Transformation Space - Marianne de Pierres [103]
The tyro gave a strained smile. ‘It would seem that fate has plans for us. Or should I say that Sole does.’
‘You are the tyro from Belle-Monde. You knew Marchella Pellegrini,’ said Mira. Like Jo-Jo, she forced herself to an upright position, her torso wavering as if she might collapse again.
Tekton went to her and lent his support. Slowly, carefully, he helped her to her feet. He was not much taller than her, or stronger, but he had energy where hers was spent.
‘Marchella Pellegrini,’ said Tekton. ‘A name I had not thought to hear again. Perhaps, at another time, we can speak of her. But now there is some urgency, I believe, to leave this location.’
‘Si,’ she said. ‘Help me to the buccal then come back for Josef.’
Tekton nodded his agreement, but Jo-Jo didn’t trust the tricky Godhead.
As the tyro helped Mira Fedor around the stratum and out of his sight, Jo-Jo crawled after them. On hands and knees he made his way, painfully, towards the buccal. He knew this ship, remembered the contours and bends, the quicker ways. And the ship moud code. ‘Sal,’ he gasped as he put one hand in front of the next.
Josef? Josef Rasterovich? Salacious’s reply rumbled through his mind as the longdormant moud reactivated.
Yes. I’m here.
You left me.
No. I was tricked and then put in prison on Dowl station. Jancz and Ilke stole you from me.
Oh. The hybrid seemed confused. But I have a new captain now. Tekton.
No. I am your captain. Still.
How can I know who it should be?
Serve me now, and I will release you to the Pod. End your tenure.
My contract?
It’s in my name. I can legally rescind it.
I will be free.
Yes. If you help us to leave this world.
The hybrid’s hesitation was as brief as Jo-Jo’s next breath. Welcome back aboard, my captain.
Sole
Closer, Closer
Come To Me,
All Done Soon,
All Done.
MIRA
‘I’ve heard of you, Godhead,’ whispered Mira as they negotiated the obstacles along the rubbish-cluttered strata.
‘And I, of you,’ the Lostolian replied. ‘Please … tell me what is happening outside.’
‘The Post-Species are birthing something in the desert, a new craft from the old. It is spreading … growing as if the air feeds it. We must leave this area before we are damaged by its expansion.’
‘A new craft from the old,’ repeated Tekton. ‘Fascinating. It must be the quixite.’
‘Not fascinating,’ she said, ‘terrifying.’
As they reached the buccal, tears sprang to Mira’s eyes; the walls of the hybrid’s cheek were bleeding, and its flesh hung in unhealthy clumps.
She pointed to one of the nubs in the centre of the buccal. ‘There, please, Tekton.’
Tekton helped her across to the unused Primo vein. The grey protective skin was thick and resistant to her touch. She hesitated to pierce it. She was already bonded to Insignia; if she used Sal’s vein-sink, what would happen? Would Sal’s personality meld with hers? Sal was unhealthy, not sane in the way of other biozoons. Already she could feel its agitation.
Sal, what’s wrong? she asked the hybrid.
Where are the other ’esques, Mira Fedor? Where are the corporeals? The Balol and Captain Jancz.
You killed them, Sal, Mira said gently.
It made a noise she thought to be mirth. Yes, I did. It felt good, Mira Fedor.
Were the corporeals cruel to you?
Cruel to be kind. Cruel to be kind. The hybrid sounded strained and odd, not incomprehensibly raving as Mira had heard it before, but distanced, remote.
Another sliver of fear stabbed her consciousness. Would she lose her mind to Sal if she used the Primo vein? Would she maintain her link with Insignia? And Nova?
Mama?
She ignored her daughter, lifting her finger to stab through the nano-membrane and begin the immersion process.
‘Mira. No!’ Jo-Jo Rasterovich stood swaying in the pucker of the buccal. ‘This was – is my ship. I’ll fly it. I know the island coordinates.’
He let go of the pucker and staggered across to the Autonomy nub.
Tekton made no move to