The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  Gravity was much lighter out here, and he managed the endless stairs without any real effort. Eating the gnarls was another thing entirely; he had to slide them into his mouth straight from the packet to stop them floating off.

  Eating and walking always calmed Balbao. Doing them together was almost like meditation. By the time he reached EVAC #1, he’d reached a decision. If the invasion threat was real, he must take action. The survival of Sole’s chosen sentients—not to mention his own skin—could depend on his decisions.

  The Balol guards on duty saluted and opened the outer hatch. He nodded at them to stand at ease as he disappeared inside. EVAC sentry duty was the most boring rotation on the security roster.

  Ahhh. The smell of slightly stale air, catoplasma and titanium residues summoned sharp memories of his early years, which he’d spent on cramped ships in distant systems, dropping payload and studying data flow. He felt a sudden longing for the past, but brushed it away. Sentimentality would not help him sort out this mess.

  He settled in front of the com-sole and activated the ‘cast. First he tried to contact his immediate reportage, Commander Lars Unthak at the Group of Higher Intelligence Affairs, which was based in the Alnitak system. The ‘cast faded, so he switched to the Balol coding. It took some time to get a reply on the emergency line, and then it was only a harried junior officer at the Balol trans-cast relay station.

  ‘This is Chief Astronomein Balbao, from Psuedoworld 9176, Class 18. Transmitting OLOSS ident.’ He waited for the pingback before speaking again. ‘I’m unable to make contact with my direct reportage at GHIA. I require a risk analysis of our situation.’

  ‘Chief Balbao, I can’t help you,’ said the young officer. ‘All the senior personnel are in conference. Stand by for instruction.’

  ‘Stand by? For how long?’ spluttered Balbao.

  ‘I can’t be exact. Within six hours.’

  The chief grunted and pushed away from the com-sole to swallow some more gnarls. Sometimes he felt the meat concentrate was the only thing that kept him going.

  Moud, inform the tyros that the meeting has been transferred to this location.

  At what time, Chief Balbao?

  Now.

  * * *

  Now translated into much longer.

  Balbao counted the group as they squeezed into the comm-cabin. Moud, where are Javid Jividdat and the uulis?

  Uuli Ummman and Nummun are in commune, and couldn’t be disturbed. Godhead Jividdat is nowhere to be found.

  ‘Javid’s probably off with that piece of skin and bone from the service crew. And as for Um and Nu... of all the ridiculous times to be off with the Humm,’ said Miranda Seeward sourly. She was squashed uncomfortably into the second comm-seat, her dimpled flesh overflowing like a spilled jelly.

  ‘What’s the idea of this?’ Lawmon Jise demanded.

  ‘What does GHIA say?’ asked Labile Connit.

  ‘Calm down, please, and listen.’ Balbao took a long swill of his water tube. ‘The station comm is rimming, as you may have gathered. I’ve had to use the emergency ‘cast.’

  ‘To Balol?’

  ‘To the relay station, to be precise. I am waiting for an answer, hence the location of our meeting.’

  ‘Are things so dire, Balbao, that you must wait here on their whim?’ warbled Miranda.

  Jise pinched her arm to quiet her, and she squealed.

  Balbao glowered at them both. To think they were considered the greatest minds in their fields. In their fields. Remember that, he told himself. And you are the greatest in yours.

  ‘Having had time to reflect and possibly confer with each other, do you have any theories on the Entity’s sudden disappearance?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ said Miranda. ‘The Entity is unimpressed with this ridiculous war and has decided to avoid it.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Connit. ‘The war could not touch Sole. It is beyond such things.’

  ‘Is it?’ This came from Ra. The strange jewel- eyed Lostolian had not spoken since taking a seat in the cramped comm-cabin. He sat stiffly, legs crossed, wary of damaging his skin on the lifeship’s surfaces.

  Thin-skinned weirdo, thought Balbao. ‘What are you saying, G-Godhead Ra?’ He stumbled over the pretentious title.

  ‘I’m saying that I have seen glimpses of Sole’s inner world, and the Entity is not without purpose.’

  ‘None of us are without purpose, Ra,’ said Jise impatiently. ‘Is there something you wish to share?’

  ‘There are things we should all share, if we are to understand where the Entity has gone.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we disclose the nature of our projects?’ Miranda Seeward spat with indignation.

  Balbao steeled himself for another round of their ridiculous bickering, but found himself physically gripping his seat as a muffled explosion sounded stationside, and the whole ship shook with the impact.

  The tyros all started out of their seats.

  ‘Sit down,’ Balbao barked. Moud, what in the—

  ‘My moud is offline,’ screeched Miranda Seeward.

  ‘Mine too,’ said Jise.

  Moud! Moud!

  Another explosion, this one louder and closer.

  Balbao’s fingers stumbled over the com-sole, trying to pull up status reports, but the station mayer-domo didn’t respond. He asked for external views of Belle-Monde, but again nothing.

  ‘Balbao!’ said Ra. ‘Launch this ship immediately. We’re in the direst of predicaments.’

  Balbao set the manual override on the EVAC ship’s cameras and rotated them in an arc. Belle-Monde’s near space was dominated by floating debris, bodies among the flotsam and jetsam. One drifted up close to the camera, its appearance so distorted by trauma that Labile Connit gagged.

  ‘Strap into something,’ barked Balbao. Without his moud, he’d need help to pilot. He set the ship’s controller to automatic launch and tried to recall how to programme trajectory. It-had been more than a decade since he’d been in a ship without a moud, and even then it had only been a training run.

  A moment of weightlessness before the stabilisers cut in, and they shot at full propulsion away from Belle-Monde.

  The quick gravity change sent the tyros moaning.

  ‘Heavens,’ gasped Miranda. ‘What in Sole’s—’

  Her terrified exclamation broke Balbao’s concentration. He jerked his head so he could see the screens running the external views. Breaks in the floating debris gave them a glimpse of an object as big as Belle-Monde, which was shedding flecks of light.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Jise. ‘It’s like rain.’

  ‘Incendiaries.’ Labile Connit pointed uselessly, as if they could follow by line of sight. ‘A Geni-carrier.’

  ‘The Extros are here,’ said Miranda in a hoarse soprano. ‘We’ll die.’

  Balbao was gripped by an emotion he’d never experienced before: a warrior’s focus funnelling a brilliant mind. He turned back to the pilot com-sole with a fierce determination to survive. ‘No, we will not!’

  JO-JO RASTEROVICH

  Jo-Jo watched every dawn and dusk with new appreciation. Right now it was the dusk: violent reds, browns and bruised purples that bled into each other.

  In fact, being trapped inside the Extro drum had made him much more acutely aware of... everything. Despite malnutrition and screwed-up biorhythms, it was good just to be able to feel again. And smell. And see. Hell, it was incredible! He felt like he could sit for long periods of time just bathing in the feedback from his senses.

  Randall had other ideas.

  ‘Get your carcass away from the window. Don’t want the Saqr seeing movement or shadow.’

  ‘The windows are tinted,’ he argued.

  ‘Yeah, but we don’t know how their eyes work. Could be they can see straight through it.’

  Randall had a point. Jo-Jo didn’t know much about tardigrade micro-organisms, let alone these mutated macro counterparts. ‘What’s up?’

  Randall
had donned the boots and coat she’d taken from the dead Latino. ‘Time to take a little look-see outside.’

  Jo-Jo nodded. ‘You got a plan?’

  She shrugged. ‘Can’t see much from here. Wish we had a ‘scope of some kind.’

  The view out over the plains was clear and vast even in the dying light, but looking back to the mountain it was hard to distinguish the buildings from the boulders.

  ‘Seeing as we’re at the bottom of the mountain, I say we divide it into sections. Go all the way to the top, each time. Couldn’t take more than a few hours each way.’

  ‘What if we see trouble when we’re up top?’

  ‘Take some water with us. Hole up in one of the other buildings until the next night.’ She threw a canister and shoulder strap at his feet. ‘Standard issue for visitors. They’re all over the place.’

  Jo-Jo picked it up and peeled the lid back. The stale water stank of sulphur. ‘We could just start close. Do the whole near perimeter. Might be we don’t have to go to the top to find what we need.’

  Randall inclined her head, thinking about what he’d said. ‘Could do that, if you’re too weak to go all the way.’

  He ignored her goading. Something told him it was better to rest now, not exhaust themselves again, hiking the mountain in the blistering night winds. ‘I am,’ he said, and met her gaze. ‘And I’m bettin’ you are too. You’re just too dogged to say so.’

  Her eyes narrowed with mistrust. She was as mentally sharp as always, despite exhaustion and starvation. ‘Your way this time. But don’t get used to it.’

  He nodded, and followed her upstairs and along to the end of the building, to the door through which they’d first entered. Just the two of them. They left Catchut up a level, near the san, with a couple of water canisters and a plate of two-day-old polenta.

  ‘I’ll be shittin’ bricks by the time you get back, Capo,’ he’d said to his boss.

  ‘Long as it’s in the right place, Cat. Not cleaning up after you.’

  Catchut had barely smiled. He’d been subdued since escaping the Extro ship. The toll he’d paid hadn’t just been an injured foot. Something had deeply shaken his confidence. His eyes constantly followed Randall, as though he was seeking reassurance. When they were leaving him, his face showed fear and a little desperation.

  Jo-Jo hadn’t said anything to him. Catchut wouldn’t appreciate it.

  Now, as they stepped outside into the dark, Jo-Jo concentrated on following Randall’s back. He’d stopped short of suggesting that they strap themselves together so they didn’t get separated.

  As if reading his mind, Randall stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Take a good look where the building is in relation to everything else. If we end up being split, you’ll have to find your own way back.’

  ‘I spent thirty years scouting minerals in the unchartered territories,’ he told her abruptly.

  ‘Yeah, but did you ever do it without your gear? Your instruments?’

  He didn’t answer. She was right about that. Dead reckoning wasn’t something he’d ever had to use.

  ‘Just take a good look,’ she said. ‘It’s always different in the dark.’

  He did as she suggested without further protest, mapping points of reference: the angle of the landing port in the distance, the shape of the building, the approximate distance to the shadowy peak of Mount Pell.

  He signalled that he was ready, and she began to climb.

  Randall had already told him what she knew of the area: that many of the larger buildings—villas, she’d called them—had been owned by the wealthy upper- caste Latinos. The dwellings were scattered around the impressive sprawling studium compound, the Principe’s palazzo and other official structures.

  ‘I’m figuring the Saqr will’ve been through all the important places—anywhere there might’ve been a concentration of ‘esques or resources. Could be we’ll have more luck in houses of the lesser nobles, and the smaller offices.’

  Jo-Jo liked her reckoning and settled in to let her lead the way. Randall had been here before. The closest he’d gotten to planetside before now was the detention block in the Dowl station, and then...

  Helpless. Drifting in the black alongside Dowl. Bethany Jonil had dragged him back to safety when they’d escaped the station by shooting themselves into space. He owed her.

  He spared a moment to wonder if she’d found happiness with that idiot scholar. Though used badly by life, Beth had determination—like her brother, Lasper Farr. She’d made Jo-Jo promise to find her daughter. He’d agreed, never imagining he’d be back here.

  Now that he was, the idea gave him purpose. He’d seek Beth’s daughter out, if she’d survived. What was her name? ‘Jess?’

  ‘What?’ hissed Randall.

  ‘Nothin’,’ he replied.

  ‘Then stop talking to yourself. You’re creepin’ me out.’

  He refocused on the climb through the darkness. Much of the mountainside was smooth, bare rock, or scree slopes of slippery gravel. Randall did her best to stay on the harder surfaces, but several times they found themselves slipping back in tiny rockfalls.

  ‘At this rate, we’ll have them all over us,’ she said as they stopped to rest.

  Jo-Jo pointed through the dark to the solid shadow above them. ‘Something there.’

  He heard her suck in a deep breath, even though her hood was up. ‘Okay, let’s back up a bit and try climbing a bit further out. Even if we have to go higher and come back. We need to stay on the hard rock.’

  She climbed off sideways for a while, and then began to ascend again.

  Jo-Jo worked on keeping her feet in sight, as the sweat poured from him and his muscles began to tire. The night winds burned the exposed skin on his cheeks. He wanted to close the hood, but he wouldn’t be able to see Randall clearly if he did.

  By the time they reached the footings of the closest building, the mere act of breathing hurt his dry lips and swollen throat.

  He grabbed Randall’s ankle. ‘Water. Stop,’ he rasped.

  Randall slid down close to him. ‘What?’

  He mimed drinking.

  Randall glanced up. ‘Better in there. Night winds—bad tonight. Mebbe—storm—brewing. Drink up—let’s move.’

  Jo-Jo poured fluid past his stinging lips and forced himself to climb on until they reached the side of the building. Thankfully, the door unsealed without a protest, and they found themselves in a building with a very similar configuration to the one they’d left.

  ‘More offices,’ pronounced Rast, after they’d caught their breath. She sounded disappointed. ‘Need to get to the villas. Better chance of finding an AiV in one of them.’

  Jo-Jo gulped water as he leaned against the wall, and wished his body would cool down. Randall didn’t seem bothered by the same discomfort.

  Jo-Jo felt another wave of begrudging respect for the woman. Resilient didn’t even begin to describe Rast Randall. The only chink he’d seen in her armour was a psychological one. Trapped inside the Extro ship, unsure whether they were actually alive or just an aggregation of sound bytes, Randall had nearly lost it.

  Whatever the Entity had done to Jo-Jo’s mind when he’d first stumbled across it, it had somehow enabled him to survive and function in the Post-Species environment. Better than Randall had, anyway.

  Maybe he owed Sole something for that.

  He hadn’t felt the pull of the Entity since Edo, and he hadn’t missed its presence. The way it had drawn him to Belle-Monde and into Tekton’s clutches, and then his irresistible impulse to accept Lasper Farr’s deal and travel to Rho Junction with Mira Fedor... it was like having strings attached to his limbs.

  ‘I’ll take the top levels. You do the basement,’ said Randall. And she was gone before he could argue.

  Jo-Jo made his way down the stairwell. Like the one they’d just left, the building was a catoplasma structure, with some of the quirks and problems that came with spontaneous gro-materials. The basement
ceiling bulged so low in one spot that he had to bend over, and as he ran his hand down the wall alongside the stairs, he felt how it had buckled inward.

  With his eyes well accustomed to the dark, he was able to make out shapes. The basement looked like a storage area. Jo-Jo moved among the shelves, feeling along them where he could reach. Some familiar objects, some unidentifiable.

  He was fingering a narrow and compact case when Randall called down the stairs to him. ‘Trouble. Move.’

  Jo-Jo stuffed the object in the pocket of his fellalo and scrambled up the stairs.

  Randall was already at the exit door, a bundle of shadow, crouched low. She grabbed his arm and squeezed, a signal that he took meant to keep quiet.

  Without warning, she turned and shoved him back down the stairs. Sliding alongside him, she flattened herself against the pinched catoplasma steps. Her hand found the back of his neck and pushed his head down.

  At the same time he heard the pop of the door seal. A strong, sweet, familiar smell pervaded the air. Scraping sounds rasped along the floor.

  Jo-Jo fought a compulsion to raise his head and look. As if sensing his desire, Randall pressed harder on his head.

  He concentrated on his breathing, keeping it light and quiet. On Dowl station he, Bethany and Petalu Mau had escaped the notice of the Saqr for a few minutes by keeping low, crawling until they’d reached a service lift.

  Quiet. Still. Pray. Jo-Jo imagined Randall spitting the words out in that order.

  Maybe not pray. She hadn’t shown belief in anything much, other than her own ability. Even when things were bad in the Extro ship, he’d never heard Randall call for any god’s help.

  The sweet scent grew stronger; the scraping sounded right above them. A single Saqr? More? Don’t move. Don’t!

  Jo-Jo’s muscles twitched with an uncontrollable desire to spring up at the creature. Attack it before it could find him, surprise and aggression as his weapon. Not crouch here, shitting his pants, waiting for its maw to open and the bone-piercing stamen to extend down and skewer his skull.