“This is much more satisfactory,” Team Principal Tyun told Cultural Mission Director Keril. Jelwilin Keril had been invited back aboard the Liseiden flagship, the Collective Purposes vessel Gellemtyan-Asool-Anafawaya, to be congratulated for whatever part he might have played in the recent turn-around in the fortunes of the Liseiden.

Keril floated in his transparent bubble within the ship’s command space, a genuine smile anchored on his face. He was sure that this expression, even if it was first-principles meaningless to the Liseiden – indeed, even if it was by some misfortune first-principles threatening to the Liseiden – would be suitably translated by the aquatic creatures’ AIs and its happy import transmitted to the Liseiden officers.

“I am very glad, sir, that your faith in me – and my faith, in turn, in Ambassador Mierbeunes – has turned out not to be misplaced. We are your faithful agents and servants, Team Principal, and are glad to have been able to fulfil this part of the mission we undertook for you.”

“Sir, is it true the Culture are suspected of having helped the Ronte?”

“I … Well, I’m not, that is, ah …” the acting president said, with the glazed look of somebody listening to something being said on their earbud. He raised one hand and appeared to be about to press his earbud further into his ear, then seemed to change his mind. “Excuse me.” The acting president turned and consulted his staff. He turned to face the front again. “Well,” he said. “There are rumours, apparently. Ah. There has been help of one ship, Culture ship, helping the fleet that has been approaching Gzilt. It is just one ship, and I’m sure our own fleets, own ships are entirely, ah, capable.”

“Sir, what about the GSV Passing By And Thought I’d Drop In, and the other Culture warships now stationed directly over Zyse itself?”

“Well, I can’t, I don’t … Excuse me,” he said, turning away again.

The screen cut to a different view, going back to the mass of media people again and zooming in on somebody shouting, “Sir, could this delay the Subliming?” while the acting president was talking urgently with his advisors.

Somebody else shouted out, “Sir, will you be putting yourself forward as a candidate, and will there even be an election?” and yet another person yelled, “Has President Geljemyn’s back-up been woken up yet?” After that, more shouting made it difficult to hear individual questions.

Berdle, sitting beside an open-mouthed Cossont, looked at her and said, “Well, this is interesting.”

Cossont, not long woken, dressed in a loose, voluminous robe, just stared at the screen. “The president’s dead?” she said.

“No,” Berdle told her, “that’s the new one. The avatar nodded at the old man on the screen. “Seems to work a bit like having a king; there always is one, no matter how many you bump off. Until you have a revolution or something.”

“She’s dead?” Cossont repeated.