Reality Dysfunction - Expansion

Ione and Joshua walked down one of Tranquillity�s winding valleys in the late afternoon, dew-heavy grass staining their sandals. She was wearing a long white cotton skirt and a matching camisole, a loose-fitting outfit which allowed the air to circulate over her warm skin. Joshua just wore some long dark mauve shorts. His skin was tanning nicely, she thought, he was almost back to his old colour. They had spent most of his stopover outside; swimming with Haile, riding, walking, having long sexual adventures. Joshua seemed to get very turned on having sex beside and in the bountiful streams meandering through the habitat.

Ione stopped at a long pool which formed the intersection of two streams. It was lined by mature rikbal trees, whose droopy branches stroked the water with their long, thin leaves. They were all in flower, bright pink blooms the size of a child�s fist.

Gold and scarlet fish slithered through the water. It was tranquillity, Ione thought, small t, created by big T; name chasing form, name creating form. The lake�the whole park�was a pause from the habitat�s bustle; the habitat was a pause from the Confederation�s bustle. If you wanted it to be.

Joshua pushed her gently against a rikbal trunk, kissing her cheek, her neck. He opened the front of her camisole.

Hair fell down across her eyes, she was wearing it longer these days. �Don�t go,� she said quietly.

His arms dropped inertly to his sides, head slumping forwards until his brow touched hers. �Good timing.�

�Please.�

�You said you weren�t going to dump this possessive scene on me.�

�This isn�t being possessive.�

�What then? It sounds like it.�

Her head came up sharply, pink spots burning on both cheeks. �If you must know, I�m worried about you.�

�Don�t be.�

�Joshua, you�re flying into a war zone.�

�Not really. We�re flying escort duty for a troop convoy, that�s all. The soldiers and combat boosted are in at the hard edge.�

�Smith wants the starships to provide ground strikes; he�s bought combat wasps for interdiction missions. That�s the hard edge, Joshua, that�s the dead edge. Bloody hell, you�re going up against Laton in an antique wreck that barely rates its CAB spaceworthiness licence. And there�s no reason. None. You don�t need mayope, you don�t need Vasilkovsky.� She held his arm, imploring. �You�re rich. You�re happy. Don�t try and tell me you�re not. I�ve watched you for three years. You�ve never had so much fun as when you gallivanted around the galaxy in the Lady Macbeth . Now look at what you�re doing. Paper deals, Joshua. Making paper money you can never spend. Sitting behind a desk, that�s your destination. That�s where you�re flying to, Joshua, and it isn�t you.�

�Antique, huh?�

�I didn�t mean��

�How old is Tranquillity, Ione? At least I own the Lady Mac , it doesn�t own me.�

�I�m just trying to shock some sense into you. Joshua, it�s Laton you�re facing. Don�t you watch the AV recordings? Didn�t you access Graeme Nicholson�s sensevise?�

�Yes. I did. Laton isn�t on Lalonde. He left on the Yaku . Did you miss that bit, Ione? If I wanted to go on suicide flights I�d chase after the Yaku . That�s where the danger is. That�s where the navy heroes are going. Not me, I�m protecting my own interests.�

�But you don�t need it!� she said. God, but he could be bonehead stubborn at times.

�You mean you don�t.�

�What?�

�Not convenient, is it? Me having that much money. That much money would mean I make the decisions, I make the choices. It gives me control over my life. Where does that fit into your cosy scenario of us, Ione? I won�t be so easy to manipulate then, will I?�

�Manipulate! One glimpse of a female nipple and your fly seal bursts apart from the pressure. That�s how complicated your personality is. You don�t need manipulating, Joshua, you need hormone suppressors. All I�m doing is trying to think ahead for you, because God knows you can�t do it for yourself.�

�Jesus, Ione! Sometimes I can�t believe you�re bonded to a cubic kilometre of neuron cells, you don�t display the IQ of an ant most days. This is my chance , I can make it. I can be your equal.�

�I don�t want an equal.� Ione jammed her mouth shut. She�d nearly done it, nearly said: �I just want you.� But torture wouldn�t bring that from her lips, not now.

�Yeah, so I noticed,� he said. �I started with a broken-down ship. I made that work, I earned a living flying it. And now I�m moving on, moving up. That�s life, Ione. Growing, evolving. You should try it sometime.� He turned and stomped off through the trees, sweeping the hanging branches aside impatiently. If she wanted to say sorry, she could damn well come after him and do it.

Ione watched him go, and fumbled with the front of her camisole. What an arsehole. He might be psychic, but only at the expense of common sense.

I�m so sorry,tranquillity said gently.

She sniffed hard. What about?

Joshua.

There�s no reason. If he wants to go, let him. See if I care.

You do care. He is right for you.

He doesn�t think so.

Yes, he does. But he is prideful. As are you.

Thanks for nothing.

Don�t cry.

Ione glanced down, seeing her hands as blobs. Her eyes were horribly warm. She wiped at them vigorously. God, how could I have been so stupid? He was just supposed to be a fun stud. Nothing more.

I love you,tranquillity said, so full of cautious warmth that Ione had to smile. Then she winced as her stomach churned, and promptly threw up. The bile was acid and disgusting. She cupped her hands to capture some of the cool pool water so she could rinse her mouth out.

You are pregnant,tranquillity observed.

Yes. The last time Joshua came back, before he made the Norfolk run.

Tell him.

No! That would only make it worse.

You are both fools,tranquillity said with unaccustomed ardour.

Stars slid across the window behind Commander Olsen Neale. Choisya was the only one of Mirchusko�s moons visible, a distant grey-brown crescent sliver peeping up over the bottom of the oval every three minutes. Erick Thakrar didn�t like the sight of the starfield, it was too close, too easy to reach. He wondered, briefly, if he was developing a space-phobia. It wasn�t unheard of, and there were a lot of associations involved. That horrified, distraught voice coming from the Krystal Moon ; a fifteen-year-old girl. What had Tina looked like? It was a question he�d been asking himself a lot recently. Did she have a boyfriend? What mood fantasy bands did she cherish? Had she enjoyed her life on the old interplanetary vessel? Or did she find it intolerable?

What the fuck was she doing in the forward compartment below the communication dishes?

�The micro-fusion generators were handed directly over to the Nolana as soon as we docked,� Erick said. �They never even passed through Tranquillity�s cargo-storage facility. Which means there was no data work, no port manager�s inspection. And of course we were all on board the Villeneuve�s Revenge until the transfer was finished. I couldn�t get a message out to you.�

�We�ll track the Nolana , of course,� Olsen Neale said. �See where the generators go. It should expose the distribution net. You�ve done well,� he added encouragingly. The young captain looked haggard, nothing like the bright eager agent who had wangled himself a berth on the Villeneuve�s Revenge those long months ago.

It hits us all in the end, son, Olsen Neale thought soulfully to himself. We deliberately bring ourselves down to their level so we can blend in, and sometimes it costs just too much. Because nothing can go lower than human beings.