Iain Banks - Surface Detail

“About the size of it,” Demeisen agreed cheerily, clearing up some of the mess Lededje’s lunge across the table had caused. Jasken, still with one wary eye on the girl, was sorting some of the debris on his side.

“You like to take your women from behind,” Lededje said quietly, staring at Veppers. “Usually while facing a mirror. Sometimes, especially when you are drunk, you like to lean forward and bite the right shoulder blade of the woman you are fucking. Always the right, never the left. I have no idea why. You mutter, ‘Ah, yesss, fucking take it,’ sometimes, when you orgasm. You have a small black mole just under the fold of your right armpit, which is the only blemish you have allowed to remain on your body, purely for the purposes of identification. You scratch the right corner of your mouth when you are worried and trying to decide what course of action to take. You secretly despise Peschl, your lawyer, because he is gay, but keep him on because he is very good at his job and it is important to you to make people think that you are not homophobic. I think you may have had some sort of homosexual experience at school with your friend Sapultride. You think the screen director Kostrle is ‘grotesquely over-rated’, though you fund his works and advance him at every opportunity because he seems fashionable and you desire his—”

“Yes yes yes,” Veppers said. “You’ve done your research; well done. Clever girl.” (Still, Demeisen noticed, Veppers’ involuntary stress signs had peaked again, and Jasken was suddenly trying hard not to stare at either his master or Lededje.) Veppers turned to Huen. “Madam. Can we get to the point of things here?”

Demeisen turned quickly to Lededje. “Are you mad?” he asked her quietly.

“Burning my boats, you treacherous fuck,” she said, her voice sounding quiet and hollow. “If I can’t kill the bastard maybe I can unsettle him a little. It’s all you’ve left me.” She barely looked at the avatar as she said this.

“Av Demeisen,” the ambassador said, sitting up straight and brushing some crumbs from her fingers, “you need to listen to this.” She nodded to Veppers.

Veppers looked at the avatar. He took in a breath, then expelled it, glanced at Huen. “This… person really does represent a Culture ship? You’re sure?”

“Yes,” the ambassador said, watching Demeisen rather than looking at Veppers as she addressed him. “Get on with it.”

Veppers shook his head. “Oh well.” He smiled insincerely at the avatar, who smiled just as insincerely back. “The smatter is a diversion,” Veppers told him. “I made one agreement with the Flekke and NR, to stay out of any conflict regarding the Hells. Smokescreen. I never intended to keep it. I made another agreement with the GFCF to provide them with targets for a fleet of ships they would build in the Tsungarial Disk while the Culture and anybody else who might have interfered was tied up with the smatter outbreak. That is the agreement that I intend to keep, so long as nothing untoward befalls me. Those targets are the Hells — well, the substrates running them; the vast majority of them at any rate. All the important ones.”

“And they are here,” Huen said. “On Sichult, is that right?”

Veppers smiled at her. “Here or hereabouts.”

Huen nodded slowly. “The latest reports I have indicate that a substantial number of the Disk-built ships have, surprisingly, escaped the confines of the Tsung system, possibly powered by unexpected amounts of power no one thought they might possess, and are headed this way,” she said, glancing at Demeisen. “To Sichult.”

“Sudden rush of anti-matter to the engines,” the avatar said, nodding vigorously. “I’ve an element or two running them down, but a number will likely get through.”

“Their targets are in or around Sichult,” Veppers said. “I’ll call in the exact locations when they’re closer.”

Demeisen’s eyes narrowed. “Really? That’s cutting it awfully fine, isn’t it?”

“Timing is everything,” Veppers said, smiling. “The point is,” he said, sitting forward on his couch, towards Demeisen — who sensed Lededje tensing, and, without looking, put one arm out and behind him, across her chest, preventing her from moving — “that I’m on your side, sailor boy.” Veppers directed another perfectly insincere smile at the avatar, who this time did not reciprocate. “On my say-so,” Veppers continued, “if I’m around to give it, and enough ships get through to deliver the killer blows, all those nasty, horrible Hells will get wasted and all the poor tortured souls will be released from their torment.” Veppers tipped his head to one side, interrogatively. “So what we need from you is some sort of guarantee that you won’t interfere with any of this. Maybe you’ll even help the ships get through, or at least stop anybody else — the NR, say — from interfering with them.” Veppers glanced at Lededje before looking back to the avatar. “Deal?”

“Good grief, yes!” Demeisen said, reaching across the table to the Sichultian. “Deal!” He nodded vigorously. “Sorry for any earlier remarks! Nothing personal!” He kept his hand stuck out, and nodded at it. Veppers looked at Demeisen’s open, waiting hand.

“You’ll forgive me,” he told the avatar. “I prefer not to shake hands. One never knows where other people’s have been.”

“Totally understand,” Demeisen said, withdrawing his hand without any apparent self-consciousness.

“I have your word?” Veppers said, looking from Huen to Demeisen. “Both of you; I have your word, your personal and representational guarantee that I’ll come to no harm, yes?”

“Absolutely,” ambassador Huen said. “Given.”

“A deal is a fucking deal!” Demeisen agreed. “You’ll suffer no harm from me, I swear.” The avatar looked round at Lededje, sitting simmering on the couch behind him. “Or my little pal here!” He took her by the shoulders with one arm, shook her.

She looked into his eyes. “Liar,” she said softly.

Demeisen appeared not to hear. He sat back, grinning.

Veppers found some un-spilled infusion in an insulated pot, poured a little into his cup and sat back sipping it, gazing levelly at Lededje. He smiled at her, shrugged.

“Oh, come on, whoever you are. This is just how things are done. Those of us with advantage will always seek to increase it, and those wishing to make deals will always find somebody like me on the other side of the table. Who else would you expect?” Veppers gave a small, nasal laugh like a single half-snorted breath through his healing nose. “Life, frankly, is mostly meetings, young lady,” he told her. He favoured her with a more relaxed smile. “Lededje, I should say, if that really is you.” He frowned, looked at Huen. “Of course, if she really is who she says she is, she does rather belong to me.”

Huen shook her head. “No, she doesn’t,” she said.

Veppers blew unnecessarily on his infusion. “Really, my dear ambassador? That may have to be settled through the courts, I’m afraid.”

“No, it won’t,” Demeisen told him, grinning.

Veppers looked at Lededje. Before he could say whatever it was he had been going to say, Lededje said, “Your last words to me were, ‘I was supposed to appear in public this evening.’ Remember?”

Veppers’ smile faltered only briefly. “Were they now?” He glanced at Jasken, who quickly looked down. “How amazing.” He pulled an old-fashioned watch from one pocket. “Heavens, is that the time?”

“Those ships are just about upon us,” Huen said.

“I know,” Veppers said brightly. “And where better to be when they arrive than with the Culture ambassador, under the protection of a Culture warship?” He gestured from Huen to Demeisen, who nodded.