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Authors: Iain M. Banks
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alone in the park. The severe, square, stone-plinthed lights of the bridge went slowly by, counterpoints to the curves of the strange statues.
'I ... I wanted to give you this.' Linter stopped, felt inside his jacket and brought out what looked like a gold-plated Parker pen. He twisted the top off; where the nib should have been there was a grey tube covered in tiny coloured symbols which belonged to no language on Earth. A little red tell-tale winked lazily. It looked insignificant, somehow. He put the top back on the terminal. 'Will you take it?' he said, blinking.
'Yes, if you're sure.'
'I haven't used it for weeks.'
'How did you ask the ship to see me?'
'It sends down drones to talk to me. I offered the terminal to them, but they wouldn't take it. The ship won't take it. I don't think it wants to be responsible.'
'You want me to be?'
'As a friend. I'd like you to; please. Please take it.'
'Look, why not keep it but don't use it. In case there's some emergency -'
'No. No; just take it, please.' Linter looked into my eyes for a moment. 'It's just a formality.'
I felt a strange urge to laugh, the way he said that. Instead I took the terminal from him and stuffed it into my bomber jacket. Linter sighed. We walked on.
It was a lovely day. The sky was cloudless, the air clear, and fragrant with mixtures of the sea and land. I wasn't sure whether there really was something about that quality of light that made it northern; perhaps it only looked different because you knew there was just a thousand kilometres or so of as clear, still fresher, colder air between you and the Arctic sea, the great bergs and the millions of square kilometres of ice and snow. It was like being on another planet.
We walked up the steps, Linter seeming to study each one. I was looking around, drinking in the sight and sound and smell of this place, reminding me of my holidays from London. I looked at the man by my side.
'You know you're not looking too well.'
He didn't meet my gaze, but appeared to study some distant stonework at the end of the walk. 'Well ... no, I guess you could say I've changed.' He smiled uncertainly. 'I'm not the man I was.'
Something about the way he said it made me shiver. He was watching his feet again.
'You staying here, in Oslo?' I asked him.
'For the moment, yes. I like it here. It doesn't feel like a capital city; clean and compact, but -' he broke off, shook his head at something. 'I'll move on soon though, I think.'
We went on, mounting the steps. Some of the Vigoland sculptures made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. A wave of something like revulsion swept over me, startling me; some planetary repugnance in this northern city. In this world now, they were talking of abandoning the B1 bomber to go ahead with the cruise missile. What had started out as the Neutron Bomb had euphemized into the Enhanced Radiation Warhead and finally into the Reduced Blast Device. They're all sick and so's he, I thought suddenly. Infected.
No, that was stupid. I was getting xenophobic. The fault was within, not without.
'Do you mind if I tell you something?'
'What do you mean?' I said. What a weird thing to say, I thought.
'Well you might find it ... distasteful; I don't know.'
'Tell me anyway. I have a strong constitution.'
'I got ... I asked the ship to ah ... alter me.' He looked at me briefly. I inspected him. The slight stoop, the thinness and paler skin wouldn't have required the services of the ship. He saw me looking, shook his head. 'No, nothing outside; inside.'
'Oh. What?'
'Well, I got it to ... to give me a set of guts more like the locals. And I had the drug glands taken out, and the uh -' he laughed nervously '- the loop system in my balls.'
I kept walking. I believed him, immediately. I couldn't believe the ship had agreed to do it, but I believed Linter. I didn't know what to say.
'So, I uh, don't have any choice about going to the toilet every so often, and I ... I had it work on my eyes, too.' He
'I ... I wanted to give you this.' Linter stopped, felt inside his jacket and brought out what looked like a gold-plated Parker pen. He twisted the top off; where the nib should have been there was a grey tube covered in tiny coloured symbols which belonged to no language on Earth. A little red tell-tale winked lazily. It looked insignificant, somehow. He put the top back on the terminal. 'Will you take it?' he said, blinking.
'Yes, if you're sure.'
'I haven't used it for weeks.'
'How did you ask the ship to see me?'
'It sends down drones to talk to me. I offered the terminal to them, but they wouldn't take it. The ship won't take it. I don't think it wants to be responsible.'
'You want me to be?'
'As a friend. I'd like you to; please. Please take it.'
'Look, why not keep it but don't use it. In case there's some emergency -'
'No. No; just take it, please.' Linter looked into my eyes for a moment. 'It's just a formality.'
I felt a strange urge to laugh, the way he said that. Instead I took the terminal from him and stuffed it into my bomber jacket. Linter sighed. We walked on.
It was a lovely day. The sky was cloudless, the air clear, and fragrant with mixtures of the sea and land. I wasn't sure whether there really was something about that quality of light that made it northern; perhaps it only looked different because you knew there was just a thousand kilometres or so of as clear, still fresher, colder air between you and the Arctic sea, the great bergs and the millions of square kilometres of ice and snow. It was like being on another planet.
We walked up the steps, Linter seeming to study each one. I was looking around, drinking in the sight and sound and smell of this place, reminding me of my holidays from London. I looked at the man by my side.
'You know you're not looking too well.'
He didn't meet my gaze, but appeared to study some distant stonework at the end of the walk. 'Well ... no, I guess you could say I've changed.' He smiled uncertainly. 'I'm not the man I was.'
Something about the way he said it made me shiver. He was watching his feet again.
'You staying here, in Oslo?' I asked him.
'For the moment, yes. I like it here. It doesn't feel like a capital city; clean and compact, but -' he broke off, shook his head at something. 'I'll move on soon though, I think.'
We went on, mounting the steps. Some of the Vigoland sculptures made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. A wave of something like revulsion swept over me, startling me; some planetary repugnance in this northern city. In this world now, they were talking of abandoning the B1 bomber to go ahead with the cruise missile. What had started out as the Neutron Bomb had euphemized into the Enhanced Radiation Warhead and finally into the Reduced Blast Device. They're all sick and so's he, I thought suddenly. Infected.
No, that was stupid. I was getting xenophobic. The fault was within, not without.
'Do you mind if I tell you something?'
'What do you mean?' I said. What a weird thing to say, I thought.
'Well you might find it ... distasteful; I don't know.'
'Tell me anyway. I have a strong constitution.'
'I got ... I asked the ship to ah ... alter me.' He looked at me briefly. I inspected him. The slight stoop, the thinness and paler skin wouldn't have required the services of the ship. He saw me looking, shook his head. 'No, nothing outside; inside.'
'Oh. What?'
'Well, I got it to ... to give me a set of guts more like the locals. And I had the drug glands taken out, and the uh -' he laughed nervously '- the loop system in my balls.'
I kept walking. I believed him, immediately. I couldn't believe the ship had agreed to do it, but I believed Linter. I didn't know what to say.
'So, I uh, don't have any choice about going to the toilet every so often, and I ... I had it work on my eyes, too.' He
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