“Go away!” Even stoned, he could tell this wasn’t part of the trip. This was more. This was much much worse.
“Is he hurting you, baby?” Anastasia Rigel asked.
“Yes.”
I’ll fucking cripple you if you don’t get up. Smash your legs, shred your hands to ribbons. Do you like the sound of that, boy? A life spent grubbing round like a snail. Can’t walk, can’t feed yourself, can’t wipe your arse.
“Stop it,” Dariat screamed.
Get up!
“Don’t listen to him, baby. Close your mind.”
Tell that bitch from me, she’s dead.
“Please, both of you, stop it. Leave me alone.”
Get up.
Dariat tried to rise. He got up to his knees, then fell into Anastasia’s lap.
“You’re mine now,” she said gladly.
No, you’re not. You’re mine. Always mine. You can never leave. I won’t allow you to.
Her hands ran over his clothes, opening seals. Kisses with the sharp cold impact of hailstones fell on his face. “This is what you wanted, what you always wanted,” she breathed in his ear. “Me.”
The nauseating colour stripes blitzing his sight swirled into blackness. Her hot skin sliding up and down against him. Weight pressing against every part of him. He was doing it! He was fucking! Tears poured out of his eyes.
“That’s right, baby. Up inside me. Purge him. Purge him with me. Fly, fly into Venus and Chi-ri. Leave him behind. Free yourself.”
Always mine.
Dariat woke feeling awful. He was lying on the stiff tousled grass of the tepee without a stitch of clothing. The entrance flap was open, a slice of bright morning light sliding through. A heavy dew mottled his legs. Something had died and decomposed in his mouth, his tongue by the feel of it. Anastasia Rigel was lying beside him. Naked and beautiful. Arms tucked up against her chest.
Last night. I fucked her. I did it!
He tried to smother an ecstatic laugh.
Feeling better?
Dariat screamed. It was inside his head. Anstid. The realm demigod.
He jerked around, hugging himself, biting his lower lip so hard he drew blood.
Don’t be an idiot. I’m not a bloody spirit bogeyman. There’s no such thing. Religion is a psychological crutch for mental inadequates. Spiritualism is for mental paraplegics. Think what that makes your girlie friend.
“What are you?”
Anastasia Rigel woke up, blinking against the light. She ran her hand through her wild hair and sat up, looking at him with a curious expression.
I’m your ancestor.
“A lost spirit from the emptiness?” he asked, wide eyed with fright.
Give me one more word of mythology and I really will have your legs broken. Now think logically. I’m your ancestor. Who can I be?
Information from his didactic history courses tumbled into his thoughts. “Rubra?” The idea didn’t make him feel any better at all.
Well done. Now stop panicking, and stop shivering. I don’t normally talk direct to someone your age, I like to let you have sixteen years to yourself. But I’m not going to allow you to become a dopehead. Do not ever smoke that stuff again. Understand?
“Yes, sir.”
Stop vocalizing. Concentrate your thoughts.
“What are you saying, baby?” Anastasia Rigel asked. “Are you still tripping?”
“No. It’s Rubra, he’s . . . We’re talking.”
She pulled the white poncho round herself, giving him an alarmed look.
I’ve got plans for you, boy,rubra said. Big plans. You’re destined for Magellanic Itg’s executive committee.
I am?
Yes. If you play your cards right. If you do as you’re told.
I will.
Good. Now I’ve been lenient letting you sow your oats with dinky little Anastasia. I can understand that, she’s got a nice body, good tits, pretty face. I had a sex drive myself, once. But you’ve had your fun now; so put your clothes on and say goodbye. We’ll find someone a bit more suitable.
I can’t leave her. Not after . . . last night.
Take a real good look at yourself, boy. Rutting with a bubblehead primitive on a filthy mat in a tepee. Some friend, she filled your brain with two kinds of shit. That’s not how Valisk’s future ruler is going to behave. Is it?
No, sir.
Good boy.
He started to pick up his clothes.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Home.”
“He told you to.”
“I . . . What is there here?”
She gave him a forlorn look over the white poncho which was still clasped to her body. “Me. Your friend. Your lover.”
He shook his head.
“I’m human. That’s more than he is.”
Come on. Leave.
Dariat pulled on his shoes. He paused by the entrance flap.
“It’s Anstid,” she said in a mournful tone. “That’s who you really talk to.”
Pseudobabble. Ignore her.
Dariat walked slowly out of the village. Some of the elders gave him strange looks as he passed their steaming cooking pits. They couldn’t understand. Why would anyone leave Anastasia’s bed?
That’s their trouble, boy. They’re too backward. The real world is beyond them. I really must get round to cleaning them out one day.
Now Dariat knew what he was, what he was destined for, the didactic courses took on a whole new level of importance. He listened to Rubra’s advice on the specializations he needed, the grades he had to achieve. He became obedient, and a shade resentful at his own compliance. But what else was there? Starbridge?
In return for acquiescence Rubra taught him how to use the affinity bond with the habitat. How to access the sensitive cells to see what was going on, how he could call on vast amounts of processing power, the tremendous amount of stored data that was available.
One of the first things Rubra did was to guide him through a list of possible replacement girls, eager to bury the lingering traces of yearning for Anastasia Rigel. Dariat felt like a voyeuristic ghost, watching the prospective candidates through the sensitive cells; seeing them at home, talking to their friends. Some of them he watched having sex with their boyfriends, two with other girls, which was exciting. Rubra didn’t seem to object to these prolonged observations. At least it meant he didn’t have to pay for bluesense fleks any more.
One girl he chanced on was nice, Chilone, nine months older than him. As black as Anastasia (which was what first caught his attention), but with dark auburn hair. Shy and pretty, who talked a lot about sex and boys
