Chaos Space - Marianne de Pierres [4]
‘Fedor?’
Mira paused, waiting for the pucker to retract. But she did not turn back.
‘You made the right decision back there when that ship turned up on our tail. Tough call, but the right one.’
It was meant as a compliment, perhaps, a vote of confidence—but a weight settled on Mira’s chest at the reminder of what she had done. ‘Was it?’
She stepped out, turned and walked along Insignia’s ridged sloping strata, looking for somewhere to wash. Choosing a random pucker, she pushed her fist gently into it. It opened with a sucking noise.
Catchut was inside, bent over the cocooned form of her fellow mercenary Latourn. Surrounding them was an array of medi-tools.
‘How is your... friend?’ Mira asked.
Catchut nodded wearily. ‘The ‘zoon has top medic. Never seen nuthin’ like it before, though. Bring you back from most anythin’...’
Mira allowed herself a small smile. ‘Fit for royalty.’
‘Lucky for Lat,’ said Catchut.
‘Remember that, mercenary. Remember that Cipriano wealth saved your friend.’
Mira stepped back out into the stratum and took the next upward channel, pressing more puckers until she found an empty space with a bed and a separate wash compartment. From the modest nature of the furnishings she deduced that it was meant for the lower castes.
She removed her torn and filthy fellala and sank down into the steam couch. The heat lifted the dirt from her pores, leaving her skin almost tender.
Insignia?
Yes, Innate Mira.
How do I get cool water?
Water burst from a slit in the wall above the couch and cascaded over her.
Her skin tingled. Thank you.
I am preparing a replacement fellala for you. What colour is your rank? asked the biozoon.
‘Elite, of course,’ she said aloud without thinking.
I have never exfoliated during Prime before. It is a previously unproven limit for me. I am pleased to have that knowledge. I. . . enjoyed our union. It has been some time.
‘Th-thank you,’ said Mira. Now that they were separated, the reminder of her intimate immersion in the ship’s biologies embarrassed her a little. And yet she had so longed for it—like desiring a stranger from afar to find out, once you had been intimate with them, that they were still only a stranger. ‘Are you quite recovered from the exfoliation?’
For the most. Although a salt rub would be pleasant. Indeed, though, it is refreshing to be resonating again. I have spent much time in dust and inactivity. My sonics lacked tune, and my fins are stiff.
Their conversation faltered as Mira dried in jets of warm air. She tried to think of how to draw the biozoon out. ‘Do you understand what is happening on Araldis?’
Yes. I believe so. Although my concerns remain entirely with my Innate and myself. Worlds and their politics are beyond my control and my interest.
Mira thought of the hybrid biozoon, Sal, the one she had encountered on Araldis which had been treated poorly. ‘What if your Innate turns out to be cruel or untrustworthy?’
If our own relationship is satisfactory I would not be bothered. I am not concerned with moral judgments. I am concerned with the enrichment and survival of my species.
‘What if the person—your Innate—threatened your species? Or you?’ On impulse, Mira leaned over and scraped her nail down the biozoon’s skin.
A shock stung her arm, throwing her across the space onto the bed where she knocked her head.
Intention determines my response. I am not unintelligent, Baronessa. I am merely . . . your word would be . . . egocentric. In my genus it is an admirable, in fact necessary, quality.
‘M-my apologies,’ Mira stuttered. She rubbed her arm, then her head. ‘I-I needed to know.’ Then she added: ‘And we are not unalike. Our species is also egocentric,