Mirror Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  He didn’t reply to that, but once more appeared to be swallowed by his own thoughts; disturbed thoughts, by the tense, unhappy curl of his lips.

  ‘Can you tell me any more?’ she pressed.

  He nodded and continued with a halting explanation of Samuelle and the city of Ampere, and Farr’s abrupt summoning of them here, to Intel. He hesitated as he described the ship journey, struggling to find the words to explain it.

  She waited in silence, sensing something important teetered on the brink of being said.

  Finally, it came out in a rush—Macken’s bullying and his own desperation to avert rape, what it made him do, and then Fariss’s decision to help him escape and take the blame herself. By the end of it, he was speaking in breath-robbed gulps.

  Mira felt mired in her own memories. How she wished she had killed Trin Pellegrini. ‘You say that Samuelle will be present at the OLOSS meeting.’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘What is her position on the Post-Species?’

  He shrugged. ‘I have heard some things that suggest she is not enamoured with Commander Farr, but yet is committed to the Consilience cause. She supports Bethany, I know that much.’

  Mira wiped her face and hands on the absorbent film in the dispenser and dropped it into the basin. They both watched it curl up and disintegrate.

  She pushed the basin back into its cabinet and opened the cover on the comm-sole. ‘Was Bethany on the ship that brought you here?’

  ‘It’s possible. I didn’t leave the cabin or speak to anyone other than Fariss. Fariss didn’t mention her name.’

  ‘You didn’t enquire?’

  Thales bowed his head again as if expecting her judgement. ‘I was brought on board as her consort—it would have caused suspicion if I’d shown an interest in such things. We only spoke about trivial matters.’

  Mira felt the weight of his humiliation, and yet he didn’t shirk from the truth. ‘We’ve both been forced to do things we wouldn’t choose. We are not less for it, Thales—we have survived. There is some triumph in that.’

  For a moment his head lifted and his face lit with a smile that transcended his scars and apprehensive expression. Mira saw a glimpse of the beautiful, passionate young man she’d rescued from the OLOSS ship. Had she contributed to the ruin of his life by bringing him aboard Insignia? He’d been so ill-prepared for the wider worlds—worse, even, than she.

  And now he had killed a man to save himself.

  As if attuned to her thoughts, his smile faded. ‘Though I am grateful for your perspective, Baronessa, I cannot allow myself to adopt it. When I left Scolar I was a Jainist. I had sworn to adhere to those non-violent tenets, and yet I’ve done nothing but cheat on my beliefs since I left Scolar.’

  ‘Ideals are seldom practical, Thales.’

  ‘That does not excuse me.’

  She shrugged. ‘We must each console our own consciences. Mine does not find shame in survival.’

  ‘Nor should it,’ he said. ‘Your inner strength is inspiring.’

  He said it in such a heartfelt manner that Mira was silenced, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t consider herself to be strong-minded, and felt only irritation at her own limitations.

  And yet his simple statement lifted her spirits.

  ‘Then let us inspire each other,’ she eventually replied. ‘How can I get to the summit meeting?’

  ‘If we convince Samuelle of your story then I’m sure she could arrange it.’

  Mira thought for a moment. If the woman he spoke of, Fariss, had shouldered the blame for the death, then it should be safe enough for Thales to move about Intel station. ‘Can you make contact with Samuelle without using station comm-sys?’

  He straightened his posture, as if gaining some purpose. ‘I can try, Baronessa.’

  THALES

  Fear and excitement lent Thales energy, but did nothing to assuage the trembling that had set in from the instant he’d discharged Fariss’s pistol into Macken. Even for the last few hours when he had lain in the bunk above Mira Fedor, his body had been plagued by uncontrollable movements and periodic fits of shivers.

  Now, as he crossed the early-station-morning plaza to the station Directory booth, his trembling had subsided to a low, manageable tremor that he hoped would barely be noticed. Action—movement—was a relief from sitting in the confinement of the tiny sleeper unit.

  From watching the station comm-news while Mira Fedor had rested, he’d learned that the summit was scheduled to start in just a few hours, watched on farcast by most of OLOSS Orion. Traffic around and inside the station had already been restricted, but once the proceedings had begun, a full curfew had been scheduled. He had to find Samuelle before then, or Mira Fedor’s hope of presenting what she had seen to the joint meeting would disappear.

  On his request, the Directory kiosk displayed the complete ball-and-flute design of the station. It reminded Thales of one of Rene’s precious crystal vases. It also explained the nature of each location he placed his finger upon, and the most direct route there. It was a completely different configuration from Edo—the only other station he’d spent any time upon. Here, on Intel, the circular plane of the docks fed into the narrow neck of the flute, like a skirt flaring stiffly from a woman’s narrow waist. Immediately above it was the lower stem, which housed a food plaza and short-term accommodation, and beneath it, in the bulb of the station, were the reactors that kept Intel spinning.

  The permanent residences and retail outlets nestled in the mid-flute section, whilst station admin spread across the entire expansive top section. Like Edo, Intel had a central lift shaft but it was complemented by smaller conduits that ran up the sides of the flute at regular intervals.

  Thales studied the pictures and tried to think practically, like Mira Fedor. In normal times, he expected that station visitors and general travellers would be lodged in the short-term accommodation, but for something so important, with a self-imposed curfew, he imagined that the Stationmaster would like his visitors close by the designated conference room, to minimise movement and risk.

  Yet the news had spoken of a delegation of biozoons congesting a large area of dock availability. Mira Fedor’s Insignia was hidden out there among them. How did they partake in the summit? he wondered. Would the meeting somehow be brought to them?

  No. OLOSS would never inconvenience themselves for minority aliens.

  He asked the Directory to show him the traffic flow. The colours of the shifting icons told him that all lifts were busy. When he asked the Directory to confirm this, it told him that there were delays in moving around the station as Station Security performed random checks.

  Thales’s trembling increased. If Fariss had taken the blame for Macken’s murder then he wouldn’t be listed as a criminal but he had no identification other than his aspect cube. Would that be enough to pass through Station Sec? How else could he reach the conference area?

  Then he remembered how Gutnee Paraburd had taken him into the unseen corridors of Scolar station. All large transit stations have service areas, Gutnee had said.

  ‘Show me the service maps,’ he instructed the Directory.

  ‘Please provide your clearance details,’ it intoned.

  Thales stared at the screen unable to think of what to do.

  ‘How much longer you gonna be there?’ demanded an annoyed voice.

  Thales glanced behind him. A queue had formed while he’d been lost in his own thoughts. The bald- headed ‘esque behind him in line scowled.

  ‘P-pardon me,’ Thales stammered, and walked quickly over towards a juice bar.

  As he pretended to consider which mixture of flavours he might like, he saw uniformed ‘esques enter and move with quick purpose across the plaza. They converged around the Directory and began to question those in the queue. The angry, bald ‘esque looked around, searching for Thales.

  Thales walked quickly in the other direction. As he passed the narrow passage lined with cleaning equipment that h
e and the Baronessa had followed from the unloading facility, he stepped inside it, and crouched down behind a trolley.

  He waited for shouts or the sound of running feet, but neither came.

  ‘Watcha doin’, luv?’

  This voice belonged to a woman, squatting like him, chewing on an unlit cigarillo. Her lined face held a cagey expression. She wore a stained blue cleaner’s uniform with the station logo stamped into the shoulder.

  ‘Hiding,’ he said truthfully.

  She plucked the cigarillo from her mouth and grinned. ‘Me too. Damn Station Sec makin’ double tha work for us. Stompin’ around, pokin’ about in things, turnin’ stuff inside out.’

  ‘It is difficult to go anywhere,’ Thales agreed, thinking of the congestion shown by the Directory.

  ‘Stinkin’ hard I’d call it. Ree-diculous. All fer some hob-nobs’ meetin’.’

  Thales nodded, not knowing what else to say—but the wrinkled old woman didn’t need his encouragement.

  ‘S’all right for us Dowdies though,’ she continued.

  ‘Dowdies?’

  ‘Gleaners.’ She frowned. ‘Where you from that you ain’t heard of Dowdies?’

  ‘I just arrived. F-from a place called Scolar. It would seem to be a bad time to be sightseeing around Orion,’ he added lamely. His lie seemed so obvious.

  She stuck the cigarillo back in her mouth and chewed

  a bit. Then she removed it again. ‘So what you doin’ back here wi’ me?’

  Thales scrambled for a more plausible story. ‘My identification was stolen last night when I arrived. I don’t wish to be detained while Station Security authenticates my story. With things the way they are, it could take altogether too long to be verified.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Big words yer using, but I get the idee of it. Things not so good around here wivout yer ID right now. Likely they’ll slam yer in the containers orright.’

  Thales gave a completely involuntary shiver. He didn’t have to fake his nervousness. ‘I-I have a... colleague. She’s staying at the top end of the station. She’ll vouch for me but I need to speak with her first.’

  The old woman nodded sympathetically and waggled her finger in the air. ‘Might be able to do somethin’ there. Us Dowdies can get anywhere quick.’

  The dawning of possibility quickened his heartbeat. ‘Y-you would help me?’

  ‘Could do. Could do.’ She returned to chewing her cigarillo while Thales waited. The woman seemed quick-witted enough, though uneducated. But why would she help him?

  ‘Kinda feel sorry for you,’ she said, as if answering his thoughts. ‘What with all the ugliness on yer face, and on account of yer bein’ a bit simple and having yer ID nicked.’ She gave a phlegmy chortle. “Ere, ‘elp me up.’

  He put out his hand and pulled her. She was light and wiry and at full standing height she only reached his shoulders.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said.

  She led him down the same corridor that he and Mira Fedor had emerged from earlier, but instead of entering one of the adjoining passages she walked on until she came to a blind corner. She turned to face a grubby section of the wall.

  He waited again, wondering if she had simply been teasing him; or was she, perhaps, demented?

  But the woman positioned herself side-on, and laid a thin, knobbly finger against a seam in the titanium. The seam parted and slid open.

  She entered the hidden lift and beckoned him. ‘In ‘ere, Mr Big Words.’

  Thales hurried to join her and stood watching the level counter while she continued to prattle.

  The trip to the top of the station passed in an agony of inane remarks as Thales felt the claws of claustrophobia sinking into him. The lift stank of cleaning fluids and stale cigarillos, and the proximity of the old woman made him edgy.

  Small spaces. The cabin on Farr’s ship, the refrigerator container, the sleeper unit and now this. He had a sudden longing for the vast, inky night skies of Scolar, unlit by any moon. He wanted to breathe unfiltered, real-world air and feel cool wind. He wanted...

  “Ere we go, luvvy.’ The door finally opened into a corridor just like the one they had left. She waved him into it without ceremony. ‘Luck and all,’ she said.

  The door closed on her crafty old face, and he experienced an instant of panic. What did her haste mean? Nothing. It means nothing. He discarded his unnamed fear as paranoia. He was closer to Samuelle, he hoped. That was all that mattered.

  Resolutely, he walked down the corridor and found his way to the edge of a large open space filled with ‘esques seated at workstations. He retreated quickly and took another door. This one led to a long, sweeping passage and past low-lit doorways that had the appearance of more luxurious lodgings than the plaza sleeper units. He listened at several of the doors but heard nothing. It was still early station morning.

  Partway along the arc he stumbled upon an open common room furnished with couches and comm-soles and a spread of breakfast pastries and fruit that made his mouth salivate. A Dowdie sucked up the floor dust with a silent extraction nozzle, while a uniformed attendant fussed over the food.

  He looked up and down the corridor. Voices drifted towards him; visitors leaving their station cabins to find breakfast. It was possible that Samuelle would be one of them.

  Thales ran a few steps in one direction, and then changed his mind and ran back the other way. As quickly as his fumbling fingers would allow, he prised open the door of a fire-hydrant housing and pulled several extinguishers free. He juggled them over to the doorway and put them down. Then he raced back and forced himself into the tiny space, pulling the door closed.

  The claustrophobia that assailed him this time was profound. His body heated and he began to sweat. He curled his fingers tight into his fists and tucked them under his knees to keep from flinging the door open.

  He used his meditation breathing in the hope that the fierce shaking that had beset him would subside.

  Voices came closer and passed.

  Once. Twice. Three times. Small groups, chatting in quiet tones.

  Then he heard a familiar hissing noise. He tried to peer through the crack in the door, but his efforts to control his breathing had become ragged gasps to get enough air in his lungs. Pinpricks of light exploded before his fluttering eyelids at the oxygen deprivation. Unable to control his body, he burst from the cupboard and sprawled into the corridor.

  He heard an exclamation of recognition and felt himself lifted into the air. Strength-enhanced arms and augmented legs conveyed him away from the fire housing and into a cabin. The door sucked shut and he was dropped into a small armchair.

  ‘Berniere! What in Edo’s name are you doing?’

  He forced his eyes open to confront Samuelle’s ferocity. Everything that he needed to say rushed to his tongue at once and he found himself unable to be coherent.

  She made a frustrated noise and thrust a water tube into his mouth. ‘Drink, then breathe.’

  He obeyed her simple instruction. The cool water somehow made it easier to catch his breath. And then speak. ‘S-small spaces,’ he managed after drinking half the tube. ‘I-I dislike s-small s-spaces. ‘Pologise.’

  Her sharp eyes blinked at him. ‘Fariss has been arrested for Macken’s murder. What do you know about that?’

  Thales’s stomach cramped with anxiety. ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘She’s in station containment, for Cruxsakes. But where have you been, Berniere? How did you get off the damn ship unnoticed?’

  ‘Fariss helped me. She said it was better for me to leave through the hold. She arranged it.’

  Samuelle pressed her forehead. ‘Well, as things turned out, mebbe she was right. Macken’s death brought a lot of attention her way.’ A glint of tears showed in her eyes. ‘Can’t figure out what she was doing though... murdering one of Lasper’s treasured.’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t murder,’ whispered Thales. ‘Perhaps it was self-defence.’

  ‘You know that?�
�� she said.

  Thales shook his head dumbly.

  Samuelle shrugged. ‘If only the damn girl’d talk to me about it, but she won’t say a shitting word.’ She sank deep into her own thoughts for a moment, then pulled herself back to the present. ‘And why are you falling out of cupboards at my feet?’

  Thales told her, as quickly as his scrambled thoughts would allow, about Mira Fedor and everything that she’d seen in Post-Species space. As he spoke, Samuelle’s expression altered. Disbelief replaced irritation.

  ‘You say both Landhurst and OLOSS want this woman for different crimes.’

  ‘Neither are real crimes,’ said Thales. ‘Self-defence.’

  ‘Like Fariss, eh?’ Samuelle gave a humourless laugh. ‘You have a mastery of understatement, Thales. This Fedor woman nearly tore the side off an OLOSS ship and somehow convinced a bunch of decommed warships to turn their weapons on a station.’ She paced back and forth across the room as she spoke. ‘It’s too risky to align myself with someone of her reputation, though truth be known, I’m curious to meet her.’ She shook her head. ‘Can’t help you. You wait here now, in case I need your testimony.’

  ‘No!’ cried Thales, forcing himself to stand. ‘You must hear her out at least.’

  ‘There is nothing I must do.’

  Thales took a ragged breath. ‘Fariss is incarcerated?’

  The sharp eyes bored into him. ‘And?’

  ‘What will happen to her?’

  Samuelle considered. ‘At home on Edo she’d have been executed if I hadn’t been able to get her off-planet. Here, with things the way they are, I don’t know. Lasper will have to use station court. She’ll wind up in containment, but at least she’ll be alive.’

  Containment. The very thought of being locked away was too much to bear—but not as great as the guilt and remorse he harboured over Fariss’s sacrifice. He took a deep breath so that he could say the words in one attempt. ‘I will admit to Macken’s murder on the condition that you help Mira Fedor.’

  Samuelle stiffened, though her suit kept working, strengthening and massaging her muscles with little movements that looked like a ripple across her body. ‘What’s that?’