She had thought of looking for the couple with the child again, the little family she’d met inside the Girdlecity on that first evening. The search and successfully finding them would be sufficient, she’d decided; that would be difficult enough. She wouldn’t want to suggest that she stay with them or any such foolishness.

In addition, she had an invitation to go with the Mistake Not …, which would be departing before too long, having helped in the general business of keeping the peace amongst the Scavenger civs as they took stuff, dismantled things, occupied places or studied tech to copy. The Culture ship would be heading out on a long voyage to the planet called Cethyd, on the far side of the galaxy, to attempt to contact the original, biological QiRia, to see if he would like his eyes and his memories back, now that all the fuss was over.

Just getting to him might be interesting, given the bizarre hostility of the locals and not-quite-so-locals, so it promised to be an adventure.

There was no rush, anyway; though the whole Scavenger thing had quieted down, the Culture ships had stuck around for a bit, and were now awaiting the arrival of the last of the ships that had been involved in their recent discussions over what to do about the Gzilt. She’d got the impression they were all quietly pleased with themselves, also that this get-together was just an excuse for some mutual metaphorical back-slapping and whatever passed amongst Culture Minds for nights of drunken revelry and general carousing, and that they were already turning the whole fractious, murderous escapade into something semi-mythical to take its place in the ongoing history of Terrific Things The Culture And Its Brilliant Ships Had Got Up To Over The Years.

Though not one called the Caconym, apparently; it had just turned without ceremony and gone back to doing whatever it was it liked doing.

And not the Empiricist; it had more important things to do else-where. System-class ships always did, apparently.

Cossont strapped in, closed the canopy, took manual control and lifted the little flier away from the terrace, letting the craft rise and bank and pirouette all at once.

First she would go home.

After that, she had no idea what she might do.

The Antagonistic Undecagonstring, caught in the swirling breeze produced by the flier’s departure, hummed emptily.

The sound was swept away by the mindless air.

About the Author

Iain Banks came to widespread and controversial public notice with the publication of his first novel, The Wasp Factory, in 1984. Consider Phlebas, his first science fiction novel, was published under the name Iain M. Banks in 1987. He is now acclaimed as one of the most powerful, innovative and exciting writers of his generation. Iain Banks live in Fife, Scotland.