Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [67]
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Approval for the trip took a toe-tapping, ménage-bar-quaffing month to come through. Not to mention the expense of several farcasts to Doris Mulek to ensure that his application received priority when it pinged across the chancellor’s film. Unfortunately, Doris then decreed that she needed a holiday and would meet him there, at Scolar.
Tekton had only visited the famous centre for Orion’s philosophers on one occasion and had found them audibly hostile to graduates from other Studiums—though, of course, based on the OLOSS advancement charter, archival information was free. The Vreal Studium had an equally extensive repository but Tekton found the transhumanists there so dreary that there seemed no option but to put up with the snubs and visit Scolar. He agreed to rendezvous with Doris on condition that she absorbed the expense of their suite. ‘The Sternberg,’ he told her. ‘Nothing less.’
With arrangements well in hand, Tekton took a lotion bath and then made his daily pilgrimage to the ménage bar. Dieter Miranda was well in her cups, bosoms quivering in hyperbeat with her chins as she claimed him for conversation. ‘What are you up to, Tekton?’
‘Indeed, I might ask you the same, Miranda. You seem unusually jovial.’
‘Cut the dishembling. I’m pished and misherable,’ she slurred.
Tekton’s logic-mind charged into making lists of possible information that it might be able to prise from her. His free-mind was still sulking, though Tekton got a whiff of its disdain at Miranda’s mien. ‘Problems with Jise?’ he asked politely.
‘That heterotroph!’ she cried, with a majestic heave of flesh. ‘He’s taken his wife to a Teranu beach reshort. Said he needed shome time away. His wife, no lesh.’
Two fat tears appeared at the edge of Miranda’s tear ducts. Tekton followed their journey as they parted from the neurotic glint in her black eyes to travel across the cosmetically concealed dermatitis around her nostrils and into the rivulets of pucker lines above her top lip.
‘Miranda,’ he said, surprised enough to be honest. ‘This is not like you to be so self-pitying. Let’s talk about work. How is your project going?’
She opened her mouth and then closed it again and gave a gluggy laugh. ‘Clever Tekton, knowsh how to take advantage of a girl. I’ve alwaysh admired that about you.’
Tekton experienced a fleeting moment of embarrassment. Was he so utterly transparent?
Miranda gave him a playful slap on the rump. ‘Now tell me about you, you tight-shkinned devil.’
Tekton squashed his indignation at being treated like priced meat and wondered how best to distract her. Coffee and stimulants, please, bar. ‘I…er…am also planning a break. A small research trip to Scolar.’
‘Scolar,’ she shrieked, losing all traces of inebriation. ‘I insist that you take me with you!’
‘I…er…’ For the first time in Tekton’s conscious memory, words deserted him.
‘When are you going?’
‘I am awaiting travel approval,’ he hedged. ‘Of course, I may not—’
‘Bollocks,’ Miranda roared. ‘Of course you’ll get approval. Now, what’s the weather like there at this time of year?’ Her expression glazed as she accessed her moud.
Meanwhile Tekton floundered around for some way to divert her from her intent. But Miranda was not the type of woman to be put off.
‘Summer. How fabulous. I shall pack my bikini,’ she trilled.
‘But Miranda,’ said Tekton in desperation. ‘I am meeting my…paramour. She is unlikely to approve of—’
‘Nonsense, Tekton! Don’t be such a prude. We could have a scholarly ménage. Ho, ho! That will get Jise snapping his jaws. He rather envies you, you know. Something about being unfettered by the constraints of evidence. Besides, I am sure I can find some research to attend to there.’
Snap! bawled Tekton’s logic-mind. The woman is playing you again. What does she want to access directly from the archives?
But Tekton was having a hard time concentrating. His free-mind had surfaced and was painting lurid images of Miranda and Doris locked in