“This man is a player named “Gurge”…”
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This is the story of a man who traveled far away for a long time just to play. This man is a player named “Gurge”. The story begins with a battle that is not a battle and ends with a game that is not a game.
To me? I'll tell you about me later. This is how the story begins.
Dust rose with every step. He limped through the desert, following the suited figure ahead. The pistol in his hands was silent. They must be close already; The sound of the distant surf came through the sound field of the helmet. They were approaching a high dune from which the coast should have been visible. Somehow he survived; he didn't expect this.
It was bright, hot and dry outside, but inside the suit he was protected from the sun and hot air; affectionate and cool. One edge of the helmet visor was dark where he had been hit, and his right leg was bent awkwardly and was also damaged, causing him to limp, but otherwise he was lucky. They were last attacked a kilometer ago, and now they were almost out of reach.
The flight of missiles flew over the nearest ridge in a glittering arc. He saw them late because of the damaged visor. He thought the missiles had already started firing, but it was just sunlight reflecting on their smooth bodies. The flight dived and circled like a flock of birds.
When they started shooting, this was indicated by flashing red pulses of light. He raised his pistol to fire back; other figures in the group's costumes had already started shooting. Some dived into the dusty desert, others fell to one knee. He was the only one left standing.
The missiles rolled up again, turned around at the same time, and then separated and scattered in different directions. Dust swirled around his feet as shots fell close. He tried to aim at one of the small cars, but they were moving amazingly fast, and the gun seemed large and clumsy to him. His suit rang above the distant noise of gunfire and the screams of other people; Lights flashed inside the helmet, detailing the damage. The suit shook and his right leg suddenly went numb.
“Wake up, Gurge!” Yei laughed along with him. She turned on one knee as two small missiles suddenly headed towards her part of the group, sensing that this was the weakest point. Gurgeh saw the approaching cars, but the pistol rang wildly in his hands and seemed to always be aimed at where the missiles had just been. Two cars rushed into the space between him and Yai. One of the rockets flashed once and disintegrated; – Yei shouted, rejoicing. Another rocket swung between them; she kicked, trying to kick him. Gurge awkwardly turned to shoot him, accidentally spraying fire across Yaya's suit. He heard her scream and then curse. She staggered, but carried the gun; Fountains of dust exploded around the second missile as it turned to face them again, its red pulses illuminating his suit and filling his visor with darkness. He felt numbness from the neck down and collapsed to the ground. It turned black and very quiet.
“You are dead,” a clear voice told him.
He lay on the invisible desert soil. He could hear distant muffled sounds, feel the vibrations of the earth. He heard the beat of his heart, the ebb and flow of his breath. He tried to hold his breath and slow his heartbeat, but he was paralyzed, imprisoned, deprived of control.
My nose itched. It was impossible to scratch him. What am I doing here? – he asked himself.
The sensation is back. People were talking, and he looked through his visor at the flattened desert dust a centimeter in front of his nose. Before he could move, someone lifted him by the arm.
He unfastened his helmet. Yei Meristinu, also bareheaded, stood looking at him and shaking her head. Her hands were on her hips, the gun hung on one wrist. “You were terrible,” she said, although not unkindly. She had the face of a beautiful child, but her slow, deep voice was knowing and sly; low voice.
The rest sat on the rocks and dust and talked. Some were heading back to the club. Yai took Gurge's pistol and handed it to him. He scratched his nose, then shook his head, refusing to take the weapon.
“Yes,” he told her, “it’s for children.”
She stopped, slung the pistol over her shoulder and shrugged (and the muzzles of both pistols swung in the sunlight, flashing for a moment, and he saw the line of missiles rushing again, and for a second he felt dizzy).
“So?” she said. “It's not boring. You said you were bored; I thought you'd enjoy the shoot.”
He brushed himself off and turned back towards the club. Yei walked nearby. Rescue drones floated past them, collecting components from destroyed vehicles.
“This is infantile, Yei. Why waste time on this nonsense?”
They stopped at the top of the dune. The low clubhouse was a hundred meters away, between golden sand and white surf. The sea was bright under the high sun.
“Don’t be so pompous,” she told him. Her short brown hair fluttered in the same wind that blew the tops of the falling waves and sent the resulting spray back into the sea. She leaned over to where the fragments of the broken rocket lay half buried in the dune, picked them up, blew grains of sand from the shiny surfaces and turned the parts over in her hands. “I love it,” she said. “I like the games you like, but… I like this one too.” She looked puzzled. “This this is a game. Don't you understand any enjoyment of this kind of thing?”
“No. And you too, after a while.”
She shrugged lightly. – Then, then. She gave him parts of the collapsed car. He examined them as a group of young men passed by on their way to the shooting ranges.
— Mr. Gurge? One of the young men stopped, looking questioningly at Gurge. A fleeting expression of irritation flashed across the older man's face, which was replaced by the amused tolerance that Yai had seen before in such situations. “Jernau I have to Gurgeh? – said the young man, still not entirely sure.
“Guilty.” Gurgeh smiled gracefully and, as Yai saw, straightened his back slightly, standing up a little straighter. The young man's face brightened. He performed a quick formal bow. Gurgeh and Yai exchanged glances.
“An honor “To meet you, Mr. Gurge,” said the young man, smiling widely. – My name is Shuro. . . I . . ” He laughed. “I follow all your games; I have in my archive a complete set of your theoretical works. . “
Gurgeh nodded. “How comprehensive of you.”
“Really. I'd be honored if you could play me at… well, anything every time you're here. Deployment is probably my best game; I play three points, but…”
“And my drawback, unfortunately, is the lack of time,” Gurge said. “But, of course, if the opportunity ever arises, I will be glad to play with you.” He nodded suggestively to the young man. “Nice to meet you”.
The young man blushed and stepped back, smiling. “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Gurgeh… Goodbye… goodbye.” He smiled awkwardly, then turned and walked towards his comrades.
Yei watched him leave. “You like all this, don’t you, Gurge?” she grinned.
“Not at all,” he said briskly. “It's annoying.”
Yei continued to watch the young man leave, looking him up and down as he walked along the sand. She sighed. -What about you? Gurgeh looked with disgust at the pieces of the rocket in his hands. “Do you like all this… destruction?”
“It’s unlikely that this is destruction,” Yei drawled. “Missiles are blown apart, not destroyed. I can put one of these things back together in half an hour.”
– So it's a lie.
“Why not?”
“Intellectual achievement. Application of skills. Human feelings.”
Yaya's mouth twisted in irony. She said, “I see we have a long way to go before we understand each other, Gurge.”
“Then let me help you.”
– To be your protégé?
“Yes.”
Yei looked to the side, to where the rollers fell onto the golden beach, and then back again. As the wind blew and the surf crashed, she slowly reached behind her head and moved the suit's helmet, snapping it into place. He was left looking at the reflection of his face in her visor. He ran his hand through the black strands of his hair.
Yei raised her visor. “See you, Gurge. Chamlis and I will come to you the day after tomorrow, won't we?”
“If you want.”
“I want.” She winked at him and walked back down the sandy slope. He watched her leave. She handed his gun to a rescue drone that passed her, filled with shiny metal debris.
Gurgeh stood for a moment, holding the wreckage of the wrecked car in his hands. He then let the debris fall back onto the barren sand.
This excerpt is taken from the book by Iain M. Banks. Culture novel Game player (Orbit), December 2025 reading for the New Scientists Book Club. Register to read with us Here.
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