Or he could leave a copy of himself on board the ship, perhaps even one living and thinking at the same speed as the virtual crew, while he – this physical body – removed itself from its haven, its little kernel-space in the heart of the ship, and took a small craft down to the surface of the world below.

“Two,” said the combat arbite.

The Culture ship had appeared to be heading somewhere quite different when it had suddenly veered off-course and crash-stopped here at Xown. It had been impossible to tell exactly where it had been heading – ships rarely just flew straight for their destination, choosing to introduce long, random curves into their courses, just to frustrate anybody trying to work out where they were going. It meant they travelled a few per cent further than they would have done taking a perfectly direct route, but it was usually judged to be worth the time penalty.

The Uagren too had had to make an unexpected crash-stop, the very violence of which might have betrayed its presence to the Culture ship. The crew thought they had got away with it, but there was no way to be sure yet.

“One.”

“Captain, you have my mind-state mapped?”

“Yes.”

“Implant it into one of the bio-plausible androids forthwith and send it down to the planet. Have it walk a little way ahead of the airship, ready to board it on our future signal. Leave a liaise instruction with the local authorities and keep the android updated with—”

“Ze—”

“Stand down. There will be no need to attack or disable the Culture craft.”

“It has left the—” the arbite started to say, then paused. “It is gone; it has been Displaced.”

“Woh,” the disloc officer said. “Look at those distances. Heavy duty.”

“Ship moving off, fast,” the navigation officer said.

“As I was saying; leave a liaise instruction with the local authorities and keep the android updated with all relevant information.”

“Faster than it was.” The captain sounded worried. “Can we stay with that?”

“Marginal,” the drives officer said.

“Random spiralling,” the targeting officer said. “Maybe it did see us.”

“The android mind-state imprinting is not instant,” the external-tech officer told Agansu. “Eighty seconds required from now to disloc for imprint and ready-body.”

“Captain?” Agansu said. “Is there time?”

“Have we eighty seconds to spare before having to move off? Including move then disloc under acceleration, increasing distance?” the captain said. “Nav. Disloc?”

“Talked,” said the navigation officer. “No. Not even twenty.”

“Disloc agrees.”

“Already starting to lose the quarry’s track,” the targeting officer said. “Ninety per cent we can take same general heading and still find, but no guarantees.”

“Track still fading,” the navigation officer said. “It’s building in more random.”

“Eighty-nine per cent.”

“Colonel,” the captain said, “we can’t program the android and be sure we can still follow the ship.”

“Eighty-seven per cent.”