Dark Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  She withdrew from his grasp and he felt an instant loss.

  ‘God-Tekton?’ she said.

  ‘There is one other thing I would also have, which would be, to use your words, a deal-breaker.’

  ‘Si?’ Marchella gave him a look of earnest enquiry.

  With the confidence of one used to getting his own way, Tekton reached for her, running his tongue along the side of her face, tasting the bitterness of iron and the tang of copper. He then shuddered into a seated position and pulled her down to him. With her face pushed to his thighs, he sent his logic-mind diving under the sea of his akula and began building magnificent cathedrals in his free-mind.

  MIRA

  Mesquite was folding a pile of underliners when Mira returned to the dorm. She spared no moment for courtesy. ‘What did I tell you, Mira Fedor?’

  Mira avoided the older woman’s gaze. ‘I had a weapon — a knife—but no knowledge of how to use it. I do not wish that to happen again. I want the other familia women to understand how to defend themselves. Can you call then! together?’

  ‘Si. But how do you think you will persuade them?’

  Mira unwound the neck-folds of her fellala. The dark bruising was a stark contrast against her vivid cerise skin. ‘I will show them this.’

  Mesquite swallowed hard, blinking tears from her eyes. ‘I will set up the meeting for tonight, here. But remember this: you are not the first person to be bruised by a man, Mira Fedor. Some will not care about your plight.’

  * * *

  After the mid-evening meal sittings, most of Ipo’s women packed into Mesquite’s dorm, sitting on the floor where they could, or standing and leaning against the walls. Mira stayed on the opposite side of the room to Cass. She couldn’t find it in her to relinquish her anger. Innis had tried to kill her and she held Cass in part responsible for her fratella’s actions.

  Mesquite stood in the centre of the room and called for quiet. But the women had their own ideas.

  ‘When’s this gonna end, Mesquite? We’re low on detergents. Soon we’ll be washing by hand. It’ll be more damn primitive than the early days,’ called out a tall, thin woman.

  ‘What about the food?’ another said. ‘It can’t last. We should fight the ginkos, or we’ll starve.’

  Nods from many.

  Mira watched them, trying to sense their mood. They were mostly humanesque, with a small proportion of lower-caste familia: Galiottos, Cabones and Genarros. The familia women clustered together, distinguished by their traditional dress and their diffidence. They did not look comfortable crushed alongside the miners’ wives and they held their bodies stiffly.

  ‘It’s not safe to be out walking on your own. These men are getting damn restless,’ piped up another. ‘This week I had two of my women attacked near the north-end dorm.’

  Mira reached automatically to her throat. Now was the time. She threaded her way between the women to join Mesquite at the centre of the room. As she unwrapped the neck of her fellala and turned a slow circle, she could barely control her fluttering hands.

  Those closest gasped. Others strained forward, unsure what it was she had revealed.

  Mira glanced across to Cass and read the pain on her face. It seemed the smallest, meanest of retributions.

  ‘Baronessa Fedor was attacked by a man a night ago. If the mercenary and her people had not come, she would have joined the many who have already gone to their graves,’ said Mesquite.

  Upturned faces regarded them both, waiting.

  ‘I think we should take up weapons,’ Mira said quietly.

  The room stilled. Above all, she sensed Cass’s surprise.

  ‘You mean... fight?’

  Mira couldn’t see who had spoken but she answered anyway. ‘We do not know what the Saqr want. We do not know how long this will last or what it will do to our world. I have to protect my—my ‘bino and I have to protect myself. I have my wits but that is all. Knowing how to use a weapon may not save me—but then, it may.’ She sat down again on the nearest bed. The short explanation had exhausted her.

  Around her the conversation of the others buzzed. Some of the women were unimpressed—the miners’ wives to whom weapons were no taboo. And yet, as Mira dropped her hands from her face to look around, she saw the flicker of something in the faces of the rest. As palpable as Mesquite’s heavy breath, Mira felt their minds open to possibility.

  ‘Who will teach us?’ called the young woman who had minded Vito.

  Her question prompted a range of expressions on the other women’s faces: some puzzled, others disapproving. A handful looked keen—the younger ones, mainly. How easily youth married with change. Thank Crux.

  Cass Mulravey’s reaction fell somewhere in the middle. She was hesitant, Mira could tell. She stood to speak, commanding attention. ‘You think it might save you. I think it might get you killed.’

  ‘You’re entitled to that thought, Cass Mulravey.’ Mira heard the defensiveness in her answer. ‘But you are the one who put a knife in my hand.’

  Whispers followed this. Mira Fedor might be a native of Araldis, but she was also a crown aristo. Privately, many respected the gap between her and them.

  Mesquite saw the way things were going and clapped her hands. ‘Well, I believe her to be right. What happens if all the men are killed? What happens if we are the only ones left? Who will save the bambini?’

  ‘The men will never agree to teach you,’ said Cass.

  Mira forced, herself to her feet again. ‘I will do the asking.’

  ‘What difference will that make? Why would they listen to you?’

  Mira waited a moment before she answered, allowing the tension to build. ‘Because I may be your next Principessa.’

  Her bold statement was met by calls of derision from many, until one of the familia women came and stood next to her. A ragazza younger than Mira but old enough to have children pushed the velum back from her face. Josefia. The one who had minded Vito. ‘I am Josefia Genarro and I wish to learn.’

  Mira looked at the other familia women. One by one they voiced their agreement. Her skin prickled with emotion.

  Soon non-familia females joined them until over half the room had spoken up in support of Mira.

  She took a deep, shaky breath. ‘Come with me.’

  * * *

  Cass caught up with her as they walked through the daytime heat, past the town salon and the vehicle bay and on to the Men’s Depot. The bay was filled with TerVs, from the smallest all-terrain vehicles to the enormous land barges.

  ‘I think you are mixing things up. You are choosing this because of what Innis has done to you. But that is different to the matter of the Saqr,’ said Cass.

  Mira did not look at her as they kept pace with each other. ‘You have great endurance, Cass Mulravey. I do not have that kind of strength. I must take other steps to protect myself.’

  Cass seemed surprised. She sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps fortitude is not the only way.’

  Mira felt a fragile bond re-emerge between them. Despite Innis’s attack, Cass Mulravey was a reasonable person.

  They paused to watch the men taking turns to practise with e-m rifles under the tattered shade cloth at the back of the Depot. Faded targets stood at the far end of the range, while Catchut and several of Rast’s people gave instruction from the benches at the other.

  ‘Rast has the projectile rifles under lock and key so that they can’t waste the ammunition,’ whispered Cass in Mira’s ear.

  Mira nodded. It could not be said that Rast was a fool.

  The men stopped when they saw the women and shouted coarse suggestions.

  Mira quickly led their delegation inside before her nerve failed. The depot itself was a shabby gume filled with rough furniture and a makeshift bar. She walked directly to the largest, most crowded table.

  A bank of curious stares followed them, some openly hostile. Everyone knew that Mira was a crown aristo. Perhaps the only one left alive. That possibility
was a knot inside her.

  ‘We want to learn how to use your weapons,’ Mira said.

  Their laughter was vociferous and their dismissiveness offended her hut she kept her expression calm. ‘I nearly died because a man attacked me. What will happen when the Saqr come? I want a chance.’

  ‘And who are you?’ said a big man with a beard and a barrel chest.

  ‘I am Mira Fedor.’

  ‘Aaah, the pilot aristo.’

  ‘It does not matter who I am. What matters is that when you are all dead, your children will be next.’

  The big man slapped his chest. ‘Well, I am Brusce, Mira Fedor, and no ginko’s getting past me to my woman. Besides, giving a rifle to you means one less for a man. I know whose hands I would prefer it in.’

  Mira glanced around the other faces. She saw curiosity in some. The fact that not all of them mirrored Brusce’s arrogance gave her the courage to go on. ‘You should be teaching your women everything you can,’ she said.

  ‘Who are you to be speaking for all these women? You aristos don’t dirty your hands. Your don’t lift a damn finger to do anything.’

  ‘Hear her out,’ said a wiry man to Brusce’s left. ‘I’ve seen her on the work detail.’

  ‘Nothin’ to hear.’ Brusce thrust his finger at the women standing behind her. ‘Now go back to your work and leave us to make the decisions.’

  Some of the young women edged nervously towards the door but Mira did not move. ‘Is that what you have told the mercenary?’ she said. ‘Isn’t she a woman?’

  A few of the men hooted and Brusce waved them quiet. He spat at Mira’s foot. ‘Mercenaries ain’t real women and maybe you’re not one either. Maybe we should find what’s under that fine robe. You’re sure damn skinny for an aristo.’

  Mira trembled. Would he rape her? Would he kill her in front of this crowd? She watched the sweat on his forehead trickle to his eyebrows.

  The silence became a thick, dangerous thing.

  It was broken by the click of boots on the floor. A rifle butt thumped onto the table. Some of the men eased back but the big man stayed where he was.

  ‘What’s your name, cazzone?’

  Rast. Mira felt faint with relief.

  The big man leaned across the table, his fists clenched and threatening. ‘Brusce is my name.’

  ‘What’s the problem, Brusce?’

  ‘This loco aristo bitch wants to teach women to fight.’

  ‘To protect themselves.’ Mira choked the words out.

  ‘That is our job,’ he spat back at her.

  ‘Quiet!’ Rast thumped the rifle on the table again. She eyed Brusce. ‘Have you ever been in a war before, son?’

  The big man rocked the table with his clenched fingers as if he might pick it up and throw it.

  Rast ignored him and sat down at it, one leg hooked over the other, the rifle laid casually across her knee.

  From the corner of her eye Mira saw Catchut climb onto the bar.

  ‘Well, I’ve been in four of them and there’s one thing I’ve learned: there are no rules. When your life is threatened—whether you’re ‘esque or ginko—you’re capable of anything. Fedor here might save your carcass one day and you’d be lucky, because I’d leave you to die,’ said Rast.

  Suddenly she dropped her feet to the floor, lifted her gun and shoved the muzzle into the soft part of Brusce’s neck. ‘Teach the women who want to learn.’

  But Brusce clung to his belligerence. ‘Piss on you, mercenary. This is our world and we would have defeated these ginko bastards if you had not interfered. You tell us we must wait. Waiting is for cowards and women.’

  Rast’s expression became so hard and so intent that Mira wanted to run from it.

  Without warning she shot Brusce through the neck. His body flopped off his chair to the floor, spouting blood.

  Mira sagged against the woman behind her, appalled. This was worse than seeing the ‘bino who had fallen under the tracks of the barge. Too close. Brusce’s blood was all over her.

  Rast swivelled in a quick, tight arc. ‘Anyone else like to suggest I am a coward?’

  Catchut slipped the cover from his rifle and pointed meaningfully at the crowd. Their gasps told Mira that the gun was no ordinary weapon: around her she heard whispers and grunts of disbelief.

  ‘I’ve said over and over that we need help to fight the Saqr. We wait until it comes. I’m not going to be responsible for a mass slaughter, though Crux knows why I care.’ Rast pointed her rifle at the man closest to her. ‘Now, you prehistoric pricks, teach these women to defend themselves.’

  She grabbed Mira by the arm and strode out, pushing her ahead.

  * * *

  In the shade of the Depot the mercenary rounded on Mira, her fists clenched in frustration. ‘What in Orion’s arsehole did you think you were doing, going in there?’

  ‘Why did you kill him?’ whispered Mira, dazed.

  ‘I mean, what do you think you’re doing? This town is wound tight as a screw and you want to start a cultural revolution.’

  ‘Why did you—?’

  Rast took an impatient breath. ‘I killed him because they need to know that I mean what I say. And because ... he would have raped you to make his point. Men like that can’t let things go.’ She spat on the ground and thrust her blood-spattered rifle at Mira. ‘You still want to learn to use this?’

  For a moment Mira thought Rast meant to shoot her. ‘W-we need a... a chance,’ she stammered. ‘That is all I want.’

  ‘Then make sure you understand what that might mean.’ Rast withdrew the rifle as Cass and Mesquite joined them, one on either side of Mira.

  ‘She is right,’ said Cass.

  ‘Si, mercenary,’ said Mesquite.

  Rast eyed the three of them angrily. ‘Well, Mira Fedor, I got you your chance. Use it.’ Then, inexplicably, she laughed. She slapped her rifle into its magnetised sheath and strode off.

  ‘Sure of herself, that one,’ Mesquite said heavily. ‘And brutal with it. I wouldn’t like to sleep nights with her conscience.’

  ‘When you’ve seen... lived... most things, then conscience fades,’ said Cass wearily, as if she knew from experience.

  ‘How will the men react to the killing?’ Mira turned to them, sick in her stomach from the blood and the tension.

  Mesquite shrugged. ‘They’ll either accept what she said, or they’ll mutiny. Either way we still need to know how to protect ourselves.’

  * * *

  They began rifle training the next night, Mira and ten young women, with Cass and Mesquite. One of the teachers was the wiry man who had spoken up for her. She knew she should thank him but the words would not come. Gratefulness had deserted her.

  In a few days their class grew to thirty.

  They also began a nightly women’s meeting, which Mesquite let them hold in her dorm.

  ‘We should plan for ourselves,’ Mesquite declared at the first meeting. ‘Prepare for the worst and not rely on the men to save us. Cass Mulravey, you have a barge than can carry many?’

  ‘The mercenary takes it to post her guards,’ replied Cass.

  ‘And between times?’

  ‘It sits in the parking bay. My brother and his friend live in it.’

  ‘Can they be persuaded to serve us when we need it?’

  Cass nodded, keeping her gaze averted from Mira; Most knew that it was Cass Mulravey’s brother who had assaulted Mira Fedor.

  ‘Can he be trusted?’ asked Josefia Genarro.

  ‘He will do as I tell him,’ Cass said stiffly.

  ‘Will he truly, Cass Mulravey?’ Josefia turned to Mesquite. ‘And what of our own men? They are likely to harm us before they fight the Saqr. It is unsafe to walk at night—there are too many of them without women and the fear of waiting makes them erratic.’

  ‘My man is not like that,’ argued Cass.

  ‘Then he is a rare one,’ muttered an older woman.

  Mesquite let their argument run back and
forth until the heat left it. Then she took control again. ‘Use your common sense and you will be safe. Stay away from the drunken ones, walk in groups. Mira Fedor knows the mercenary. She can seek help from her.’ Mesquite looked to Mira.

  ‘Why would Rast listen to me?’ But even as she said the words, Mira knew the answer. Rast had already demonstrated the attraction she felt.

  Mesquite did not bother to contradict her. ‘If the Saqr come we must be ready. Collect your things from the dorms if there is time, then go to Mulravey’s barge in groups—in numbers we are stronger, more threatening. Group leaders?’

  ‘Mira Fedor,’ called Josefia Genarro. ‘She should be one.’

  Mira gave Josefia a startled glance. She had not expected such a thing.

  ‘You, Mesquite,’ said another, older woman.

  ‘Cass Mulravey.’ Another.

  Voices called more names until a vote was cast.

  After the meeting dissolved, Mesquite moved among the women, answering their worries, calming them. When they had gone about their business, Mira followed her into the makeshift laundry that was lit only by a small solar torch.

  Mesquite began to beat the dust from the clothes. The women’s underliners were heavily stained with red dirt now that there were no soaps or sterilisers left.

  ‘You share little about your past, Mesquite, but you think for everyone. Where are you from?’ Mira asked.

  ‘What might that mean, Baronessa?’

  ‘The way you speak, your appearance... is it possible that you have ties to the familia?’

  In the torchlight Mesquite’s face was sombre. She stopped beating the clothes. ‘I have a feeling it is not long now, Mira. The Saqr will find a way to get to us soon, and the women will need you to get them through this. Cass Mulravey is strong, but she has ties and customs that blind her. You can make her see things. She will let you make her see things.’

  ‘What about you?’

  Mesquite fumbled inside her clothes for her tobacco. She deftly rolled a smoke and lit it. The acrid smell filled Mira’s lungs. ‘I cannot see my future but I know about yours.’