The Culture 8 - Surface Detail by Iain M. Banks

Author:Iain M. Banks
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: High Tech, Space Opera, Revenge, Fiction, Science Fiction, Adventure, Life on Other Planets, General, Artificial intelligence
ISBN: 9780316123402
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2010-10-28T02:04:10+00:00

“Thank you,” she said as the door to her quarters hinged open like a valve behind her. The ship drone dipped a little and drifted in, carrying her overnight bag.

Nopri looked over her shoulder into the shadowy space beyond. “Looks nice. Would you like me to stay?”

“Too kind, but no,” she told him.

“I don’t mean for sex,” he said. “I mean for company.”

“As I say, it is kind of you to offer. But no.”

“Okay.” He nodded behind her. “Mind your head.”

She watched the little wheeled drone take him away into the shadows then turned to look into her cabin. The door must have been some sort of window once, at ceiling height. That was why it rotated about its horizontal axis, leaving the door itself as a thick obstruction straight across the three-metre-wide doorway. She ducked underneath. It hinged closed.

The cabin looked complicated, with lots of different levels and bits where it just seemed to wander off into the shadows. Doubtless it had made more sense the other way up.

The ship’s drone floated over to report it had found what it was fairly sure was some sort of bed of a fluid-based nature suitable for a human to sleep safely within.

Bathroom location, on the other hand, was still ongoing.

“You are a soldier?” the young doctor asked.

Vatueil rolled his eyes. “Soldier, naval officer, marine, flying serviceman, submariner, space warrior, vacuum trooper, disembodied intellect investing military hardware, or software: all of the above. Does this come as news to you? There is a War Conduct Agreement, doc; I’m not supposed to be subject to any torture or unauthorised interference. You’re entitled to my code and anything it holds but you’re not entitled to run my consciousness at all, and certainly not for any punitive purpose.”

“Do you feel you are being punished?”

“Borderline,” he told her. “It depends how long this goes on.”

“How long do you think it will go on?”

“I don’t know. I’m not in control here.”

“Who do you think is in control?”

“Your side. Maybe you, depending on what you are, or represent. Who do you represent?”

“Who do you think I represent?”

He sighed. “Do you ever get tired having to answer questions with questions all the time?”

“Do you think I should get tired?”

He gave a small laugh. “Yes, I think you should.”

He couldn’t work out why he was here. They had his code, they knew everything he’d come here with. There was nothing that he had come here knowing that they didn’t also know by now. That wasn’t what was meant to happen – a sub-routine should have wiped his personality and memories with the rest of the information carried in the code cell as soon as it realised that he – in the shape of the dark spearhead – wasn’t going to survive the attack; if you were totally destroyed it didn‘t matter anyway but if there was going to be something left then you tried to make sure as little as possible fell into enemy hands.

But sometimes the sub-routines didn’t work in time.

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