[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
until it burst into a single dashingly discord- ant blast of music; a mixture
of chords and sheer noise that was echoed in the sky by a single shockingly
bright air burst as a huge meteorite plunged into the atmosphere directly
above the Bowl and exploded. Its stunning, frightening, bone-rattlingly loud
sound arrived suddenly in a hypnotic lull in the music, making everybody -
certainly everybody that
Quilan was aware of, including himself - jump.
Thunder rippled round the greater amphitheatre of sky around the lake and Bowl
at its centre. The bolts struck earth now, lan- cing to the distant ground.
The sky hatched with squadrons and fleets of darting meteorite trails while
the folds of aurorae and sky-wide effects whose origin it was hard to guess at
filled the mind and beat at the eye even as the music pounded at the ear.
Visuals of the war and more abstract images filled the air directly above the
stage and the whirling, tumbling, interlacing bodies of the dancers.
Somewhere near the furious centre of the work, while the thunder played bass
and the music rolled over it and around the auditorium like something wild and
caged and desperate to escape, eight trails in the sky did not end in air
bursts and did not fade away but slammed down into the lake all around the
Bowl, creating eight tall and sudden geysers of lit white water that burst out
of the still dark waters as though eight vast under-surface fingers had made a
sudden grab at the sky itself.
Quilan thought he heard people shriek. The entire Bowl, the whole
kilometre-diameter of it, shook and quivered as the waves created by the
lake-strikes smashed into the giant vessel. The music seemed to take the fear
and terror and violence of the moment and run screaming away with it, pulling
the audience behind like an unseated rider caught in the stirrup of their
panic-stricken mount.
A terrible calmness settled over Quilan as he sat there, half cowenng,
battered by the music, assailed by the washes and spikes of light. ft was as
though his eyes formed a sort of twin tunnel in his skull and his soul was
gradually falling away from that shared window to the universe, falling on his
back forever down a deep dark corridor while the world shrank to a little
circle of light and dark somewhere in the shadows above. Like falling into a
black hole, he thought to himself. Or maybe it was Huyler.
He really did seem to be falling. He really did seem to be unable to stop. The
universe, the world, the Bowl really did seem to be unreachably distant. He
felt vaguely upset that he was missing the rest of the concert, the conclusion
of the symphony. What price clarity and proximity, though, and where lay the
relevance of being there and using or not using a magnification screen or
amplification when everything he d seen so far had been distorted by the tears
in his eyes and all he d heard had been drowned out by the clamour of his
guilt at what he had done, what he had made possible and what was surely going
to happen?
He wondered, as he fell into that encompassing darkness, and the world was
reduced to a single not especially bright point of light above - no more
luminous than a nova distant by most of a thousand years - if he d somehow
been fed a drug. He supposed the Culture people would all be enhancing the
Page 197
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
experience with their glanded secretions, making the reality of the experience
both more and less real.
He landed with a bump. He sat up and looked around.
He saw a distant light to one side. Again, not particularly bright. He got to
his feet. The floor
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
(199 of 210) [1/19/03 9:55:27 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
was warm and with just a hint of pliancy. There was no smell, no sound except
his own breathing and heartbeat. He looked up. Nothing.
-~ Huyler?
He waited for a moment. Then a moment longer.
-~ Huyler?
-~ HUYLER?
Nothing.
He stood and gloried in the silence for a while, then walked towards the
distant glow.
The light came from the band of the Orbital. He walked into what looked just
like the mock-up of the Hub s viewing gallery. The place seemed to be
deserted. The Orbital spun around him with a vast, implicit unhurriedness. He
walked on a little, past couches and seats, until he came to the one that was
occupied.
The avatar, lit by the reflected light of the Orbital s surface, looked up as
he approached and patted the curl-seat next to it. The creature was dressed in
a dark grey suit.
Quilan, it said. Thank you for coming. Please; sit down. The reflections
slid off its perfect silver skin like liquid light.
He sat down. The curl-seat fitted perfectly.
What am I doing here? he asked. His voice sounded strange. There were no
echoes, he realised.
I thought we should talk, the avatar said.
What about?
What we re going to do.
I don t understand.
The avatar held up a tiny thing like a jewel, grasping it in a pincer of
silver fingers. It glittered like a diamond. At its heart was a tiny flaw of
darkness. Look what I found, Major.
He did not know what to say. After what seemed like a long time he thought,
Huyler?
The moment went on. Time seemed to have stopped. The avatar could sit
perfectly, utterly, inhumanly still.
There were three, he told it.
The avatar smiled thinly, reached into the top pocket of the suit and produced
another two of the jewels. Yes, I know. Thank you for that.
I had a partner.
The guy in your head? So we thought.
I have failed then, haven t I?
Yes. But there is a consolation prize.
What is that?
Tell you later.
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
(200 of 210) [1/19/03 9:55:27 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
What happens now?
We listen to the end of the symphony. It held out one slim silver hand.
Take my hand.
Page 198
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
until it burst into a single dashingly discord- ant blast of music; a mixture
of chords and sheer noise that was echoed in the sky by a single shockingly
bright air burst as a huge meteorite plunged into the atmosphere directly
above the Bowl and exploded. Its stunning, frightening, bone-rattlingly loud
sound arrived suddenly in a hypnotic lull in the music, making everybody -
certainly everybody that
Quilan was aware of, including himself - jump.
Thunder rippled round the greater amphitheatre of sky around the lake and Bowl
at its centre. The bolts struck earth now, lan- cing to the distant ground.
The sky hatched with squadrons and fleets of darting meteorite trails while
the folds of aurorae and sky-wide effects whose origin it was hard to guess at
filled the mind and beat at the eye even as the music pounded at the ear.
Visuals of the war and more abstract images filled the air directly above the
stage and the whirling, tumbling, interlacing bodies of the dancers.
Somewhere near the furious centre of the work, while the thunder played bass
and the music rolled over it and around the auditorium like something wild and
caged and desperate to escape, eight trails in the sky did not end in air
bursts and did not fade away but slammed down into the lake all around the
Bowl, creating eight tall and sudden geysers of lit white water that burst out
of the still dark waters as though eight vast under-surface fingers had made a
sudden grab at the sky itself.
Quilan thought he heard people shriek. The entire Bowl, the whole
kilometre-diameter of it, shook and quivered as the waves created by the
lake-strikes smashed into the giant vessel. The music seemed to take the fear
and terror and violence of the moment and run screaming away with it, pulling
the audience behind like an unseated rider caught in the stirrup of their
panic-stricken mount.
A terrible calmness settled over Quilan as he sat there, half cowenng,
battered by the music, assailed by the washes and spikes of light. ft was as
though his eyes formed a sort of twin tunnel in his skull and his soul was
gradually falling away from that shared window to the universe, falling on his
back forever down a deep dark corridor while the world shrank to a little
circle of light and dark somewhere in the shadows above. Like falling into a
black hole, he thought to himself. Or maybe it was Huyler.
He really did seem to be falling. He really did seem to be unable to stop. The
universe, the world, the Bowl really did seem to be unreachably distant. He
felt vaguely upset that he was missing the rest of the concert, the conclusion
of the symphony. What price clarity and proximity, though, and where lay the
relevance of being there and using or not using a magnification screen or
amplification when everything he d seen so far had been distorted by the tears
in his eyes and all he d heard had been drowned out by the clamour of his
guilt at what he had done, what he had made possible and what was surely going
to happen?
He wondered, as he fell into that encompassing darkness, and the world was
reduced to a single not especially bright point of light above - no more
luminous than a nova distant by most of a thousand years - if he d somehow
been fed a drug. He supposed the Culture people would all be enhancing the
Page 197
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
experience with their glanded secretions, making the reality of the experience
both more and less real.
He landed with a bump. He sat up and looked around.
He saw a distant light to one side. Again, not particularly bright. He got to
his feet. The floor
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
(199 of 210) [1/19/03 9:55:27 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
was warm and with just a hint of pliancy. There was no smell, no sound except
his own breathing and heartbeat. He looked up. Nothing.
-~ Huyler?
He waited for a moment. Then a moment longer.
-~ Huyler?
-~ HUYLER?
Nothing.
He stood and gloried in the silence for a while, then walked towards the
distant glow.
The light came from the band of the Orbital. He walked into what looked just
like the mock-up of the Hub s viewing gallery. The place seemed to be
deserted. The Orbital spun around him with a vast, implicit unhurriedness. He
walked on a little, past couches and seats, until he came to the one that was
occupied.
The avatar, lit by the reflected light of the Orbital s surface, looked up as
he approached and patted the curl-seat next to it. The creature was dressed in
a dark grey suit.
Quilan, it said. Thank you for coming. Please; sit down. The reflections
slid off its perfect silver skin like liquid light.
He sat down. The curl-seat fitted perfectly.
What am I doing here? he asked. His voice sounded strange. There were no
echoes, he realised.
I thought we should talk, the avatar said.
What about?
What we re going to do.
I don t understand.
The avatar held up a tiny thing like a jewel, grasping it in a pincer of
silver fingers. It glittered like a diamond. At its heart was a tiny flaw of
darkness. Look what I found, Major.
He did not know what to say. After what seemed like a long time he thought,
Huyler?
The moment went on. Time seemed to have stopped. The avatar could sit
perfectly, utterly, inhumanly still.
There were three, he told it.
The avatar smiled thinly, reached into the top pocket of the suit and produced
another two of the jewels. Yes, I know. Thank you for that.
I had a partner.
The guy in your head? So we thought.
I have failed then, haven t I?
Yes. But there is a consolation prize.
What is that?
Tell you later.
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
(200 of 210) [1/19/03 9:55:27 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Iain%20Banks/Banks%20Iain%20M%20%20-%20Look%20To%20Windward.txt
What happens now?
We listen to the end of the symphony. It held out one slim silver hand.
Take my hand.
Page 198
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]