Surface Detail

“What do you do with these images?”

“I contemplate them. They are works of art, to me.”

“Got any other ones you can show me?”

Himerance sat forward. “Would you really like to see some?” He appeared genuinely keen.

“Do we have the time?”

“We do!”

“So show me.”

A bright, 3D image appeared in the air in front of her. It showed… well, she wasn’t sure. It was an insane swirl of lines, black against yellow-orange, bewilderingly complex, levels of implied detail disappearing into enfolded spaces it was not quite possible to see.

“This is just the three-dimensional view one would have of a stellar field-liner entity,” he told her. “Though with the horizontal scale reduced to make it look roughly spherical. Really they look more like this.” The image suddenly stretched, teasing out until the assemblage of dark lines she’d been looking at became a single line, maybe a metre long and less than a millimetre across. A tiny symbol, looking like a sort of microscopic shoe box with the edges chamfered off, was probably meant to indicate scale, though as she had no idea what it was meant to represent it didn’t really help. The vanishingly thin line was shown silhouetted against what looked like a detail of the surface of a star. Then the line plumped up to become an absurdly complicated collection of lines once more.

“It’s hard to give an impression of the effect in 4D with all the internals shown,” Himerance said apologetically. “But it’s something like this.” Whatever he did with the image, it left her feeling glad she was sitting down; the image seemed to peel off into a million different slices, sections flickering blurringly past her like snowflakes in a blizzard. She blinked, looked away, feeling disoriented.

“Are you all right?” Himerance asked, sounding concerned. “It can be a bit intense.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. “What exactly was that?”

“A particularly fine specimen of a stellar field liner; creatures who live within the magnetic lines of force in, mostly, the photospheres of suns.”

“That thing was alive?”

“Yes. And it still is, I expect. They live for a very long time.”

She looked at the old man, his face illuminated by the glow coming from the image of the creature that was mostly black lines and somehow lived on the surfaces of suns. “Can you see it in proper 4D?”

“Yes,” he said, turning to look at her. He sounded proud and coy at once. Face glowing, enthusiasm seemingly pouring out of him, he suddenly looked about six.

“How is that possible?” she asked.

“Because I am not really a man, or any sort of human,” he told her, still smiling. “I am an avatar of a ship. It is the ship you are really addressing, and the ship which is able to take and appreciate images in 4D. The ship’s name, my true name, is the Me, I’m Counting, once fully part of the Culture, now an independent vessel within what is sometimes known as the Ulterior. I am a wanderer; an explorer, if you will, and it is my pleasure, on occasion, to offer my services as a cultural translator – a facilitator of smooth relations between profoundly different species and civilisations – to whoever might feel the need for such assistance. And – as I say – I am also a collector of images of whatever I consider to be the most exquisite beings, wherever my travels take me.”

“Couldn’t you just take one of these images without me knowing?”

“In the practical sense, yes. Nothing would be easier.”

“But you wanted to ask permission first.”

“It would be rude, dishonourable, not to, don’t you think?”

She looked at him for a moment. “I suppose,” she said eventually. “So. Would you be sharing this image with anybody?”

“No. Until now, showing you this one of the field-liner creature, I have never shared one of these images with anybody. I have many more. Would you like to-?”

“No,” she said, smiling and holding up one hand. “That’s all right.” The image disappeared, dimming the room again.

“I give you my word that, in the unlikely event I do decide I want to share your image, I would not do so without your express permission.”

“In each case?”

“In each case. With a similar precondition applying to-”

“And if you do it, if you take the image, will I feel anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Hmm.” Still hugging her shins, she lowered her face to her

robed knees, stuck her tongue out to touch the soft material, then bit at it, taking a tiny fold of it into her mouth.

Himerance watched her for a few moments, then said, “Lededje, may I have your permission to take the image?”

She spat out the fold of material, raised her head. “I asked you before: what’s in it for me?”

“What may I offer?”

“Get me out of here. Take me with you. Help me escape. Rescue me from this life.”

“I can’t do that, Lededje, I’m sorry.” Himerance sounded regretful.

“Why not?”

“There would be consequences.”

She let her head drop again. She stared at the rug at the foot of the shuttered windows. “Because Veppers is the richest man in the world?”