©2003, k.x.
As he crossed raw space on his way to the Haradza hab, Govinda watched the ship he'd just left dwindle into a minor star in his hindsight. He'd recognized the design as soon as he was outside: a converted Kunyunese Heavy Cruiser, pointed at both ends, with a massive hypertorus around its middle. There were no markings, though, so he couldn't tell anything about the owner. He thought of asking the suit, but it was the kind without a ghost. And, the interface for the ship's mind had been offline since he'd faxed on board. All of this was Indhira's doing, of course; she'd locked him out of the usual sources of information, so that he couldn't be sure where he was in the Galaxy, or who all might be helping her play her game. Not that it actually mattered much. Ultimately, the game was between the two of them alone, even if other people might get drawn in, here and there, as obstacles or traps or reminders of past injuries. Like the way Indhira had used Atsuko against him. Or, at least, how she'd tried to use her.
Still, as angry as she made him sometimes, Indhira was right, he could learn to enjoy this. Living the last few years on an Ethical world like Pale Blue, Govinda had missed having enemies. Netcrime was a decent enough way to make a living, but doing it didn't make you feel alive, partly because it was so easy for someone with his skills, partly because Ethical governments were so impersonal. Of course, Indhira's style of crime could get out of hand, which was one of the reason's he'd been laying low for the last few years. That last job, especially, had scared him a little more than he liked, and had almost cost him his life. Or, he should say, the life of his original self, the one who was at this moment somewhere far across the lens of the Galaxy.
He flew on through the hard dark night, a journey of many long, silent hours before him. His destination was a tiny pewter bead in the far distance, a guttering spark ignited by the still-hidden parent star of the system. Unable to sleep, and with nothing better to do, Govinda closed his eyes and replayed old memories, letting his mind fill with scenes and images from the time when he began to hate Indhira almost as much as he'd loved her...
***
He'd been on Maravore for a week, and was still not completely recovered from a bad case of the new world blues. Usually, he adjusted to planetside life much faster than this. But, Maravore was an odd place, a construct built by gods-knew-who millions of years before, for some purpose long-forgotten. It had variable gravity, and orbited on the extreme inside of the habitable zone of its parent star. So, the heat and the strange shifting feeling of walking around with changing weight made most newcomers more than a little ill. Even in a cybskin, which kept the wearer perpetually fed and healthy and in touch with the local and Galactic nets, there was still an adjustment period.
So, Govinda had been spending his days going slow, until he felt well enough to pursue a more active schedule. He'd made his home base in the old city of Sikhazovot, which was in Maravore's southern hemisphere, a congenial, sleepy place mostly occupied by neo-humans, with a few different kinds of outworlders thrown in for variety. His rooms overlooked a dry canal and the plaza of a Shouter temple. The neighborhood was a quiet one, though, since the temple was in disuse, its worshippers having mostly committed ritual suicide years before (their religion had been based around a supposedly "holy" message beamed out of alien Tsunkatsa space; but, it was finally determined that the message was really just the noisy signal from an erratic pulsar).
Govinda had been spending his nights alone, laying sleepless in his oversized bed in his oversized apartment, with only the muted rhythmic ticking of the city's ancient prayer machines to keep him company. At first, he'd enjoyed the solitude, especially the part where he could for once finish a dream, instead of being awakened by Indhira and one of her other lovers for yet more complicated fuck-play. (They were good dreams, too; he'd bought them off an avant-garde artist from Iron Angel.) But, a week into his time on Maravore, he was starting to feel vaguely lonesome, perhaps even a little hungry in the old-fashioned predatory way. And so, although he was still a little unsteady on his feet, he decided to celebrate the one-week anniversary of his planetfall with a drink or two in the marketplace. It wasn't far, and was anyhow about the only place the locals went to socialize. After wandering around a while, he found an open-air cafe and ordered red tea from the vending drone. Then he settled in for some serious people-watching at a small table by the wide dusty road.
