Then a post had come up on a world called Telaturier. A long-term situation, spending anything up to five years with an aquatic species called the "Ktik which the Culture wanted to help develop. It was the sort of non-ship-based Contact post people were often offered at the end of their career; Dajeil was regarded as a natural for it. It would mean one, maybe two people staying on the planet, otherwise alone save for the "Ktik, for all that time. There would be the occasional visit from others, but little time off and no extended holidays; the whole point was to establish a long-term personal relationship with "Ktik individuals. It wasn't something to be entered into lightly; it would mean commitment. Dajeil asked to be considered for the post and was accepted.
Byr couldn't believe Dajeil was leaving the Recent Convert. He told her she was doing it to annoy him. She told him he was being ridiculous. And unbelievably self-centred. She was doing it because it was an important job and it was something she felt she'd be good at. It was also something she was ready for now; she had done her bit scudding round the galaxy in GCUs and enjoyed every moment, but now she had changed and it was time to take on something more long-term. She would miss him, and she hoped he would miss her — though he certainly wouldn't miss her for as long as he claimed he would, or even as long as he thought he would — but it was time to move on, time to do something different. She was sorry she hadn't been able to stick around longer, being his still point, but that was just the way it was, and this was too great an opportunity to miss.
Later, he could never remember exactly when he'd made the decision to go with her, but he did. Perhaps he had started to believe some of the things she'd been telling him, but he too just felt that it was time to do something different, even if he had only been in Contact for a short while.
It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, harder than any seduction (with the possible exception of hers). To start with, he had to convince her it was a good idea. She wasn't even initially flattered, not for a second. It was a terrible idea, she told him. He was too young, too inexperienced, it was far, far too early in his Contact stint. He wasn't impressing her; he was being stupid. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't sensible, it wasn't flattering, it wasn't practical, it was just idiotic. And if by some miracle they did let him go along with her, he needn't assume that just making this great commitment would ensure she'd sleep with him.
This didn't prove anything except that he was as foolish as he was vain.
III
The General Contact Unit Grey Area didn't hold with avatars; it spoke through a slaved drone. "Young lady-"
'Don't you "young lady" me in that patronising tone!" Ulver Seich said, putting her hands on her suited, gem-encrusted hips. She still had the suit helmet on, though with the visor plate hinged up. They were in the GCU's hangar space with a variety of modules, satellites and assorted paraphernalia. It looked like the space was fairly crowded at the best of times, but it was even more cluttered-now with the small module that had belonged to the ROU Frank Exchange of Views sitting in it.
"Ms Seich," the drone purred on, unaffected. "I was not supposed to pick up you or your colleague Dn Churt Lyne. I have done so because you were effectively adrift in the middle of a war zone. If you really insist-"
"We weren't adrift!" Ulver said, waving her arms around and pointing back at the module. "We were in that! It's got engines, you know!"
"Yes, very slow ones. I did say effectively adrift." The ship-slaved drone, a casingless assemblage of components floating at head height, turned to the drone Churt Lyne. "Dn Churt Lyne. You too are welcome. Would it be possible for you to attempt to persuade your colleague Ms Seich-"
"And don't talk about me as if I'm not here either!" Ulver said, stamping one foot. The deck under Genar-Hofoen's feet resounded.
He had never been more glad to see a GCU. Release from that damned module and Ulver Seich's abrasive moodiness. Bliss. The Grey Area had welcomed him first, he'd noticed.
Finally he was back on course. From here to the Sleeper, get the job done and then — if the war wasn't totally fucking things up — off for some R&R somewhere while things were settled. He still found it hard to believe the Affront had actually declared war on the Culture, but assuming they really had then — once it was all over and the Affront had been put in their place — Culture people with Affront experience would be needed to help manage the peace and the Culturisation of the Affront. In a way he would be sorry to see it; he liked them the way they were. But if they were crazy enough to take on the Culture… maybe they did need teaching a lesson. A bit of enforced niceness might do them some good.
They weren't going to like it though, because it would be a niceness that was enforced leniently, patiently and gracefully, with the sort of unflappable self-certainty the Culture couldn't help displaying when all its statistics proved that it really was doing the right thing. Probably the Affront would rather have been pulverised and then dictated to. Anyway, whatever else happened between now and then, Genar-Hofoen was sure they'd give a good account of themselves.
Ulver Seich was doing not badly in that line herself. Now she was demanding she and the drone be put back in the module immediately and allowed to continue on their way. Given that the first thing she'd done when the Grey Area had contacted them was demand to be rescued and taken aboard at once, this was a little cheeky, but the girl obviously didn't see it that way.
"This is piracy!" she hollered.
"Ulver…" the drone Churt Lyne said calmly.
"And don't you go taking its side!"
"I'm not taking its side, I'm just-"
"You are so!"
The argument went on. The ship's slave-drone looked from the girl to the elderly drone and then back again. It rose once in the air fractionally, then settled back down again. It swivelled to Genar-Hofoen. "Excuse me," it said quietly.
Genar-Hofoen nodded.
The drone Churt Lyne was cut off in mid-sentence and floated gently down to the floor of the hangar. Ulver Seich scowled, furious. Then she understood. She turned on the slave-drone, whirling round and jabbing a finger at it. "How da-!"
The visor plate of her suit clanked shut; her suit powered down to statue-like immobility. The jewelled face plate sparkled in the hangar's lights. Genar-Hofoen thought he could hear some distant, muffled shouting from inside the girl's suit.
"Ms Seich," the drone said. "I know you can hear me in there. I'm terribly sorry to be so impolite, but I regret to say I was finding these exchanges somewhat tedious and unproductive. The fact is that you are now entirely in my power, as I hope this little demonstration proves. You can accept this and pass the next few days in relative comfort or refuse to accept this and either be locked up, followed by a drone intervention team or drugged to prevent you getting into mischief. I assure you that in any other circumstance save that of war I would happily consign you and your colleague to your module and let you do as you wished. However, as long as I am not called upon to perform any overtly military duties, you are almost certainly much safer with me than you are drifting along — or even purposefully moving along — in a small, unarmed and all but defenceless module which, I would beg you to believe, could nevertheless all too easily be mistaken for a munition or some sort of hostile craft by somebody inclined towards the reconnaissance-by-fire approach."
Genar-Hofoen could see the girl's suit shaking; it started to rock from side to side. She must be throwing herself around inside it as best she could. The suit came close to overbalancing and falling. The little slave-drone extended a blue field to steady it. Genar-Hofoen wondered how strong the urge had been to just let it fall.