Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [23]
‘Sick,’ she whispered. ‘Ask for Joe Scali. He is helpful and…nice.’
Trin checked the Industrial Services directory. A surprised voice in IS told him that Joe Scali would be there within a short time, and, scuzzi, but could he give them directions?
Joe Scali arrived juggling diagnostic sticks and a frothy mocha in a tall mug. He had thick dark hair and a well-muscled physique that looked more suited to troubleshooting conveyor-belt automats on the plains than the delicacies of programming organic trees.
Scali wrinkled his nose with distaste as he looked around. ‘I did not know there was an…office here.’
Trin grimaced. ‘You Scalis do not get out enough.’
‘Si. And I detest that.’ The young man gave a heartfelt sigh.
It made Trin curious. ‘Why not reassign, then?’
‘I was with Carabinere out in Ipo. Got in a disagreement with the Cavaliere—a Montforte.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Next thing I was back here.’
Trin nodded. ‘Malocchis and Montfortes…’ He held up crossed fingers.
‘Thicker than my mama’s cannelloni.’ The Scali eyed him keenly. ‘I am guessing that you might have suffered from a similar problem. Why else would the Principe’s son be confined in a . . . cave?’
‘Because I killed an uuli.’ The words were out before he realised. And fluted with my papa’s woman.
Scali whistled and rolled his eyes again. ‘Any reason?’
‘An accident that I have no wish to speak of. . . Now, I need a tree that will cross-check all these . . .’
‘I am Josef…’
‘Well, Josef, can you do this?’ Trin pointed to lists on the menu.
Scali’s eyes opened wide in astonishment when he saw the lines that Trin was tracing. ‘What do you want all that for?’
Trin waved his hands at the piles of data on the shelves. ‘These records are useless for anything. I wish to change that. Can you do it, Nobile?’ he cajoled.
Scali sipped his mocha. ‘Si. Perhaps.’
‘Rantha Cabone tells me that you are the best in your section.’
‘Rantha, eh?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Man-hater, that one.’
‘No.’ Trin surprised himself with his mild defence of her. ‘She thinks you are…how did she put it... nice.’
Scali cleared his throat with embarrassment and picked up his empty mug. ‘I will give this my priority, Don Pellegrini, but I cannot be sure of the outcome.’
Trin nodded his understanding. The Ciprianos had brought only rudimentary processing organisms with them to Araldis. They should have been superseded, so the Studium interactives informed him, but the great cost of starting a new society on a brand new world had demanded that the funds be syphoned elsewhere.
Far-cast communications were worst affected by preserving the primitive system. Far-news was always delayed and scant. Most of Araldis hadn’t even heard about the Stain Wars until the forces concerned had been skirmishing for half an Araldis year.
The Scali familia showed the most aptitude for managing the crude biosystem but even they were often lost when it came to growing new applications.
Trin slid his hand from his pocket and opened it. Multicoloured bravura grains rolled around his palm. ‘Could you could keep it quiet from Signor Malocchi?’
Scali glanced nervously around the office as if Jus Malocchi might jump out from behind something. ‘Is it as good as they say?’ he whispered.
‘Better.’
A light sweat broke out on the technician’s upper lip. ‘As you wish, Don. But should anyone ask me, I will tell them that you said Malocchi ordered the new programme, eh?’
‘Call me Trinder.’ Trin pinched a couple of precious grains into Scali’s mocha.
After two sips the swelling between Scali’s legs was tenting his fellalo.
Trin and Scali burst out laughing.
* * * *
TEKTON
Tekton’s design for Sole flowered in his free-mind. The trouble was, his logic-mind regularly reminded him, that he had the idea but not the material with which to construct it.
So Tekton buried himself in study. Somewhere there had to be a metal that rippled like liquid in its solid state. Yet it seemed that everywhere he searched Ra had been before him—consuming information at a shocking rate. There