‘Yeah,’ Randall agreed. ‘But Carnage Farr makes him look giddy and soft.’
Jo-Jo felt a sudden urge to hit something. He’d spent his lifetime avoiding these kinds of involvements. ‘What does Farr want, anyway? Why’s he sending that soft cock Berniere to do business in Extro territory?’
Rast’s eyes narrowed. ‘He wants him to pick up DNA.’
‘What sort of idiot would accept a bio-courier’s job?’
The mercenary threw him a look. ‘Carnage must figure it’s worth it. He’s been keeping the balance between OLOSS and the half-heads since the war. Guess he’s got plenty to gain if neither gets the upper hand. Trade mostly. To both sides.’
Jo-Jo reached to the wall and ran his fingers along a length of raised scar. It was slightly sticky and warm. ‘Beth says much the same. Are you sure he’s keeping things on balance, though? Might be that’s what he wants everyone to think...’ He tapered off.
Rast laughed. ‘You’re a paranoid bastard. Waste of time trying to second guess Farr, though.’ Randall walked ahead, bored or uncomfortable with the conversation. Jo-Jo couldn’t decide.
‘You one of his people?’ Jo-Jo wasn’t sure if he’d get a straight answer but it was worth a try. The mercenary seemed direct enough when it suited her.
Rast stopped and turned back to face him. ‘Yes and no. He’s paying me well for this job and I mostly like what he stands for—but I’m not partial to being anyone’s bitch. I like to pick where and when I work—and when I leave.’
Jo-Jo saw the opening and took it. ‘Stain Wars vet?’
‘Yeah.’ The white-haired woman shot him a sharp look. ‘Why?’
‘You got that manner about you. Good crew?’
‘Yeah. Mostly dead now, though. I was in the first wave on Longthrow. Not many survived that.’
‘Aaah,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘You were the meat that OLOSS were prepared to waste.’
‘You know the real story, then.’
Jo-Jo nodded. ‘If there was a real story. I heard a few versions. One that sounded most likely reckoned that OLOSS started it on Longthrow by sending in a bunch of mercs to spoil a kosher deal. Things went cone-shaped.’
‘Glad to see not everyone believes the history fastloads. That was pretty much how it was. When Longthrow got going skirmishes broke out around about the Saif system. If you could draw lines from one to another you’d say that the Extros were poised and waiting for a chance.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Could be they were. Could be there would never have been any trouble if OLOSS hadn’t provoked things on Longthrow. Thing about Extros is that you can’t always pick them out from normal aliens or ‘esques. Depends on what body they’ve snatched. On Longthrow they were their weapons. You shoot one down and it just slides across into another machine.’
Rast stabbed the toe of her boot into the stratum wall and twisted it as if she was gouging a hole.
‘Oww!’ She pulled her foot away and shook it. ‘Damn thing stung me.’
Jo-Jo laughed. ‘What did you expect? It’s alive.’ He wanted to ask her then who her Capo had been, but he didn’t want to make her suspicious. He tried coming at it from another angle. ‘So how did you come by this line of work?’
She gave him a narrow look. ‘You really interested or you pissing into the black?’
Jo-Jo shrugged. Following Rast’s lead he started to stretch. He wasn’t one for regular exercise but right now it was the only thing that kept him from making an idiot of himself in front of Mira Fedor. ‘Take it how you want.’
Rast bent down and touched her toes, pressing on her boot to ease the pain. ‘I grew up on Edo Lesser. Not much of a place. Cold and boring. We lived underground most of the year in something not much better than a rut in the ground. Petalu Mau was next door. He had sixteen brothers. They taught me how to fight. Seemed I was better at that than anything else.’
Jo-Jo eyed her lean frame. She was built like most mercenaries he’d encountered, strong without too much bulk. Her hands though, were bigger than they should have been, the knuckles more scarred. He wondered how many people she’d killed.
‘Pet wanted to work for Farr right from the start. Everyone on Edo Lesser did. Farr’s more than a hero on our world. He’s our economist. Our standard of living got way better when he purchased Edo and began to dump Orion’s shit on it. People’ll do anything for you if you keep their bellies full and their living comfortable. Crux, he even paid for education.’
‘Lasper Farr?’
Rast nodded. ‘Yeah. Not directly. But he paid a bonus to our government for every person who joined his corps or his other forces. Our govs put that into a fund to educate the ones who were interested, or smart enough.’
‘What happened to the rest?’
‘Everyone got accelerated-learning basics but that didn’t teach you much more than how to work the different tech tools. You were supposed to do the rest yourself. Course, no one did.’
‘So why didn’t you want to work for Farr?’
‘I got the education. I guess it changed things. I began to look for more but I was still only good at one thing.’ Rast blushed. ‘My ma was a gov.’
Jo-Jo couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘A gov’s girl, eh? What’s she think about your line of work?’
Rast pinned him with a flat, unemotional look. ‘She died in the war, representing Akouedo on peace talks. Wrong place, wrong time. It could have been me—should have been. Ma had ideals. I’ve just got grudges. Nowadays I don’t get caught up in the games of supremacists. Not unless they pay me what I want.’
Jo-Jo didn’t offer any sentiment about her mother. Rast wasn’t the kind to take it. ‘Yeah. That’s why I took to my line of work. I don’t like complications. In fact, I don’t like people. One thing about mineral scouting; you can do it solo.’
‘Must get kinda lonely,’ she said.
‘I’m good at lonely,’ Jo-Jo replied.
‘Yeah, you’ve got that manner about you.’ Rast mimicked his earlier statement. ‘Word to the wise, though—wouldn’t waste all that precious-earned bachelorhood on the Baronessa. She’s dragging more than her share of baggage around. Doesn’t take to men much, either; prefers my type.’
Jo-Jo’s fingers clenched on the biozoon’s thick scar ridge. ‘You warning me off?’
Rast rolled her shoulders in a relaxed gesture that Jo-Jo didn’t buy. ‘Just saving you some grief.’
Their moments of camaraderie faded, along with Jo-Jo’s opportunity to find out who she had served with in the war.
He faked his own kind of indifference. ‘So what happened between you two back there on Araldis?’
‘When the Saqr hit Ipo, the town we were holding out in, we split. Few days later she pulled us out of a firelight. Lucky all round, I guess. Only been a few days since I’d seen her—maybe a week. But something happened to her in that time. When she picked us up in the AiV she was frozen, like shock. Never really been the same since then. Not that those Latino women are friendly at best. Especially the crown aristos.’
Jo-Jo nodded agreement at that. ‘What’s your figuring of how we get to Rho Junction without being blown to the crapper?’
Rast chewed on her upper lip. ‘Only been there once; just before the war. Funny kinda place—supposed to be OLOSS territory but Extros are creeping around all over the shop. You need to do your “God” thing, get us landing rights. Berniere’s got a validation document for the DNA pickup but he’s not coming in on the prearranged connections. We got to convince the supplier that the bio-courier’s just an idiot who messed up and missed his designated ride and hope they haven’t already found another slab for the job.’
Jo-Jo sneered. ‘Convince the buyer that Berniere’s an idiot? Shouldn’t be too hard.’
SOLE
work’m work’m
round round
prickle prickle
find’m secret not’long
TEKTON
Tekton arrived at Rho Junc
tion by way of three trouble-free res-shifts and two interminably long sub-light legs. On the trip he spent much of his time sketching designs for sculpting the alloy, beginning first with simple wave effects and then moving on to the more complex forms.
On the first leg from Belle-Monde to Mintaka he had the pleasure of meeting the famous skieran sculptor, Fenralia. The two whiled away their leisure time imbibing some of the artist’s exceptional hallucinogenic hoard while they swapped ideas. He found Fenralia’s gelatinous body and trailing tendrils almost as inspiring as Miranda’s flesh, though—due to their odour—not at all sexually appealing.
Despite that, Fenralia persuaded him to pose naked one evening after they’d imbibed a range of ineffably awful Uralian beverages.
Towards the end of his posing session Tekton became aware that Fenralia’s sexual organs had unfolded from within her/his bell-shaped body and were creeping across the floor to him, rather like pieces of meat escaping a frigerator.
At that point he instructed his travelling moud to fabricate an urgent call from the ship’s Captain, and he hurriedly robed and left.
Fortunately, Fenralia disembarked a few days later on her way to an Exhibition Trade Fest in some obscure location.
After that Tetkon kept mostly to himself.
On the day of disembarkation at Rho Junction he reviewed Labile Connit’s instructions and integrated a map of the station into his supplementary memory.
Rho Junction, the map told him, was actually six pseudo-worlds joined by long cylindrical sections based on a molecular design. It was also one of the earliest mega-stations, commissioned by a wealthy entrepreneur who preferred to spend their money on purchasing a slice of orbit rather than a planet. But rejuve programmes had been less effective back then and did not keep Li Ti Rho-san alive long enough to ensure the condition of her legacy.
The autonomous station fell into the hands of her less than commercially astute descendants. Over time the Rho-san family were forced to allow a gamut of seedy businesses to flourish on the station in order to survive. Its reputation as a haven became tarnished as it evolved into something more tawdry.
Tekton’s excitement at seeing the curious construction was dampened when he enquired about accommodation. He was told that due to the unusually high visitor traffic the available rooms provided only modest luxury. They were, however, located quite near the restaurant district on Rho One which, the visitor information gushed, was ‘famous for its eclectic eateries which cater for all tastes’. Followed closely by a warning: ‘It is recommended that all visitors to Rho Junction employ maximum HealthWatch and—at the minimum—mobile security.’ It went on to advertise various security suites, as well as indemnity certificates against death or injury of another party through self-defence.
Never one to skimp on his own safety, a precaution somewhat justified by his enforced stay in inferior digs, Tekton chose top-of-the-line security and insurance. The Heedless Shadow floater weapon counted in its large specification list a Local Positioning System, a Magnetic Anomaly Detector, a miniature javelin missile, ordnance disposal and a kinetic rifle/pistol combo all neatly contained in a hat-sized floater. The floater could be carried in a light knapsack arrangement when not in use.
Satisfied that his personal safety was accounted for, Tekton donned his new bodyguard and took a taxi to the Flin Flon Flo Bath and Breakfast, staying just long enough to check in and ascertain that he would need to purchase a strong antibacterial spray if he were to reside there. He then ordered the taxi to transport him to the industrial area on Rho One which his map optimistically called the Heijunka.
As the taxi glided along the tiers and tiers of spiralling mag-rails, Tekton thought dreamily of a continual production flow and the exquisite moving structures that it would yield.
Heijunka, indeed...
But his dreams evaporated somewhere between the slug-shaped catoplasma warehousing and the grimy pop-cap workshop doors.
Tekton’s unease grew when he found Lot FF, tucked behind a small odorous bio-separation plant and next to an unobtrusive but tatty medi-clinic. He wrenched the door ajar on Lot GG to reveal a medium-sized cold- floor space with poly-sheeted walls. The copper-inlaid catoplasma ceiling was coated in a gangrenous green fungus.
In one corner stood a longish benching arrangement boasting a metals lathe. Beside it was a simple pouring system and stacks of empty moulds. Next to that was an antiquated laser kiln.
Tekton drew the mask of his cloak tighter around his face as a figure detached itself from the kiln and shambled over.
The figure appeared to be wearing several layers of clothes, none of them clean. The face, when it was close enough to be seen, was aged beyond current health permissions and the eyes were bloodshot. Humanesque. But barely.
‘Jus’ keeping warm by the kiln,’ the being pronounced in thick Gal. ‘She hain’t fired in weeks but she keeps her heat like a true hoarder.’
‘Who are you?’ demanded Tekton.
‘Manruben,’ said the disgraceful-looking creature.
‘You are Manruben?’
‘And you be the one from God’s stadium on Belle- Monde? Figured so.’
‘Studium,’ corrected Tekton. ‘You may address me as Godhead Tekton.’
‘Belle-Monde used-to be the pickins’ of all the whore’s palaces. So I bin tellin’ all that’s interested.’
Tekton drew a calming breath. How was it possible that this rotting piece of flesh had such a vaunted reputation? Should he ask for proof of identity?
‘Kin see your thinkin’, Godhead Tekkie. Reckon I don’t look fit for workin’. Jus’... jus ...’ Manruben took a rattling, liquidish breath. ‘... Don’ believe in rejuve and all tha’ pretty-pretty. When you ain’t got for ever, you live it better.’ Despite the bleeding eyes, he managed a piercing look.
Tekton wondered just how long Manruben had left; his laboured breath and shivering, the archiTect’s moud informed him, fitted all the symptoms of advanced lung disease.
‘When does ma darlin’ get ‘ere?’
‘Darling?’ Is this rubbish heap delirious?
‘Darlin’ quixite, Tekkie; gotta hankering for it so deep I caint sleep nights. It’s singin’ to me already. Teasin’ me like a young whore.’
Before Tekton could react Manruben tore aside the archiTect’s veil and cupped his cheek with an overfamiliar filthy hand. ‘Betcha you know what tha’s like. Betcha you c’n afford some pricey cunt.’
Tekton thought in that instant that he might faint, but he pulled himself together. Moud, run DNA check.
While his moud ran a DNA analysis of the sample that Manruben had left on his cheek and searched Rho Junction’s image archives, Tekton’s HealthWatch hastily neutralised the dangerous bacteria.
Tekton played for time by strolling around the workshop. The space was large enough to stockpile a reasonable quantity .of quixite and the equipment looked worn but functional. Lucky for you, Labile Connit! But this disgusting creature following him around was an impostor, he was sure.
Godhead?
Yes?
I am able to verify that this humanesque is Manruben the metal craftsman.
Great Sole! thought Tekton. How appalling! He cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. It would be pertinent for you to examine my preliminary sketches. I shall have them sent to your lodgings.’
‘Loj—loj—.’ Manruben made several tries at repeating the word and gave up. Instead he pointed to a pile of textiles near the far end of the kiln. ‘I be kippin’ right next to her. Like to live wi’ it. You know.’
‘Very well. Do you have a personal moud?’
‘Them ones wot’s in yer head? Don’t trust them buggers.’ He wagged his finger in the air, then broke into a broad lecherous grin.
‘Manny? You got it ready?’
Tekton swivelled. A voluptuous female ‘esque dressed in fine-mesh lace and with a velvet purse hanging at her throat teetered into the workshop on preposterous high heels.
‘Lookee
,’ said Manruben. He produced a tiny bracelet of delicately interwoven metals from inside his layers of rags.
‘Show me,’ the female squealed, baring a row of perfect teeth. She wobbled straight past Tekton and flung her arms around Manruben’s neck.
The scrawny old ‘esque swayed and nearly fell. ‘Careful, pretty-pretty,’ he said.
She let go of him and teetered back, prayer-clasping her hands together. ‘Can I see it work?’
Manruben reached out and slipped it on her wrist. The interwoven metals slid across each other like writhing snakes. She gave them a gentle touch and they clamped shut like a handcuff.
‘What about the other one?’
Manruben squeezed her breast. ‘Payment First, pretty-pretty.’
She frowned. ‘But Manny, I have a client soon—’
Manruben folded his arms and shook his head.
‘All right,’ she said, pouting. ‘Do you want the usual?’
He nodded and licked his lips like a child anticipating sweets.
Before Tekton could imagine what the ‘usual’ might be, the female knelt down and popped her front eight teeth out into her palm. She dropped them into the little velvet purse hanging around her neck and pressed the seal shut. Then she pulled down Manruben’s grimy pants and buried her face in his groin, making indelicate sucking noises.
Tekton was caught between utter revulsion and complete fascination. Manruben’s bloodshot eyes rolled backward beneath his eyelids in rapid ecstasy.
Tekton’s instincts told him to leave the warehouse, this grubby artisan and his whore, and never return—but he had come too far and risked too much to let Manruben’s sexploits deter him.
So he sat it out, lips pursed, arms folded, toe tapping on the filthy floor. Manruben reached his climax by way of a series of unathletic grunts. But the female was not finished. On his final groan she smeared something between the crease of his slack-skinned buttocks.
To Tekton’s dismay, Manruben gave several further violent thrusts of his pelvis and collapsed backwards, clutching his chest. The whore shrieked and pounced on him, ratting about under the craftsman’s clothes. Finding the precious second bracelet that she sought, she scrambled to her feet and tottered out.
The Sentients of Orion Page 55
