The dark side of the sun - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,54

blue pinpoint of an electronic cutter. The smaller piece was dragged quickly across the gravel to a hatchway that had appeared in the tree.

Dom took his grav sandals and the shamsword and walked back to the horse. It looked at him sympathetically and said nothing. He rode off thoughtfully.

High up on the stump of the branch a minute crane was being jostled into position and scaffolding had appeared. The myrmidon reconstruction crew had already set to work. Further up, where the silicon-chip leaves drank in the sun and tinkled in the breeze, another insect watched them impassively. It had camera eyes, and it was not a Laoth make.

A spider watched it, and thought of electricity.

11

‘We are an old race. We have enjoyed all that the galaxy has to offer – I myself have seen the black mouth in the centre of the galaxy, and the bright dead stars beyond – and therefore as a race we must be doomed. You seek new experience as a pseudo-human; I study the birth of hydrogen in the interstellar abyss with the race called Pod. We sublimate our Creapiness, because it stifles us. Where do we go from here?’

Personal letter from His Furness CRabE + 687° to His Furness CReegE + 690°, reprinted in the anthology Post Joker

‘Enter.’

Dom pushed open the door.

Tarli was lying on his stomach, reading. He glanced up and grinned. ‘Come on in.’

Dom entered sheepishly and dumped the grav sandals on the bed.

‘Yours,’ he said. Tarli touched them thoughtfully.

‘Yes,’ he said, doubtfully, and switched off the cube.

‘Gravity was on my side and I cheated and, well …’ said Dom miserably.

‘You’re soaked,’ said Tarli. He clapped his hands. There was a rush of air from one corner of the room and a young drosk appeared, took an order for clothing and a towel, and vanished. A moment later she was back.

‘Have your people got, um, rigid rules about bodily exposure?’ asked Tarli. ‘If so, the ablution room is through there.’

Dom pulled his sodden shirt over his head and grunted.

‘Only we get all sorts here, you see. Okay, Chaquaduc.’ He clapped his hands again and the bowing figure disappeared. Dom glanced up.

‘That’s pretty neat. Field transference? Grandmother won’t have it in the house. She says it’s a wicked waste of power.’

Tarli held up his hand. ‘Inductance surfaces under the skin, yes. It’s a tradition with us. It impresses guests. Here.’

Dom caught a dragonskin belt and buckled it around a loose-fitting robe intricately worked in yellow and grey silk. The Laothian boy opened an enamelled closet and handed him a smaller version of the sword.

‘Hey!’

‘It’s only a koto. Purely ceremonial. Please accept it. Apart from anything else, by custom it’s a mortal insult if you don’t. I’d have to fight you again, with swords and without armour. And before that I’d have to teach you to use it.’ He glanced sidelong at Dom’s neck. ‘You’ve been getting a few lessons anyway, I hear.’

Dom’s hand flew to his neck and he winced, not just from the bruises.

‘I thought Laothian girls went in more for flower arranging,’ he muttered.

Tarli grinned. ‘Oh yes? The nearest flowers to us are on Boon-dock, the next planet out. The biggest ones are motile roses – you have to get the plant in an armlock before you can prune it.’

‘I bet she’d be good at it.’

‘Pretty good, probably. She’s first on the shamsword lists, that’s out of about five hundred true shamuri. You have to be expert to get on the lists.’

Dom fingered the blade of the koto and grunted.

‘Archery, now, I’m better at that. She hasn’t got the patience. Sharli’s only about thirtieth in the list.’

‘Anything she’s not good at?’

‘There’s our third national pastime.’

‘What’s that? Pig-sticking? Crushing rocks with the fingers?’

‘No. Micro-circuitry design. It’s an art, you know. Come on, it’s time for dinner.’

Dom was surprised as they made their way towards the main hall. He was on Laoth, a world that made the best shipware and Class Five minds that were classed as humans, and he had seen no robots apart from the horse and the mechanisms in the garden. Laothians obviously didn’t like to surround themselves with their creations.

As they walked through a hall lined with lacquered panels, Tarli said slowly: ‘Father is very annoyed.’

‘About me?’

‘Indirectly, yes. It wasn’t your coming here – he likes visitors. It’s just that we are getting some uninvited ones. How many days before you discover Jokers World?’

‘After tonight, three days.’

‘Have you got any ideas?’

‘Some,’ said Dom non-committally.

‘I hope so,’ said Tarli. ‘There’s