Exurbia: A Novel About Caterpillars (An Infinite Triptych Book 1) by Alex McKechnie Page A
Authors: Alex McKechnie
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gone unmentioned for eight years? How have they let me retain my freedom all this time?
‘Now, not being a legal man myself, I wouldn’t want to comment on the matter. I certainly wouldn’t dream of implying that it was you who might have supplied the parts to the Ixenites, especially not out of some ideological attempt to build a wiremind. Why, as a stalwart defender of Exurbic freedoms, supposedly devoted to ensuring exactly that doesn’t happen on Exurbia, I wouldn’t want to imply you were complicit. But if there was even the slightest chance you might be, well, it wouldn’t look good. But I trust your allegiances, of course. After all, slaving away in some Ixenite hovel is one thing, but supplying them the parts. Well, it doesn't bear mention. I certainly wouldn't want to make allegations, nor would I consider myself qualified to do so.’ He fixed Jura with a pregnant stare. ‘So goodnight, Professor.’
Jura stood to his feet, smoothed his hair, and bowed ceremoniously. The tersh kept his eyes on the city lights below. Out in the secretary’s chamber, there were no guards waiting. Nor would there be at home, Jura knew. Not until Governance grew bored with his wiremind detection technologies.
Some hours later, he sat watching the arms of the stolen wiremind rig spinning in concentric circles on themselves in his laboratory. A marmalade orange burned at the core of the t’assali ball, a point where all known technical description broke down. The thing was taunting him, an unbearable invitation. I have stolen you from the arms of the Ixenites, and now what? My life? What would it take to finally push a generator critical? And if it went critical, what in Gnesha’s name would happen next? Would it spontaneously just become a mind, and announce its intentions to subjugate all of Exurbia?
‘I can't imagine,’ he whispered into the spinning rings and the orange effervescence, as though to a lover, ‘that you would ever mean to hurt anyone.’
9
“We should act in accordance with our nature, and if history has taught us anything, it's that our nature is as variable as the wind.”
- Tersh Stanislav of Exurbia
Fortmann and Maria -
Fortmann fetched a little more ice from the freezer unit and crawled back into bed.
‘It’s supposed to be served hot,’ said Maria.
‘What, zapoei? It’s not supposed to be served at all, or to humans anyway, judging by the taste of it.’
She sat naked and propped against the headboard of the bed and stared with a little lacklustre into space. She’d had more force and violence in her than he’d expected, pulling at his hair, giving commands . He was, he realised, a little relieved it was over now.
‘They say,’ Fortmann intoned, as if to nobody at all, ‘zapoei is smuggled in from the syndicate hub. Every year, a single capsule full of the stuff arrives on the tip of Godeli and -’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, someone would notice, an astronomer or something.’
‘They say it has a way of evading Exurbic telescopes.’
‘Let me get this clear in my mind,’ she said. ‘The syndicate, or somebody in the syndicate, has found a way of smuggling contraband past Exurbia’s millions of radio and plasma telescopes. And, instead of using it for experimental narcotics, or wiremind components, or even lewd pictures of one of the syndicate hub senators, they smuggle liquor. And not even liquor anyone actually enjoys. They cross five hundred million lightyears of Gnesha-damned hell-haunted empty space to deliver the foulest alcohol man is yet to burden his galactic empire with.’
Fortmann studied her face. Is this dry humour?
‘Does male company always make you this irate?’ he said.
‘Only when they talk dross. Come on,’ she said, patting the other side of the bed. He slid over and put an arm across her shoulders. This would make things complicated for the Chapterhouse, but Plovda be damned, he didn't much care. Even now, a few floors below, the
‘Now, not being a legal man myself, I wouldn’t want to comment on the matter. I certainly wouldn’t dream of implying that it was you who might have supplied the parts to the Ixenites, especially not out of some ideological attempt to build a wiremind. Why, as a stalwart defender of Exurbic freedoms, supposedly devoted to ensuring exactly that doesn’t happen on Exurbia, I wouldn’t want to imply you were complicit. But if there was even the slightest chance you might be, well, it wouldn’t look good. But I trust your allegiances, of course. After all, slaving away in some Ixenite hovel is one thing, but supplying them the parts. Well, it doesn't bear mention. I certainly wouldn't want to make allegations, nor would I consider myself qualified to do so.’ He fixed Jura with a pregnant stare. ‘So goodnight, Professor.’
Jura stood to his feet, smoothed his hair, and bowed ceremoniously. The tersh kept his eyes on the city lights below. Out in the secretary’s chamber, there were no guards waiting. Nor would there be at home, Jura knew. Not until Governance grew bored with his wiremind detection technologies.
Some hours later, he sat watching the arms of the stolen wiremind rig spinning in concentric circles on themselves in his laboratory. A marmalade orange burned at the core of the t’assali ball, a point where all known technical description broke down. The thing was taunting him, an unbearable invitation. I have stolen you from the arms of the Ixenites, and now what? My life? What would it take to finally push a generator critical? And if it went critical, what in Gnesha’s name would happen next? Would it spontaneously just become a mind, and announce its intentions to subjugate all of Exurbia?
‘I can't imagine,’ he whispered into the spinning rings and the orange effervescence, as though to a lover, ‘that you would ever mean to hurt anyone.’
9
“We should act in accordance with our nature, and if history has taught us anything, it's that our nature is as variable as the wind.”
- Tersh Stanislav of Exurbia
Fortmann and Maria -
Fortmann fetched a little more ice from the freezer unit and crawled back into bed.
‘It’s supposed to be served hot,’ said Maria.
‘What, zapoei? It’s not supposed to be served at all, or to humans anyway, judging by the taste of it.’
She sat naked and propped against the headboard of the bed and stared with a little lacklustre into space. She’d had more force and violence in her than he’d expected, pulling at his hair, giving commands . He was, he realised, a little relieved it was over now.
‘They say,’ Fortmann intoned, as if to nobody at all, ‘zapoei is smuggled in from the syndicate hub. Every year, a single capsule full of the stuff arrives on the tip of Godeli and -’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, someone would notice, an astronomer or something.’
‘They say it has a way of evading Exurbic telescopes.’
‘Let me get this clear in my mind,’ she said. ‘The syndicate, or somebody in the syndicate, has found a way of smuggling contraband past Exurbia’s millions of radio and plasma telescopes. And, instead of using it for experimental narcotics, or wiremind components, or even lewd pictures of one of the syndicate hub senators, they smuggle liquor. And not even liquor anyone actually enjoys. They cross five hundred million lightyears of Gnesha-damned hell-haunted empty space to deliver the foulest alcohol man is yet to burden his galactic empire with.’
Fortmann studied her face. Is this dry humour?
‘Does male company always make you this irate?’ he said.
‘Only when they talk dross. Come on,’ she said, patting the other side of the bed. He slid over and put an arm across her shoulders. This would make things complicated for the Chapterhouse, but Plovda be damned, he didn't much care. Even now, a few floors below, the
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