Mira Fedor stood up immediately. ‘Of course.’
As she moved behind Bethany and Thales her robe caught on the corner of Thales’s seat. It pulled tight for a brief moment and she wrenched it loose with quick, nervous hands. Her belly seemed unnaturally round on her slim frame.
Jo-Jo’s heart contracted. No. Surely not...
* * *
According to the visitor information, Rho Junction didn’t have a studium or any other such pretensions to learned institutions—but it did harbour a body called The Alliance of Free Thinkers. The TAFTers welcomed Jo-Jo Rasterovich with open arms.
‘It is timely,’ said their spokesperson, ‘that you should contact us just as we are about to hold convocation.’
‘Timing,’ Jo-Jo replied, ‘is one of my many talents.’ Like crap.
His bold approach had been rewarded and Insignia was granted landing rights along with priority docking. But the TAFTers’ enthusiasm and the proximity to Extropy space had made Jo-Jo jumpy.
The half-heads were unpredictable. Look at the Stain Wars. Just as Orion had looked set to be dragged into a protracted battle, Commander Lasper Farr had led an intervention backed by his own mercenary force, and the Extros had withdrawn. Just like that. Just like that.
Although Jo-Jo was pissed off with Rast, she was his best sounding-board. He sought her out again before he left the ship. She was in the armoury, counting ammunition, and halted only to give him a scowl.
Jo-Jo wasn’t going to be put off. ‘Why do you think the Extros pulled out so quickly when Farr entered the war?’
She logged a number in her filmtab and crossed her arms. ‘Funny time for a history lesson.’
‘Not a lesson,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘I’m about to go and hang my arse on the line about a few things. I want to know if it might get shot.’
‘Didn’t think you were the kind to worry about what others thought.’ Rast was being deliberately obtuse and Jo-Jo knew it. ‘Loner like you.’
‘I’m not and you know it. I’m also not stupid. This is too close to Extro space for my liking. Hell, just look at the station log-in—the place is teeming with them. Come on, Randall, you’ve seen them up closer than I have. What’s the deal?’
Rast counted and logged another shelf of ammo before she answered him. ‘Like I said to the Baronessa, they don’t think like us—or like any alien I’ve known. Maybe it’s something to do with the cryo process or the chemicals they use but it’s hard to get a grab on their logic. Maybe they don’t have any.’
‘What about Farr, then?’
‘There’re a million theories about why Farr had the juice to stop them. Most ‘esques don’t care, though—they just know he did and that’s enough.’
‘You’re not most, Randall. You make your living out of this kind of thing.’
‘You shoulda asked Lasper when you had the chance.’
This time Jo-Jo scowled. ‘Yeah, well, I’ll remember that next time we’re having beers together.’
He left Rast to it but continued to brood over what might await him as Insignia was directed to Bell Six of the mega-station: a huge, grey dome with multiple docking shelves affixed to its fluted outer shell.
When the Baronessa confirmed their arrival, he collected Catchut from the cucina and went to the egress scale.
On the outside, a long uuli escort draped in a scent- and-colour translator waited in the docking tube for them. Without turning, it undulated back along the tunnel and out into Bell Six, stopping next to a taxi.
As they followed, Jo-Jo noticed flakes of dried uuli excreta, like dry snow, swirling in the air. His skin started to itch and his throat thickened. What if he lost his voice? No voice, no God-lecture, no distraction for the idiot Berniere.
‘Convocation convenes in the Orb Chamber in Bell Four,’ said the translator in pompous Gal. Its lofty tone seemed ridiculous in contrast to the uuli’s soft, quivering movements.
Jo-Jo got into the taxi and peeled off one of the complimentary filter masks from the back of the headrest.
Catchut climbed in next to him. ‘Stink, don’t they? Why do they have to shit everywhere?’
‘It’s not shit,’ said Jo-Jo. He coughed. His eyes were beginning to water. “S mucus. Reduces friction when they move. Ever seen a mollusc?’
‘Eaten plenty,’ Catchut conceded.
‘Think of molluscs.’
Catchut laughed and licked his lips as the uuli slid onto the front seat of the taxi. ‘Probably best not.’
* * *
The trip to Bell Four nearly had Jo-Jo forgetting why they were there. Where Edo had been almost colourless in its meld of grey and silver parasite-polished metal refuse, Rho Junction was a riot of colour and movement and scents that forced their way past Jo-Jo’s mask and fizzed in the back of his throat like a scoop of sour sherbet.
While his mind tried to sort out the assaults on his senses, the taxi veered from the designated road and drove straight up the nearest wall. With a loud click it ejected a slide from a side panel which magnetised to the silver tracks snaking along the walls. Suspended there above the mêlée of foot traffic, Jo-Jo and Catchut were free to gape.
Jo-Jo had travelled more than most, first as scout and then as God-Discoverer, but nothing compared to the Arrivals Bell at Rho Junction.
‘What the shit is that?’ said Catchut.
He pointed to a group of transparent fluid-filled figures with large oval heads from which odd flaps protruded. The flaps resembled ears but seemed to be used for propulsion.
‘Extros, I’d guess,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Heard they like to hang out in different bodies.’
The uuli translator spoke. ‘Msr Rasterovich is correct. Those are Extropists who have adapted siphonophores as their means of transport. The corporeal part of the Extropist takes many different forms. The forms designate rank and intelligence. It is a complex society that is difficult to decipher from the outside.’
‘Whassat mean?’ said Catchut.
The uuli paused as if retranslating the question. ‘Many of their forays into the post-humanesque form are neither successful nor aesthetic. We see many variations here, and each is a product of a particular faction or trend within Extropy culture.’
‘So they aren’t all super-brains swimming around in lumps of jelly like these,’ said Jo-Jo. Immediately the words came out he regretted them. The uuli’s skin flared crimson as if the creature was blushing. Or angry.
‘The siphonophore is one of their more common and successful forms. It is modelled on my own species.’
Fortunately the taxi swerved under an archway and then took a fierce upward trajectory to enter the Bell proper—bringing their conversation to a halt.
The pedestrians were now far enough away to seem insect-like in size. Above them, however, the Bell’s dome was busy with traffic: lightweight fragile flyers and butterflies, creatures without abdomens.
‘The wings you can see are another of their more successful forms,’ it said.
‘But they’re just flappers,’ said Catchut. ‘Can’t see nobody.’
The uuli’s body twisted its elongated torso into a knot as if it had suddenly been tied by an invisible hand. Jo-Jo got the impression that it was laughing. ‘Their post-human mind is impregnated into the large spots on each wing,’ it said.
Jo-Jo was intrigued. ‘How do they land, then? There’s nothing to attach their legs to.’
‘They don’t require legs,’ said the uuli. ‘Observe above them.’
Jo-Jo and Catchut craned their necks to view the dangling vegetation that grew from the apex of the dome. Broad leaves floated gently on stems that were attached to a network of vines and creepers. The Wings hovered above them and occasionally dropped onto them like slowly settling dust.
‘But how do they move around once they’ve landed?’
‘They don’t,’ said the translated uuli voice. ‘They spend their time hovering and settling. When they wish to take off, the vibration of their wings creates momentum.
The leaf bounces.’
‘They’re pretty vulnerable, then,’ observed Catchut.
The uulu knotted up again. ‘Don’t ever assume a transhuman is unprotected, no matter how delicate or vulnerable its corp is.’
A sinister sensation crept up the back of Jo-Jo’s neck, making the roots of his hair stiff. Despite the marvels around him, he wanted to hurry back to the biozoon and get the hell off Rho Junction.
Besides, the place was clogging up his airways. He glanced at Catchut whose expression remained bland and untroubled, though he noticed the mercenary’s hand was resting against his pocket. There were no weapon restrictions for those entering Rho Junction, although Jo-Jo knew that he would be searched before he entered the convocation chamber.
‘How much longer?’ he asked.
‘Longer,’ the uuli answered.
Jo-Jo tried to fix his mind on the speech he was about to give, but other thoughts intruded. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He should have got off the Savvy at Jandowae with the rest of the refugees. And something else was really bothering him. Something Jasper Farr had said. ‘Prediction is one of its uses’ The lunatic had a sophisticated device that correlated huge amounts of information. If he wasn’t using it to predict outcomes, what was he using it for? And where the hell did he get the design for it? Even the most advanced spintronics hadn’t produced anything like Lasper Farr’s Dynamic System device.
The sinister sensation began to spread out across his body until his skin was crawling with unnamed fear.
THALES
‘You’re weeks late.’ Gutnee Paraburd’s contact had his privacy screen on, but even with voice distortion he sounded suspicious. ‘Figured Gutnee stiffed me on this one. You got the guarantee? ‘Cos if not, I got another buyer comin’ in soon. Mebbe I’ll use them anyways. I prefer reliable.’
Thales attempted to keep his face calm. The mercenary, Rast, had told him that they would run identity checks and reaction analysis—skin colour, pupil dilation—from the shortcast. If that checked out, he’d be given a meeting place and time.
‘If you get it right,’ Rast added.
The mercenary scared him: her stark white hair and the mouth that switched between maliciousness and laughter in an instant. Mira Fedor was at least the type of woman he could comprehend. Mira Fedor had manners and breeding.
He sighed. Not so Bethany.
She held his hand now, out of sight of the shortcast viewer, leaning against one of the many tubercles in the biozoon’s buccal. He’d never met a woman like her. Despite her toughness she seemed so willing to do things for him, to listen. The respect she gave him was intoxicating. She loved the way he spoke, and his ideas. And her lovemaking was so natural. It made him forget that her flesh had lost its tautness and that her hair was thin and lacking lustre.
Rene’s hair rippled like poured water.
He pushed away that memory and concentrated on the ‘cast. ‘I ran into some trouble travelling. I had to pick up an alternative route.’
‘What kinda trouble?’
Rast had prepared him for this. ‘There’s a rogue stationmaster hijacking cargo.’
‘Where and what name?’
‘Landhurst at Intel.’
‘You came through Intel?’
Thales regurgitated Rast’s ready-made story. ‘I got diverted there from Scolar station. Seems there are some problems on a planet in one of the outer systems. Refugees are choking the shift queues.’
‘How come your ‘zoon’s showing high traces of mercury?’
Thales resisted a panicked glance at Bethany. He tried to give the impression of bewilderment. ‘We had an encounter with a refuse ship. It tried to shift out of sequence, right into our space. It must have left us with some—er—residue.’
‘Damn Savvy bastards. That Carnage Farr thinks he’s got free run of everthin’.’
The voice fell silent.
Thales maintained a steady forward glance. He could think of nothing else to say, so he sought the space between his fear and his anger.
‘Well, your visuals check out, Thales Berniere. Get yourself over to Heijunka section on Rho One. Find bay GG. Wait in the reception area. And a word to it—don’t be squiddin’ me. My supplier’s got more pull than a gravity well. She’ll slice you up and use your DNA for paste.’
She?
The shortcast finished abruptly. Thales pulled his moist palm from Bethany’s and shook the feeling back into his fingers. ‘You’d better stay behind. They mentioned your brother.’
‘He’s right,’ said Rast from the sink of thick biozoon tissue she called Secondo. ‘Good catch on the mercury traces, scholar. Residue. Hah! Maybe you did learn something from all that studium time.’
Thales clenched his teeth. ‘Education doesn’t equate to idiocy,’ he said stiffly.
‘Does in my worlds,’ Rast guffawed.
Thales tried to relax his jaw. The mercenary was an expert in the art of belittling and she wasn’t particular who she practised it on.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ agreed Bethany. ‘It is possible that I might be recognised, or linked to Lasper. My brother has more enemies than friends.’
Thales gave her a warm look. ‘It would be safer.’
Bethany stood and moved behind him where she rested her hands on his shoulders. He was sitting in what Randall had called Autonomy, a larger nub with recognisable add-ons that moulded to fit its occupant. With the virtual display pushed aside he could view the entire buccal with a glance.
Rast had closed her eyes. ‘Better move, then. Don’t know how long Rasterovich can keep most of the attention his way. We’ll all leave together. I’ll take Bethany and the Baronessa sightseeing. Act like you’re doing the same. According to the tourist map, Heijunka section is right next to The Hoes in Bell One. Take a detour through The Hoes like you’re after some distraction—anybody that’s watching will lose interest the moment you get there,’ she said.
‘What are The Hoes?’ asked Thales.
Rast opened her eyes abruptly.
He felt Bethany’s lips at his ear. ‘The Hoes is another name for the sex parlours,’ she whispered.
Thales’s whole body flushed with heat. Scolar did not have such places. Carnal pleasures were NOT something philosophers paid for... though nothing would surprise him about those Pragmatists. But even they would not be tawdry about it. There was no sex industry on his planet. He imagined Rene’s repulsion at the very notion.
Mira Fedor entered the buccal and frowned over at Randall. ‘The port authority has finished their scan of the ship. We have been given permission to disembark.’
Rast leapt from her prone position with an agility that caused Thales a stab of envy. The woman was more of a man than he was in so many ways. And though bigoted and coarse, she was not a fool either.
Thales felt a sudden desire to shirk off his upbringing—his beliefs—and become someone else. A person of action—not a piece of flesh manipulated against its will by a Lasper Farr or a Sophos Mianos and especially not by a Gutnee Paraburd. A strange coagulation of certainty occurred deep inside his chest.
He could change.
* * *
Thales and Latourn parted from Rast, Mira and Bethany at the market stalls that lined the docks near their berth and took the suspended fast-trak to Bell One. The wavering overhanging tube only afforded brief glimpses of Rho Junction when it stopped and the doors flashed open and shut. There were no windows on the fast-trak, only bright dancing icons that recorded their journey with meticulous precision.
Thales sat opposite Latourn, who kept his eyes on their route marker. He tried to find his meditation space again, to keep out lurking fears about the disease with which Lasper Farr had infected him and the new biological cocktail that he was about to receive, but it eluded him still...
‘Scholar?’
Thales glanced around.
Latourn stood in the doorway of the fast-trak forcing the sensors to keep it open. ‘You comin’?�
�
Thales scrambled to his feet and joined the man.
The fast-trak sped off, leaving them to ride a steep conveyor down to the floorspace of Bell One.
The descent gave them a broad view of the layout. The conveyor led straight into an area of rooftops that resembled an ocean of rust-coloured waves, peaking but never quite breaking. They were divided periodically by large and bawdy sculptures.
On the distant side of the Bell another city of high-rise factory buildings loomed through light haze.
Thales sniffed the air. An acrid taste like pepper caught at the back of his throat, sending him into a coughing spasm.
Latourn surveyed the vista with a curled lip.
‘Ventilation ain’t too good in this one/Extractors must be cheap. Or old.’
‘They sh-should be able to get rid of s-smoke at least,’ coughed Thales.
“Taint smoke, scholar. It’s flakes.’ Latourn held out his hand and Thales watched tiny particles settle on his skin.
‘W-what f-from?’
Latourn nodded at the uuli ahead of them on the conveyor. ‘Them, mebbe.’
‘Y-you mean their skin?’ Thales swallowed. ‘But we do not have that p-problem on Scolar.’
Latourn jerked his head to indicate behind him. ‘Yeah, well, guess you don’t get so many. Or them, either.’
Thales turned to the group overtaking them: transparent round-bodied creatures with strange flaps tagged in an irregular pattern across their skin. They balanced on long suckered feet that exuded unpleasant odours with each quick-flowing step. Within moments he and Latourn were left behind in a swirl of floating wet skin flakes.
Both coughed violently.
Latourn spat when he caught his breath. ‘Extros. Filthy skin-shedding Extros.’
Thales couldn’t rid himself of their smell. It besieged his senses and he rushed to the edge of the conveyor to vomit. The hot liquid splashed onto his robe and splattered across the girders below.
When he dragged himself back to Latourn he expected the man to taunt him, but the mercenary was already staring ahead at The Hoes. Thales appreciated, for once, a mercenary’s lack of finer feelings.
The Sentients of Orion Page 57