"For a brow-beating, no doubt," Genar-Hofoen said, glancing to one side and watching a cloud pass over the meadows of the valley shown on the dining room's projector walls. "Probably wants to give me a lecture." He sighed, still looking round the room. He fastened his gaze on Tishlin's simulation again. "She still there?" he asked.

The image nodded slowly.

"Shit," Genar-Hofoen said.

"But it makes my brain hurt."

"Nevertheless, Major. This is of inestimable importance."

"I only looked at the first bit there and it's already given me a thumping case-ache."

"Still, it has to be done. Kindly read it all carefully and then I'll explain its significance."

"Knot my stalks, this is a terrible thing to ask of a chap after a regimental dinner." Fivetide wondered if humans suffered so for their self-indulgence. He doubted it, no matter what they claimed; with the possibly honourable, possibly demented exception of Genar-Hofoen, they seemed a bit too stuffy and sensible willingly to submit to such self-punishment in the cause of fun. Besides, they were so insecure in their physical inheritance they had meddled with themselves in all sorts of ways; probably they thought hangovers were just annoying, rather than character-forming and so had, shortsightedly, dispensed with them.

"I realise it's early and it is the morning after the night before, Major. But please."

The emissary — which Fivetide had met once before, and which possessed the irritating trait of looking somewhat like a better-built version of Fivetide's dear departed father — had just appeared in the nest house without notice or warning. If he hadn't known the way these things worked, Fivetide would right now be thinking of ways to torture the head of nest security. Tentacles had rolled, beaks had been separated, for less.

Lucky he'd been able to whip the bed covers round his deputy wife and both vice courtesans before the blighter had announced his/its presence by just floating into the nest.

Fivetide clapped his forebeak together a couple of times. Tastes like I've had me beak up me arse, he thought. "Can't you just tell me what the damn signal means now?" he asked.

"You won't know what I'm referring to. Come now; the sooner you read it the sooner I'll be able to tell you what it means, and the sooner I'll be able to demonstrate how it is just possible that this information will — at the very least — enable you to remove the harness of Culture interference forever."

"Hmm. I'm sure. And what'll it do at most?"

The emissary of the ship let its eye stalks dip to either side, the Affronter equivalent of a smile. "At most, the information in this signal will lead to you being able to dominate the Culture as completely as it — if it chose to — could dominate you." The creature paused. "This signal could conceivably presage the start of a process which will deliver the entire Galaxy into your hands, and subsequently open up territories for expansion and exploitation beyond that which you cannot even begin to guess at. And I do not exaggerate. Have I your attention now, Major?"

Fivetide snorted sceptically. "I suppose you have," he said, shaking his limbs and rubbing his eyes. He returned his gaze to the note screen, and read the signal.

xGCU Fate Amenable To Change,

oGSV Ethics Gradient

& strictly as SC cleared:

Excession notice @c18519938.52314.

Constitutes formal All-ships Warning Level 0

[(in temporary sequestration) — textual note added by GSV Wisdom Like Silence @ n4.28.855.0150.650001].

Excession.

Confirmed precedent-breach. Type K7^. True class non-estimal. Its status: Active. Aware. Contactiphile. Uninvasive sf. LocStatre: Esperi (star).

First ComAtt (its, following shear-by contact via my primary scanner @ n4.28.855.0065.59312) @ n4.28.855.0065.59487 in M1-a16 & Galin II by tight beam, type 4A. PTA & Handshake burst as appended, x@ 0.7Y. Suspect signal gleaned from Z-E/lalsaer ComBeam spread, 2nd Era. xContact callsigned "I'. No other signals registered.

My subsequent actions: maintained course and speed, skim-declutched primary scanner to mimic 50 % closer approach, began directed full passive HS scan (sync./start of signal sequence, as above), sent buffered Galin II pro-forma message-reception confirmation signal to contact location, dedicated track scanner @ 19 % power and 300 % beamspread to contact @ -5% primary scanner roll-off point, instigated Exponential slow-to-stop line manoeuvre synchronised to skein-local stop-point @ 12 % of track scanner range limit, ran full systems check as detailed, executed slow/4 swing-around then retraced course to previous closest approach point and stop @ standard 2ex curve. Holding there.

Excession's physical characteristics: (¡am!) sphere rad. 53.34km, mass (non-estimal by space-time fabric influence — locality ambiently planar — estimated by pan-polarity material density norms at) 1.45x813t. Layered fractal matter-type-intricate structure, self supporting, open to (field-filtered) vacuum, anomalous field presence inferred from 821 kHz leakage. Affirm K7^ category by HS topology & eG links (inf. & ult.). eG link details non-estimal. DiaGlyph files attached.

Associated anomalous materials presence: several highly dispersed detritus clouds all within 28 minutes, three consistent with staged destruction of >.1m3 near-equiv-tech entity, another ditto approx 38 partially exhausted M-DAWS.1cal rounds, another consisting of general hi-soph level (O2-atmosphered) ship-internal combat debris. Latter drifting directly away from excession's current position. Retracks of debris clouds" expansion profiles indicates mutual age of 52.5 days. Combat debris cloud implicitly originating @ a point 948 milliseconds from excession's current position. DiaGlyph files attached.

No other presences apparent to within 30 years.

My status: H&H, unTouched. L8 secure post system-scour (100 %). ATDPSs engaged. CRTTDPSs engaged.

Repeat:

Excession eG (inf. & ult.) linked, confirmed.

eGrid link details non-estimal. True class non-estimal.

Awaiting.

@ n4.28.855.0073.64523…

… PS:

Gulp.

Fivetide shook his stalks. Gods, this hangover was fierce.

"All right," he said, "I've read, but I still don't understand."

The emissary of the war vessel Attitude Adjuster smiled again. "Allow me to explain."

The battle of Boustrago had taken place on Xlephier Prime thirteen thousand years earlier. It had been the final, decisive battle in the Archipelagic War (though it had, inappropriately, been fought near to the centre of a continent), a twenty-year conflict between that world's first two great imperial nation states. The muzzle-loading cannon and rifle were state-of-the-art munitions at the time, though the cavalry charge was still very much regarded as both the most decisive battlefield manoeuvre and quite the finest and most stirring sight that warfare had to offer by the military high commands on each side. The combination of modern ordnance and outdated tactics had, as ever, created enormous casualties on both sides.

Amorphia wandered amongst the dead and dying of Hill 4. The battle had by this time moved on; the few defenders who'd survived and repelled the initial rush had been ordered to pull back just as the next wave of opposing troops had appeared out of the cannon smoke and fallen upon them; they had been slaughtered almost to a man and the victors had swept on to the next redoubt across the shallow valley beyond. Shattered palisades, lines of stakes and bunkers had been chewed up by the initial bombardment and later by the hooves of the cavalry. Bodies lay scattered like twisted, shredded leaves amongst the torn-up grassland and the rich brown-red soil. The blood of men and animals saturated the grass in places, making it thick and glossy, and collected in little hollows like pools of dark ink.