Chaos Space - Marianne de Pierres [46]
Even Tekton had heard of Carnage Farr, the man who had thwarted OLOSS’s plans to invade Extropy space by leading a small but effective force against League warships. The Stain Wars, the conflicts were called, and Farr had proclaimed himself keeper of the balance.
On some worlds he was considered a hero of peace, but Tekton’s impression was that the man was a violent opportunist who railed against order, an anarchist who wanted indeterminate rules so that he could pursue his own shady ends.
If Labile Connit was his son then OLOSS were harbouring the ultimate viper in their bosom here on Belle-Monde.
Tekton’s minds clamoured with opinions.
How titillating! declared free-mind.
Dangerous! proclaimed logic-mind. But potentially useful.
Informing OLOSS would cause a stir and possibly attract some type of commendation. But blackmailing Connit could mean some useful ‘impartial’ contacts.
Which did he want more? Applause for being a good citizen? Or to beat Ra and all the other tyros, and impress Sole?
A plan blossomed in Tekton’s thoughts, as beautiful as a new design.
Moud, extend an invitation to Labile Connit to attend a soiree at my room tomorrow evening.
Yes, Godhead. Would you care to make arrangements for the event? Is there food to order? Are there others to be invited?
No. Tekton smiled. None and no one.
Connit arrived a little late, carrying a bottle of yellow liquid not dissimilar in its hue to that of his normally golden skin, which today looked sallow and dehydrated.
He glanced around the room. ‘Late, am I? Or early?’ His eyes lost focus for a moment as he consulted his moud.
‘No, no,’ said Tekton. He closed the door and stood between it and Connit. ‘A little misunderstanding. The soiree is for another night. But I had some ... personal business to discuss with you.’
Labile’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tekton? What trickery are you up to? You know I will record this.’
Tekton folded his arms in a mild but confident gesture. ‘Actually, Labile—may I call you that?—while you are welcome to record our little talk it is most likely, I would think, that you would be disposed to erase it later.’
Labile’s look of suspicion deepened into a frown. He took a step forward as if to brush past Tekton and leave.
But Tekton raised a hand. ‘I also think it would be in your best interests to hear what I have to say. That is . . . better you hear it than OLOSS do.’
Connit froze. He reddened. For a professional and one of the foremost in his field, he was alarmingly ingenuous. ‘Out with it, Tekton.’
‘I know who your father is.’
‘I do not have a father and I find your insinuation in poor taste.’
‘The circumstances of your gestation and birth are not the issue here,’ snapped Tekton. ‘Your genetics are. So pray tell me: how is it that the son of the League’s most infamous agitator is being educated at their expense?’
Connit looked, Tekton fancied, as if he might collapse. His body began to tremble in a way that suggested it might actually unglue.
‘Are you in contact with Lasper Farr?’
Labile took a gasping breath at the sound of his father’s name. ‘What, Tekton? What is it that you want from me?’
‘I require a neutral engineering facility on Rho Junction and I thought, my dear fellow, that you might be just the person to negotiate it.’ Tekton slapped the Geneer on the back as one might an old friend.
Connit’s shoulders squared and for one second Tekton thought that the younger man might hit him.
Duck, screamed logic-mind.
Hit him first, urged free-mind.
But Connit replied before Tekton had a chance to do either. ‘And your silence is what I will get in return?’
‘Precisely,’ breathed Tekton. He loved this sort of bargaining. It was almost as sexy as conceiving a new model or overcoming a design flaw. Perhaps he should have been a Lawmon.
‘What assurances do I have on that?’
‘I’m choosing to consort with dubious types, my dear Connit. I will have just as much to lose as you.’ Tekton paused and sniffed, allowing himself a small smirk. ‘Well, not nearly as much,