TEKTON

 

The humanesques Thales Berniere and Bethany Ionil had been much easier to persuade to leave Rho Junction than he had hoped. In fact, Tekton’s free-mind told him, they’d been easier than a Belle-Monde prostitute.

Tekton booked a suite with an adjoining room on the cruiser The Last Aesthetic, and left them alone for several days while he sorted his own affairs.

First, he organised a credit line for Manruben, the metal craftsman he’d left behind on Rho. His last glimpse of the filthy old man had been as he and Thales boarded the fast-trak back to the docks. Tekton had instructed Manruben to access the credit in two days and await news of the quixite delivery. Under no circumstances, Tekton told him, should you indulge in any type of sexual encounter for the duration of the contract. The last one had killed him. Only a quickly administered Health Watch patch had brought the randy old devil back from a permanent date with Hades.

Second, he searched for news from Araldis and looked into the authenticity of the woman that Thales had called Mira Fedor. To his dismay, the young scholar’s story seemed to be true. The Vreal Studium news hub had filed reports of an attack on the backwater Latino-owned planet. Nothing had been verified by the Orion League of Sentient Species though, as communications between planet, shift station and the wider galaxy had ceased. On the subject of the Baronessa Fedor, the Lostol Patrician’s Association referred him to the Latino Noble Network, which provided a simple 3D lineage tree for the exorbitant fee of 1,000 Gals. He now knew more about her family history than he did about his own.

Tekton ordered a lotion bath and luxuriated in a darkened cabin, examining the flow of Latino heritage. Despite his antipathy to feudal hierarchies, Tekton found aristocratic lineage faintly arousing; or at least the power and intrigue it promised. So much so that he indulged in a little auto-eroticism while he learned about the classes of Latino Crux.

The Fedors, it seemed, were part of the Crown Aristo class by dint of their symbiotic relationship with the biozoon species. This honour remained with the males of each generation. However, a recent addendum to the images footnoted that for the first time in history a female of the line had received the Talent.

It seemed the young Baronessa Mira Fedor, to whom Thales referred, really could pilot a biozoon.

This discovery coincided with Tekton’s arrival at the point of orgasm, at which time he gave his free-mind licence to fantasise; the result being an odd vision of the head and shoulders of the young Baronessa Fedor with the body of a biozoon, conducting fellatio upon him.

Sated but a little disturbed at the oddity of the image, Tekton washed, re-robed and lay down on his sumptuous suite’s bed. Next time, he decided, he would pay for pleasure.

He fell to thinking of other things. The biggest of his unanswered questions pertained to Miranda. Why on Mintaka did his colleague, the randy Dr Miranda Seeward, own a bio-lab on Rho Junction? And why had she created a virus that affected the orbitofrontal cortex? And why was she selling it to an illicit bio-dealer on Scolar?

Tekton set his moud about researching the orbitofrontal cortex. When it was ready he questioned it to death—or at least until it began to repeat itself.

What is its function? he asked.

As I have said, Godhead, it manages emotion and reward.

Reward?

And punishment.

Hmmm. That is why it affects decision-making.

Yes, it integrates reinforcers.

Tekton pondered further. Miranda had developed a virus that manipulated part of the brain and was selling it to a distributor on Scolar—the seat of Orion’s greatest philosophers. Intriguing. He had no doubt that this was somehow intertwined with her project for the Sole Entity. Now, if he could persuade Carnage Farr to share his analysis of the virus, he could gazump Miranda, or even better, poach her ideas to gain Sole’s favour.

But how did one persuade someone like Carnage to share information? The man was renowned for his brilliance—and his paranoia.

Everyone has their vulnerabilities, reminded free-mind.

Usually their family, agreed logic-mind.

And how fortuitous, Tekton thought, to be travelling with Carnage’s sister.

He concluded, at that point, that Thales Berniere might well turn out to be incidental to his needs but that the woman Bethany could be the key.

Blackmail her, proposed logic-mind.

How gauche, said free-mind. Charm her.

Tekton considered both options and decided on the i latter for a number of reasons, not the least being that sub-light travel was so tedious.

He would need a diversion.

 

* * *

 

He began his seduction of Bethany Ionil with dinner—champagne and barbecued Mioloaquan mussels. The evening was only a moderate success, although it started well when the young scholar Thales begged off attending, saying that he felt unwell.

Bethany accepted the invitation but spent much of her time distracted and out of sorts.

‘You seem pensive,’ said Tekton as gently as he could manage considering he had ordered silver service and fresh flowers from the hydroponic section.

Bethany Ionil pushed her thin hair back behind her ears and sat up straighter. Her plain overalls and bare face made her look older than Tekton, though he guessed she was younger by many years.

A woman ages so gracelessly if she does not pay attention to herself, he thought, and promptly told his moud to order in some more feminine clothing.

For what or whom, Godhead?

Not for me! Tekton snapped at it in exasperation.

The moud fell silent.

‘My apologies if I seem... unhappy, Godhead Tekton. It’s Thales. I’m concerned that he is unwell.’ She linked her fingers together and twisted them.

Tekton poured her a second glass of champagne and put on his most affable and considerate expression.

Look sincere. Open the eyes a little wider, logic-mind told him.

Mouth too, free-mind added.

‘Our journey will be relatively quick, my dear. But yours is a complex situation. I would benefit from a more detailed explanation of circumstances if I am to be of use to you.’

She shot him a straight and somewhat piercing look.

He responded to it head-on. ‘I see your doubt, my dear. Why should I care, you ask? Let me reassure you that I’m a philanthropist at heart, and fortunate to be in a position to indulge my passion. Helping people is what I love to do.’

Overdoing it, logic-mind warned.

‘I have also been known to make the odd wise investment when the right information falls my way.’

The doubt left her eyes. He’d offered her something she could believe.

‘Godhead Tekton, if you can make money at my brother’s expense, I shall tell you everything I know and shout hallelujah!’

Tekton clapped his hands together with feigned glee. ‘Ah Bethany, I believe we will deal fabulously together.’

She unburdened herself then, not skimping on any details that might paint her in any better light. He heard how her passion and insecurities about her Mio husband had caused her to send her only child down to Araldis alone.

‘Godhead, have you ever done something that made you wish you were dead and yet you’ve known that you can’t take such an easy way out before you try and set things right?’

Tekton had no answer. Her heartfelt manner had taken him aback. He was not used to such ingenuousness. There was no melodrama with Bethany Ionil.

She hunched her shoulders and stabbed at the mussels on the plate before her with a tiny silver fork. ‘Josef says that everyone does things that they regret, but I don’t believe him. Not things they would die over.’

‘Perhaps your friend’s experience is more expansive than yours? You may think yours the worst of mistakes but in fact it is not.’ Tekton, to his surprise, found himself speaking gently. Supportively.

Get a grip, fool. Free-mind was in a feisty mood.

‘What can be worse than abandoning your own child? I’m really not sure of much any more. In fact I am sure of only one thing... I will do anything to rescue my child from that planet.’ The direct look again. ‘Can you help me?’

She loaded the last four words with so much emotion that Tekton excused himself to attend to his ablutions and digest the situation.

He vacillated between amusement and chagrin. He had thought to lure the thin woman to him and use her against her brother, but here she was attempting to use him instead.

He’d been trumped.

The notion rather dampened Tekton’s appetite for seduction.

He returned to the table and told his moud to request brandy. It was no longer a champagne type of evening.

Their conversation continued into the shipboard evening. Bethany answered Tekton’s questions with candour, showing not the slightest effects of the brandy that was making him drowsy.

She’s drinking you under the table, said logic-mind. But the warning seemed to come from the end of a long, long tunnel.

‘What brought you to Rho Junction, Godhead?’ asked Bethany.

‘My project. I intend to build beauty.’ Tekton would have explained it more elegantly if his tongue had not been so thickened with alcohol.

‘Beauty,’ said Bethany mildly. ‘Is beauty as subjective as our culture would have you believe, do you think?’

Tekton felt a rush of akula at the introduction of one of his favourite topics. ‘Beauty is universal,’ he declared with vehemence. ‘I will create something that will make you weep for its perfection and writhe for its passion.’

‘A noble and worthy cause, I imagine, but—pardon my ignorance of artistry—why would you feel it necessary to do such a thing?’

‘For the glory, of course. I will be the foremost tyro,’ Tekton replied without thought. ‘I  will win the Entity’s favours.’

Fool! both minds cried at once.

Their emphatic rejoinder sobered Tekton somewhat. He had talked far too much.

Moud! Chilled water!