Transformation Space - Marianne de Pierres [29]
Of course I am, you filthy imbecile. ‘No,’ said Tekton blithely. ‘Whenever you deem it safe and appropriate is fine by me. Though I might, if I could, request a cabin.’
Tekton knew he was being ridiculously polite to this low-life, but while the semblance of civility remained between them, he would hold up his end.
Don’t trust him, free-mind urged.
He’s done nothing to suggest untrustworthiness, logic-mind countered.
‘Sure,’ said Jancz, stepping back towards the door. ‘This way.’
Tekton followed Jancz to a small cabin not far from the galley. It was neat enough, if sparse, with the appearance of not having being used for a long while.
‘Help yourself to whatever’s in the galley. We aren’t ones for makin’ meals. Eat as yer go on this beauty.’
Beauty? That absurd notion stayed with Tekton as he closed the door and locked it.
Little was beautiful about this hybrid ’zoon. What luxury it had once entertained had now faded in the wake of abuse. Its corridors were acrid with astringent scents, and its walls the pale pink of poor circulation. Rubbish was piled in every corner, and sticky secretions layered surfaces. The poor sad creature is sick.
Tekton pared open the seal of his suit and fished around for Lasper Farr’s DSD. With relief, he pulled the box free and set it on the bed. Then he stretched out alongside it without bothering to remove the rest of the suit. His back was raw from rubbing against the device’s sharp corners, and suddenly, now that he was safely away from Commander Farr and Intel, he felt exhausted.
He slept for a while, woke, peeled off the suit, drank, and washed in the tiny san. He found some lotion in one of the cabinets and spread it over his body. Despite having to put on the suit again, he felt refreshed and more able to think.
His stomach complained of hunger, but Tekton ignored it. He did not want to venture out of his cabin into the galley just yet. Instead, he checked the door lock again, then sat himself down before the DSD.
Taking a deep breath, he settled into a comfortable position, leaning against the bulkhead.
‘Balance,’ he said.
The undulating 3D image of a Lorenz Attractor sprang into being above the box. Tekton watched the fluctuating brilliance of the fractal structure for a moment before speaking the next password.
Was Cousin Ra really responsible for creating this magnificent device? What gifts did Sole bless my arrogant cousin with, to enable him to do this?
Tekton had a sudden and overwhelming craving for his life to be as it was – before Sole, even. Back at Tadao Ando studium he’d been mired in politics and a certain level of intrigue, but nothing there had been beyond his experience or imagination. Since leaving Belle-Monde on his quest to win the Entity’s favour, his life had become nothing if not chaotic and dangerous. Tekton longed for safety – and regular sex.
His akula swelled a little and then deflated again. On an insalubrious hybrid biozoon, in a location that could well be in the teeth of an impending galactic war, and with only two obnoxious mercenaries for companionship, thoughts of carnal pleasure were neither easy to sustain nor really practical.
With a deep and heartfelt sigh, Tekton spoke the next password. ‘Shame.’
A beam shot from the centre of the Attractor and he was swallowed up by the device’s stimulation of his visual cortex. Images appeared and spun quickly through his mind, coloured lights with no form or substance.
He let himself adjust to the speed and glitter of the data, then focused on a recurring speck. The spin slowed and his reality shifted as if he was sucked forward into it. He found himself in the buccal of another biozoon, watching Mira Fedor lying in the pilot vein, her hands resting on her swollen belly.
She’s been busy, his free-mind sneered.
Logic-mind