The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  Another wave of fatigue rolled over her.

  I need to sleep for a few minutes. She relaxed back into the vein and felt the welcome relief as it moulded to her body. Insignia’s sensors skittered over her body like light, loving fingers soothing away the ever-present nausea. She felt safe, safe, safe until...

  A stabbing sensation jolted her awake. The pain was in her stomach.

  Insignia?

  Humanesques are trying to enter my organ space.

  Your compatible areas?

  No.

  What humanesques? Rast?

  I allowed access to my absorption area for amino replenishment. Several humanesques accompanied the automon loaders. That is not uncommon when taking aboard provisions. But they have forced one of my sphincters open.

  Mira experienced the slicing pain again.

  While you are in Primo I cannot protect you from what I feel.

  Can you repel them ?

  No. They have penetrated a vulnerable section of my body. I must concentrate my efforts on controlling my bleeding.

  Mira felt sick. Insignia bleeding.

  Who would do this? Mira’s thoughts skittered over possibilities. Insignia, ask Station Intel for assistance.

  Long moments passed.

  Station Intel has been instructed not to respond to us. Insignia’s voice sounded fainter in her mind.

  Landhurst! Mira knew it immediately. What can I do?

  Don’t leave me...

  Insignia? Insignia!

  The biozoon’s presence began to fade. Mira tried to pursue it into its darkening mindspace but their connection had narrowed to the width of a pulsing cord. She mind-grasped one end of the cord and focused her energy into it. Their combined thoughts brightened her awareness. She saw the six armed humanesques with cutting equipment burning Insignia, the trajectory of their approved shift queue position, Rast arguing with the marshals at the entrance to their berth.

  Why won’t they let her in?

  Insignia did not—could not—reply. The biozoon’s thoughts darkened again and the cord began to pull from Mira’s mind-grasp.

  She let go of it and ordered the vein to expel her. Its membranes shaped into an upright seat. She breathed deeply until the transition dizziness passed; swallowing the acid that fizzed in her throat.

  Rast.

  Mira ran along strata until she reached Rast’s cabin. It was orderly, one wall lined with a selection of weapons from the Principe’s armoury. Mira seized a pistol and ran to the egress scale that joined to the docking tube.

  Insignia. Release.

  The scale peeled back and Mira peered into the tube. At the far end she could see Rast, Catchut and Latourn. They’d exchanged their fellalos for casual garb. Rast had her hands jammed deep into her short-coat pockets and was talking to the tube marshal.

  Mira hid the pistol in the folds of her fellalo. She walked slowly towards them, her head bowed as if she were hesitant and nervous. Landhurst will not have Insignia. He will not. She felt their stares on her.

  ‘Halt!’ said the marshal. ‘Return to the biozoon.’

  Mira’s reply was to jerk the pistol from her robe. ‘Let them board.’

  The marshal froze—not from fear, she realised belatedly, but in concentration.

  Suddenly the docking tube began to constrict around her. Mira ducked as the marshal drew a gun and fired at her but Rast spoiled his aim and Catchut leapt for his throat, gouging at it with a practised killing action.

  The marshal flopped over and dropped his weapon.

  The three mercenaries hastened towards Mira as the tube narrowed to half its inflated height. By the time they all reached Insignia’s egress scale they were crawling on their hands and knees.

  They squeezed through in single file, Catchut last.

  As the scale sealed behind them, Rast grabbed Mira by the shoulders, giving her a shake. ‘What in the shit is going on, Baronessa?’

  Mira pressed the pistol against the mercenary’s chest. ‘There are people cutting their way inside Insignia from the payload cavity. I think it’s the Stationmaster.’

  ‘Landhurst? Why him?’

  ‘I c-can’t say for sure. He seemed more interested in Insignia than Araldis.’

  The mercenary took a moment to weigh the likely accuracy of Mira’s instinct. ‘Where are they exactly?’

  ‘Inside the high abdominal sphincter, cutting into her digestive system.’

  Rast slid a small satchel from under her coat. ‘Catchut, stash this in my cabin. Bring back some hardware.’

  ‘On my way, Capo.’

  ‘Lat?’

  The injured man looked pale but steady. ‘Time to climb back on, Capo.’ He limped after Catchut.

  Rast turned to Mira. ‘Can we shift?’

  ‘We are in the queue but Insignia is bleeding internally. I don’t think she will be able to take her focus from it.’

  ‘Then pull the plug on the ‘zoon and fly us.’

  Mira went numb with fear. ‘Autonomy? I—’

  ‘Do it. We’ll take care of the rest.’ Rast turned to follow Latourn and Cachut and then swivelled back. ‘Where did you get this pistol?’

  ‘From your cabin,’ said Mira.

  Rast shook her head. ‘Never can tell with you. Now get movin’.’

  * * *

  Mira ran through the strata to her cabin and removed the royal lozenge from where she had hidden it. Grasping it tightly, she hurried back to the buccal and sank into the Primo vein. As the receptors settled into her skin, a searing pain cramped her abdomen and she was dimly of her knees pulling tight into her chest.

  Dizzying perception took command of her mind. From somewhere inside the chaos, Insignia sensed her.

  You must not... immerse with me now. Cannot... separate... pain...

  Rast is coming to stop them. But we must leave here. Transfer to me.

  You have... no experience to take us... to shift... Insignia’s mind-voice dwindled to a faint whisper.

  Mira could barely hear the words but she could see/sense Rast, Latourn and Catchut. Feel Insignia’s pain. Weapon fire grazed her inner skin. Stinging. Burning. Yet insignificant compared to the excruciating, burning throb of the rip.

  Rast fell upon a man, her hands at his throat. Determination. Sweat. Fingers taut and strained with the choking of him.

  Mira forced her sight/sense away from the intimacy of murder to her outer skin. She saw/sensed the station umbilical reinflate and crowd with bodies and weapons. Shift-queue instructions streamed though her mind/view. Their shift-place hold had been deleted.

  Insignia, I must. I’m sorry...

  She struggled to free her arm from Primo’s embrace position and flung herself across to the Autonomy sink. She pressed the lozenge into the interface dimple along the ridge of the artificial adjunct, holding it down hard, worried that Insignia might find a way to reject it. When the sink subsumed it, she allowed herself to fall back into the chair and wait. Her immersion in Insignia’s pain and mayhem subsided, leaving her head pounding and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  The flight manual’s warning floated to the top of her thoughts. Never exchange full immersion for Autonomy without an adequate adjustment period... failure to observe this caution will result in prolonged side effects. List of known side effects and treatments can be accessed in... Mira thrust the memory away and concentrated on thinking past the headache.

  Virtual add-ons unfolded around her. Her intuitive comprehension of the biozoon’s functions had vanished and was replaced with a flood of schematics and a cue of pending decisions. She worked her way methodically through them, reviewing her procedure: uncouple from their berth, execute virtual-manual (V-M) prime for oscillation, measure for complex excitation.

  ‘Fedor?’ Rast was on the intercom in the payload cavity.

  ‘Si?’ Mira croaked.

  ‘How’s the ‘zoon?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m in Autonomy.’

  ‘Well, get us
the heck out of here before we have to spend the rest of our lives in confinement for nailing these guards.’

  ‘There are shift tubercles in the cavity.’

  ‘Right. Give us five. And Fedor...’

  ‘Si?’

  ‘You haven’t freaked out on me yet. Now’s not the time.’

  No. Not the time. Mira’s fingers spasmed uncontrollably and she gave authentication to the wrong movement sequence.

  The biozoon convulsed and the mercenaries were thrown across the bay. Mira could see them on interface; could hear Rast swearing and Latourn moaning.

  She forced herself to concentrate on shift preparation. When her trembling had abated, she began the tiny finger movements that would execute individual tasks.

  She took Insignia out of her berth with minimum damage. The umbilical tore free and sealed automatically, wrapping up the guards inside.

  Insignia drifted out into shiftspace and immediately incurred the wrath of the queuing ships. The shortcast hammered their complaints across, including those of Station Control who directed Insignia to return to her berth.

  Mira’s virtual sight showed six ships between her and shiftpoint: a couple of private cruisers, an OLOSS freighter, a Lostolian surveyor and two decommissioned Assailants. She triggered her emergency pulse but none of them were buying it. From stationside three more ships debarked, each one emblazoned with station-security colour sequences.

  She doubted that they would fire upon her in the shift queue but they could force a boarding.

  Trajectory?

  Icons representing their route snapped into existence before her eyes, along with warnings that each pass would break interstellar proximity rules.

  I know. I know, I know...

  Mira twitched her index finger, overruling the default.

  Stationmaster Landhurst came on open-frequency shortcast. ‘Baronessa Fedor, your erratic conduct suggests you’ve taken Autonomy—a cruel act. You are also breaking every rule of shiftspace. Return or we will board you.’

  Mira took a deep, slow breath. ‘Sending your people to cut their way into my biozoon’s intestines is what I would term a cruel act, Master Landhurst.’ She made a stroking movement with the little finger on her right hand and Insignia increased speed.

  ‘Change your course!’ Landhurst barked.

  All the other transmissions had stopped. Everyone was listening to the exchange.

  Mira imagined Landhurst pacing his office, lips compressed into a wrinkle of fury.

  It couldn’t compare to hers. Her anger burned away all her hesitancy. ‘My world desperately needs ‘esque aid. You sought to take advantage of my vulnerability and steal my biozoon, preventing me from presenting my case to the OLOSS commission on Scolar. You are the criminal, Stationmaster Landhurst.’

  Her virtual map began to vibrate warnings as Insignia got set to pass the outermost craft in the shift queue. Mira held her breath, waiting for any aggressive reaction. Landhurst might not attack them with so many witnesses but she had no idea what a privately owned decommed battleship might do.

  It was an old P-class Assailant. They’d been used in the Stain Wars. From the thin nozzles running along its body Mira could see that it was still fitted with active depleted-uranium weaponry. Each DU projectile would be sealed in a mercury capsule and sheathed in copper wiring. What that could do to Insignia...

  ‘Fedor, what’s happening?’ Rast was out of her tubercle and on the ‘cast again.

  ‘We are passing the first of the queuing ships. An Assailant.’

  ‘Active?’

  ‘No. Decommissioned.’

  ‘DU weapons active?’

  ‘Si.’

  ‘Shit. Those decoms tend to be owned by our kind.’

  As if to confirm Rast’s suspicion, the Assailant altered its aspect, and rotated and elevated an array of weapons along its strake.

  Mira held to a course that would bring them within millimesurs of the battleship’s proximity buffer. If it was going to fire on them, it would be before they reached that point to avoid blowback damage.

  As if anticipating a messy outcome several Savvies launched from the station, ready to clean up any debris.

  ‘What now?’ demanded Rast.

  Mira didn’t answer. Barely registered the question.

  ‘Fedor, you sucked in a breath just then like it was your last. What did you see?’

  ‘Savvies have been detached from the station,’ she whispered.

  ‘Crapshit. Can we repel fire?’

  Mira felt she was floating, as though the pounding of her heart had flooded her brain with too much blood. ‘Not from Autonomy and not that kind.’

  ‘Find out who the captain is.’

  Mira fired a shortcast query.

  The reply came back short and sharp. ‘Who wants to know?’

  She relayed it to Rast. ‘What should I say?’

  ‘Tell them it’s Rast Randall. First MI, Stain Wars.’

  This time there was no quick answer.

  Landhurst had also gone quiet, waiting.

  The deep breath that Mira had taken minutes ago seemed to be still caught in her chest. Layers of required actions settled atop each other waiting for her decision. And all the while doubts assailed her. Had she made the right choice? Would Insignia survive? Would taking Autonomy harm her more?

  Then there was a movement on her virtual map that caused everything to fade to the background: something unexpected and wonderful. Her seemingly long-held breath escaped, letting her take another, another.

  ‘What is it? For fuck’s sake, your heavy breathing is killing me!’ Rast shouted into the intercom.

  ‘The Assailant is dropping out of pattern. It is letting us pass.’

  Rast whooped.

  Tears spurted from Mira’s eyes, blurring her view of the map. She dashed them away to clear her vision. ‘Crux! Oh Crux!’

  ‘FEDOR?’

  ‘They are all dropping from shift pattern—all of them — they are letting us through.’

  A general shortcast pinged from one of the P-classes. ‘Dren from Audacity here. Let the biozoon shift, Landhurst.’

  As the message was relayed the other Assailants casually orientated towards the station security vessels.

  ‘We figure that’ll be the least trouble. And we don’t want trouble. Do we, Stationmaster?’ added Dren.

  Mira shifted her focus to the station security vessels. After an excruciating pause they began to withdraw.

  She sent a private shortcast to Captain Dren. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You should come by the Consilience sometime, Baronessa Fedor. We’ve always got a place for people with guts. And tell Randall she owes me.’

  Mira sagged, all her energy drained. If she had been in full vein-sink, Insignia would have infused her with nutrients. But Autonomy had no such pilot nurture. And Insignia was—

  ‘Fedor?’

  Mira wished the mercenary would go away so that she could just sit quietly for a—

  ‘Fedor!’

  Mira jerked awake. How long asleep? A few seconds only but the centre of her virtual map was shimmering with a representation of the shift casement.

  Two hundred millimesurs until maximum excitation.

  Adrenalin shot through her. Her entire body tightened with anticipation—and dread. Could she navigate them through?... The result of an inexact res-shift is catastrophic and will have an irrevocable impact on humanesque tissue. Vibration calibration must be precise or molecules in the tissues will implode the flesh... Why did she have to remember that passage from the manual so exactly?

  ‘Rast,’ she whispered. ‘Shift imminent.’

  A fraction of her awareness saw Randall run for her tubercle, saw Catchut crossing himself again, saw Latourn curled up in a ball.

  Then Mira stared straight into the face of both her deepest longing and her darkest fear—and wondered which one would say her name.

  THALES

  Thales slept heavily in th
e early part of the evening but woke from a dream before dawn. He realised, with a start, that he had not even asked the gentleman his name and yet the man knew much about him and his life.

  He climbed out of bed and sat on the cool marble floor for his morning samayik, one small part of his mind tuned to sounds of stirring in the adjacent sleeping chamber. This morning, though, Thales found it hard to connect with Atma. His unchanging reality eluded him.

  Discontented, he washed more thoroughly and retied his hair. Today Rene would rescind her complaint and he would be released, he told himself. A lesson in deprivation would not hurt him so much. He felt calmer now. More centred.

  Not able to wait any longer for the gentleman to rise, Thales went out into the shared living room. A selection of breakfast foods awaited him—as did the man he had heard getting up.

  ‘You slept well?’ Thales halted, eyeing the food. ‘At least one cannot complain of being starved. But one could complain about my poor manners. Forgive me for I did not even ask you your name yesterday. My samayik has helped me re-gather myself.’ He sat in the same chair as he had the evening before and served himself a large helping of creamy eggs and bitter cheese.

  The man gave a gracious smile. ‘Amaury.’

  ‘Well, Amaury. As, it would seem, we have time to kill, what shall we talk of today?’

  Amaury placed his knife and fork on his plate without making any clatter, like a man who had long practised silence. ‘I am out of touch with the outside world. Not just Scolar, but the worlds beyond. Do OLOSS and the Extropists still sniff each others’ underbellies like cock-stiff dogs?’

  Thales laughed. The image was not one he would have expected from this gentleman’s mouth. ‘Well put, Amaury. I shall swap you. Orion’s doings for your own story.’

  ‘Of course. That would only be fair.’ The gentleman nodded and settled back in his chair. ‘Visitors first.’

  Thales smiled and took several mouthfuls while he collected threads of thought. How long had Amaury been in here that he craved knowledge of the wider galaxy? What sin against the Pre-Eminence could such an amiable old man have committed?

  Manners and grace, he thought sourly. An interest in humanesque kind? All crimes, no doubt, to the current Pre-Eminence.