House of Suns Read Online Free

did find several things, shatterling, but I must confess that much of what you have to offer is not of direct value to me, despite its rarity. If you had arrived twenty kilo-years ago, things might have been different. But it is only eleven since we were visited by a shatterling of Gentian Line, and only two since a Marcellin was in our airspace.’
    ‘Those Marcellins get everywhere,’ Purslane said, through tight lips.
    ‘The items that did interest you ...’
    ‘I have a breakdown here,’ the Centaur said, reaching into a pocket of his business suit to remove a handkerchief-sized square of material. He flicked it open and it enlarged to the width of our tabletop. He let it hang in the air, where it hovered against the breeze. It was series of tabulated columns, in the written variant of Tongue.
    The Centaurs had been known to Gentian Line for more than eight circuits. They were the thirteenth form of human to live in this system, having emerged from the post-civilisational ruins of the last culture. They owned this system and the handful of scaped worlds inside it, but had never ventured further than their cometary halo. Their main world was a panthalassic, a superoceanic planet smothered in water, with a thick, blue atmosphere containing photo-disassociated oxygen. Scapers had thinned out that atmosphere and made it less corrosive, dropped floating landmasses onto the world-enveloping sea and scattered a multitude of hardy pelagic organisms into that sterile ocean. The planet’s gravity had never been adjusted, which was why the Centaurs had attained their present, sure-footed form. They had a dim recollection of where they had come from, which was more than could be said for all postemergents. According to the statistical forecast of the Universal Actuary, they stood an excellent chance of persisting for at least another one or two million years, provided their ambitions remained modest. In the long run, the best strategy for cultural longevity was either to sit tight in a single system, or become like the Lines, entirely unshackled from planetary life. Expansionism worked for a while, but was ultimately futile. Not that that stopped new emergents from trying, even when they had six million years of sobering history to mull over.
    We called it turnover: the endless, grinding procession of empires. The Centaurs had done well not to climb onto that wheel.
    ‘As you can see,’ Mister Nebuly said, ‘our offers are not unreasonable.’
    ‘No, your terms are very generous,’ I said. ‘I was just hoping you’d bid for some of the larger items in the trove.’
    ‘I wish that were possible. Unfortunately there would be little sense in bidding for data we already possess.’
    ‘Are you absolutely certain we can’t find some middle ground?’
    ‘We are inclined to generosity, shatterling, but there have to be limits. We feel that these terms are fair. It’s a shame that your trove does not contain more of value to us, but that does not preclude you from visiting us again, when you have something new to offer.’ The Centaur paused, three of his hooves in full contact with the ground, the rear left touching only by its tip. ‘Would you like a moment alone, to discuss our offer?’
    ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
    ‘I shall return shortly. Would you like some more wine?’
    ‘We’re fine,’ I said, raising a hand.
    Mister Nebuly turned and trotted away along the curving road that lay on this side of the revetments. In the distance stood two other Centaurs, dressed in red uniforms and carrying the pennanted staffs of some civic guild.
    Mister Nebuly joined his compatriots and watched us patiently.
    ‘We’re doomed,’ I said, not really caring if my words were intercepted.
    Purslane finished off her wine. ‘Could be worse. He’s prepared to offer you something.’
    ‘Not enough to make a difference.’ Parked in orbit around the Centaurs’ world was an assortment of second-hand ships, most of which were up