Free Consider Phlebas by Iain M. Banks Page A

said. He hadn’t had a look in a mirror or a reverser yet, but knew that his body was starting to come back to normal, losing the geriatric look.
    ‘That Zallin’s stuff?’ Yalson nodded at the package in his hands.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’ll show you how to work the vactubes. We’ll probably sling it when we next come out of warp.’
    Yalson opened the deck and the tube hatch beneath, then Horza dropped Zallin’s gear into the cylinder and Yalson closed it again. The Changer liked the way Yalson smelled when he caught the scent of her warm, perspiring body, but somehow there was nothing in her attitude towards him to make him think they would ever become more than friends. He’d settle for a friend on this ship, though. He certainly needed one.
    They went to the mess after that, to have something to eat. Horza was ravenous; his body demanded food to rebuild itself and put more bulk onto the thin shape it had assumed to impersonate the Gerontocracy of Sorpen’s outworld minister.
    At least, thought Horza, the autogalley works all right and the AG field seems smooth. The idea of cramped cabins, rotten food and a lumpy or erratic gravity field filled the Changer with horror.
    ‘ . . . Zallin didn’t have any real friends,’ Yalson said, shaking her head as she stuffed some food into her mouth. They were sitting in the mess together. Horza wanted to know if there was anybody on the ship who might want to avenge the youth he had killed.
    ‘Poor bastard,’ Horza said again. He put his spoon down and stared across the cluttered space of the low-ceilinged mess room for a second, feeling again that quick, decisive bone-snap through his hands, seeing in his mind’s eye the spinal column sever, windpipe crumple, arteries compress - turning off the youth’s life as though rotating a switch. He shook his head. ‘Where did he come from?’
    ‘Who knows?’ Yalson shrugged. She saw the expression on Horza’s face and added, between chews, ‘Look, he’d have killed you. He’s dead. Forget about him. Sure it’s tough, but . . . anyway, he was pretty boring.’ She are some more.
    ‘I just wondered if there was anybody I ought to send anything to. Friends or relations or - ‘
    ‘Look, Horza,’ Yalson said, turning to him, ‘when you come on board this ship you don’t have a past. It’s considered very bad manners to ask anybody where they came from or what they’ve done in their lives before they joined. Maybe we’ve all got some secrets, or we just don’t want to talk or think about some of the things we’ve done, or some of the things we’ve had done to us. But either way, don’t try to find out. Between your ears is the only place on this crate you’ll ever get any privacy, so make the most of it. If you live long enough, maybe somebody will want to tell you all about themselves eventually, probably when they’re drunk . . . but by that time you may not want them to. Whatever; my advice is just to leave it for the moment.’
    Horza opened his mouth to say something, but Yalson went on, ‘I’ll tell you all I know now, just to save you asking.’ She put her spoon down and wiped her lips with one finger, then turned in her seat to face him. She held up one hand. The tiny hairs of the light fur on her forearms and the back of her hands gave a golden outline to her dark skin. She stretched one finger out. ‘One - the ship: Hronish; been around hundreds of years. At least a dozen not very careful owners. Currently without its bow laser since we blew it up trying to alter its wavelength pattern. Two - ‘ She extended another finger. ‘Kraiklyn: he’s had this craft since any of us have known him. He says he won it in a game of Damage somewhere, just before the war. I know he plays the game but I don’t know how good he is. Anyway, that’s his business. Officially we’re called the KFC, Kraiklyn’s Free Company, and he’s the boss. He’s a pretty good leader and he isn’t afraid to slug it out with