Mirror Space - Marianne de Pierres [87]
What is it? What has done this to you?
It is unimportant. The mycose is contained within an object where the mercenary rested.
Mira made her way there slowly, painfully.
As the pucker retracted allowing her to enter Rast’s cabin, a sense of loss welled up in her. She’d thought it impossible to feel more sadness, but the sight of Rast’s scant possessions brought tears to her eyes and a sharp pain to her chest.
I’m alive. But I’m alone. Even the white-haired mercenary’s face would cheer her at this moment.
The satchel she’d seen Rast carrying on Rho Junction lay behind a row of standing rifles - like a warning to anyone who might touch it.
She sat on the floor and shifted several of the rifles, laying them down next to her. The satchel’s fastener was coded but inactive and opened out easily. Inside was a stack of six rectangular trays nearly the length of her arm dotted with thousands of tiny blisters.
What do I do?
The configuration of the packaging suggests that only a minute amount is required.
Mira fumbled in her sleeve and retrieved Wanton. Its casing was now so slick it reminded Mira of the large molluscs found on the jetties of the Galgos Islands.
‘Wanton?’
No answer. Not even a sound.
She examined the casing as closely as her sore, exhausted eyes would permit. Despite being slippery, it was perfectly intact and she could see no place to administer the mycose.
She placed Wanton in her lap and prised the top tray from the rest. It was heavier than she expected. She dropped it next to her knee and ran her fingers along the bubbled surface. Each tiny blister rolled freely where it was embedded, like minute, smooth, malleable bearings.
They are loose.
The altered mycose is toxic. Do not let it contact your skin.
Perhaps you could have mentioned that earlier.
Insignia ignored her rebuke but fell silent in punishment.
Mira bit her lip. This was not the time for them to be at odds. I-I’m sorry. Please help me.
Insignia remained stubbornly silent.
With trembling fingers, Mira grasped her gown and used the material to press down lightly on one of the blisters. It popped out and rolled onto her protected palm.
She picked up Wanton with her other hand and tilted the bead so that it rolled to contact the Extro.
As soon as the bead touched Wanton it gained itsown momentum and rolled upward to the peak of the casing. A sliver of a vent opened in what had seemed a seamless surface and the bead entered.
The vent closed immediately, and despite peering closer, Mira couldn’t see any trace of its existence.
‘You will not see anything, Mira-fedor.’
Mira almost dropped the Extro in surprise. Its voice sounded strong again. ‘Wanton?’
‘Thank you. Wanton had become dysfunctional.’
‘You were fortunate. One of my passengers was smuggling mycose. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to help you.’
‘Then Wanton is grateful to your smuggler friend as well.’
Mira set the Extro down on the floor next to the satchel. She was thirsty but the cucina seemed too far away to contemplate. ‘Now you must show your gratitude. Tell me what has happened to my baby.’ Her voice hoarsened with emotion. The baby had been so still since she’d regained consciousness that she wondered if it had really survived, even though Insignia insisted it lived.
‘Wanton took samples of the amniotic fluid and other non-intrusive analyses. If Mira-fedor’s baby has altered then the transition through the Hue into the Bare World must be responsible.’
‘How?’ she cried.
‘The Hue is organic and intelligent and able to manipulate cells. That is how Hosts live from it.’
‘It’s a creature in its own right?’
‘If Mira-fedor must think of it in such terms. But it is “us” as well as itself.’
Mira pressed her fingers to her temples. She craved cool fluid on her throat. I must drink . . .
Yes. Then you must come to Primo, Insignia