‘What is your name?’ the man demanded.
‘Marchesa Silvio,’ Mira answered.
‘Try again, signorina. I know what Cips look like. You are too lean and angled. You could not be a Crown aristo.’
Mira felt anger rise up and subdue the fear in her belly. She straightened. She would not discuss her pedigree with a common humanesque. ‘You have expertise in Latino lineage?’ she asked coldly.
He hesitated as if her mild question had thrown him. Then the shortcast device on his wrist chimed and drew his attention. ‘I’m afraid your holiday is over,’ he told her softly.
Mira’s heart quickened. If the Carabinere had found her then she must strike a bargain with this man. She would not let Franco and Trinder Pellegrini take her Inborn Talent. ‘If you hand me over to the Carabinere, I shall explain to them that you are harbouring an illegal life form in your cargo hold.’
The man forced a laugh. ‘What would a Latino crossbreed know of illegal life forms?’
Mira summoned the haughtiness she had practised well as defence against the Silvios and the Elenas. ‘More than you know about nobility, signor. I am an educated woman—do not underestimate that. I also have a sound deductive ability. The smell and composition of these objects is as undeniably alien as your companion. And if your cargo were legal you would not be coupled to this isolated berth, you would be attached to quarantine. I assume you must be paying someone well to go unnoticed.’
The man crossed the space between them with frightening speed. ‘How does your education and breeding help you when this happens?’ He jerked a knife from a shoulder harness beneath his jacket and pressed it to Mira’s throat.
She retreated from the sharp pressure on her windpipe, stumbling backwards, falling.
He leaped forward, pinning her down, and she felt his male urge swelling against her abdomen. For a long, terrifying moment she thought that he would abuse her. His ragged breath and grasping fingers told her that he was thinking about doing so.
‘Signor,’ she pleaded.
‘How did you get onto my ship?’ he whispered into her ear. ‘How did you override the locks?’
Mira strained her neck to turn her head aside and put some distance between their breaths. ‘I-I am an Intuit. Your biozoon let me in.’
The man rolled off her and sat back on his heels in surprise. ‘Not possible. Intuits are as rare as quixite and female Intuits... I have never heard of one. Anyway, the organic component of the ship is inactive.’
Mira lay still, fearful that any movement might bring him back closer. ‘You can never entirely repress its cognitive processes unless you kill it, in which case your ship would not be able to fly.’
‘What has the ship said to you, then?’
‘It told me that it is starving, that you are keeping it in silence. I asked it for help and it let me in. That is all.’ She did not tell him that she thought the biozoon was unstable.
The man stared hard at her. He was not a person, she thought, who believed in trust.
‘Who would miss you if I used this?’ He brought the knife up before her face.
Mira closed her eyes to his cruel expression. ‘I would rather be dead than in the hands of the Carabinere. Yet truthfully I would prefer neither. I can... will use my talent to harm your ship if you alert them.’
‘You cannot do that.’
He was right. She could not—at least, not without serious injury to herself. ‘If I can stay here until they have finished their search then I will go without interfering.’
The man pressed the knife to Mira’s throat again. This time, though, she could feel the length of the blade’s sharp edge across her neck, in the killing position.
‘Jancz?’ growled the Balol in a warning tone. ‘Listen.’
Mira opened her eyes.
The man, Jancz, had become still and alert.
A moment later the dim floor lights went out and the air became thick and silent.
The Balol flashed the beam of her light to the ceiling vents.
Sal? Is that you? Have you stopped the air?
You said you would wound me? The biozoon sounded hurt.
No. Understand that I am bargaining for my life. It is a game.
What game?
I am hiding from humanesques who would close down my... my feed. Your captain would hand me to them.
‘What have you done, Intuit?’ Jancz hauled Mira to a seated position. He sheathed the knife and pinched the front of her throat with his bare fingers, constricting her breathing.
‘The—ship—is proving my point—’ she gasped.
‘Unprove it!’
‘What-of-me?’
Jancz’s grip became intolerable. It was as if he would squeeze words from her mouth, or crush her breath. Little explosions of light pinpricked her eyelids and her senses diminished. She could hear nothing; feel only the pressure.
Sal—please accept—as truth! Mira begged. Give back—life support—or he will—kill me.
A torrent of chatter entered her mind. Pain analysis: cutaneous nociceptors—unmylinatedC fibres—transmitting at .04999 mps along the laminae II and III of the dorsal horns. Glutamate released on the spinway to the thalamus and on up to Brodman areas 3,2 and 1... stress authenticated.
< Sigh> Very well.
Slowly, the darkness began to abate and once again Mira could see the outline of Jancz’s nose and the smooth, low line of his brow. A downward blast of air chilled the perspiration on her face. The numbness receded as the fingers at her neck loosened enough for her to cough violently.
‘I want you off my ship, Intuit.’ Jancz’s voice carried a hint of breathlessness.
With shaking hands Mira massaged her hot, swollen throat to enable herself to speak. She tried to crawl away from Jancz and failed, her limbs too weak. ‘Transport me—to the plainlands—to Loisa—and I will—forget what I—have seen.’
Jancz sprang upright. ‘Where did you say?’
‘Loisa?’ Mira repeated.
He turned to the Balol and they exchanged smiles. ‘Come.’
He dragged Mira to her feet and through the door back into the main hold. The lift cage took them to a mid-deck. From there they walked a loop of corridors, past a well-appointed galley and infirmary to a set of cabins.
Jancz appeared to select one at random and pushed Mira inside. ‘I will consider your offer.’ He stepped out and the door snapped shut between them.
Mira sank to the floor and sobbed.
When her tears and shaking finally subsided she looked around the cabin. To her surprise it was plainly but quite luxuriously furnished, with a large bed and screened-off personal-hygiene fixtures. Though she longed to clean herself properly she settled for a wash and a tentative examination of her shoulder. The bruising was severe but the skin was unbroken. She felt past the mirror mirage, searching for a lotion to reduce the inflammation. The mirror image burst and she encountered someone’s—a male’s—personal effects: body scents, lubricating gels and other appurtenances that warmed her skin with embarrassment.
Mira withdrew her hand and the image reinstated itself. Returning to the bedroom, she tried to open one of the many cupboards. Locked. All locked. She tapped the sensors on the bedhead array. All the cupboards in the cabin opened at once to reveal an extensive library of recreational simulations. She pulled one out at random and put it back quickly, shocked by the vulgar contents.
A fearful thought took her. Sal? To whom does this room belong?
You will make me sad again, asking questions.
Is it the captain’s room?
Yes. No. Your questions are too difficult.
Please concentrate, Sal. Will Captain Jancz sleep in this room?
Him? No. No... no... no... not allowed. Never. The biozoon drifted off then, refusing to return despite her pleading.
* * *
Jancz did not return until the next evening. Mira knew it was evening from the cabin display and the fierce hunger in her belly
: more than a day without food and the worry that he might come for her if she dared to try to sleep.
‘I’ve decided to accept your proposal.’
To her relief he beckoned her out into the corridor and along a distance until he stopped at an open hatch lit by a down light.
‘Now down!’ he ordered.
The entry to the ship’s lug was a single flexible ladder encapsulated in similar material to the conduit that attached the ship to the station. With deliberate—and, she hoped, infuriating—dignity, Mira collected the loose outer folds of her fellala in one hand and stepped onto the ladder. The climb tested her balance but she managed to negotiate it without falling.
Below the bottom rung was enough room for a person to crouch, swivel and slide through another small hatch into the cockpit of the lug.
The small craft was already vibrating with life and an interior light switched on as Mira entered, feet first. Three harnesses hung like soft skeletons against the side behind the pilot’s seat. Behind the co-pilot’s position lay rows of tightly stacked crates.
Mira stumbled straight into the co-pilot’s seat, her fingers skittering along the controls searching for the hatch command. If she could shut him out... but Jancz was there, leaning over her before she could finish her thought.
In the lug’s bright interior light Mira saw him closely for the first time. The irregularity of his features was not unpleasant so much as unusual, but his eyes were devoid of any expression that Mira understood.
‘Hands off, Baronessa. Or I will remove them for you, right there.’ Jancz drew an imaginary line across her wrists with a chopping movement.
Mira snatched back her hands and folded them in her lap.
Jancz turned and began checking the latches on the crates. One latch rattled and as he tightened it she caught an impression of neatly stacked sheets of a material that was unfamiliar to her. It resembled catoplasma—but hard and brittle-looking.
Jancz snapped the lid shut and climbed into the pilot’s seat. He set the navigation coordinates and the lug wallowed against the side of the ship. ‘Ilke,’ he said. ‘Release.’
Mira heard the coupling grate apart and felt the lug set free from the ship. She sank back into the harness and closed her eyes, thankful to be nearly away from the disturbed biozoon, thankful to have evaded the Cavaliere and the Carabinere.
When she opened them again the remnants of an Araldis sunset were streaming through the window. She watched with relief as Dockside’s graceless collection of buildings fell away behind them.
Within a short time they had crossed the fringes of the sprawling open-cut mines and pock-marked undergrounds. Evening had encroached, bathing everything in a pleasant vermilion haze; phosphorescent lights flared alive around the mines, charging the air with an eerie beauty.
Mira’s gaze was drawn to the distant but brightest display of all, Pellegrini A; the expansive ever-widening mineral-laden gouge that ensured the Pellegrini familia their wealth and power. Scattered between those open- cut scars were the rainbow glows of the underground mines, coded for night identification—the only evidence of some system, in fact the only system, among the mining mêlée.
Araldis’s abundant mineral and the Cips’ inferior geological expertise had been a lethal combination. Collapsed mines were common in the warren of diggings. Only recently, under pressure from OLOSS, had Franco begun to employ seismic measures to avoid loss of life. Too late for those at the Juanita mine, Mira thought. The most recent accident had killed over a hundred. Faja had sent a shortcast of the news to her at the Studium.
Now, gazing out at the mines, Mira imagined what their thoughts had been as they ran out of air, trapped below the fall of baked rock. Did they feel as I do? she wondered. Right then she missed the comfort of Insignia’s presence. She strained to detect its hum but found only silence, as though the distance between them was insurmountable.
Where are you?
The engine thrum wooed exhaustion into her body and she dozed, not waking again until the lug abruptly changed altitude.
Jancz had not spoken to her during the trip—another thing to be grateful for. Mira blinked sleep-blur from her eyes and strained forward to see the city lights. ‘On the western edge there is a large AiV park.’
‘I know it,’ he said curtly.
His familiarity with the city bothered Mira somehow, but she didn’t dwell on it, wanting only to leave his company as soon as possible.
As soon as the lug landed she left the co-pilot’s seat and waited near the hatch. When Jancz released the lock, she spared no word of parting for him.
His words, though, followed her down the narrow hydraulic steps. ‘Forget me, signorina,’ he said. ‘And the Carabinere will not find you.’
Mira gave a tight nod, unsure that she could trust him with any such pact. Outside in the heat she sealed her velum and slipped into anonymity between the rows of AiVs. Strangely, though, the lug did not shift from its landing spot.
What is he doing, she wondered, glancing back, waiting like that?
* * *
Mira avoided the TerV-stop crowded with miners waiting to be transported to their shift, and walked the short distance to Villa Fedor by way of several small, unlit viuzzas. With each exhausted step she expected to hear Carabinere sirens. They would look here for her soon. She would seek Faja’s counsel and then leave.
Villa Fedor was a modest villa—by Mount Pell standards—situated in the familia district of Loisa. There was little to distinguish it from the surrounding buildings, aside from a small outhouse in the desert garden of imported red lostol grasses and teranu prickly tongues, and the Bear and Pearl crest, shimmering across the gate facade.
Mira avoided the main entrance and placed her thumb into the side gate’s authenticator. It shaped around her digit and released the lock. She risked spiking her ankles with prickly tongue to reach the side entrance unnoticed and repeated the action on the door there. When it accepted her tissue sample she stepped into the small, plain parlour.
Discordant noise spilled out of the room on her right. Through the door she glimpsed several bambini arguing, two humanesques against two aliens.
‘This is our world. We get it when we want it.’ One of the humanesques rested her hand possessively on the ballada table.
The alien korm—the largest of the four—whistled and chirped in excitement. The fur on its blue-grey skin had begun to bead in distress and its soft beak was open, baring a row of savage teeth. It fell back on its huge hind legs.
‘We are here first,’ said the other alien—a crossbreed—in stilted Latino.
‘So what?’ said one of the humanesques.
The korm’s crest spiked alarmingly and Mira stepped in to intervene. When the bambini noticed her presence in the doorway they all bowed hastily.
Mira gave them a slight nod. ‘I am Baronessa Mira from Mount Pell. The Baronessa Faja says the table must close down for the night.’ She leaned over and pulled out the magnet key.
The humanesques gave her sulky looks but dared say nothing. They knew that Baronessa Mira Fedor attended the Studium with the Pellegrinis and the Silvios.
‘You may go now,’ Mira said.
As they left the room she swayed and reached for the wall.
The cross-breed’s neck gills fluttered with concern. ‘Baronessa Mira, are you well?’ it asked.
The korm whistled and clicked, dropping down onto all fours.
‘Mia sorella,’ Mira panted. ‘Quickly!’
TRIN
Within a few days Joe Scali grew the extraction sets that Trin wanted and distilled them into Trin’s organism access.
Trin then set up cross-reference checks for all the data. By the end of the first day he realised that his i-texts from Araldis Studium were inaccurate and misleading. The discovery sent a shiver of pleasure through him. A whole alternative history of Araldis dwelled among these neglected records.
He returned to the Palazzo that evening in a lighter mood�
��able to shift the guilty weight of his flirtation with Luna and the uuli’s death to a more distant place.
Tina Galiotto brought him dinner to his room, fussing over him as she always had, pleased that he was home for dinner. In the end he sent her away and ate his food by the window, watching the dust storm still blowing itself out over the plains. The tumultuous display of wine-red dust painted a more exhilarating picture to him than the store of flesh holos in his cupboard. In truth he had barely viewed them. Araldis was his pleasure—the world he owned.
Jilda appeared at the door as Trin poured the last of his wine from the decanter. He hadn’t drunk since the night in Riso’s Bar and he’d missed the warm courage of alcohol in his belly.
‘What do you want, mama?’ He did not bother to turn and look at her.
‘Marchella Pellegrini is coming to visit in a few days.’
‘Tia Marchella? Here in Pell? What has happened? Has there been a revolution?’ he joked.
Jilda drew a sharp breath. ‘She and your father have things to discuss.’
What can Franco have to discuss with his much-loathed sorella? Trin swung around in his chair to look at Jilda. She seemed angry, and again appeared to be sober.
‘What are you trying to tell me?’
‘You are to be the next Principe, Trinder.’
‘Of course.’ He scowled. ‘What does that have to do with tia loco?’
‘Be watchful of her. She wants change and I fear she may seek to depose you.’
‘How? And with who? Herself?’ Trin laughed—but a fleeting memory of Rantha’s unabashed praise for Marchella sent his body tight with fear. He yawned rudely to hide it. ‘An amusing joke, but I think you drink too much wine.’
‘Do not pretend with me, Trinder. I know how much you want to be Principe. Remember who bore you into this life.’
‘And bore me you do, mama.’
Jilda clicked her tongue with impatience and swept out of Trin’s room.
His mood turned dark again. He stripped off his clothes and sprawled sideways on his bed, not bothering to remove the covers. The headboard’s carved beasts jeered ‘Bravura addict’ at him and he rolled away from their scorn. Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, only to wake hot and thirsty.
Dark Space (Sentients of Orion) Page 7