TEKTON

 

The Lamin did not offer to help Tekton from the floor. In fact it had already seated itself and was grooming its armpits.

Tekton got to his feet, drawing on a lifetime of aplomb to preserve his dignity. Not that anyone was watching him. In fact the Lamin and he were the only ones in the unimposing, strangely appointed prayer room.

Tekton looked around.

It was not a spiritually imbued place, in the manner of the millions of chapels spread across Orion, and neither did it have the usual other-worldly sense of quiet and eeriness. The decor suited a comfortable lounge that might be found on any moderately luxurious passenger ship. In fact, if not for the different colour schemes and unusual icons impregnating the suede walls, it could have been an exact replica of a lounge on The Last Aesthetic. Perhaps the whole room had been retrieved from a disbanded passenger ship?

Two long bench seats ran the length of the room divided by an equally long, low table which ended in front of a shrine. Ledges were inset into the padded walls behind the seats, and dotted with statues and objets d’art; almost as if the icons were set there to peer over the shoulders of those that sat reclining. Beautifully crafted melon-coloured matting softened the floor beneath his feet.

Tekton made his way past the Lamin to sit at the far end of one bench seat, near the shrine. The simply moulded, geometric shrine alcove housed a square black box. He bent his head and went through the pretence of prayer while he gave the box a subtle but intense scrutiny.

Despite his best efforts, he deduced absolutely nothing from it—why would Farr worship a box?—and widened his observation to include the rest of the room. For the most part, the furnishings seemed wholly at odds with Farr’s personality: far too comfortable and culturally opulent.

And yet, Tekton knew that somewhere in here lay a clue to Farr’s raison d’être. The man was deceptive. Everything about his nature, including his choice to live on the floating surface of this constructed monstrosity called Edo, bespoke his desire to mislead.

Farr had played a spiteful mind game lending Tekton along that dangerous route here, and in mind games the player always left clues.

What secrets lurked within this odd prayer room?

Abandoning his discretion, he got up from the seat and walked a slow circuit, examining every fixed and hanging object: an eclectic mix that included a Trimium fertility goddess that looked to be sculpted from dried mucus, and a Rainbow Orbital blossoming and fading in a never-ending sequence. Tekton noted the combination of organic and astrophysical artworks.

Curious.

While he conducted his examinations, the Lamin stayed in its seat, sitting bolt upright, with knees primly crossed.

Tekton imagined it was reporting back to Farr via the mayordomo, moud or some other subvocal conduit. That notion didn’t faze him. Farr wanted Tekton to play the game, or he would never have allowed him access to his private chapel.

Godhead, interrupted his moud, you are required at the departure dock shortly.

Hooray! crowed his free-mind. Let’s go home.

Tekton was inclined to follow free-mind’s lead. The prayer space, which he’d expected to be lofty and grand, had turned out to be oppressive—and sinister.

Sinister? queried logic-mind. How so?

Free-mind sought another manner of description. It’s creepy. Let’s go.

But logic-mind became stubborn. No. Find the clue first. This is important.

But Tekton was still siding with free-mind. Edo had become as tiresome—and if he admitted the truth, as alarming—as Commander Farr. His earlier akula rush at the ever-present sense of danger that surrounded Farr had truly begun to fade. The man was insane.

He approached the Lamin. ‘I require a taxi to convey me to the departure lounge.’

The Lamin took a moment to reply while it checked in with its employer.

‘Commander Farr is delighted to provide transport for you to the docks. He conveys his wishes for your speedy return to Belle-Monde. His associate there tells him the food is very good.’

His associate? ‘And who would that be?’ asked Tekton sharply.

‘That is all the Commander wishes to say to you.’

Tekton wanted to spit with rage. Farr was taunting him with obscure hints. ‘Call the taxi now. I wish to leave immediately.’

The Lamin stood up and pattered towards the exit, where it cracked the door open and peered out. ‘I will inform you when it has arrived.’

Tekton nodded. He took one last sweep of the room, compartmentalising his anger so he could observe through dispassionate eyes. His gaze lingered on the shrine. What in Sole’s name was significant about a black box? Was it a projector, perhaps? Or a Babushka? Or even a compression chamber of sorts?

‘Lamin?’ he said imperiously. ‘How do you activate the shrine?’

The Lamin hesitated. ‘Commander Farr says that with your intellect you should be able to work that out.’

Tekton wanted to gnash his teeth with frustration. So that’s what this was, a game of superior intellect. Tekton hated to lose at anything; a family trait that his cousin Ra had taken to the worst of extremes. It seemed that Commander Farr enjoyed the same competitive attribute. His free-mind took a moment to consider Ra and Commander Farr. Their collective competitive natures gave Tekton a shiver.

Concentrate! barked logic-mind.

Tekton tried to broaden his perception of the box in relation to the figurines. It bore no comparison to the organics, but it was not unlike the Rainbow Orbital, which grew and faded over the top of its projector casing.

If the black box was also a projector of sorts, then it would likely need aural or kinaesthetic activation.

Aural, said logic-mind.

Tekton thought back over his most recent conversation with the Commander. Farr had emphasised several things. If he had more time, he could ask his moud to replay the entire conversation, but as it was...

‘Visiting Lostol, your taxi is here.’

‘Tell it to wait a moment.’

‘Detrivores are very active at present. The taxi will not be able to stay grounded for too long.’

‘Just a few damn minutes,’ snapped Tekton. Moud, search my last conversation with Commander Farr. Replay any verbal emphasis.

Yes, Godhead.

Tekton listened intently then chose one word of the twenty search items. ‘Shame.’

The black box remained inanimate.

‘Visiting Lostol, the taxi has detected a circling detrivore. It must leave.’

‘Why? There’s no driver, is there?’

‘Taxis’ have a proximity detector. Detrivores have been known to try and eat them. It is very costly.’

‘Costly!’ snapped Tekton. He walked quickly towards the door, listening as his moud repeated the list of Farr’s emphasised words. When he peered out, the taxi was beginning to lift.

‘Stop it!’ he roared.

‘I will try,’ sniffed the Lamin. ‘It is centrally programmed.’

A word from the moud’s list jumped out at him, as Tekton gave one last glance into the chapel.

Balance. It seemed right, somehow. ‘Balance!’ he shouted.

Across the room in the shrine, an image sprang alive inside the box, in what he’d thought to be a solid interior. From where he stood it looked like a swirl of colour—nothing more.

Capture that image, he ordered his moud.

Yes, Godhead. It is captured.

Tekton turned and ran the short distance across the platform to the taxi. He flung himself inside, banging his leg against the edge of the door. It tore a gash in his thin skin. Blood streamed from the wound as the taxi lifted and pitched wildly into the abyss.

Tekton seized the handgrips and clung to them, unable to secure his seat belt while the taxi rolled and dived. The proximity alarm began to blare. Then a detrivore crashed into the taxi’s underbelly. Tekton felt the shudder up through his feet; saw the dent appear like the hump from a small earthquake.

‘Lift,’ Tekton shouted at the automon.

But the detrivore buffeted the taxi again, this time from the side. A web of cracks appeared in the shatterproof window. The vehicle swayed from side to side of the abyss. Tekton glimpsed struts and pylons and girders dangerously close.

‘Farr!’ Tekton screamed. ‘Lasper Farr!’

But Lasper Farr did not appear to allay his terror.

His minds split apart under the pressure, leaving nothing to bridge the gap between them.

Free-mind was caught in the grip of bowel-evacuating fear.

But logic-mind was still making decisions. Moud, imprint the image from the shrine on my cerebral cortex.

May I enquire as to why you require a hard download, Godhead? the moud asked. My function and archives are entirely transferable to your next moud.

Do it, growled logic-mind.

A second detrivore had joined the first, ramming the small fibreplas bump under the nose of the vehicle that housed the navigation controls. The taxi began to spiral down.

Free-mind’s screaming intensified.

Logic-mind held back from chiding it about a sense of dignity or courage, and settled in to observe the changes in Tekton’s metabolism. Even akula had not brought such heightened responses. It also diverted some processing time to inspect the downloaded image from the shrine.

Tekton was too paralysed by free-mind to instruct the moud to identify it, so logic-mind referred to Tekton’s own memory banks for a clue.

Of course, logic-mind said, after a time.

Of course fucking what? bellowed free-mind. I’m about to die.

Its a representation of a strange attractor. A Lorenz strange attractor, to be exact.

Exact? Exact? You’re insane. Can’t you see what’s happening? free-mind shrieked back.

Why would Farr worship a strange attractor? logic-mind pondered. Is Farr’s god an ancient theory on the behaviour of dynamical systems? And if so, in what current context is that significant?

Tekton’s moud-bolstered data recall was not sufficient for logic-mind to research anything. And frankly, free-mind was making it difficult to get sufficient blood to required areas.

The taxi was surrounded. The detrivores had stopped buffeting it and had latched on to different parts, spraying it with their metal-dissolving saliva as they prepared to feast.

Tekton, sobbing now, regained some thought control and tried to employ logic-mind to find a solution to his impending death. But it remained stubbornly resistant and preoccupied.

Chaos theory. Prediction. Prediction. Balance. Logic-mind reflected on a range of concepts. Balance, Farr had emphasised. Balance had unlocked his shrine. Balance.

Then it became quite excited. Farr must have some device for prediction that could help him keep the balance. It was the only explanation.

Got it! logic-mind announced.

Too frigging late, free-mind whispered.

Tekton heard a hissing noise like hot metal plunged into water and a cold shaft of wind blew straight up between his legs.

He glanced down. The slick, insectile head of a detrivore poked up through a melted gap in the floor. He screamed and kicked at it, but the detrivore’s carapace snagged into the sole of his shoe and tore it from the upper. Another shaft of wind. Its wings unfolded through the crack.

Jump, ordered logic-mind.

What in—? But free-mind didn’t get to finish.

Jump! logic-mind insisted.

Then the floor gave way, and he and the detrivore fell free from each other.