
Lazy-matching, dull-siding, the ship went slowly through one end of a tensor field three million kilometres long, over a wall of monocrystal, then started to float down through the gradually thickening atmosphere of the Plate. From five hundred kilometres up, the two slabs of land and sea, the one beyond them of raw rock under deep cloud, and the one beyond that of still forming land, showed clear in the night air.
Beyond its crystal wall, the farthest Plate was very new; dark and void to normal sight, the ship could see on it the illuminating radars of the landscaping machines as they moved their cargoes of rock in from space. Even as the vessel watched, a huge asteroid was detonated in the darkness, producing a slow fountain of red-glowing molten rock which fell slowly to the new surface, or was caught and held, moulded in the vacuum before it was allowed to settle.
The Plate beside it was dark too, and near the bottom of its squared off funnel a blanket of clouds covered it completely as its rawness was weathered.
The other two Plates were much older, and twinkled with lights. Chiark was at aphelion; Gevant and Osmolon were white on black; islands of snow on dark seas. The old warship slowly submerged itself in the atmosphere, floating down the blade-flat slope of the Plate wall to where the real air began, then set out over the ocean for the land.
A seaship, a liner on that ocean and bright with lights, blasted its horns and set off fireworks as the Limiting Factor went over, a kilometre up. The ship saluted too, using its effectors to produce artificial auroras; roaring, shifting folds of light in the clear, still air above it. Then the two ships sailed on into the night.
It had been an uneventful journey back. The man Gurgeh had wanted to be stored at once, saying he didn’t want to be awake during the journey back; he wanted sleep, rest, a period of oblivion. The ship had insisted he think it over first, even though it had the equipment ready. After ten days it had relented and the man, who’d become increasingly morose during that time, went thankfully into a dreamless, low metabolism sleep.
He hadn’t played a single game of any description during those ten days, hardly said a word, couldn’t even bother to get dressed, and spent most of his time just sitting staring at walls. The drone had agreed that putting him to sleep for the journey was probably the kindest thing they could do.
They’d crossed the Lesser Cloud and met with the Range class GSV So Much For Subtlety, which was heading back for the main galaxy. The inward journey had taken longer than the outward, but there’d been no hurry. The ship had left the GSV near the higher reaches of a galactic limb and cut down and across, past stars, dustfields and nebulae, where the hydrogen migrated and the suns formed and in the ship’s domain of unreal space the Holes were pillars of energy, from fabric to Grid.
It had woken the man up slowly, two days out from his home.
He still sat and stared at the walls; he didn’t play any games, catch up on any news, or even deal with his mail. At his request, it hadn’t signalled ahead to any of his friends, just sent one permission-to-approach burst to Chiark Hub.
It dropped a few hundred metres and followed the line of the fjord, slipping silently between the snow-covered mountains, its sleek hull reflecting a little blue-grey light as it floated over the dark, still water. A few people on yachts or in nearby houses saw the big craft as it cruised quietly by, and watched it manoeuvre its bulk delicately between bank and bank, water and patchy cloud.
Ikroh was dark and unlit, caught in the star-shadow of the three hundred and fifty metre length of silent craft above it.
Gurgeh took a last look round the cabin he’d been sleeping in — fitfully — for the last couple of ship nights, then walked slowly down the corridor to the module blister. Flere-Imsaho followed him with one small bag, wishing the man would change out of that horrible jacket.
It saw him into the module and came down with him. The lawn in front of the dark house was pure white and untouched. The module lowered to within a centimetre of it, then opened its rear door.
Gurgeh stepped out and down. The air was fragrant and sharp; a tangible clarity. His feet made cramping, creaking noises in the snow. He turned back to the lit interior of the module. Flere-Imsaho gave him his bag. He looked at the small machine.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye, Jernau Gurgeh. I don’t expect we shall ever meet again.”
“I suppose not.”
He stepped back as the door started to swing closed and the craft began to rise very slowly, then he took a couple of quick steps backwards until he could just see the drone over the rising lip of the door, and shouted, “One thing; when Nicosar fired that gun, and the ray came off the mirror-field and hit him; was that coincidence, or did you aim it?”
He thought it wasn’t going to answer him, but just before the door closed and the wedge of light thrown over it disappeared with the rising craft, he heard the drone say:
“I am not going to tell you.”
He stood and watched the module float back to the waiting ship. It was taken inside, the blister closed, and the Limiting Factor went black, its hull a perfect shadow, darker than the night. A pattern of lights came on along its length, spelling “Farewell” in Marain. Then it started to move, rising noiselessly upwards.
Gurgeh watched it until the still-shown lights were just a set of moving stars, and fast receding in a sky of ghostly clouds, then he looked down at the faintly blue-grey snow. When he looked up again, the ship had gone.
He stood for a while, as though waiting. After a time he turned and tramped across the white lawn to the house.
He went in through the windows. The house was warm, and he shivered suddenly in his cool clothes for a second, then suddenly the lights went on.
“Boo!” Yay Meristinoux leapt out from behind a couch by the fire.
Chamlis Amalk-ney appeared from the kitchen with a tray. “Hello, Jernau. I hope you don’t mind…”
Gurgeh’s pale, pinched face broke into a smile. He put his bag down and looked at them both: Yay, fresh-faced and grinning, leaping over the couch; and Chamlis, fields orange-red, setting the tray down on the table before the banked fire. Yay thudded into him, arms round him, hugging him, laughing. She drew back.
“Gurgeh!”
“Yay, hello,” he said, dropping his bag and hugging her.
“How are you?” she asked, squeezing him. “Are you all right? We annoyed Hub until it told us you were definitely coming, but you’ve been asleep all this time, haven’t you? You didn’t even read my letters.”
Gurgeh looked away. “No. I’ve got them, but I haven’t…” he shook his head, looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind.” Yay patted his shoulder. She kept one arm round him and took him to the couch. He sat, looking at them both. Chamlis broke up the damp sawdust banking on the fire, releasing the flames beneath. Yay spread her arms, showing off short skirt and waistcoat.