Rast cocked an eyebrow and waited.
‘The Lostol getting on that ship with Berniere and Bethany on Rho Junction—I know him. His name’s Tekton. He’s a tyro to the Entity on Belle-Monde.’
Rast’s mouth fell open. ‘‘That was Tekton?’
‘You heard of him?’
‘Fedor says he’s the one who’s been buying up the quixite on Araldis. Carnage mentioned him too. You had some shit go down with him... something about a Hera contract.’
‘Shit’s the word for it,’ said Jo-Jo grimly.
‘So what’s he doin’ with Beth and the idiot scholar?’
‘Heading back to Akouedo, I’m guessing. That can’t mean anything good. Carnage and Tekton...’ Jo-Jo shook his head, imagining the consequences of a partnership between the Commander and the tyro. He regathered himself. ‘You told me before that your allegiances are your own. You stand by that?’
Rast nodded and gave him a keen look. ‘Spit it out.’
‘Stuff is happening... I keep thinking that I’m understanding it, and then something else happens.’
‘Yer not making much sense, man.’
‘You heard of a Dynamic System Device?’
Rast returned to chewing on her lip, taking her time to answer. ‘Maybe. Thought that stuff was mostly made- up... DSD—wasn’t that someone’s idea of predicting patterns?’
Jo-Jo tapped his head. ‘You’ve supped a bit then.’
Rast folded her arms. ‘As you do... when you get an education,’ she finished sarcastically.
‘No offence,’ said Jo-Jo, relieved he didn’t have to explain from scratch. ‘Most mercs—’
‘Yeah, yeah, so what about it?’
‘Carnage Farr’s got one. A DSD. Saw it in virtual. He proved it by showing me some things. One of them was you wallowing in mud on some craphole during the war—’
‘Longthrow?’
‘Dunno—probably. You were with your Capo and a balol.’
Rast’s eyes widened. ‘Jancz and like.’
Jancz. So that was his real name. Not Jed. ‘You tripped a land mine.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘Saw it. Farr buys information to fuel his DSD. Combat records. Everything. And he’s got eges everywhere, recording.’ Jo-Jo glanced around the buccal. ‘He’s probably got them in here.’
‘OK. So what’s your point?’
‘I was drinking in a bar on Dowl—followed Tekton there. Got talking to a female balol. Kinda thought I might enjoy some rough trade for a change.’
Rast sniggered. ‘like?’
‘Yeah. She did her thing, while her friend—Jed he called himself—did his. He framed me up for importing an illegal uuli species. Problem was the judge had a grudge against me already. Anyway... to cut it short... Tekton’s down there buying up quixite to help his cause on Belle-Monde. Meanwhile your Capo—Jed or Jancz or whatever he calls himself—steals my ship.’
‘When was that?’
Jo-Jo gave her approximates.
Rast thought for a few moments. ‘Jancz and like were down on Araldis a while after that. I saw them when we were trapped in Ipo. Maybe they used your hybrid ‘zoon to bring in the Saqr. They were running the show down there—no doubt about that.’
‘Why didn’t you let him know you were there? Sounds like he coulda got you out of that tight spot.’
Rast—almost imperceptibly—raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know mercs, do you, Rasterovich?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you get hired by someone then all bets are off. You might have worked with a guy on a previous job—turns out he’s your enemy the next time round.’
‘Yeah, yeah, Randall—I know the patter. But what’s it really like? You telling me you’d kill someone who’d been your Capo?’
Randall gave him a level stare. ‘In a breath. A real short one.’
A moment passed between them as the mercenary let Jo-Jo glimpse past the bravado and the jokes. He didn’t like what he saw.
‘So who was your ex-Capo hired by to bring the Saqr to Araldis?’
‘Dunno,’ said Rast. ‘Been working my grey matter overtime on that one since I first saw them. Could be anyone... but... I’m leaning a couple of directions.’
‘Tekton?’
‘No. The timing’s wrong. And according to Fedor, Tekton’s deal had been done. He’d already paid for the mineral.’
‘Who’d want large amounts of quixite bad enough to torch a planet?’ asked Jo-Jo.
But before Rast could volunteer an answer, the ‘zoon emitted an unnerving howl as if a ferocious wind blew along its strata.
‘What the—’
An image flickered into existence above the Primo vein—a corduroy-filtered representation of the space around the ‘zoon showing a cluster of ships closing on a small pulsing sphere of lights.
‘Thought so,’ said Rast. ‘It’s another shift point.’ She lunged over to the Autonomy nub, elbowing Jo-Jo aside to reach the intercom. ‘Lat, Catchut. Find a tubercle. We’re shifting again,’ she bellowed.
Then she threw herself back into her sink. ‘Buckle up, we’re going in rough.’
Jo-Jo saw what she meant, the ‘zoon’s iconic representation of space showed its trajectory towards the edge of the sphere. Imperfect Shift again. He’d done IS a few times—last time was getting out of Dowl. It was like being squeezed through a fine-meshed sieve.
Where was a bottle of Oort whisky when you needed it?
Jo-Jo slid back into the Autonomy seat and the restraints and the vibration smothers activated. This one was gonna be a total bitch.
He gave one last look at the centre of shift-space. So many ships trying to enter and exit through one point. Maybe it was as well they weren’t going through Proper Shift. But why so many? Why now?
Randall grunted from Secondo. ‘Funny sort of config around the shift point. Looks to me like we’re in for some...’
Jo-Jo flicked his eyes to Rast Randall. She was hunkered down in her vein, almost indistinguishable from the sink tissue that had slithered over her, other than the outline of her boots and the mound of her breasts.
‘What?’Jo-Jo rasped. ‘Strife.’
The word planted itself in Jo-Jo’s mind as the ‘zoon went into Imperfect Shift.
Strife. Strife. Striiiffe.
It sounded over and over and over; in every possible intonation, volume, and in ways that turned it into something much more than a word.
It hammered at his temples, drilled through his ears, cascaded and crashed upon and crushed his chest, ripped strips from his skin. He cried like a baby trying to block out the sound and the sensation with his own noise but it clung to him, sticky and cutting and deeply...
* * *
‘Rasterovich!’ Rough hands shook him. ‘Quit howling.’
A whiff of something strong and a stinging slap to his... face. Yes. He knew that much. Someone had hit him.
‘Lemme piss on him,’ offered someone else.
Jo-Jo’s eyes fluttered open and his hand rose automatically to protect his face. ‘Piss on me and I’ll k—’
Laughter cut him off. Randall and Catchut. Clutching their sides.
‘Always works, Capo.’ Catchut guffawed again. Tubercle slime had stained his face an unhealthy colour. He was bent over as though there was pain beneath the laughter. Rast looked much the same, vein, goo flaking off her skin.
Jo-Jo blinked a few times until the blur retreated a bit. His head was fugged and buzzing at the same time.
‘You got shift hysteria,’ said Randall.
Jo-Jo swallowed to see if everything was working. ‘Don’t handle that kinda shift well when I’m sober.’
‘Yeah—or maybe it’s yer bingeing that messed with you.’
Jo-Jo scowled. He wasn’t interested in a lecture on sobriety from a merc. ‘So where the fuck are we?’
She pointed to the space above the Primo vein where a brand new set of images floated.
‘Extro space,’ said Ra
st. ‘For real this time.’
THALES
Thales stared at his reflection. The necrosis had eaten the tip of one earlobe and spread down his cheek to one side of his chin, leaving an ugly decay like slick, dark algae on a wet rock.
Bethany assured him it would dry soon but that didn’t curb his despair.
‘I am diseased,’ he whispered. ‘Abhorrent.’
But Bethany refused to let him indulge in self-pity.
‘You’re alive, Thales—for Cruxsakes, get over it! And what’s more you’re free to do what you please. We can cover the scar as soon as it dries. Now focus on the important things!’
He turned from the mirror to look at her. Farr had given them a simple but comfortable apartment to stay in: a separate bedroom from the living room and bathroom. Between them they only had some worn clothes and a handful of personal items to fill it.
Bethany sat on the couch, hugging her knees against her chest. Under the stark white Edo lighting she looked much older than she had aboard the biozoon or the cruise ship. And right now there was none of the sympathy in her voice that he sought—but neither, at least, was there the pity or disgust he felt for himself.
‘You don’t understand my ahisma. I have sworn never to harm another sentient, but this... hideous... thing... I would kill your brother if I could for doing this to me. And for making me realise how much conviction I lack in my own belief.’
Her stern expression didn’t change. ‘Do you think you’re the first person to change their mind? Or reassess their ethics? Thales...’ She made an exasperated noise and held out her hands in a pleading manner. ‘I am sorry for your lost ideals but life tests everything you believe. I would kill Lasper and he’s my brother... do you understand how that makes me feel?’
Bethany’s pragmatism foundered him. Rene would have been horrified and distraught and empathetic. But then Rene had been sheltered from most everything.
‘Are you telling me that you do not mind my appearance?’ he asked lamely.
A smile lit her face and lent it some youth again. ‘Actually, I prefer it. You were much too pretty before.’
He stared at her, letting his thoughts and emotions well and subside within him. Beth was right. He was free now. No Gutnee Paraburd or Lasper Farr or Sophos Mianos. He could change. And the change could begin right now.
But to what?
‘Where is Godhead Tekton?’
‘Here still. Lasper and he are meeting.’
‘What do they plan, do you think?’
She shrugged. ‘Lasper will tell me when he is ready.’
‘When he is ready, Beth? What about you?’
‘I have to find Djes and I have no bargaining position.’
Thales touched his fingers to his damaged chin.
It was wet with spittle. Though the muscle weakness had gone from his body, the necrosis had left his face numb in parts. He could not feel one corner of his mouth.
Beth reached to the small side table and picked up an absorbent cloth. She offered it to him.
He pressed it to his mouth. ‘And how long before I stop drooling like an animal?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s temporary, I’m sure.’ She gave him a steady look that urged him to stay buoyant.
He took a deep, calming breath. ‘Have you spoken with your brother? How does he plan to send help to the planet?’
‘He has not said.’
Thales held out his hand to her. He was grateful to her in so many ways. ‘Then I should help convince him to do so.’
‘Thales?’
Thales got to his feet. The change he so desperately wanted would begin now.
* * *
Tekton’s apartment was close to theirs but appeared to be more lavish, with its carved wood entrance and door moud that informed him Tekton was not available. As Thales waited for Tekton to return, he sat on the catoplasma bench outside the door and used the time to prepare himself.
Bethany had warned him not to be beguiled by the Godhead’s manner and refined ways. She believed that Tekton was as calculating as Lasper beneath his civilised exterior. Though Thales thought Bethany to be somewhat dramatic in her assessment, he was desperate to leave naivety behind, and therefore adopted suspicion as his keeper.
Tekton returned soon after. He did not seem surprised to see Thales and welcomed him inside like an old friend, without apparent interest in the bandage across Thales’s cheek.
The Godhead’s apartment was indeed more spacious and opulent than theirs, plastered white and decorated with unusual artefacts, including a large and remarkable fluid sculpture of a naked male in a state of arousal.
Thales recognised it from the display at the Trade Fest and remembered how Mira Fedor had been so discomfited by it.
Tekton stood, arms folded, as if waiting for his reaction.
Thales settled for a neutral comment. ‘What manner of material is used in this sculpture?’ he enquired.
‘It is called quixite. Rare and beautiful. And a tolerable likeness, don’t you think?’
Thales dragged his gaze from the ever-changing state of the statue’s arousal, up to its face. ‘Crux, Godhead. It is you!’
‘Indeed.’ Tekton lifted his chin and tilted his head. Clearly he was gratified. ‘Fenralia, the sculptor, and I had a brief acquaintance.’
‘How...’—Thales struggled for a word—’flattering.’
Tekton sank gracefully into an armchair and crossed his legs. Lostolians weren’t the most attractive of humanesques, with their tight, colourless skin, but Tekton managed to convey confidence and elegance despite that. His soft pastel robe seemed to ripple around his body in
the same way the quixite sculpture rippled through its crude body functions.
Bethany’s warning resurged in Thales’s mind. Don’t be fooled by his glamour.
‘I was hoping you would be disposed to have a discussion with me.’
Tekton’s eyes narrowed a fraction, though his expression remained pleasant. ‘We’ve been through much in our short acquaintance, young Thales. I would be happy to learn more about you. Please sit.’
‘And I about you, sir.’
‘I shall order some wine and some food and then we shall begin.’
Thales! It was as if Bethany was next to him. ‘No wine, thank you, Godhead, and I have recently eaten.’
Tekton was quiet for a moment while he accessed his moud. When he finished, he slapped his thighs. ‘Now, share your concerns with me.’
‘I would ask you to tell me about the substance I brought back from Rho Junction in the canister. In the laboratory, the creature spoke of it as an orbitofrontal cortex modifier. I am learned, as you know, Godhead, but not truly informed on the sciences.’
‘You’re best served to ask Commander Farr, young man. His laboratory has been conducting the analysis.’
‘You indicated that you knew the creator of it.’
‘Delicate information, Thales. Especially without knowing the intent with which it was designed.’ Tekton was mild but definite.
He reminded Thales in some ways of Sophos Mianos, but coated with another layer of manners and sophistication. ‘Perhaps I should take my enquiries elsewhere then?’
‘You are troubled by something, Thales?’
‘As you so aptly put it, Godhead, it’s a delicate matter.’
Tekton’s smile faded.
Thales felt dampness splash onto his hand. He rose to his feet, dabbing at his lip. ‘Please excuse me, sir; I believe I need to attend to my wound.’
‘Yes.’ Tekton stayed where he was. ‘Shame, shame. You were such a fine-looking fellow.’
A wave of resentment surged through Thales. He left before it claimed his caution and he spoke unwisely. He would see Bethany first, and then prepare himself to seek out Lasper Farr.
* * *
But when Thales returned to his apartment the Commander was already there with his sister. They were seated, facing each other across the small faux- wood oc
casional table. Bethany stared down at the alpine landscape images flickering past on the tabletop while Lasper Farr’s gaze fixed on her face. The animosity between the siblings poisoned the air.
Thales let his resentment turn to anger. Farr enjoyed bullying.
He leaned against the inside of the door to keep distance between them.
‘You’ve recovered well, Thales Berniere,’ said Lasper. ‘Intelligent of you not to inject the DNA. Unlikely you would have survived the combination.’
As with Tekton, Thales struggled to find civil words. He felt Bethany’s eyes upon him, urging composure.
‘I would be pleased to know the nature of the sample I brought to you, Commander. As it was destined for my home planet, I have an interest.’
‘Of course you do. It would be natural, but disclosing that information is not part of our agreement.’
‘Agreement?’ Thales’s voice rose. ‘I made no agreement. You took—’
‘Thales!’ Bethany warned.
Thales caught a steadying breath. ‘What progress has been made on Araldis?’
Farr leaned his elbows onto his raised knees and clasped his fingers. He seemed so mild-mannered, to the point of vague at times. How deceptive. Thales remembered the strength in the man’s fingers; the casual and complete callousness with which he dispensed violence.
The memory dried his mouth. How could one person’s physical strength inspire such fear in another? Had humanesques evolved so little past their most primitive state? Thales wondered suddenly about the Extropists. Surely they had left such behaviours behind.
‘The situation on Araldis is complicated. While the Saqr hold Dowl station they control the only means in and out of the system. I cannot even send scouts in,’ said Farr.
‘What of OLOSS?’
‘It seems that the Baronessa has made somewhat of a name for herself; outfacing Stationmaster Landhurst has earned her kudos amongst many supporters of Consilience. Images of her and the incident have been broadcast widely. She is fast becoming a legend.’ Farr seemed amused and faintly annoyed. ‘It also seems her brash... break away from her discussion with the OLOSS envoy has stirred the League to hastily investigate the situation.’
The Sentients of Orion Page 67
