The view had changed. Now it snapped to a grey-blue expanse of something curved, like a cup of cloud seen from the inside. It pivoted again, and they were looking at a series of vast steps like the entrance to an ancient temple. The broad shelves of the stairs led up to a rectangular entrance lined with tiny lights; a dark space beyond twinkled with still smaller lamps. The view drew back to reveal a series of such entrances arranged side by side, the rest of which were closed. Above and below, set into the faces of the steps, were smaller doors, all similarly shut.

"Success," the slave-drone said.

The view was changing again as the ship was drawn slowly backwards towards the single opened bay.

Genar-Hofoen frowned. "We're going inside?" he asked the slave-drone.

It swivelled to face him, paused just long enough for the human to form the impression he was being treated like some sort of cretin. "… Well, yes…" it said, slowly, as one might to a particularly dim child.

"But I was told-"

"Welcome aboard the Sleeper Service," said a voice behind them. They turned to see a tall, angular, black-dressed creature walking into the lounge. "My name is Amorphia."

III

The drone returned to the Appeal To Reason and was taken back aboard. Seconds passed.

— Well? the Fate Amenable To Change asked.

There was a brief pause. A microsecond or so. Then: ~ It's empty, the Appeal To Reason sent.

— Empty?

— Yes. It didn't record anything. It's like it never went anywhere.

— Are you sure?

— Take a look for yourself.

A data dump followed. The Fate Amenable To Change shunted into a memory core it had set up for just such a purpose the mem it had realised what the Excession was, almost a month earlier. It was the equivalent of a locked room, an isolation ward, a cell. More information poured out of the Appeal To Reason; a gushing river of data trying to flood in after the original data dump. The Culture ship ignored it. Part of its Mind was listening to the howling, thumping noises coming out of that locked room.

Information flickered between the Appeal To Reason and the Sober Counsel, an instant before the Fate sent its own warning signal. It cursed itself for its procrastination, even if its warning would almost certainly have gone unheeded anyway.

It signalled the distant, war-readied Elench craft instead, begging them to believe the worst had happened. There was no immediate reply.

The Appeal To Reason was the nearer of the two Elencher ships. It turned and started accelerating towards the Fate. It broadcast, tight-beamed, lasered and field-pulsed vast, impossibly complicated signals at the Culture craft. The Fate squirted back the contents of that locked room, evacuating it. Then it swivelled and powered up its engines. So I am going somewhere, it thought, and moved off, away from the Appeal To Reason, which was still signalling wildly and remained on a heading taking it straight, for the Culture ship.

The Fate raced outwards, powering away from the Elencher vessel and heading out on a great curve that would take it rolling over the invisible sphere that was the closest approach limit it had set. The Sober Counsel was moving off on an opposite course from the Appeal To Reason, which was still following the Culture ship. A direction which would turn into an intercept course if they all held these headings. Oh, shit, the Fate thought.

They were still close enough to each other to just talk, but the Fate thought it ought to be a little more formal, so it signalled.

xGCU Fate Amenable To Change (Culture)

oExplorer Ship Sober Counsel (Whoever)

Whatever you are, if you advance on an intercept course on the far side of the closest approach limit, I'll open fire. No further warnings.

No reply. Just the blaze of multi-band mania from the Appeal To Reason, following behind it. The Sober Counsel's course didn't alter.

The Fate concentrated its attention on the last known locations of the three other Elench craft; the trio which the Break Even had said were all war-configured. The other two couldn't be ignored, but the new arrivals had to constitute the greatest threat for now. It scanned the data it had on the specifications of the Elench craft, calculating, simulating; war-gaming. Grief, to be doing this with ships that were practically Culture ships! The simulation runs came out equivocal. It could easily deal with the two craft, even staying within range of the Excession (as though that was a wise limitation anyway!), but if the other three joined in the fun, and certainly if they attacked, it could well find itself in trouble.

It signalled the Break Even again. Still nothing.

The Fate was starting to wonder what the point was of sticking around here. The big guns would start arriving in a day or two; it looked like it was going to be in some sort of ludicrous continual chase with the two Elencher ships until then, which would be tiresome (with the possibility that the other three, war-ready Elencher ships might join in, which would be downright dangerous) and, after all, there was that war fleet on its way. What more was it usefully going to be able to do here? Certainly, it could keep a watch on the Excession, see if it did anything else interesting, but was that worth the risk of being overwhelmed by the Elench? Or even by the Excession itself, if it was as invasive as it now appeared to be? Enough of its drones, platforms and sensor platforms might be able to evade the Elenchers for the time it took until the other craft got here; they could keep watch on the situation, couldn't they?

Ah, to hell with this, it thought to itself. It dodged unexpectedly along the surface of the closest-approach limit, producing corresponding alterations in the headings of the two Elencher ships. It speeded up for a while, then slowed until it was stopped relative to the Excession.

The position it held now was such that if you drew a line between the Excession and the direction it was expecting the MSV Not invented Here to arrive from, it would be on that line too.

The Fate signalled the two Elencher ships once more, trying to get sense from the Appeal To Reason and any reply at all from the Sober Counsel. It was careful to target the last known positions of the Break Even and its two militarily configured sister ships as well, still trying to elicit a response. None was forthcoming. It waited until the last possible moment, when it looked like the Appeal To Reason was about to ram it in its enthusiasm to overwhelm it with signals, then broke away from it, heading straight out, directly away from the Excession.

The Fate Amenable To Change's avatars began the task of telling the human crew what was happening. Meanwhile the ship turned onto a course at a right-angle to its initial heading and powered away at maximum acceleration. The Appeal To Reason targeted its effector on the fleeing Culture ship as it curved out trying to intercept it, but the attack — configured more as a last attempt to communicate — was easily fended off. That wasn't what the Fate was concerned about.

It watched that imaginary line from the Excession to the MSV Not Invented Here, focusing, magnifying its attention on that line's middle distance.

Movement. Probing filaments of effector radiations. Three foci, clustered neatly around that line.

The Elencher ship Break Even and its two militarily configured sister craft had been awaiting it.