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most of the former either Breughels or Lowrys; Tiffany lampshades, a Bang and Olafsen Hifi unit, several antique clocks, what looked like a dozen or so Dresden figurines, a Chinese cabinet of black lacquer, a large four-fold screen with peacocks sewn onto it, the myriad feathers like displayed eyes ... 'What did it tell you?' Linter asked. I shrugged. 'What I said. It said it wanted me to have a talk with you.' He smiled in an unimpressed sort of way as though the whole conversation was hardly worth the effort, then looked away, through the window. He didn't seem to be going to say anything. A flash of colour caught my eye, and I looked over at a large television, one of those with small doors that close over the screen and make it look like a cabinet when it isn't in use. The doors weren't fully shut, and it was switched on behind them. 'Do you want -?' Linter said. 'No, it's -' I began, but he rose out of the seat, gripping its elegant arms, went to the set and spread its doors open with a dramatic gesture before resuming his seat. I didn't want to sit and watch television, but the sound was down so it wasn't especially intrusive. 'The control unit's on the table,' Linter said, pointing. 'I wish you - somebody - wish you'd tell me what's going on.' H e l o o k e d a t m e a s t h o u g h t h i s w a s a n obvious lie rather than a genuine plea, and glanced over at the TV. It must have been on one of the ship's own channels, because it was changing all the time, showing different shows and programmes from a variety of countries, using various Page 58 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html transmission formats, and waiting for a channel to be selected. A group in bright pink suits danced mechanically to an unheard song. They were replaced with a picture of the Ekofisk platform, spouting a dirty brown fountain of oil and mud. Then the screen changed again, to show the crowded cabin scene from A Night At The Opera. 'So you don't know anything?' Linter lit a Sobranie. This, like the ship's 'Hmm', had to be for effect (unless he liked the taste, which has never been a convincing line). He didn't offer me one. 'No, no, no I don't. Look ... I can see the ship wanted me here for more than this talk ... but don't you play games too. That crazy thing sent me down here in that Volvo; the whole way. I half expected it not to have baffled it either; I was waiting for a pair of Mirages to come to intercept. I've got a long drive to Berlin as well, you know? So ... just tell me, or tell me to go, all right?' He drew on the cigarette, studying me through the smoke. He crossed his legs and brushed some imaginary fluff off the trouser cuffs and stared at his shoes. 'I've told the ship that when it leaves, I'm staying here on Earth. Regardless of what else might happen.' He shrugged. 'Whether we contact or not.' He looked at me, challenging. 'Any ... particular reason?' I tried to sound unfazed. I still thought it must be a woman. 'Yes. I like the place.' He made a noise between a snort and a laugh. 'I feel alive for a change. I want to stay. I'm going to. I'm going to live here.' 'You want to die here?' He smiled, looked away from me, then back. 'Yes.' Quite positively. This shut me up for a moment. I felt uncomfortable. I got up and walked round the room, looking at the bookshelves. He seemed to have read about the same amount as me. I wondered if he'd crammed it all, or read any of it at normal speed: Dostoevsky, Borges, Greene, Swift, Lucretius, Kafka, Austin, Grass, Bellow, Joyce, Confucius, Scott, Mailer, Camus, Hemingway, Dante. 'You probably will die here, then,' I said lightly. 'I suspect the ship wants to observe, not contact. Of course -' 'That'll suit me. Fine.' 'Hmm. Well, it isn't ... official yet, but I ... that's the way it'll go, I suspect.' I turned away from the books. 'It does? You really want to die here? Are you serious? How -' He was sitting forward in the chair, combing his black hair with one hand, pushing the long, ringed fingers through his curls. A silver stud decorated the lobe of his left ear. 'Fine,' he repeated. 'It'll suit me perfectly. We'll ruin this place if we interfere.' 'They'll ruin it if we don't.' 'Don't be trite, Sma.' He stubbed the cigarette out hard, breaking it in half, mostly unsmoked. 'And if they blow the place up?' 'Mmm.' 'Well?' 'Well what?' he demanded. A siren sounded on the St Germain, dopplering. 'Might be what they're heading for. Want to see them moth themselves in front of their own -' 'Ah, bullshit.' His face crinkled with annoyance. 'Bullshit yourself,' I told him. 'Even the ship's worried. The only reason they haven't made a final decision yet is because they know how bad it'll look short term if they do.' 'Sma, I don't care. I don't want to leave. I don't want to have any more to do with the ship or the Culture or anything connected with it.' 'You must be crazy. As crazy as they are. They'll kill you; you'll get crushed Page 59 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html under a truck or mangled in a plane crash or ... burned up in some fire or something ... ' 'So I take my chances.' 'Well ... what about what they'd call the "security" aspect? What if you're only injured and they take you to hospital? You'll never get out again; they'll take one look at your guts or your blood and they'll know you're alien. You'll have the military all over you. They'll dissect you.' 'Not very likely. But if it happens, it happens.' I sat down again. I was reacting just the way the ship had known I would. I thought Linter was mad just the way the Arbitrary did, and it was using me to try and talk some sense into him. Doubtless the ship had already tried, but equally obviously the nature of Linter's decision was such that the Arbitrary was the last thing that was going to have any influence. Technologically and morally the ship represented the most finely articulated statement the Culture was capable of producing, and that very sophistication had the beast hamstrung, here. I have to admit I felt a degree of admiration for Linter's stand, even though I still thought he was being stupid. There might or might not be a local involved, but I was already getting the impression it was more complicated - and more difficult to handle - than that. Maybe he had fallen in love, but not with anything as simple as a person. Maybe he'd fallen in love with Earth itself; the whole fucking planet. So much for Contact screening; they were supposed to keep people out who might fall like that. If that was what had [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |