Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [27]
Sal—please accept—as truth! Mira begged. Give back—life support—or he will—kill me.
A torrent of chatter entered her mind. Pain analysis: cutaneous nociceptors—unmylinatedC fibres—transmitting at .04999 mps along the laminae II and III of the dorsal horns. Glutamate released on the spinway to the thalamus and on up to Brodman areas 3,2 and 1 . . . stress authenticated.
< Sigh> Very well.
Slowly, the darkness began to abate and once again Mira could see the outline of Jancz’s nose and the smooth, low line of his brow. A downward blast of air chilled the perspiration on her face. The numbness receded as the fingers at her neck loosened enough for her to cough violently.
‘I want you off my ship, Intuit.’ Jancz’s voice carried a hint of breathlessness.
With shaking hands Mira massaged her hot, swollen throat to enable herself to speak. She tried to crawl away from Jancz and failed, her limbs too weak. ‘Transport me—to the plainlands—to Loisa—and I will—forget what I—have seen.’
Jancz sprang upright. ‘Where did you say?’
‘Loisa?’ Mira repeated.
He turned to the Balol and they exchanged smiles. ‘Come.’
He dragged Mira to her feet and through the door back into the main hold. The lift cage took them to a mid-deck. From there they walked a loop of corridors, past a well-appointed galley and infirmary to a set of cabins.
Jancz appeared to select one at random and pushed Mira inside. ‘I will consider your offer.’ He stepped out and the door snapped shut between them.
Mira sank to the floor and sobbed.
When her tears and shaking finally subsided she looked around the cabin. To her surprise it was plainly but quite luxuriously furnished, with a large bed and screened-off personal-hygiene fixtures. Though she longed to clean herself properly she settled for a wash and a tentative examination of her shoulder. The bruising was severe but the skin was unbroken. She felt past the mirror mirage, searching for a lotion to reduce the inflammation. The mirror image burst and she encountered someone’s—a male’s—personal effects: body scents, lubricating gels and other appurtenances that warmed her skin with embarrassment.
Mira withdrew her hand and the image reinstated itself. Returning to the bedroom, she tried to open one of the many cupboards. Locked. All locked. She tapped the sensors on the bedhead array. All the cupboards in the cabin opened at once to reveal an extensive library of recreational simulations. She pulled one out at random and put it back quickly, shocked by the vulgar contents.
A fearful thought took her. Sal? To whom does this room belong?
You will make me sad again, asking questions.
Is it the captain s room?
Yes. No. Your questions are too difficult.
Please concentrate, Sal. Will Captain Jancz sleep in this room?
Him? No. No . . . no . . . no . . . not allowed. Never. The biozoon drifted off then, refusing to return despite her pleading.
* * * *
Jancz did not return until the next evening. Mira knew it was evening from the cabin display and the fierce hunger in her belly: more than a day without food and the worry that he might come for her if she dared to try to sleep.
‘I’ve decided to accept your proposal.’
To her relief he beckoned her out into the corridor and along a distance until he stopped at an open hatch lit by a down light.
‘Now down!’ he ordered.
The entry to the ship’s lug was a single flexible ladder encapsulated in similar material to the conduit that attached the ship to the station. With deliberate—and, she hoped, infuriating—dignity, Mira collected the loose outer folds of her fellala in one hand and stepped onto the ladder. The climb tested her balance but she managed to negotiate it without falling.
Below the bottom rung was enough room for a person to crouch, swivel and slide through another small hatch into the cockpit of the lug.
The small craft was already vibrating with life and an interior light switched on as Mira entered, feet first. Three harnesses hung like soft skeletons against the side behind the pilot’s seat. Behind the co-pilot’s position lay