“Yes. It still builds sandstream complexes on a life-forsaken plain in the middle of nowhere on an O called Dibaldipen; the kind of barren wasteland on an Orbital that designers pretend they meant to happen all the time but which is really the result of over-artistic weather-pattern modelling and which secretly they are thoroughly ashamed of and embarrassed by.” She paused. “Though I was in yet another copied body then, still it feels exactly as though that was me, riding out across the desert to talk to the recalcitrant machine. It, ah, it sends its regards, by the way.” She shrugged. “It was being sincere and un-ironic, as far as I could tell.”

QiRia smiled. “Yes, I visited it there,” he told her. “Honn, Dibaldipen. Dusty … Anyway. What has caused this proliferation of Tefwes, Tefwe?” he asked.

“Oh, there’s a flap going on. They need me to ask you something.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“A fairly standard ship collective handling the latest budding emergency.”

“SC?”

“No. Though some SC-associated ships helped get me to Hassipura and now to you.”

“Should I be worried or flattered?”

“Flattered.”

“Hassipura told you where I was … willingly?”

“Yes.”

“How easy was it to convince it?”

“It took time, but that was mostly just showing it the respect it believes it’s due. That drone demands a certain ceremoniality in such matters.”

QiRia smiled again, nodded. “And you left it well, functioning?”

“Entirely. Anyway, it still has surprisingly many ambitions in regard to its desiccated hobby.”

“So, what is it you want of me?”

“We need you to confirm or deny something. It will take a little while to explain.”

“I have the time. Do you?”

“Of course. It’s about the Gzilt.”

“Ah-ha!”

“They’re about to Sublime.”

“I know. I trust that all goes smoothly.”

“Ah, well,” she said, and told him all she had been told.

He sat forward, listening, nodding now and again.

“So,” Tefwe said, “the Z-R seem to think you might be able to confirm what the message from the Zihdren themselves is claiming: that the Book of Truth is a lie, part of somebody’s experiment in applied practical theology or something. And we – the Culture – have been asked to help the Z-R with this, plus we have a kind of obligation to the Gzilt to do the right thing.”

“But how much difference might it make?” QiRia asked, sounding sad. “Knowing the truth of it, if it is true?”

Tefwe shrugged. “I don’t know, Ngaroe. I’m not sure anybody knows. But we can’t just let it go. I guess the truth always needs to be chased down. I’m helping with the chasing, and you have the answer, or part of it. If you remember. Do you remember?”

He just sat there smiling at her, silent. The Sound, outside, a vast shadowy symphony of meaninglessness, still seemed to fill the small, night-dark cell.