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Then the two skinny legs sticking out from under the prophet's body were
reduced to spasms, and after a while they stopped moving
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altogether. None of their movements had succeeded in shifting Fwi-Song's huge
body a centimetre.
Horza blew some sand off the clumsy feeling pistol and moved upwind from the
smell of the prophet's hand burning in the fire. He checked the gun, looking
round the deserted stretch of beach around the fires and tents. The canoes
were being launched. Eaters were crowding into the
Culture shuttle.
Horza stretched his aching limbs, looked at his bare-boned finger, then
shrugged, put the gun under one armpit, put his good hand round the set of
bones, pulled and twisted. His useless bones snapped from their sockets and he
threw them onto the fire.
Pain isn't real anyway, he told himself shakily, and started for the Culture
shuttle at a slow run.
The Eaters in the shuttle saw him coming straight towards them, and started
screaming again. They piled out. Some of them ran down the beach to wade out
after the escaping canoes; others scattered into the forest. Horza slowed down
to let them go, then looked warily at the open doors of the
Culture craft. He could see seats inside, up the short ramp, and lights and a
far bulkhead. He took a deep breath and walked up the gentle slope of ramp,
into the shuttle.
'Hello,' said a crudely synthesised voice. Horza looked around. The shuttle
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looked pretty well used and old. It was Culture, he was fairly certain of
that, but it wasn't as neat and spanking-
new as the Culture liked its products to look. 'Why were those people so
frightened of you?'
Horza was still looking round, wondering where and what to address.
'I'm not sure,' he said shrugging. He was naked and still holding the gun,
with only a couple of strips of flesh on one finger, though the bleeding had
quickly stopped. He thought he must look a threatening figure anyway, but
maybe the shuttle couldn't tell that. 'Where are you? What are you?' he said,
deciding to feign ignorance. He looked around in a very obvious manner,
hamming up a display of looking forward, through a door in the bulkhead, to a
control area forward.
'I'm the shuttle. Its brain. How do you do?'
'Fine,' Horza said, 'just fine. How are you?'
'Very well, considering, thank you. I haven't been bored at all, but it is
nice to have somebody to talk to at last. You speak very good Marain; where
did you learn?'
'Ah . . . I did a course in it,' Horza said. He did some more looking around.
'Look, I don't know where to look when I talk to you. Where should I look,
huh?'
'Ha ha,' the shuttle laughed. 'I suppose you'd best look up here; forward
towards the bulkhead.' Horza did so. 'See that little round thing right in the
middle, near the ceiling?
That's one of my eyes.'
'Oh,' Horza said. He waved and smiled. 'Hi. My name's . . . Orab.'
'Hello, Orab. I'm called Tsealsir. Actually that's only part of my name
designation, but you can call me that. What was happening out there? I haven't
been watching the people I'm here to rescue; I was told not to, in case I got
upset, but I did hear people screaming when they came near and they seemed
frightened when they came inside me. Then they saw you and ran away. What is
that you're holding? Is it a gun? I'll have to ask you to put that away for
safe keeping. I'm here to rescue people who want to be rescued when the
Orbital is destructed, and we can't have dangerous weapons on board, in case
somebody gets hurt, can we? Is that finger hurt? I have a very good medkit on
board. Would you like to use it, Orab?'
'Yes, that might be an idea.'
'Good. It's on the inward side of the doorway through to my front compartment
on the left.'
Horza started walking past the rows of seats towards the front of the shuttle.
For all its age, the shuttle smelled of . . . he wasn't quite sure. All the
synthetic materials it was made from, he supposed. After the natural but
god-awful odours of the last day, Horza found the shuttle much more pleasant,
even if it was Culture and therefore belonged to the enemy. Horza touched the
gun he was carrying as though doing something to it. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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