“Yes. Specifically, one of our ships helped a squadron of twelve of their vessels get from where they were to the Gzilt system outskirts. They’ve since turned about.”

“Twelve ships? Is this an invasion force?”

“Hardly, Mr … Kresele, isn’t it? No, their ships and weapons are quite primitive. Check the specs; freely available. And why would the Culture be helping anybody invade anybody else, let alone help anybody invade the Gzilt, who have been our friends for millennia? And why would anybody invade a people about to Sublime in the first place? Come now; at least try to make sense here. Yes, ma’am. Ms Aouse, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Hi. Have you helped the Ronte in any other way?”

“Certainly not, as far as I know. And I would have been told.”

“So you could have been helping them.”

“To do what? Destroy the Fourteenth’s HQ? That’s ridiculous. That was not them. And it certainly wasn’t us.”

“Who do you think was responsible, then?”

“I don’t know. But it’s more likely that one of your own ships gone rogue, rather than the Ronte or the Culture, destroyed the Fzan-Juym, and I leave it to you to judge how absurd a proposition that is.”

“Ziborlun! Was the Culture ship working in league with the Ronte acting on orders, and, if so, whose?”

“Oh. So we’ve gone from ‘helping’ to ‘working in league with’, have we? I see. The ship – the Beats Working, a tiny ship with a crew of five humans – had no orders. It still has no orders. It was doing what it and its crew thought was the right thing, at all points, including when it offered to help the Ronte get here faster. And at that stage, let’s not forget, the Ronte still thought you were their friends and, apart from anything else, wanted to get here in time to help celebrate the Subliming.”

“Somebody must have issued the orders.”

“No, they didn’t. There were no orders. You have much work to do, Mr Diria, understanding how the Culture works. Yes, ma’am. Ms Zige, isn’t it?”

“Has the Culture been spying on Gzilt?”

“If we have, obviously not enough, because we seem to be as confused as everybody else about what the hell is going on here. Yes; gentleman at the back.”

“Who’s that smart-arse?” Cossont asked, scowling at the screen from within the heavy robe. “Looks like a ship’s avatar.”

“That’s right,” Berdle said. “Ziborlun. The avatar of the MSV Passing By And Thought I’d Drop In.” Berdle seemed to hesitate, then said, “Ah. I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

“What?” she said.