Satisfied that it would do, he hobbled to the edge of the grove. The moon was high now, and lit the direction he wanted to go. He glanced back to the spring and the rocky overhang, memorising the surrounding landmarks.
Innis Mulravey’s ill intent had brought some reward with it. They could have searched for weeks before locating this spring, which was hidden beneath the rock. Now they wouldn’t have to descend the mountain to the beach spring and risk encountering the giant ligs.
Trin grimaced. He wouldn’t let the discovery count in Innis’s favour. Attempted murder of a Principe required a dire penalty. The carabinere would see to it.
Determination settled in his belly, but as he began to limp forward, something glanced against his face. His dashed it away and walked on. Within a few steps, though, it happened again, and again. He caught one of the objects and examined it. Lig.
He heard a noise, a kind of crackling accompanied by a hiss. A shadow appeared over the mountain top, obscuring the moon, and then descended in jerky stages. A swarm of normal sized ligs, heading directly for the grove in which he stood.
Instinct drove Trin to the ground. He lay on his stomach and covered his face, but the ligs engulfed him, crawling inside his robe and hood, all over his skin, searching and probing between his closed fingers.
He forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly; they were mere insects, he reasoned. Nothing dangerous like the giant ligs from the spring at the bottom of the mountain. They will move on.
And they did, lifting from his body at some unheard signal, leaving him itchy and shivering.
He sat up and peered behind him into the grove. The moonlight was enough to show black clusters of the insects, which covered the branches of the trees like gloves. He groped for his stick to help him stand, only to drop it as ligs moved beneath his fingers. The stick was covered, like the tree trunks in the grove. He poked it with his shoe, and most of them rose and flew off.
He reached for the stick. The sap was gone, leaving only a trace of stickiness.
He wondered if there was there a connection between the giant ligs near the beach and this swarm. He’d never seen so many. It was not normal for them to behave this way.
He levered himself up and began the laborious climb. There was plenty to contemplate on the trip back to the cave.
TEKTON
From the safety of his cabin, Tekton used Lasper Farr’s device to run near-future prediction scenarios. The data stream led repeatedly, and almost exclusively, towards the annihilation of the OLOSS worlds and their allies. There were survivors, but the residual pockets of life were gradually snuffed out through loss of contact with the wider worlds; trade was impossible, and the communities lacked the infrastructure to self-sustain.
In nearly all its long-term projections, the device gave a dismal prediction for the longevity of the humanesque species and other alien sentients. Tekton witnessed the end of his kind through Lasper Farr’s DSD again and again, and after several days of it, fell into a terrible depression.
As an antidote to his misery, he developed cravings for both a lotion bath and sex. Neither seemed a remote possibility, so instead he lay curled on his bed, moving only to relieve himself and to visit the galley to gather food and drink.
Much of his misery time was spent in reflecting on his life to that point, and on those with whom he’d shared it. No one really, save Doris Mueller and a stream of warmly ridged vaginas to which he could no longer attribute names or faces. Oh, there had been Miranda
Seeward, briefly. But she was now involved with Lawmon Jise, and not to be trusted.
Tekton experienced a sudden longing for his own kind—educated politically devious sorts whose rules he understood. Were the other tyros under threat from the Post-Species? Were they still on Belle-Monde? He even thought nostalgically of his room there.
Inevitably his thoughts returned to the Entity. How strange that Sole would give the knowledge for the creation of such a profound device to his cousin Ra. What was it trying to do? Had it known of the Post-Species’ plans? Had Sole seen all this coming?
Perhaps Sole was warning us by giving Ra the knowledge to build the DSD, free-mind suggested. Giving us a chance to change things.
Somehow, Tekton thought, that did not fit his impression of Sole. He’d been afforded a glimpse into the Entity’s mysteries, and he’d not seen anything resembling compassion among the terrifying dizzying universe of knowledge and experiences he’d been plunged into.
And now that he thought more about it, he couldn’t fathom why the Entity had given him that glimpse. As far as he knew, the other tyros had not had similar experiences.
Why me? Why share with me? Unless...
Tekton jerked bolt upright and engaged with the device. Frantically he searched streams until he located a feed on Belle-Monde. The only eges in place appeared to be on the res-station satellites, broadcasting images of closespace around the pseudo-world; nothing on Belle-Monde itself, no view into the ménage lounge.
Right now, the sight of Miranda Seeward’s thighs would be as close to a homecoming as Tekton could imagine. He perused the views of res-station near space with irritation and disappointment. He’d hoped to learn something more about the Entity, but there was nothing... just empty, dusty space.
Nothing! shouted logic-mind. Can’t you see? Nothing!
Tekton toured through the images again, wondering what logic-mind meant.
It’s gone, free-mind wailed. Sole’s gone. Belle-Monde is destroyed.
A light sweat broke out over Tekton’s body. His minds were right: the gaseous distortion of space that signalled the Entity’s presence had vanished. Empty space.
Another rush of suspicions piled on top of the ones he already had. Tekton began reviewing some of the general feeds of random star systems, looking for Sole. Instructing the device to set a timeline record, he found an emerging pattern. The Entity had not left Orion, but was appearing in different places, each time close to where the Geni-carriers had deployed their incendiaries.
Sole appeared to be tracking the destruction.
Tracking it? That makes no sense, said logic mind. Observing, perhaps.
Tekton disengaged from the machine and lay back on the bed. He sipped on his reconstituted juice, letting his minds swirl with possibilities and questions.
Why had Sole given Ra the knowledge to create this device? Why? Not for the good of the sentients of Orion, he was sure.
Could it be simply a tease? A game?
Yes, screeched free-mind. A game. Of course, of course! Sole wants us to play.
Perhaps not a game. Logic-mind sounded sour and peeved. More likely a challenge. A competition.
Tekton’s akula swelled in a way it had not for some time; shades of Fenralia’s statue of homage to him. In fact, he hadn’t felt so hard since the time he’d had Miranda Seeward and Doris in bed together on Scolar. Logic-mind was right, he felt sure. The Dynamic System Device was a clue and a tool, and it was he, Tekton of Lostol, whom it had fallen to; he must unravel its meaning, and he must prevent the Post-Species destruction of humanesques and their allies.
Whether by accident or design, Tekton knew he stood a chance of becoming the most famous sentient Orion had ever known. So why, he begged his minds, in a sudden plummet to nervousness, do I feel so inadequate?
MIRA
According to farcast bulletins, the Dowl res station is still open. Do you wish to shift directly there, Mira?
Si. This time it was she and Nova who replied simultaneously. Nova’s response was less a formed thought, more a sense of agreement.
It is probably best, Insignia conceded. Many of the stations are disabled, or in the process of disabling. We may be caught somewhere we have no wish to be. There is news of Post-Species presence in Mintaka. And there is something else.
Si?
The relevance of this information is dubious, but it has been reported that the Sole Entity has disappeared.
Mira found herself un
expectedly disturbed by the news. Marchella Pellegrini—Trin’s rebel aunt—had wanted Mira to become a tyro to the Entity, had seen it as a way to help the women of Araldis escape their repression by learning how to reverse the Latino male control over fertility. To that end, Mira had harboured a wish to secure a place of study among the brightest minds in the galaxy. And now it was too late.
But what had it all been for? she wondered. Why did the Entity make contact with us? And what had it gained, or lost, that it chose to leave now?
Mira wasn’t even sure why she thought it looked to gain anything. Perhaps Josef Rasterovich’s conversations with Rast Randall had influenced her thinking.
That thought brought back sharp memories of the pair. Were they alive? Insignia had abandoned them aboard the Post-Species ship which had left Extro space along with the Geni-carriers.
I have set shift. Insignia interrupted her musings. Now tell me, how do we ensure our safety?
You said that you had a history of trade with the Post-Species.
Yes. That is so. They trust us in that capacity. But we have nothing to trade.
Tell them we have one of their own. One who is ailing, and requires Non-Corporeal healing. Mira pondered for several moments. And I want you to broadcast our signature as we shift.
A full identity ‘cast?
Perhaps the survivors will hear.
They are on the run.
It is still possible, thought Mira, stubbornly.
And if they do?
I would give them hope.
This is a foolish notion, Mira. Have the pregnancy changes within your body affected your mind? Even more?
Insignia left the latter part unsaid, but implicit.
Mira refused to let the biozoon’s opinion discourage her. I survived outside the Hub in the Bare World. I was there, in a place you could reach me, when you came.
But we have a telepathic bond. It’s quite different.
Vito is down there. And the korm. And Cass Mulravey. I will find them. Her stubbornness rose again.
Those names mean little to me.
Mira flinched at Insignia’s deliberate provocation.
Then an infusion of warmth started in Mira’s head and flowed through her body, easing the tension between them. A sensation that didn’t come from the biozoon.
Nova?
She could hear Insignia talking to her child. The one-sidedness of the conversation—Insignia’s side—made it hard to follow, but it seemed that Nova was mediating their argument in some way.
Mira sent a wistful thought to her child. Why can’t you talk to me?
Can—Mira. Take—time—you. Biozoon—simple.
Nova!
Will—better.
Mira dwelt in a moment of sheer pleasure. She and her child could communicate telepathically. It was something that she’d never anticipated. Nova, please, call me Mama.
Mama. Nova repeated the thought.
A swell of something powerful swept through Mira. I would prefer it—for a while, at least.
Si—Mama.
Insignia joined their conversation. We will shift soon. Are you ready, Mira? Whatever happens once we are there, Nova’s safety is my priority.
On some level Mira found herself smiling. Insignia could be stubborn and sometimes omitted information, but she never flinched from stating the truth. Never.
Never, what? Insignia asked.
Nothing. I am ready. Nova’s safety comes first, but I will decide my own actions.
The biozoon’s resignation to the latter notion was palpable.
As the colours and layers of shift vibration began to engulf her, Mira bathed in a joy and comfort she’d not felt for too long. Had thought she would never feel again. Family.
That moment was something she struggled to hold on to as they shifted into a nightmare.
Geni-carriers circled Dowl station and Araldis like predators, their buffers up against the debris from the ships they’d destroyed.
Fewer escaped than I anticipated, Insignia remarked.
If Mira had not been submerged in Primo, she would have been sick. As it was, the biozoon’s nano-membrane adjusted her electrolyte balance and released an antispasmodic into her system to counteract the shock. Had we not had the benefit of imperfect shift, that could have been us. We could be those fragments of... of...
She began to sob. Not in any physical way, but in her mind, a completely sorrowful utterance triggered by the sight of the ruined ships and tiny bodies strewn about shift space.
Pitiless. The Post-Species are pitiless. Her mind dwelt on that while Insignia adopted a weaving pattern of sublight movement. Much of the debris was caught in the sphere’s gravity, making entry and exit trajectories hazardous.
The Post-Species have contacted me. They wish us to cancel our signature broadcast, or they will renege on our arrivals permission.
Apologise to them and cease ‘casting.
They wish to know more about Wanton.
Tell them that Wanton held the title Highness Most Capable of Cultivation: Tissue on the Hub world.
Mira—
Please. Mira cut short the biozoon’s scolding. This has been agreed between us. I would come back here and try. After this, you decide.
Insignia made a disgruntled sound. If there is an ‘after this.’
Mira left the buccal and took Nova to her cabin. The Primo vein had tended to all the baby’s nutritional needs as they’d travelled, and dealt with her wastes, just as it had done with Mira’s. Now, while they waited for the Post-Species answer, she had a little time to practise motherhood. She must find something absorbent to wrap Nova in, and feed her. Mira’s breasts, though heavy, were not dangerously engorged. Primo had gently massaged and drained milk from her to keep them healthy and functioning.
As she entered, her gaze fell straight on Wanton.
‘Wanton?’
Other than the faintest quiver, the Extro gave no response.
She sighed and shifted it gently to make space for Nova, careful not to touch the remaining mycose blisters. Then she laid her baby on the bed and gazed at her.
It was the first time since Nova’s birth that she had been able to sit and look at her, and she could see changes already. Her face seemed less wizened, her cheeks plumper and limbs stronger-looking. Her skin, though, was still translucent. Amazingly, in a few days she’d developed some neck control, and was rolling her head from side to side, looking around with bright eyes.
Mira was sure that ‘esque babies normally took weeks to develop that kind of strength. She ran her fingers lovingly across Nova’s naked stomach, and the baby kicked her legs. Her little mouth opened wide.
You can do things already. More than I expected.
Si—Mama.
I know a little of babies, Nova. But you are different. I will have to learn. Speaking to her child in such a way seemed impossible, and yet perfectly natural. Instinct told her that little about Nova would be like a normal child. Wanton had admitted that in-vitro experimentation had occurred while she’d been captive on the Hub planet. Was her baby in some way like the Post-Species?
Nova’s grey-blue eyes watched her with intelligent interest. The level of comprehension in the baby’s expression was almost too strange to bear.
Mira—worry?
Mira shook her head and brushed her lips against Nova’s stomach, tickling her. Nova kicked her tiny legs again and made an ecstatic noise.
They played for a brief and precious time until a strong thought entered Mira’s mind: Hungry, Mama.
O-of course. She parted her robe and picked Nova up, lifting her against her chest. The infant latched on with little fuss and began to suck. It hurt for a time, but as if sensing her mother’s discomfort, she softened her grip until the milk flowed and the pain had gone, replaced by the hypnotic relaxation of feeding.
Satisfaction and joy filled Mira’s mind, pushing aside everything else. For now.
JO-JO
Randall was wa
iting for him in the doorway. In the moonlight he could see her excitement. Catchut was on his feet too, standing close behind her.
‘Crux, Rasterovich!’ she said. ‘You bin on a holiday?’
He pulled a face and slung the cord holding the com-sole off his shoulder. ‘I found somethin’.’
‘Me too! Bet mine’s bigger.’ It was a dumb thing to say, and she burst into laughter. ‘Whatcha got there?’
‘Portable com-sole. Least it will be, when we can get it working.’
‘You mean we can hear what’s going on up there?’
‘Hope so.’
She took it from him and headed back inside.
Jo-Jo followed her, bemused by her quick change of focus. Catchut slapped a tube of something liquid in his hand as he walked past.
‘Salut.’ Jo-Jo nodded gratefully and put it to his lips. It was sweet and creamy, and tasted like jam.
By the time he’d followed Randall to the windowless room they’d taken to using during the day, he’d finished the tube and felt revived from his climb to and from the studium. Coming back had been easier, but slower; the moons were up, and he’d had to use even greater caution. Just the weight of the com-sole had exhausted his still-weak muscles. They’d spent only a few weeks in Medium’s stasis goo, and yet their bodies had withered in it.
‘What did you find?’ Jo-Jo prompted Randall.
Her head was already bent over the com-sole as she fingered the device. ‘Should work. Seems intact.’ She stuck her tongue in the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, fitting the device to the room’s power adapter and pressing the frequency seek. ‘Should be power enough in the solar storage unit for this.’
Jo-Jo watched the icons blinking as the com-sole calibrated and tried again. ‘You said you found something too.’
The Sentients of Orion Page 105