I intend to pursue the perpetrators of this unnecessary war for as long as it takes until they are brought to justice, and I am aware both that I will no longer be able to do so without them knowing that I am doing so, and that there is no better circumstance to arrange for the jeopardisation of a fellow Mind than in time of war, when blanket secrecies are imposed, warcraft of every sort are loosed, mistakes can be claimed to have been made, deals done, mercenaries hired and old scores settled.

I do not believe I am being melodramatic in this. I will be under terminal threat and so will anybody else who determines to adopt the same course as I. The conspirators have played exceedingly dirty until this point and I cannot imagine they will do other than continue to do so now that their filthy scheme is on the very brink of success.

What do you say? Will you join in this perilous mission?

oo

How I wish that I could persuade myself, never mind you, that you are being melodramatic.

You risk more than I. My Eccentricity might save me. We have gone this far together. Count me in.

Oh, meat, they never said this would happen when they invited me onto the Group and into the Gang…

Hmm. I had forgotten how unpleasant the emotion of fear is. This is hateful! You're right. Let's get these bastards. How dare they disturb my peace of mind so just to teach some tentacled bunch of backwoods barbarians a lesson!

V

The battle-cruiser Kiss The Blade caught the cruise ship Just Passing Through on the outskirts of the Ekro system. The Culture craft — ten-kilometres of sleek beauty host to two hundred thousand holidaying travellers of umpteen different species-types — hove to as soon as the battle-cruiser came within range but the Affronter vessel put a shot across its bows anyway, just on general principles. The more determinedly assiduous revellers hadn't believed the announcement about the war anyway, and thought the missile warhead's detonation which lit up the skies ahead of the ship was just some particularly big but otherwise unimpressive firework.

It had been close. Another hour's warning and the Culture ship's hurried reconfiguring and matter-scavenging engine-rebuild would have ensured its escape. But it wasn't to be.

The two ships joined. In the reception vestibule, a small party of people met a trio of suited Affronters as they emerged from the airlocks in a swirl of cool mists.

"You are the ship's representative?"

"Yes," the squat figure at the front of the humans said. "And you?"

"I am Colonel Alien-Befriender (first class) Fivetide Humidyear VII of the Winterhunter tribe and the battle-cruiser Kiss The Blade. This ship is claimed as prize in the name of the Affront Republic according to the normal rules of war. If you obey all our instructions promptly, there is every possibility that no harm will come to you, your passengers or crew. In case you have any illusions concerning your status, you are now our hostages. Any questions?"

"None that I either can't guess the answer to or imagine you'd answer truthfully," the avatar said. "Your jurisdiction is accepted under force of arms alone. Your actions while this situation persists will be recorded. Nothing less than the total destruction of this vessel atom by atom will wipe out that record, and when in due course-"

"Yes, yes. I'll contact my lawyers now. Now take me to your best suite fitted out for Affront physiology."

The girl was indignant with a kind of ferocity probably only somebody from the Peace faction could muster in such a situation. "But we're the Peace faction," she protested for the fifth or sixth time. "We're… we're like the true Culture, the way it used to be…"

"Ah," Leffid said, grimacing as somebody pushed behind him and forced his chest into the front of the bar. He glanced round, scowling, and ruffled his wings back into shape. The Starboard lounge of the Xoanon was crowded — the ship was crowded — and he could see his wings were going to end up in a terrible shape by the time this was over. Mind you, there were compensations; somebody pushed into the bar and squeezed the Peace faction girl closer to him, so that her bare arm touched him and he could feel the warmth of her hip against his. She smelled wonderful. "Now that could be your problem," he said, trying to sound sympathetic. "Calling yourselves the true Culture, you see? To the Tier Sintricates, and even to the Affront, that could sound, well confusing."

"But everybody knows we won't have anything to do with war. It's just so unfair? She flicked her short black hair and stared into the drug bowl she held. It was fuming too. 'Fucking war!" She sounded close to tears.

Leffid judged the time right to put his arm round her. She didn't seem to mind. He thought the better of hinting that in his own small way he might have helped start the war. Sort of thing some people might be impressed with, but not all.

Besides, he'd given his word, and the Tendency had been rewarded for its tip-off to the Mainland with this very ship, currently engaged in the highly humanitarian task of helping to evacuate Tier habitat of all Temporarily Undesirable Aliens, not to mention earning the Tendency some much-needed cordiality credit with a whole raft of other Involveds and strands of the Culture. The girl sighed deeply and held the drug bowl to her face, letting some of the heavy grey smoke tip towards her exceedingly pretty little nose. She glanced round at him with a small brave smile, her gaze rising over his shoulder.

"Like your wings," she said.

He smiled. "Why, thank you…" (Damn!) "… ah, my dear."

The professor blinked. Yes, it really was an Affronter floating at the far end of the room, near the windows. Suit like a small, tubby spacecraft, all gleaming knobbly bits, articulated limbs and glistening prisms. The gauzy white curtains blew in around it, letting bright, high-angled sunlight flow in waves across the carpet. Oh dear, was that her underwear draped over a hassock in the Affronter's shadow?

"I beg your pardon?" she said. She wasn't sure she'd heard right.

"Phoese Cloathel-Beldrunsa Khoriem lei Poere da'Merire, you have been deemed the senior human representative on the Orbital named Cloathel. You are hereby informed that this Orbital is claimed in the name of the Affront Republic. All Culture personnel are now Affront citizens (third class). All orders from superiors will be obeyed. Any resistance will be treated as treason."

The professor rubbed her eyes.

"Cloudsheen, is that you?" she asked the Affronter. The destroyer Wingclipper had arrived the day before with a cultural exchange group the university had been expecting for some weeks. Cloudsheen was the ship's captain; they'd had a good talk about pan-species semantics at the party just the night before. Intelligent, surprisingly sensitive creature; not remotely as aggressive as she'd expected. This looked like him, but different. She had a disquieting feeling the extra bits on his suit were weapons.

'Captain Cloudsheen, if you please, professor," the Affronter said, floating closer. It was directly above her skirt, lying crumpled on the floor. Heavens, she had been messy last night.

"Are you serious?" she asked. She had a strong urge to fart but she held it in; she was oddly concerned that the Affronter would think she was being insulting.

"I am perfectly serious, professor. The Affront and the Culture are now at war."

"Oh," she said. She glanced over at her terminal brooch, lying on an extension of the bed's headboard. Well, the Newsflash light was winking, right enough; practically strobing in fact; must be urgent indeed. She thought. "Shouldn't you be addressing this to the Hub?"