"The game, Boruelal."

"Well, I—"

"What, do you mean now?"

"I wouldn't worry, if I were you. Really."

"Now; or any time."

"Well I don't know. Let's ask her! Hey, kid…"

"Bor—" Gurgeh began, but the professor had already turned to the girl.

"Olz; want to play this game, then?"

The young girl looked straight at Gurgeh. Her eyes were bright in the glare of the line of fire running down the centre of the table. "If Mr Gurgeh would like to, yes."

Mawhrin-Skel's fields glowed red with pleasure, momentarily brighter than the coals. "Oh good," it said. "A fight."

Hafflis had loaned his own ancient Stricken set out; it took a few minutes for a supply drone to bring one from a town store. They set it up at one end of the balcony, by the edge overlooking the roaring white falls. Professor Boruelal fumbled with her terminal and put in a request for some adjudicating drones to oversee the match; Stricken was susceptible to high-tech cheating, and a serious game required that steps be taken to ensure nothing underhand went on. A drone visiting from Chiark Hub volunteered, as did a Manufactury drone from the shipyard under the massif. One of the university's own machines would represent Olz Hap.

Gurgeh turned to Mawhrin-Skel, to ask it to be his representative, but it said, "Jernau Gurgeh; I thought you might like Chamlis Amalk-ney to represent you."

"Is Chamlis here?"

"Arrived a while ago. Been avoiding me. I'll ask it."

Gurgeh's button terminal beeped. "Yes?" he said.

Chamlis's voice spoke from the button. "The fly-dropping just asked me to represent you in a Stricken adjudication. Do you want me to?"

"Yes, I'd like you to," Gurgeh said, watching Mawhrin-Skel's fields flicker white with anger in front of him.

"I'll be there in twenty seconds," Chamlis said, closing the channel.