Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [112]
Constantine's knuckles whitened on the goblet. "I see that you're still an antiquarian. Odd that you should embrace Wellspring and his cadre of anarchists."
Lindsay nodded. "I know that you'll attack Czarina-Kluster if you have the chance. Your hypocrisy astounds me. You're no Shaper. Not only are you unplanned, but your use of Mech techniques is notorious. You're a living demonstration of the power of detente. You seize advantage wherever you find it but deny it to anyone else."
Constantine smiled. "I'm no Shaper. I'm their guardian. It's been my fate, and I've accepted it. I've been alone all my life, except for you and Vera. We were fools then."
"I was the fool," Lindsay said. "I killed Vera for nothing. You killed her to prove your own power."
"The price was bitter, but the proof was worth it. I've made amends since then." He drained his goblet and stretched out his arm. Vera Kelland took the cup. Around her neck she wore the gold filigree locket she had worn in the crash, the locket that was meant to guarantee his death.
Lindsay was dumbstruck. He had not seen the girl's face when her back was turned.
She did not meet his eyes.
Lindsay stared at her in icy fascination. The resemblance was strong but not perfect. The girl turned and left. Lindsay forced the words. "She's not a full clone."
"Of course not. Vera Kelland was unplanned."
"You used her genetics?"
"Do I hear envy, cousin? Are you claiming her cells loved you and not me?" Constantine laughed.
Lindsay tore his gaze from the woman. Her grace and beauty wounded him. He felt shell-shocked, panicky. "What will happen to her, when you die here?" Constantine smiled quietly. "Why not mull that over, while we fight?"
"I'll make you a pledge," Lindsay said. "I swear that if I win I'll spare your congenetics in the years to come."
"My people are loyal to the Ring Council. Your Czarina-Kluster rabble are their enemies. They're bound to come in conflict."
"Surely that will be grim enough without our adding to it."
"You're naive, Abelard. Czarina-Kluster must fall." Lindsay looked aside, studying Constantine's group. "They don't look stupid, Philip. I wonder if they won't rejoice at your death. They might be swept away in the general celebration."
"Idle speculation always bores me," Constantine said. Lindsay glared. "Then it's time we put the matter to the proof." Heavy curtains were spread over one of the huge alien tables, falling to the floor. Beneath the table's sheltering expanse the blazing light was dimmer, and a pair of supportive waterbeds were brought in to combat Investor gravity.
The Arena itself was tiny, a fist-sized dodecahedron, its triangular sides so glossily black that they shimmered with faint pastels. Wire trailed from metal-bound sockets in two opposing poles of the structure. The wires led to two goggle-equipped helmets with flexible neck extensions. The helmets had the blunt utilitarian look of Mechanist manufacture.
Constantine won the toss and took the right-hand helmet. He produced a flat curved lozenge of beige plastic from his gold-threaded coat and hooked an elastic strap to its anchor loops. "A spatial analyzer," he explained. "One of my routines. Permitted?"
"Yes." Lindsay pulled a flesh-colored strip of dotted adhesive disks from his breast pocket. "PDKL Ninety-five," he said. "In doses of two hundred micro-grams."
Constantine stared. " 'Shatter.' From the Cataclysts?"
"No," Lindsay said. "This was part of the stock of Michael Carnassus. It's original Mechanist issue, for the embassies. Interested?"
"No," Constantine said. He looked shaken. "I protest. I came here to fight Abeiard Lindsay, not a shattered personality."
"That scarcely matters now, does it? This is to the death, Constantine. My humanity would only get in the way."
Constantine shrugged. "Then I win, no matter what." Constantine attached the spatial analyzer, fitting its custom-made curves against the back of his skull. Its microprongs slid smoothly into the jacks connected to