Mirror Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  She turned her attention to Tekton. ‘You are more problematic, tyro. Your face is well known, and you are unmistakably Lostolian. I will have to think on it.’ She tapped her finger to her cheek. Her nano-suit emitted a faint scraping sound as she turned abruptly to face Jelly Hob. ‘Lasper wants you to fly his flagship.’

  To Tekton’s astonishment the hobo’s eyes filled with tears, which proceeded to trickle down his gnarled cheeks to the skin folds of his neck.

  ‘Truth, Sammy?’ said Hob.

  Samuelle nodded. ‘He figured I’d know where to find you.’ She displayed surprising patience, waiting for him to compose himself. ‘What will you do?’ she said as he palmed the tears away.

  Hob shook his head and shrugged.

  ‘We could do with you in there, Jeremy, in case things don’t work out,’ said Samuelle.

  Jeremy? The old outcast had a real name? Tekton wanted to use his moud to verify it but stopped himself, mindful of Hob’s warning.

  ‘You know what that might mean though, don’t you?’ Samuelle pursed her dry lips.

  A burbling noise emanated from somewhere deep in Hob’s throat: indigestion of the emotional kind. He burped and cleared it. Finally, he got the words out. ‘Got nothin’ better to do I suppose, Sammy. Might get things right this time, eh?’

  She nodded again, her face softening in understanding. ‘We all might get it right this time.’

  Get what right? Tekton was intrigued but knew better than to enquire at this point. ‘Why do you want us to accompany you?’ he asked instead.

  ‘You, Tekton, are going to find Lasper’s information device and steal it.’

  ‘How did you know—’

  But Sammy didn’t let him finish. ‘He’ll have it with him and you’re the only one who’s seen it other than that damn ferrety Lamin. The young one, Thales here, is our proof to the rest of Consilience that Farr’s been playing his own agenda.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ interjected Thales.

  ‘Because we’ve been listening in on you two, dearie,’ Samuelle cackled.

  Tekton exchanged looks with Thales. How foolish of them to think they could speak freely here.

  Tekton experienced a pang of regret. Perhaps he should never have left Belle-Monde. And yet the things he had learnt... Miranda’s debilitating virus, and Ra’s Dynamic System Device. Alongside those two, his offering to Sole of beauty seemed so... toothless. How naive he had been. He must reconsider his own design approach as soon as he could disentangle himself from these ‘esques and their politics. The most important thing now was his safety. He must ensure it somehow. He must survive if he was still to beat his cousin Ra.

  ‘What if I don’t wish to go?’ Tekton asked.

  ‘You’ll have trouble getting away from here even without Lasper around. Intel, though, will be full of your kind. You get hold of that device and I guarantee I’ll cut you loose on Intel—Thales too, if he wants it.’

  Tekton glanced at Thales again, but the young man had eyes only for Fariss.

  ‘How will you keep Farr from discovering my presence aboard his ship?’ Tekton asked her.

  ‘You leave that to me, tyro. One thing no man will do, including Lasper Farr, is invade an old woman’s privacy. There has to be some compensation for carrying around this face,’ said Samuelle with a grin.

  For some inexplicable reason, the words seemed to resonate deep within him, as if someone, somewhere before had uttered the exact same thing. He shrugged the foolish and worthless notion away.

  THALES

  His disguise appeared adequate in the milling excitement of disembarkation: artificial skin hiding his facial scars, nondescript garb and his long hair braided tightly to make him appear almost feminine.

  The closer docks teemed with ‘esques and aliens loading, or being loaded, into Lasper Farr’s flagship. Further along later-model P-class assailants were being restocked by automon conveyors and cranes.

  Thales had never seen fully functional weapon ships before. They left a cold feeling in his stomach, as did the hard-eyed mercenaries who lounged nearby on the docks in small groups.

  Fariss strode along in front of him, responding when she chose to those who called out to her. Thales heard the interest and the respect in their voices. Samuelle’s main bodyguard was someone they noticed. And so, he hoped, they would not be inclined to stop and question the nervous ‘esque carrying her personal weapon case.

  ‘Got yerself some booty, Fariss,’ yelled a loader operator.

  ‘Never go nowhere without my foot-warmer,’ she shouted back.

  A round of guffaws from Farr’s soldiers followed them along.

  Not so, the mercenaries. They stared and nodded. That was all.

  ‘Got him marked here as a body all right,’ said the soldier checking entry detail. ‘But I ain’t got no name for him.’ He looked up at Fariss, frowning. ‘You gotta problem with your crew listings, Fariss?’

  She shrugged. ‘No problem. I ain’t thought of a name for him yet.’

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t refuse you if you’re on the manifest but I’m tellin’ ya, there’s some of the crew won’t be likin’ you having booty when they can’t. Commander’s revoked privileges for us, in case we don’t come back for a while.’

  ‘That’s why I work for Samuelle. We don’t come back, seems like all the more reason to have some relief, in my mind.’

  The soldier made a sour face. ‘Yeah, well, watch your booty’s back. Might be a few that want a piece.’

  Fariss’s lips pursed and all her muscles tensed, making her appear even larger. ‘You sayin’ you want some?’

  The soldier lifted his own shoulders in a defensive response. He mollified his tone. ‘Watch his back is all I’m sayin’, Fariss.’

  ‘I can look after my own,’ she replied and stalked on board.

  Thales followed after her, his eyes downcast, not sure if he was appalled or thrilled by the charade. The idea of being at the whim of this woman enthralled him, yet their situation and the knowledge that he could be caught and killed nullified the pleasure.

  He put one foot in front of the other in her wake, locked in his own emotional battle, not really absorbing the ship surrounds. It wasn’t until they reached their allotted cabin that he was forced from his introspection.

  Fariss thumped her fist on the bunk, testing for comfort. ‘Put the case under the lower bunk,’ she told him. ‘We’ve got the cabin to ourselves for the moment, but likely it won’t be for long.’

  Cabin? It was barely that, a partitioned space with narrow double bunks and a small work-entertainment station. The wardrobe was two drawers set into the cabin wall just below the comm screen.

  Thales eyed the two beds. ‘Floor for me?’ he asked.

  She gave him a good-humoured leer then lowered her voice. ‘You’ll be expected to sleep with me, otherwise it’ll be suspicious.’

  Thales felt his skin heating at the thought. ‘Whatever is prudent,’ he said carefully.

  She continued to stare at him. ‘Prudent, eh? Maybe there’re some things you oughta know about booty. Booty only goes out of their cabin to eat and crap. San is down the corridor on the left. Check there is no one about before you go there. You eat in the mess with me, but at a separate table. Don’t talk to anyone, and don’t wander about for no good reason. Booty’s fair game if they get caught out alone.’ Her expression well and truly sobered. ‘Farr’s soldiers aren’t like OLOSS military, Thales. Most of them are scum that couldn’t pass the plain decency test. They’ll kill you. Or whatever pleases them most.’

  Thales’s stomach tightened. He was completely dependent on her for his safety—his life. ‘What happens when we reach Intel?’

  Fariss folded her large frame into the bottom bunk. She patted the small remaining space. ‘Come here and stop looking so damn scared.’

  Thales obeyed her without thinking.

  ‘You probably can guess better’n I can,’ she said. ‘I was a
Savvy operator till Sammy offered me work. Had some kicking and punching skills. But she got me some real good lessons on fightin’. Turns out I learned quick. Been her bodyguard ever since. Not that she needs one. Her armour can do more damage than I can. She likes the extra set of eyes and ears around though. Says hers are getting old.’ Fariss’s hands moved in decisive gestures while she spoke.

  Thales pictured them strangling his assassin on the docks. His confusion deepened. Every time he almost reached an understanding of himself or his situation, things changed; he changed. And now all he wanted was for Fariss to use her hands on him in some way.

  Even so, he jumped when she leaned across and touched his face.

  She was frowning. ‘Your skin graft’s lifting. I’ll have to repair it.’ She rolled off the bed and rummaged in her kit, returning a moment later with a slim cylinder of material. She settled cross-legged back on the bunk, unrolled the cylinder and fitted a tiny nozzle to a tube.

  Her breath blew warm and strong on his face as she administered fresh adhesive to the artificial skin. ‘Does the scar hurt?’

  Thales couldn’t stop trembling. She was so close now.

  Bethany had never made him feel this way, and Aleta had been intoxicating but professionally aloof.

  And Rene... he had trouble picturing his wife’s face with Fariss’s mouth so close to his.

  On impulse he lifted his lips and pressed them to hers. The brief taste of her was breathtaking.

  Then she hit him. Not a gentle slap, but a full-fisted punch to the jaw that laid him on the floor, stunned. He cupped his hands to his face in silent agony.

  ‘See this is gonna be a fun trip,’ said a strange voice.

  Thales dashed the tears of pain and shock away and stared up. The ‘esque who had joined them in the cabin was thick-shouldered, with a face which bore more scars than not. His eyes lay sunken under heavy lids, and he brought in with him the smell of unwashed flesh.

  Fariss sprawled lengthways on the bed, hands behind her head, ‘Sure it’ll be,’ she said casually, ‘long as no one messes with what’s mine. Fariss O’Dea. Can’t say I’ve seen you before.’

  ‘Macken. Fought with Lasper in the War. Commander asked special for me on this trip. Just got in from Mintaka to catch this ship back to Intel.’

  ‘Long way around,’ said Fariss thoughtfully. ‘Why couldn’t you just meet us there?’

  Macken’s chest swelled a bit. ‘Commander wanted me on board. Keep an eye on things.’ He gave Fariss a hard, pointed look. ‘Guess he knows he can trust me.’

  ‘Everyone needs someone they can trust, Macken. But if you’re bunkin’ down with me you need to wash.’

  Thales flinched, expecting the man to react angrily to the insult, but just like the mercenary Rast Randall would have done, he laughed. ‘You jus’ keep your ruttin’ quiet, Fariss O’Dea. I need my beauty sleep.’

  He glanced down at Thales. ‘Pretty one you got there. You wanna watch his tail.’

  Fariss stuck out her jaw in a way that made her wide, generous face ugly. She swung her feet onto the floor and stood up, towering over Macken.

  The war vet stood his ground, but like the check-in guard he mollified his tone. ‘Jus’ makin’ an observation. No need ta get shirty.’

  Fariss’s lips eased into a smile. She held out her hand to shake Macken’s. ‘Welcome aboard.’

  TEKTON

  Tekton struggled with claustrophobia. Even his logic- mind had difficulty convincing him that he was perfectly safe crushed inside Samuelle’s spare nanosuit. Since Lasper Farr’s devious attempt to see him dead, and his subsequent rescue by Jelly Hob, Tekton’s amygdala seemed to have overpowered his ability to think coherently. Sole had not factored the effect of sheer, animal terror into his mind division.

  The problem was his head. It was squeezed uncomfortably into the neck section, which had then sealed itself shut. Though the suit’s porous design allowed him to breathe perfectly normally, he could not shake the notion that he was in a burial wrap.

  ‘Whatcha got in this one, Sammy? Dead body?’ growled a surly voice. ‘Commander’s put limits on carry- on weight.’

  ‘Quit whining, boy,’ Samuelle replied. ‘A woman’s gotta have her extras for a long trip. Stashed me a bit of entertainment in there.’

  ‘What? Booty?’ The voice sounded surprised now.

  Samuelle cackled. ‘Do you know how old I am, soldier? Haven’t used booty since I was a hundred and three, even then, it was in virt. Prefer the odd substance relaxation meself. But you wouldn’t be telling anyone that, would you? Lest you be wanting a little free taste of Samuelle’s candy.’

  The ‘esque paused. ‘Take it to your cabin then, shall I, Sam?’

  ‘Good lad,’ said Samuelle. ‘Good lad.’

  Tekton endured the rough handling, disgusting grunts and loud profanity from the soldier who lugged him through the ship’s corridors. But when, finally, he was dumped on a flat surface and left alone, Tekton became teary. Every muscle felt bruised and he fretted that the wounds on his legs had reopened. His life had taken a turn that he could not seem to control, and yet it seemed the only way through the circumstances was forward.

  Find that device of Lasper Farr’s then leave the ship at Intel and return to Belle-Monde, said logic-mind.

  Free-mind was not so optimistic. How can you make something so complex sound so simple?

  ‘That sniffling I can hear, Tekton?’

  Samuelle peeled open the neck and suddenly he was out in ship air and feeling better. With her help, he shed the remainder of the suit and sank onto the narrow bed.

  Samuelle wrinkled her nose as she lifted the suit away from him and onto a hook. ‘You sure stank that up for an ‘esque who don’t sweat much.’

  ‘My skin is sensitive to variations in the environment.’ He tried to be arrogant and failed miserably. It seemed, since Jelly Hob had rescued him from certain death, that he did not have the heart for his usual conceits.

  Samuelle moved quickly around the cabin, dropping things from her valise into the drawers and altering the environmental and comm specifications at the desk. ‘I have to report to the Commander. Get some rest. I’ll fix the lock from the outside. For Cruxsakes, don’t use the comm while I’m out.’

  Tekton stared at her, suddenly registering that he had to spend the duration of the trip to Intel in the close proximity of a strange, bossy and altogether physically unappealing old woman.

  A clever and resourceful old woman, corrected logic-mind.

  Free-mind would not be convinced. But so ugly.

  As the cabin door shut and clicked to lock, Tekton fell onto the bed and curled into a ball. Sleep was always a good way to bypass unpleasant thoughts.

  * * *

  Tekton spent the short, sub-light leg to the Edo res-station wavering between boredom and fear. Samuelle set strict rules, which his logic-mind endorsed as sensible, and Tekton carefully obeyed, although he longed to be out of the cramped cabin and to be free to go wherever he chose.

  Instead, he spent the time pondering recent events and talking to Samuelle about Lasper Farr. Though she remained guarded on the topic of Consilience, she seemed prepared to discuss the Stain Wars until Tekton hoped never to hear of them again. War stories, it seemed, were not simply the province of males.

  ‘After the war I decided to stop rejuve,’ she mused aloud. They’d quickly fallen to the habit of conversation with Tekton reclining on the bed and Samuelle at the comm-desk interfacing with the ‘cast feeds. ‘I found

  it damn useful looking like an old woman—in ways that I had never dreamt—as long, of course, as I kept my agility. Looking old’s one thing, creakin’ round like a bag-o’-bones is another. So I modified my suit from the combat models we used to wear on specials and kept a credit for organ renewal.’

  ‘So you were... are a soldier.’

  ‘Once upon a time, I was a forward scout for OLOSS. Saw the light after the war and paid out my draft. Consilience don’t
have those kind of structures. You get assigned to a task dependent on what you can do; organised disorder, some say. I say it’s creative and effective.’

  ‘But why do you live on Edo and work for Lasper?’

  ‘I was with him in the war and it seemed it worked for us, for a start. He left us alone on Ampere ‘cause I was valuable to him. I could do what I wanted without OLOSS breathin’ down my neck. These days though, seems to be Lasper that’s doing the heavy breathin’.’ She leaned back in the desk-chair and in the time it took her to shut her eyelids, drifted off to sleep. The suit automatically stiffened and the collar elongated to accommodate her slackened muscles.

  Tekton had already got used to her abrupt and unpredictable sleeping pattern. He moved quickly, standing and taking the four steps to the desk to peer over her shoulder. The deskfilm glowed with a representation of the Intel station and sphere. Intelspace was cluttered with the collisions of flashing icons and graphical depictions of ships and infrastructure.

  As Tekton read the key on the side of the map he stifled a sharp breath. Attached to the station like the fringe of a woman’s shawl, or hovering almost as

  close, were delegations from all over OLOSS. Above Intel’s bulb, a flotilla of biozoons floated in ever-shifting formation; crowding the main landing bays were OLOSS official flagships, and jostling for position around the Scawy docks were smaller alien deputations: uulis, skierans and others.

  Tekton fancied the whole thing to be like an exotic underwater scene where sea creatures in search of food herded around the nearest reef, sucking at plankton and ducking in and out of crevices.

  ‘Seems like word’s got around, eh, tyro?’ Samuelle was awake as instantaneously as she had fallen asleep. ‘Lasper’s got a ‘cast coming through on relay.’

  ‘How long until we shift?’

  She sat up straighter and, sensing her alert state, her suit relaxed its support. She fingered through a few screens. ‘Latest says an hour.’

  T’m assuming a war craft like this has group buffers. How do you propose to conduct me to one of them unnoticed?’