Mirror Space - Marianne de Pierres [77]
The man nodded and proffered a gloved hand. ‘Jehy Hob’s the name. And it ain’t no luck me scooping you up. Been on the lookout since I got the word from Sam that another foreigner was about ta go missing.’
‘I am no foreigner. I’m Tekton of Lostol,’ replied Tekton. ‘An archiTect who asked too many questions of Commander Farr, I fear. But who is Sam? And how did he know?’
‘Sam is Sam,’ he said, evasively. ‘And . . . Lasper. . . well he don’t like questions. And I should know. Was his chief pilot at one time. Saw too much.’
Tekton dabbed at his bleeding legs and tried to keep his voice even. ‘Commander Farr tried to murder you as well?’
‘Jus’ say he had me watched. I don’t much like to be watched, Tekton. ‘S why I took to helpin’ others who might be in trouble. But we should be fixin’ your cuts and things, not gabbing. Can you get up to the top, or need I be carrying you?’ He pointed upward.
Tekton looked at the central stairs that wound to the top of the cone. At every curve a platform ran across to the wall as though the stairs had wings.
‘How far?’
‘Three levels.’ He laughed. ‘But the grav’s real light.’
Tekton struggled up the first two flights alone, cognisant enough to take in the odd structure and accumulated rubbish that made up Jelly Hob’s home. Clothes lay draped over odd bits of furniture, food scraps littered the tops of damaged comm-desks and chipped solar arrays. Some of the equipment looked sophisticated enough to have come from the labs on Belle-Monde; other pieces appeared to be just what they were - junk. Either Hob was a genius, or he was bored and crazy, and altogether slovenly.
But for once, though, Tekton’s sensibilities weren’t offended. His life had taken a rather uncomfortable turn and he was experiencing his first taste of gratitude. Jelly Hob had saved him from certain death - Tekton could overlook a lot for that.
But by the time he passed a rather oddly obscene glass statue of a woman bent over displaying the lips of three vaginas, on the second-floor platform, he began to sway, despite the lower gravity.
‘Is that a Fenralia?’ he enquired woozily.
“Tis me favourite.’ Hob caught him before he fell back and puffed smoke about his face. ‘Can’t have an archiTect falling down on my watch,’ he said cheerfully.
Without any apparent difficulty, he slung Tekton over his shoulder and continued upward. The steps and the weight seemed to offer him no extra stress; he barely puffed - other than his cigar - as he stepped off the stairs onto the next level.
Hob’s top level consisted of a reclining seat locked at forty-five degrees, a shelf of steel vials and a bucket full of spray-skin and other basic medi-kit products.
He dropped Tekton into the seat, and with well-practised fingers probed and prodded his wounds. He pasted probiotic paste on everything and sprayed replacement skin over the deeper cuts.
‘You Lostols don’t heal so quick. Need to keep the bugs out while you do. This place is a rubbish dump, y’know. Be best if I take you across to Ampere right away.’
Tekton sighed, almost enjoying Hob’s competent ministrations. It was good, he thought, to be alive. ‘Where is Ampere?’ he asked. ‘I am not keen for Lasper Farr to know that I am alive.’
Hob laughed in the rusty manner of a man who’d spent much time alone. ‘Farr don’t know anything about wot goes on in Ampere. Long as you don’t use y’r other voice.’ He tapped his head.
‘You mean my moud?’
‘That’s the one. Don’ go talking to it, and you’ll be safe in there.’
‘In there?’
‘S’pose you ain’t heard of Ampere, bein’ a visitor here. Sam’ll be wantin’ to meet you anyways. Farr wants you dead, then like as be, she wants you alive. Not one for politickin’ much - that’s why I’m on me own. But Jelly Hob’s smart enough to figure that out at least. And to be true, I’ve got a curiosity as well.’
‘But who would Sam be, Mr Hob?’ asked Tekton, attempting to speak in a manner that the man would comprehend.
Hob chortled. ‘Mister, you call me? I be likin’ that a lot, I reckon, but Jelly’s good