Against A Dark Background by Iain M. Banks Page B

ships and a new one was added every few weeks; it had spread to the limits of the first lagoon, then spread out to sea and taken over three other lagoons along the coast, to become home to over two million people. Its main airport - which could be moved as one unit so that it was always on the outskirts of the city - was composed of forty old oil tankers joined side by side, their decks stripped, smoothed and strengthened to take the strats and transport aircraft. Its largely mothballed space port was a collection of ancient oil production platforms, towering at the southernmost end of the city; its docks were a few dozen dry docks, crane-carrying bulk carriers and militarily obsolete fleet auxiliary vessels.
    Eight old aircraft carriers, remnants of a commercial navy, jointly made up Carrier Field, where the V-winged executive jet landed.
    The little plane was quickly towed away and down-lifted to be stored in the bowels of one of the adjoining ex-supertankers which now served as supplementary hangars to the antique carriers.
    Sharrow, Zefla and Dloan looked around the deck of the old ship while a tall, stooped steward with a full beard loaded their baggage onto a whining trolley. The weather was warm and humid and the sun high in a slightly hazy sky.
    ‘Mornin t’yez,’ wheezed the steward, nodding to them. ‘This your first time t’the jam, hm?’
    ‘No,’ said Sharrow, scowling.
    ‘It is mine,’ Zefla said brightly.
    ‘Almost a crime, lovely lady like yerself not visitin the jam till now, if ye don’t mind me sayin so, ma’am,’ the steward told Zefla. He took the control stick at the front of the cart and started to walk away, the cart whining behind him. ‘Been a good few years an more since we ad the priv’lege of welcomin two such beautiful ladies such as yourselves to the old jam. Makes the day a better one just seein two such enchantin zamples of the fair sex, it do, an it were a pretty fine day t’begin with. But made the better now with your presence, lovely ladies, like I says. An no mistake.’
    ‘You are too kind,’ Zefla laughed.
    ‘And talkative,’ muttered Sharrow.
    ‘Wha’s that, ma’am?’
    ‘Nothing,’ Sharrow said.
    They followed the tall steward across the deck of the field towards the superstructure that had been one of the old carriers’ command island and was now the arrivals hall. A line of laden baggage carts blocked their way. Dloan was looking at them suspiciously.
    Zefla looked round, frowning. ‘I thought Miz said he’d-’
    A brassy, sonorous musical chord burst from beyond the baggage trolleys; a flock of white seabirds, undisturbed by the jet’s arrival, flew squawking from the superstructure as the sound echoed across the deck. The baggage trolleys jerked into motion as a small tractor unit at one end pulled them away, revealing a twenty-strong ceremonial band sitting behind, all dressed in bright red and gold uniforms and blowing on glittering and extremely noisy instruments.
    Sharrow recognised the tune, but couldn’t remember the name. She looked at Zefla, who shrugged. Dloan was kneeling, a large pistol in his hands, though it was pointed at the deck for the moment as he looked around. The band stood up and started walking towards them, still playing. Dloan had switched his attention to the tall, bearded steward, who was now no longer stooped, and who was taking off his jacket. He threw his hat away, ripped the beard off.
    He stepped forward, went down on one knee in front of Sharrow and took her hand in his.
    ‘My lady! Our leader!’ he exclaimed, and kissed her hand.
    The band were surging round and past them, instruments swinging to and fro, up and down. Dloan had stood and was holstering his pistol. Zefla laughed, her hands over her ears. Sharrow smiled and shook her head as Miz reached into his shirt, produced a bunch of flowers and presented them to her. She accepted them, putting the blossoms to her nose while Miz jumped to his feet.
    He was tall,