Mirror Space - Marianne de Pierres [39]
Within a short time, his legs trembled with effort and he couldn’t catch his breath. He felt some small satisfaction to hear the Lamin breathing heavily below him.
Halfway up, he stopped to rest. With both hands gripping the rail and his backside planted firmly on the step, he allowed himself a brief glimpse down. The shape of the chasm below seemed to have shifted, like the moving outline of an enormous snake. Different structures had appeared. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of perspective.
He used his design sight to assess it. No. The chasm had definitely moved.
‘Lostol-Tekton?’ said the Lamin. ‘Are you ready to continue?’
‘Everything has shifted,’ said Tekton aloud, ignoring him.
‘The outer rim is composed of large objects less firmly caught in the gravity spin. It is an extremely fluid composition. That is why the Commander had the flexible conduit constructed.’
A clever way to confuse enemies, thought Tekton, when your home is never in the exact same place.
But dangerous.
He stood and resumed his climb, trying to ignore the possibilities of colliding structures and flying detrivores. If he lived in such a place he would certainly not use such precarious means to gain access to his private rooms. It was ridiculous to say the least.
His legs began to ache in a manner that he’d never known, and by the time he reached the top, his finely pored skin was warmed by effort.
At least, he supposed, he would not die from the chill.
His chest heaved as he finally reached the broad entry pad to the chapel. So much so that he was unable to greet Lasper Farr, who came towards him from the chapel entrance.
‘Tekton.’ He smiled, but did not proffer his hand in greeting. ‘Enjoy your reflection time as I have mine. It is unlikely we’ll meet again.’
Tekton nodded as he gasped and watched Farr walk to the other side of the platform.
What is he doing over there? It seemed simpler to ask the moud than the Lamin. And he did not have to speak to do so.
But the moud remained silent.
A moment later the sound of his impatient reiteration was drowned by the noise of an incoming air-taxi.
This time Tekton found his voice. ‘You can taxi here?’ he spluttered to the Lamin. ‘All the way here!’
The Lamin’s smug smile seemed to have grown a degree smugger. ‘If the Commander permits.’
Farr was already inside the passenger compartment. He did not glance once at Tekton before the taxi disappeared over the lip of the pad with a groaning exhalation of air.
‘That sadist!’ roared Tekton. It had been a long time - if ever- since he’d lost control of his anger. Not since Ra had beaten him to the tyro position on Belle-Monde, and even then his fury had quickly turned cold and cunning.
Now all he wanted to do was slap the Lamin down.
As if sensing the possibility, the Lamin trotted away towards the chapel door.
‘May I suggest we go inside, Lostol-Tekton?’ it called over its shoulder.
‘No!’ shouted Tekton, waving his fist. ‘You may not suggest anything to me. In fact you may not speak to me again, you simpering bag of fur and wind.’
The Lamin stopped and turned. It seemed unmoved by his anger but glanced meaningfully above Tekton’s head. ‘If you say so.’ Then it opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it slightly ajar.
Tekton let his rage vent through a string of disgusting expletives he had not even known were in his repertoire, and would have gone on much longer if a strong and sudden draft of wind had not cooled his heated body. The very few hairs he had on his skin stiffened at the sound of a high-pitched wail; a cry of pain, amplified by echoes.
A cold, hungry sound.
Tekton glanced upward. He saw a flash of reflective silver, lent luminescence by the blinking array on the side of the chapel that had lit their ascent. The flash faded then returned in a steady rhythm as a detrivore spiralled down towards him.
Tekton learned how promptly fury could be replaced by terror, and how slowly his unconditioned body reacted when called upon, as he drove his aching, out-of-condition legs across the platform and dived