He tried to aim at one of the small machines, but they moved startlingly quickly, and the gun felt Dust puffed around hisįeet as shots fell close. The missiles swerved again, turning all at once and then splitting up to take different directions. Some dived to the dusty desert floor, others dropped to one knee. He raised his gun to fire back the other suitedįigures in the group had already started firing. When they did start firing it was signaled by strobing red pulses of light. The flight dippedĪnd swung together, like a flock of birds. The missiles had already started firing, but it was only the sunlight reflecting on their sleek bodies. He saw them late because of the damaged visor. The flight of missiles cleared the nearest ridge in a glittering arc. The last time they'd been attacked had been a kilometer back, and now they were nearly One edge of the helmet visor was dark, where it had taken a hit, and the right leg flexed awkwardly, also damaged, making It was bright and hot and dry outside, but inside the suit he was shielded from the sun and the baking air cosseted and cool.

Somehow he had survived he had not expected to. Tall dune, from which they ought to be able to see the coast. They must be nearly there the noise of distant surf boomed through the helmet soundfield. He limped across the desert, following the suited figure in front. The story starts with a battle that is not a battle, and ends with a game that is not a game.ĭust drifted with each footstep. The man is a game-player called 'Gurgeh.' This is the story of a man who went far away for a long time, just to play a game.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and The characters and events in this book are fictitious. The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Ltd. Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group USA. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,ĭistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written Excerpt from Matter copyright © 2008 by Iain M.

Banks the player of games