Thales pushed open the window. The street was empty now. The Brown Robes were already in the building. He climbed out onto the slated roof and slid down to the guttering. He looked back at Rene one last time before he jumped—but already she had become indistinguishable from the shadows.
* * *
Thales ran to the closest conduit and entered a busy carriage on the up-station line, using Rene’s clip to pay. The press of bodies was comfortingly familiar. If he concentrated on them he could pretend for a few moments that he was on his way to the upashraya and that Rene was at home, working on her treatise. He clung to the self-deception, but as quickly as it had settled on him it evaporated.
He was running from the politic: running from Amaury Villon’s murderers. The prophet’s words were like a bleeding cut in his hindbrain. He used them to try and form a plan. He needed a destination.
But Thales was not used to making decisions. Rene had always been his guide. She had told him to leave. But to go where? To do what?
Fool! He chastised himself. Fool of fools for not knowing myself! What should I do?
As the conduit disgorged its passengers into the sprawling terminal, Thales let himself drift amid the throng. He searched the outbound displays for something that resonated but every destination was somewhere too far from Rene.
He wandered further, past the elevator walks and gleaming shopfronts that lined the exit gates, along the less salubrious rows of moneylender booths, finally settling at a drab kafe where he ordered a chocola drink and lard-chips.
The boost of sweet nutrition raised his spirits a little.
When he had finished he gave the attendant his clip to pay.
The despondent fellow shook his head. ‘Not here, Msr. Damn things cost more to process than it’s worth. You give me lucre.’
‘But I have none,’ admitted Thales. ‘Can I offer you some service to pay for my drink and food?’
The attendant shook his head. He reached for his ‘cast. ‘Politic’ll deal with you.’
‘No!’ Thales leapt towards him, grabbing the man’s hand.
The attendant tore his hand away and produced a jolt weapon from under the counter. Before he could use it on Thales, a third man intervened.
‘Let me pay for the gentleman’s drink and offer him another,’ said the intervener, a man with soft wavy hair and a high forehead. His wide-spaced eyes were full of sympathy.
The attendant glanced between them, caught between an urge to redeem his lucre and an offended ego.
Lucre won. He snatched up the cash.
Thales’s rescuer ushered him to his table and took a seat next to him.
‘I-I th-thank you, sir,’ said Thales. ‘An awkward position I found myself in.’
The man held out his hand. ‘Gutnee Paraburd.’
‘Thales.’ He did not offer more than that.
‘A man of your calibre at this end of the station is likely game. I would recommend that you should not flash a Gal clip around. You could maybe get rolled for such a thing.’
Thales coloured. ‘Of course. How naive of me—but I have been somewhat out of sorts today. Not thinking, perhaps.’
‘Down on your luck, poor fellow?’
Thales felt a quiver of pride. ‘No. Not at all. Affairs of the heart.’
‘Aaah. I understand completely. Then you are not in need of lucre. My mistake. Let us enjoy our drink, then, and forget our woes.’
‘Agreed,’ said Thales with relief. The man was clearly a kind enough fellow and he must make an effort to reward that. ‘And what pastime is your pleasure, Mr Paraburd?’
‘Import and export—of the medical kind. Not an easy life, pandering to the whims of laboratories. And it’s hard to find reliable employees.’ Paraburd smiled in a confiding kind of way that made his eyes seem wider. It was an ingenuous face and friendly. ‘But you must know the sort of problem,’ he added.
Thales sighed. ‘Not really. As you may have guessed I am a philosopher. But I am considering embarking on a change of lifestyle. I am truly interested in what you say.’ At least to distract me from my own troubles.
Paraburd settled comfortably in his chair and Thales marvelled at the man’s familiar, easy way. ‘Today, for instance, an employee of mine was supposed to leave to collect a naked DNA sample from a mesa-world laboratory in Saiph. He was to return with it so that our own medical facilities can begin the process of upgrading our Health Watch against the next year’s influenza. The DNA, as you can guess, will prevent many deaths. But just a moment before I met you, my office notified me that the man has failed to appear. Thousands of lives are at risk for a single man’s folly.’
Thales was shocked. ‘Without a hint of warning. Is there no one else who can go in his stead?’
‘It is not so easy to find biological couriers, philosopher Thales, at a few hours’ notice. It is the job for only a special few who wish to serve their community. We have become such a selfish and inert world. Even money will not entice them.’
‘Y-you pay?’ Thales stammered.
‘Most handsomely, Thales. A million lucre for little more than a leisurely trip abroad.’
Thales felt a rush of heat in his body. A million lucre could finance a trip to Belle-Monde and he would not have to rely on Rene’s charity. With that amount he could be independent. ‘A m-million lucre? That is indeed generous. Are there risks?’
Paraburd waved his hand and squeezed his eyebrows together in disdain. ‘Tiny, tiny risks.’
‘Wouldn’t an animal suffice as host? An alpacania or even a rodent?’
‘Lesser animal hosts do not provide the most efficacious response. Besides, it is quite safe for humanesques. No, Thales, altruism is the key here. And there are so few altruists in Scolar any more.’ Paraburd stared sadly into the distance.
An idea formed in Thales’s mind as he sipped his chocola. It was a particularly delicious drink, and relaxing. He must have it again soon, he thought. With a million lucre he could enjoy many more of them. ‘Where must your courier go?’
‘To a laboratory on Rho Junction.’
‘And then?’
‘The courier will receive the naked DNA and return with it to our own facilities here on Scolar where we can harvest it and begin the transfection process.’
‘Will the courier need travel finance and so forth?’
Gutnee Paraburd clicked his tongue. ‘No, no, no. My company covers all such things, of course.’ He rubbed his temples with frustration, then stared at Thales with a hopeful expression. ‘Why do you ask?’
Thales cleared his throat, took another sip of chocola, then cleared his throat again. ‘I would offer myself. My services, that is, if you would have me.’
Paraburd’s mouth fell open in undisguised delight.
‘Indeed. Would you, sir? A distinguished philosopher working for me! Well, I’m smitten shivery with shock.’
‘I am just a man like you, Mr Paraburd. You have done me a favour, now I can return it... Does that mean you accept my offer?’
The man bowed in his seat. ‘I accept with most humble gratitude. Let us hasten to my office.’
Thales returned Paraburd’s smile with less enthusiasm but a lighter heart. He had made a decision and done a good turn. ‘One thing I would ask. I would not care to run into the politic.’
His new employer nodded in complete understanding.
* * *
Gutnee Paraburd led Thales through a door in the catoplasma wall and into the rear corridors of the station. The filthy halls were piled with disused tubing and other unrecognisable items, and smelled of sour chemicals.
‘I did not realise there were parallel passages in the landing port.’
‘All large transit stations have service areas,’ Thales’s new boss explained. ‘It wouldn’t do for travellers to see the less glamorous end of things. Now, Msr, when we reach my office I will provide you with a courier uniform. Then we will hasten to the ship. Loading has already begun.’
&nb
sp; Thales felt a sharp twist in his stomach, a pang of anxiety, followed by a thrill of anticipation. He was going into space—something he had not had occasion to do before, certainly not as a paid personage. It gave him a sense of purpose. Rene would be surprised if she knew and he liked that notion.
Paraburd turned along a narrow, dim corridor and opened a door at the very end. His office was crowded with shelves of receptacles and chilled by a draught from an adjacent cool room. A balol hunched over a desk in the middle of it all, dwarfed by the stacks of laboratory objects. He scowled at Paraburd who ignored him and ushered Thales into a small ablution cubicle.
‘I will hand a uniform in to you.’
Thales squeezed past a crate of tube syringes and waited behind the door. After a few long moments, in which he became acutely aware of the dark stains in the ceiling and an unpleasant smell coming from the toilet, Paraburd tapped on the door and passed a uniform in.
Thales emerged in ill-fitting pants and jacket. ‘There is a tear under one arm,’ he said.
Paraburd shook his fist at the balol. ‘Tell me what it is that I pay you for?’
The balol’s scowl didn’t alter. Nor did he proffer an explanation.
Paraburd took Thales’s arm. ‘Keep your arm at your side and no one will notice. You see, your position on this ship will be a dual role. For the duration of the trip you will assist as an escort for a travelling diplomat. It is a way of managing costs, you understand. Now for the DNA barrier.’ He went into the refrigerated compartment and returned with a fluid-filled, sleeve- shaped object. He pushed the uniform up to Thales’s elbow and slipped the sleeve over his wrist.
Thales felt a series of tiny pricks.
When he tried to remove the sleeve Gutnee Paraburd held it fast with a surprising show of strength. ‘Do not move until the sleeve has drained.’
The pricks continued for a few more seconds until Paraburd relaxed his grip and removed the empty sleeve.
‘You are now protected from the disease. But please remember, Msr Thales, that the barrier substance has a finite lifespan. You must deliver the naked DNA to me in-order to have it harvested. If not, transfection will occur in your genome.’
Thales felt a twinge of uncertainty. ‘Mr Paraburd, this DNA I am to receive ... is it that important?’
Gutnee Paraburd appeared hurt and shocked. ‘Mr Berniere, all my work is important—’
‘But what do I know of escorting dignitaries?’ Thales interjected.
‘Pfft!’ said Paraburd. ‘It requires nothing more than trailing around after a diplomat. This type of cross-utilisation of labour is a common and accepted practice. But then, as an esteemed scholar you would have seen such things. I am a reputable businessman and if you do not wish to make honest lucre, then—’ Gutnee Paraburd made a show of returning his purse to his pocket.
Thales forestalled any further negative pronouncement by taking the purse. ‘I apologise. Of course you are.’
‘Indeed,’ said Paraburd, mollified. ‘The purse contains an instalment of the lucre. You shall have the balance when you return. It is not safe for a man to walk around with a million lucre in his pocket, Msr Berniere. Now let us go.’
* * *
Their final words were exchanged a short time later at the entrance to a docking tube. Thales could not see the craft but a deep whine emanated through the tube and it shuddered periodically.
Gutnee Paraburd pressed a document film into his hand. ‘Your instructions are all here.’ He gave Thales a wide-eyed look. ‘Safe travelling, Msr Thales—may fortune bring you back to me quickly.’
Thales could not think of a suitable reply and settled for ‘I will do my best, sir.’ He climbed the small rubber gradient to the entrance of the tube but when he turned to give Paraburd a final farewell the man had already gone.
A humanesque dressed in the same kind of uniform as Thales waited at the ship’s entrance.
‘You Paraburd’s man?’
Thales nodded, not sure that he liked the fellow’s curt tone and thick features.
‘Here,’ said the guard, slapping a mask against Thales’s chest. ‘Get this on. The diplomat will be here in a moment. Make sure you stand at the back.’
‘Is my uniform too unkempt?’ asked Thales, anxiously prodding the rip.
The man gave him an odd look. ‘Yeah. Sure enough. But that’s it.’
As Thales pulled the visor down over his face, more uniformed personnel appeared in the lock, assembling themselves into two lines. He dutifully lined up in the second row.
A few moments later two Brown Robes entered through the shuddering docking tube.
Thales held his breath, grateful that he’d been instructed to stand back. The politic guards scanned the group of assembled personnel and exchanged a few words with the man who had greeted Thales. Satisfied that all was in order, one of them spoke into a personal, ‘cast.
The tube rattled again and the diplomat entered.
Thales found himself unable to let go of the breath that he was holding in. Sophos Mianos stood a mere body’s length away.
MIRA
‘Cryoprotectants?’
‘Surely even on your backward planet you’ve heard of them?’ ‘I-I...’
‘Who opposes OLOSS, Baronessa?’
‘The Extropists, of course—’
‘OLOSS has been trying to destabilise them for years because they won’t sign the charter. One of the ways they’ve done that is to make the cryoprotectants that the Extros use in their transformation processes illegal—outside approved consignments for OLOSS use.’
‘They are illegal?’ Mira’s heart thundered.
‘Not just illegal, Fedor. Do you know what they do to ‘esques caught trafficking them?’ Rast’s eyes were so narrow that Mira wasn’t sure if they were even open. ‘They don’t bother to put them in jail. They just box them up and cremate them,’ she said.
‘OLOSS would not be so barbaric.’
‘Would be and are,’ Rast said flatly. ‘Crux, Fedor, you’ve just had a close-up view of what humanesques can do to each other. Why would OLOSS be any different?’
‘But the charter—’
‘Prevents lawlessness but doesn’t stop cruelty.’
Rast impatiently tapped her fingers on the conductor pad while Mira digested what she had learned.
‘But if you knew I was going to an OLOSS planet—why would you risk such a thing?’ Mira said slowly.
Rast’s glance flicked to Catchut—so quickly that Mira wasn’t sure whether of not she’d imagined it. ‘You were going. Not us. We—ah—intended to... stay aboard. Didn’t figure the suspicious bastards would come out and search us.’
Is that the truth, Rast? Mira wondered. She examined the mercenary’s face but Rast’s expression showed nothing, neither guilt nor discomfort nor fear.
Insignia, how long until the OLOSS ship reaches us?
Exactly?
Approximately.
Less time than it takes you to dress.
‘They are too close now. We cannot avoid them boarding—you must hide it,’ said Mira decisively.
Rast reared up out of her seat and grabbed Mira’s arm. ‘No, we must run.’
‘We cannot run,’ Mira cried. ‘I have to tell them about Araldis.’
‘They won’t believe you—’
Mira stood impassively in Rast’s grasp and summoned her most imperious tone. ‘Hide it. And send Latourn to attend me at the egress scale.’
‘A-attend you!’ Catchut spluttered. ‘Why, y-you—’
But Rast cut him off with a decisive hand movement. ‘Play your game well, Baronessa. Your life depends on it.’
Mira took that warning back to her cabin where she hurriedly changed into a Pellegrini ceremonial robe.
The bodice and skirt were too large for her thin body but the headdress fitted well enough. She bundled her hair behind the wimple and tucked away a couple of stray wisps. The mirror showed her strained eyes and faded skin colour. She tu
rned sideways and stretched the fabric across her belly. There was no hint of her secret in this voluminous dress.
Insignia, contact the OLOSS ship and explain that they are welcome aboard but that one of the survivors has a quarantine-level illness. And—
Mira?
– Why did you not tell me that Rast had brought cryoprotectants on board?
I am not interested in the minor activities of your species.
You mean... only when it suits you.
There was a long pause before Insignia replied.
The OLOSS ship has requested that your delegate comes to their quarantine area.
Mira let out a relieved breath.
* * *
Latourn was waiting for Mira at the egress scale. His dark hair was slicked flat and he wore an ochre-coloured everyday fellalo over his grey garb. The robe was a little short but he looked well enough in it—as though he could be Latino.
Mira felt the force of his stare. ‘I do not need you to speak, merely to act as my attendant. Stay behind me,’ she said.
Latourn nodded, and smiled in a way that made her uneasy. There was no warmth in it, only a strange kind of hunger. It was a risk taking him to the meeting but preferable to the others.
She heard a dull thud.
‘That’s them,’ said Latourn, turning to face the rough, thickened flesh of the egress scale. ‘Lemme go first. Might be that someone’s nervous in there.’
Mira shook her head. She would let no one risk themself on her behalf. ‘No. Stay behind me,’ she repeated.
“He shrugged and gave a mock bow. ‘Whatever m’lady wants.’
The docking connection is complete, Mira.
Let’s proceed.
* * *
The OLOSS ship’s entry chamber was as grey and functional as the corridors of Intel station. Mira was forced to sit on a bench close to Latourn as they were screened for contamination. Finally, a strong astringent scent filled their nostrils.
The Sentients of Orion Page 46