walked—but he was still dangerous. Horza didn’t mind him talking, though; it passed

the time.

“We knew it was injured. When we found it in station six, and it did not move or show any sign of noticing us, we assumed

that those were

only the signs of its damage. We already knew that you had arrived; it was only a day ago. We accepted our

good luck without second

thoughts, and prepared to make our escape. You only just stopped us. Another few hours and we would

have had that train working."

“More likely you’d have blown yourselves into radioactive dust," Horza told the Idiran.

“Think what you like, little one. I knew what I was doing."

“I’m sure," Horza said skeptically. “Why did you take all the guns with you and leave that medjel on the surface without a

weapon."

“We had intended to take one of the Changers alive and interrogate him, but failed; our own fault, no doubt. Had we done so

we could have

reassured ourselves there was nobody else down here ahead of us. We were so late in getting here, after all.

We took all the available

weaponry down with us and left the servant on the surface with only a communicator so—"

“We didn’t find the communicator," Horza interrupted.

“Good. He was supposed to hide it when not checking in," Xoxarle said, then went on, “So we had what little firepower we did

possess

where it might be needed most. Once we realized that we were in here by ourselves, we sent a servant up with a weapon

for our guard.

Unhappily for him, it would appear he arrived very shortly after you did."

“Don’t worry," Horza said, “he did well; damn nearly blew my head off."

Xoxarle laughed. Horza flinched slightly at the sound. It was not only loud, it was cruel in a way Xoralundra’s laugh had

not been.

“His poor slave soul is at rest, then," Xoxarle boomed. “His tribe can ask for no more."

Horza refused to pause until they were halfway to station seven.

They sat in the foot tunnel, resting. The Idiran sat furthest down the tunnel, Horza across the tunnel from him and roughly

six meters away,

gun ready. Yalson was by his side.

“Horza," she said, looking at his suit and then at her own, “I think we could take the AG of my suit; it does detach. We could

rig it up to yours.

It might look a bit untidy, but it would work." She looked into his face. His eyes shifted from Xoxarle

for a moment, then flicked back.

“I’m all right," he said. “You keep the AG." He nudged her gently with his free arm and lowered his voice. “You’re carrying

a bit more weight,

after all." He grunted, then rubbed the side of his suit in faked pain when Yalson elbowed him hard enough

to move him fractionally across the

floor of the tunnel. “Ouch," he said.

“I wish I hadn’t told you, now," Yalson said.

“Balveda." Xoxarle said suddenly, turning his huge head slowly to look up the tunnel, past Horza and Yalson, over the pallet

and the drone

Unaha-Closp, past Wubslin—watching the mass sensor—and Aviger to where the Culture agent sat, her eyes closed,

silent, against the wall.

“Section Leader." Balveda said, opening her calm eyes, looking down the tunnel to the Idiran.

“The Changer says you are from the Culture. That is the part he has cast you in. He would have me believe you are an agent

of espionage."

Xoxarle put his head on one side, looking down the dark tube of tunnel at the woman sitting against the curved

wall. “You seem, like me, to be a

captive of this man. Do you tell me you are what he says you are."

Balveda looked at Horza, then at the Idiran, her slow gaze lazy, almost indolent. “I’m afraid so, Section Leader," she said.

The Idiran moved his head from side to side, blinked his eyes, then rumbled, “Most strange. I cannot imagine why you should

all be trying to

trick me, or why this one man should have such a hold over all of you. Yet his own story I find scarcely

credible. If he really is on our side then I

have behaved in a way which may hinder the great cause, and perhaps even aid

yours, woman, if you are who you say. Most strange."

“Keep thinking about it," Balveda drawled, then closed her eyes and put her head back against the tunnel wall again.

“Horza’s on his own side, not anybody else’s," Aviger said from further up the tunnel. He was speaking to the Idiran, but

his gaze shifted to

Horza at the end of his sentence, and he dropped his head, looking down at a container of food at his

side and picking a last few crumbs from

it.

“That is the way with all of your kind," Xoxarle said to the old man, who wasn’t looking. “It is how you are made; you must

all strive to claw

your way over the backs of your fellow humans during the short time you are permitted in the universe,

breeding when you can, so that the

strongest strains survive and the weakest die. I would no more blame you for that than

I would try to convert some nonsentient carnivore to

vegetarianism. You are all on your own side. With us it is different."

Xoxarle looked at Horza. “You must agree with that, Changer ally."

“You’re different all right," Horza said. “But all I care about is you’re fighting the Culture. You may be God’s gift or plague

in the end result, but

what matters to me is that at the moment you’re against her lot." Horza nodded at Balveda, who didn’t

open her eyes, but did smile.

“What a pragmatic attitude," Xoxarle said. Horza wondered if the others could hear the trace of humor in the giant’s voice.

“Whatever did

the Culture do to you to make you hate it so."

“Nothing to me," Horza said. “I just disagree with them."

“My," Xoxarle said, “you humans never cease to surprise me." He hunched suddenly, and a crackling, booming noise like rocks

being

crushed came from his mouth. His great body shuddered. Xoxarle turned his head away and spat onto the tunnel floor.

He kept his head turned

away while the humans looked at each other, wondering how badly injured the Idiran really was. Xoxarle

became silent. He leaned over and

looked at whatever he had spat up, made a distant, echoing sort of noise in his throat,

then turned back to Horza. His voice was scratchy and

hoarse when he spoke again. “Yes, Mr. Changer, you are a strange fellow.

Allow a little too much dissension in your ranks, mind you." Xoxarle

looked up the tunnel to Aviger, who raised his head and

glanced at the Idiran with a frightened expression.

“I get by," Horza told the section leader. He got to his feet, looking round the others and stretching his tired legs. “Time

to go." He turned to

Xoxarle. “Are you fit to walk."

“Untie me and I could run too fast for you to escape, human," Xoxarle purred. He unfolded his huge frame from its squatting

position. Horza

looked up into the dark, broad V of the creature’s face and nodded slowly.

“Just think about staying alive so I can take you back to the fleet, Xoxarle," Horza said. “The chasing and fighting are over.

We’re all looking

for the Mind now."

“A poor hunt, human," Xoxarle said. “An ignominious end to the whole endeavor. You make me ashamed for you, but then, you

are only

human."

“Oh shut up and start walking," Yalson told the Idiran. She stabbed at buttons on her suit control unit and floated into the

air, level with

Xoxarle’s head. The Idiran snorted and turned. He started to hobble off down the foot tunnel. One by one,

they followed him.

Horza noticed the Idiran starting to tire after a few kilometers. The giant’s steps became shorter; he moved the great keratinous

plates of his

shoulders more and more frequently, as though trying to relieve some ache within, and every so often his head

shook, as if he was trying to

clear it. Twice he turned and spat at the walls. Horza looked at the dripping patches of fluid:

Idiran blood.

Eventually, Xoxarle stumbled, his steps veering to one side. Horza was walking behind him again, having had a spell on the

pallet. He

slowed down when he saw the Idiran start to sway, holding one hand up to let the others know, as well. Xoxarle

made a low, moaning noise, half

turned, then with a sideways stagger, the wires on his hobbled feet snapping tight and humming

like strings on an instrument, he fell forward,