Chaos Space - Marianne de Pierres [119]
‘Built for aristos to lounge around on in the evenings, sipping from their kiante bottles.’
Trin did not bother to turn and acknowledge the voice. Only one person among them spoke to him with such insolence. Djes and Joe Scali had lobbied for Cass Mulravey’s presence here. It was better, they said, to keep her close. Yet her presence made him stiff with anger, worse even than the way he felt near Jilda. At least his madre understood her place.
‘I would think twice before ridiculing them—or me, Cass Mulravey. We are your only protection.’ Trin let threat enter his tone. It was time that the woman was put down.
She made a derisive sound but said no more. Irritatingly, though, she came and stood next to him.
‘We will need shade and ropes, Principe. In such waters it will be easy to be swept away. The yachts have no sides.’
‘We could knot weed together for rope and tie each person to the masthead,’ suggested Djes. ‘And make shades from the spine bushes.’
Trin visualised her idea. It could work. It would have to work. ‘It will take us several days to prepare the ropes. Joe, I want you to desalinate as much water as you can and store it in the larger shells that we have collected. We will take extra with us in case we cannot stay close enough together. Mulravey, your women will collect the weed and knot it together.’
‘And what will your men do, Pellegrini? Or will their “protection” be enough of a blessing?’
This time Trin did turn to her, making no attempt to disguise his annoyance. ‘My men will take a yacht and return to the last island to collect spine bush. There is not enough here to both shade us and to tear down. And if you question me again, I will withdraw my protection and you will be left to your own resources.’
Mulravey rocked forward on her heels as if she might launch herself at him. Trin could smell her stale sweat and see the knots in her straggling hair. Her shape was mannish under her envirosuit, her breasts limp and flat.
‘Please, Cass Mulravey, your women are so exhausted and weak—it is the better task for them,’ said Djeserit. ‘I can show them the strongest kelp. This trip will be our last.’
Mulravey exhaled slowly and settled back on her heels. ‘You are right, Djeserit. Despite the fish you brought us, many of them are still so weak that they can barely walk. I’ll gather those that can and bring them back here. You can show us where to find the best weed.’ She turned and walked up the beach.
‘You would have made a good diplomat, Djes,’ said Joe Scali after Mulravey had gone. He had a respect in his voice that Trin had not heard before.
‘Thank you for the food, Djeserit,’ said Juno Genarro. ‘I had not thought that raw fish could taste so good. You’ve saved us from starving, girl. And from giving up.’
The men’s attention made her shy. Trin could tell that by the way she drew her legs to her chest. ‘There is fresh water on the new island,’ she said, deflecting their comments. ‘And caves. And the vegetation promises fruits and nuts.’
‘Then I say we get on with it,’ said Juno. ‘Principe?’
‘Si,’ said Trinder thoughtfully. ‘Si.’
THALES
Thales nursed the gene gun on his lap, his eyes fixed on the Petri bubble. The Godhead had hired a taxi to take them back to the Arrivals Bell so they could speak privately. He was grateful to—and terrified by—Tekton in the same disturbing vortex of emotions.
The archiTects of his acquaintance had all been self-absorbed aesthetes. It was a manner that Thales felt comfortable around—for philosophers, though not always aesthetes, were indeed inclined to similar preoccupations.
But Tekton was something more than that. He had shot the balol without compunction and had seemed only interested in preserving the life of the filthy old man whom he had brought into the clinic for a specific reason. Human compassion did not appear to figure highly, if indeed at all, on Tekton’s agenda—which made Thales nervous, for the Godhead appeared to be helping him. Thales could only deduce one thing from this: that Tekton had his own reasons