Mirror Space - Marianne de Pierres [79]
Edo’s outer rim was a fascinating graveyard that Hob negotiated with almost casual ease. For all his verbosity, the man was undoubtedly skilled. A waste, thought Tekton, like the wasteland he’d chosen to inhabit.
For a while, the tug crept in and out and around a conglomeration of discarded fairground equipment. Gravity’s processes had forced smaller objects onto larger ones, forging new, bizarre structures and making it hard to discern where one piece began and ended. Occasionally, Tekton picked out things he recognised.
As they chugged higher - or further out, he corrected his thinking - the rim became a thicker and more tortured intertwining of broken satellite towers and enormous thick cable rolls.
Hob interrupted his own monologue. ‘This here’s what’s left of that elevator between Mintaka and her first moon. Hadda geneering fault. Broke loose from its tether. Lost about five thousand ‘esques to the vac. Took ‘em weeks to scoop up the bodies floating out there.’
Tekton nodded. He remembered that fiasco and the spillover. The archiTect who’d worked on the project had been several years senior to Tekton. He’d disappeared after the accident, despite most of the culpability being shifted to the manufacturer. Tekton had always suspected the studium had spent significant money making sure the blame was transferred. The ruins of the elevator were twisted beyond redemption now and thick with a fur of lighter debris.
‘Must be some magnetism in them cables. Gawd knows what crud’s stickin’ to ‘em.’
Hob shot the tug up over one of the monumental base girders and into a rusted hole. They flew in complete darkness for far too long, save for the tug’s watery forward lights. When Tekton thought he could not stand another minute of the blackness, they popped out of the other end of the girder into a yawning space.
In the centre of the space, a brilliantly lit, glorious, pearly shell-structure twirled like a tired dancer.
‘Crux!’ exclaimed Tekton. ‘Oh my fecking gonads.’
Tekton’s expletive so lacked any impact that Hob burst into his rusty laugh.
The Godhead didn’t take offence; his minds were far too absorbed by the damaged beauty pirouetting before him. ‘It’s Murex, isn’t it? The Discarded City. I never got to see it finished, although I worked on part of the design when I was a young student. My studium was devastated when they heard the owner had scrapped it. They tried to buy it but he’d already signed a deal with the Savoir company. I can’t imagine how much it cost to bring here.’
‘Some say they sliced it right through the middle. Top ‘alf, bottom ‘alf. Brought it through res shift in two goes. Sounds like a load of bull to me. Reckon it musta taken a few more than that. Anyway she’s all stitched up and workin’ fine now. Bit of a tilt, but good enough. If you like that type of close-up livin’,’ he added. ‘Them people all stacked together in there makes me want ta shit a lot. When I shit—’
But Tekton was too lost in an architectural rapture to contemplate the details of Hob’s claustrophobia, and in fact only remembered Hob was there when the tug smacked unceremoniously onto the landing platform not far from another vehicle.
Hob and the driver of the other vehicle exchanged waves, which made Tekton feel a little more at ease about the six or so balols that detached from their vantage points around the platform to converge on them. They weren’t armed - that he could see - but their manner was wary.
Hob peeled back his mask and issued some garbled requests through the comm. The man was smart enough not to open the cabin seal.
A series of exchanged grunts later and Hob popped the cabin. ‘S’right,’ he said, slinging a leg over the edge. ‘Sam and me go way-oh back. She’s one for rules though. Usually likes a bit of notice when I come calling.’
Good-ee! Powerful women are sooo— squealed free-mind.
Dangerous, interceded logic-mind. And mind that.
But free-mind