“President Geljemyn is no more,” Berdle agreed. “And we – the Culture – appear to be in the frame somehow. That seems a bit unfair.”

“I liked President Geljemyn,” Pyan said, draping itself round Cossont’s shoulders. “She had a nice smile. Who is this old person again?”

“New president,” Berdle told it. “Acting President Int’yom.”

“I see. No, he hasn’t got such a nice smile.”

“You’re right,” Berdle said. “He hasn’t, has he?”

“No! He just hasn’t, has he? It’s just not there for him.”

“I know,” Berdle agreed, smiling.

Cossont looked from the screen to Berdle. “What the fuck is going on?”

The avatar shrugged, looked serious. “Long story. Power struggle, I suppose. Though that seems a little pointless, if everybody’s going to Sublime soon anyway. Though they might not be, now.” Berdle looked at Cossont. “And whether they do or not might come down to what happens when we get back to Xown and the Girdlecity, in about three days.” The avatar assumed a look of some thoughtfulness. “Bit of a responsibility, really.”

Cossont shook her head, looked back at the screen. “Oh, fuck …”

“‘Rescinded’! What can be “rescinded’? We had an agreement! We have done nothing! What have we done? Tell us what we have done! Prove anything!”

The individuals of the Ronte delegation were being dragged, inert, out of the adapted house in the diplomatic quarter that had been their home. As many media trucks were present as security vehicles.

The individual Rontes in their exo-suits had been covered in grapple nets by the security para-militaries after being effector-stunned in the early morning raid. The nets were supposed to disable their exo-suits and leave only basic life-support working, but while the aliens and their suits themselves were just dead weights being hauled out across the garden to the waiting police fliers, some sort of float-cam or drone device controlled by the aliens was still functioning, hovering over the scene and dodging attempts to shoot it by the security people.

“This is a diplomatic mission! On what authority do you—?” A small Gzilt security drone succeeded in landing a bore charge on the Ronte device, which jerked, went silent, then fell trailing smoke to the ground and thudded into a flowerbed.

The last exo-suited Ronte was bumped and dragged into the security flier. The ramp closed and the craft took off.

“I am standing here with Ambassador Mierbeunes of the Liseiden,” a reporter said to a float-cam. “Ambassador Mierbeunes, are you surprised to find the Ronte being treated in this way, while your own clients have been declared the new allies of the Gzilt?”

“Well, while I entirely understand the many and various pressures which are brought to bear on an alien delegation of this nature …”

“Has the Culture helped the Ronte or not?”