The Darkside Of The Sun

lilies. Sharli glanced at him, and let the tip of the blade take another two-foot slice out of the black rock where his fingers had been.
    ‘He was only playing,’ she hissed in perfect Janglic. ‘He is the second-best shamuri in the galaxy, and he was only playing. But you had to win!’
    ‘I am not playing,’ she added. The sword sizzled round her head and took a thick copper branch off a nearby tree without noticeably slowing.
    Dom dived and came up at the far side of the pool, scrambling out as she came round after him. His discarded body armour still lay in the gravel. He groped in it feverishly. It couldn’t withstand a shamsword that could cut through rock. The padding was just to take the force of the blow – there must be a static field to turn that impossibly sharp edge …
    He didn’t see the blow. There was no sensation except for a faint glimmer of green. The piece of breastplate he was holding was just in two pieces, that was all. The singlet had become a doublet. It was no consolation to see sheared field components dribble out onto the ground.
    ‘I will cut you up,’ she said. ‘A bit at a time. Starting with the extremities !’
    The tip of the sword drew a thin line across his arm only because Dom had moved with commendable speed.
    ‘You say your death won’t be yet,’ she said. ‘Can you be so sure, hey?’
    Dom winced and closed his eyes. The sword caught him in the neck. He opened his eyes, and felt her contemptuous glare as he touched his neck sheepishly.
    ‘You wait till you nod your head. I hit you with the flat, fool!’ she said, walking up to him and standing on tiptoe to bring her hand across in a stinging slap. ‘Boastful, boorish, barbarian boy !’
    His feet fought for purchase on the edge as he teetered over the pool, and then for the third time he hit the water bodily and came up shaking his head and gasping. Sharli pointed the sword at him, trembling.
    ‘If he is dead, boy, if he is dead …’ She picked up a small rock and threw it inexpertly at his head. When he broke surface again she was a small figure riding between the trees.
    Dom let the water stream off him, and lay on the gravel watching the ants. They had appeared from everywhere to congregate around the branch that she had cut down. While he watched, it fell neatly in two, and he saw the tiny blue pinpoint of an electronic cutter. The smaller piece was dragged quickly across the gravel to a hatchway that had appeared in the tree.
    Dom took his grav sandals and the shamsword and walked back to the horse. It looked at him sympathetically and said nothing. He rode off thoughtfully.
    High up on the stump of the branch a minute crane was being jostled into position and scaffolding had appeared. The myrmidon reconstruction crew had already set to work. Further up, where the silicon-chip leaves drank in the sun and tinkled in the breeze, another insect watched them impassively. It had camera eyes, and it was not a Laoth make.
    A spider watched it, and thought of electricity.

11
    ‘We are an old race. We have enjoyed all that the galaxy has to offer – I myself have seen the black mouth in the centre of the galaxy, and the bright dead stars beyond – and therefore as a race we must be doomed. You seek new experience as a pseudo-human; I study the birth of hydrogen in the interstellar abyss with the race called Pod. We sublimate our Creapiness, because it stifles us. Where do we go from here?’
    Personal letter from His Furness CRabE + 687° to His Furness CReegE + 690°, reprinted in the anthology Post Joker
    ‘Enter.’
    Dom pushed open the door.
    Tarli was lying on his stomach, reading. He glanced up and grinned. ‘Come on in.’
    Dom entered sheepishly and dumped the grav sandals on the bed.
    ‘Yours,’ he said. Tarli touched them thoughtfully.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, doubtfully, and switched off the cube.
    ‘Gravity was on my side and I cheated and, well …’ said Dom miserably.
    ‘You’re soaked,’ said Tarli. He clapped his hands. There was a rush of air from one corner of the room and a young drosk appeared, took an order for clothing and a towel, and vanished. A moment later she was back.
    ‘Have your people got, um, rigid rules about bodily exposure?’ asked Tarli. ‘If so, the ablution room is through there.’
    Dom pulled his sodden shirt over his head and grunted.
    ‘Only we get all sorts here, you see. Okay, Chaquaduc.’ He clapped his hands again and the bowing figure disappeared.