The doors were open, and sand piled into the hallway. Every room they walked through was coated in it, and Jo-Jo’s throat closed over as he began to wheeze.
‘Must’ve been one helluva dust storm,’ Randall observed. ‘Enviros are dead too.’
‘Not quite,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘If we can get the doors shut, they might kick in a bit stronger.’
‘What’s the point?’ Randall was already marching purposefully through the sandblasted corridors, her boots crunching loudly in the silence.
The infirmary was as basic as she’d said, but it did offer antibiotic sleeves. They propped Catchut against the central dispenser and hooked him up. Randall wiped sand off the readouts.
‘Gonna take a while. Rasterovich, you check through the chalet for food. Closer to dark, we’ll head down the beach and get the cell out of the other AiV.’
‘Sure,’ said Jo-Jo. He hated it when she ordered him around, but they did need to eat. His belly ached from hunger, and he could barely swallow for thirst. The boots he’d taken from the dead Latino back on Pell still chafed his skin, and the fellalo weighed heavily on his weak frame. ‘We could fish,’ he suggested.
‘Easy stuff first.’
Jo-Jo left them and wandered through the deserted rooms. The ones near the infirmary looked like they’d been mostly for entertaining: large spaces littered with overturned chairs and faded parchment-dry brocade wall friezes. Someone—the Saqr, he supposed—had been through and ravaged the rooms, leaving nothing usable or unbroken. Deeper inside he found a staircase that led to bedrooms, some of them furnished to sleep ten or more people. Clearly the Principe had liked to entertain in numbers.
Jo-Jo saw nothing they could use, only ruined furniture and fading paintings. The bathrooms, though, harboured more desalinated water tubes. He put his mouth to one and drank deeply. It poured down his sore swollen throat, causing more pain than relief. When it hit his gut, he doubled up in pain.
When the cramp passed, he trekked down the stairs again, following the corridor to the section behind the infirmary. There he found the kitchen and storerooms. He fingered a scattering of dark shrivelled objects stuck to the metallic work surfaces—food that had decayed and lost its moisture. Even if he could pry the food off, it’d be too tough to chew.
He entered the first storeroom. It was empty and coated with dust.
The second one, though, was lined with shelves stacked with crates. He pulled the nearest crate out and looked at the seal. A dull light blinked in one corner. Whatever was in it was still preserved. His spirits lifted a little. Something they could eat?
When he persuaded the lid to open, he was greeted with the smell of preserving liquids. He quickly resealed it and tried another. This one revealed rows of dehydrated dough balls stacked on top of each other. He dug his hand in and scooped out a round knob. It tasted crumbly and dry and wonderful.
He grabbed some more in the fold of his fellalo and hurried back to the infirmary. Randall was sipping a clear liquid from a tube. She toasted him with bleary eyes.
‘Sterilising spirits,’ she said. ‘Nothin’ better.’
Jo-Jo held out his robe. ‘Found some bread.’
Randall lowered the tube from her mouth, and Catchut opened his eyes and straightened up.
The three of them sat around the infirmary eating the bread and sharing the raw alcohol.
Soon Jo-Jo felt a whole lot better than he had in a while. ‘Reckon we should go back and figure out what the Saqr’re doin’ with the Extros,’ he pronounced after a while.
‘You’re really wishin’ that funeral up, ain’t ya?’ Randall belched and stretched out on the infirmary bed.
For a split second Jo-Jo considered lying down alongside her, but he stopped himself. He lurched to his feet and went in search of somewhere to sleep. He found it in one of the upstairs bedrooms: a sandy bed with collapsed legs. Despite it being on a slant, it was the best thing he’d lain on in a long time.
Randall shook him awake a few hours later. Before he could form any words, his stomach had something to say. He rolled onto his side and puked near Randall’s feet.
She stepped sideways and gave a hollow laugh. ‘Thought you could hold yer liquor better ‘n’ that.’
Jo-Jo wiped his mouth and glowered at her through blurred eyes. ‘You poisoned me.’
‘Quit whingeing. It’s nearly dark. We gotta look for this fuel cell now, otherwise we’ll get stuck here another night.’
Jo-Jo thought of the bed and the storeroom full of crated food. ‘Could be worse.’
‘A lot worse, if the Extros take it into their headless minds to come after us.’
‘Why would they, if they haven’t already?’
‘Might just be they want to see where we’re going first.’
Jo-Jo groaned and rolled out of bed. The alcohol felt as if it had eaten through his stomach all the way up his throat to his skull. Right now, his brain was swimming in a preservative.
He stood up, then sat down again as the world spun.
Randall laughed again and headed for the door. ‘We could leave you here.’
She said it mildly—jokingly, even—but Jo-Jo didn’t like her jokes. He stood up and followed despite the dark tunnel of threatening unconsciousness. Halfway down the stairs, she turned to him and thrust something into his hand.
He squinted at his palm—dried fruit and more crumbled bread.
He sucked on a fig until his mouth made enough saliva to swallow, then manfully urged his stomach to let the food enter.
By the time they’d left the chalet and were halfway to the beach, he’d eaten the raisins and the bread. At the tide line his stomach stopped lurching and the tunnel of darkness receded.
‘Wait here.’ Randall approached the AiV stealthily, as if she half-expected an Extro to emerge.
When she was satisfied it was safe, she motioned Jo-Jo over.
‘Seems a long time ago,’ she murmured, almost to herself, as he got close. ‘Never thought I’d set foot in this shittin’ place again.’
She sprang up onto the running board with a speed and agility that he couldn’t help but admire. Even gripped by starvation and a host of other deprivations, Randall’s body still performed for her.
He copied her but more slowly, pulling himself up by holding the struts, his muscles protesting against the effort. He scraped a thick layer of sand away and peered through the plaspex. There was nothing inside that shouldn’t be. Following Randall’s lead, he pulled open the passenger-side door and climbed in.
Randall was already fiddling with the com-sole. ‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘It’s still intact. Cell’s good for a trip back.’
‘Maybe we should leave it that way.’
She glanced at him sharply. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘We’ve got two working AiVs. Seems better to me than one. Leave one here as a backup in case things get sticky. We know it’s here. Know it can get us out of trouble.’
She thought about it for a moment or two. While he waited for her answer, Jo-Jo looked around the cabin. There were trails of dry blood across the back seats and a piece of torn cloth. He reached for the cloth and fingered it. He didn’t have to ask Randall to know who it’d belonged to.
‘She tore off some of her robe for a bandage,’ said Randall without being asked. ‘Lat was injured bad. He got pretty attached to her after that. Used to follow her around the ship.’
‘Never noticed,’ said Jo-Jo, surprised at her openness.
‘I did. Used to worry me that he was gettin’ obsessed. Thought I might have to step in and... handle it. Turns out I didn’t.’ Her head dropped a little, and he saw it again, the keen hurt of having lost so many of her crew.
‘No harm in knowin’ what’s going on around you.’ What else was there to say?
She stared at him again. ‘What’s going on here, then? Why did Jancz bring a ship full of dangerous hungry Saqr to this world to wipe out the Latinos? And why has a fuckin’ great drum of Extros t
urned up here?’
Jo-Jo swallowed, his settling stomach beginning to churn again. ‘I say we load this AiV up with some of them crates of food and try and find these survivors. Mebbe they’re the ones who can answer you. I only came near this planet following that crazy bastard Tekton.’
The intensity and the heat went out of Randall’s stare, her mood swinging on a word or a thought. He knew he should be used to it, but it still startled him.
‘We’ll do it your way. Take one AiV, leave this one here in case. I say we swap the fuel cells though. This one’s got more.’
Jo-Jo nodded. He didn’t see any reason to object.
Randall belched up the stench of sterilising alcohol. ‘Now let’s get moving. See if any of these Latinos made it.’
MIRA
We have contact from a humanesque on Araldis.
Insignia’s thought woke Mira from a light doze. She lay on the bed with Nova cradled in her arms, and Wanton just a short reach from them both. ‘Which ‘esque?’ she asked, sitting up carefully so as not to disturb Nova. Then she saw that her child was awake, head rolled towards the Extro.
Nova?
Wanton is dying, Mama.
Si, Nova. Do you understand what that means?
Nova’s head rolled back, and the tiny face stared at her, the blue-grey eyes serious. For Wanton it could mean many things. More an extended limbo than death as we know it.
Mira floundered to find a way to respond. Nova’s escalating mental maturity scared her. And how did she know that the Extro was dying?
I’ve spoken with it.
Y-you ‘ve spoken to Wanton? But it wouldn’t respond when I tried.
Wanton apologises. It must conserve energy.
But how—
A different way that does not involve base-level cognition. It has reconsidered, and would like to tell you that the substance it needs to repair itself is quixite.
Quixite? Why wouldn’t it tell me before?
It didn’t want to interfere with your decisions. It thought that you might endanger yourself finding a source. As you have chosen to come to a place where there is a source, Wanton has reconsidered its position.
Oh. Mira thought for moment. That is very selfless of Wanton.
Wanton has much respect for you, Mama. It says that you were caring when its own kind were not. It wishes you peace.
Caring? Mira was surprised to see that even among the Post-Species compassion had its place. But had it been true kindness on her part, or had she simply manipulated the situation so that she could escape? She hardly knew what drove her now, only what she must do—find Vito and the korm, and whoever else had survived.
Mira, you are required to respond to the shortcast. They have threatened aggression if you do not. Insignia’s interjection held a tinge of frustration. The biozoon was not privy to her conversation with Nova.
I’m coming.
She took Nova to the buccal with her, and sank into Primo with her baby resting on her chest. It felt reassuring to have Nova’s heartbeat so close to her own.
Open the ‘cast, she told Insignia. ‘Who is this?’ she asked in her stiffest manner.
‘That’s my question,’ said a rough flat voice.
Mira recognised the tone despite the time that had passed since she’d heard it. When the carabinere had chased her under Franco’s orders, she had taken refuge on a hybrid biozoon named Sal. The captain, Jancz, had found and threatened to kill her. In the end he
left her in Loisa with an agreement that she would forget their meeting. But she had not. ‘What role have you taken in the destruction of my world, Captain Jancz?’
‘Who are you?’ His voice hoarsened. ‘Tell me, or I’ll have one of those carriers you’re busy dancing around up there trash yer arse. Only reason yer still here is cos you’re in a ‘zoon.’
‘My name is Mira Fedor. Baronessa Mira Fedor.’
The ‘cast fell silent as Jancz grappled to place her name. He might not remember her at all, but his moud would. She tried to picture his face, but could only produce a vague image of a thin angular countenance, elongated limbs and unkempt, almost colourless hair.
‘So, Baronessa,’ he replied eventually. ‘What brings you straight into the jaws of the enemy in the middle of a war?’
‘I’m carrying an ailing Post-Species who requires assistance.’
‘Post-Species, you say. What d’ya mean?’
‘I mean one of the Host varieties, whose Host has perished. Its protective casing has been damaged. I believe the material it needs to regenerate is found on Araldis.’
‘You don’t say?’
Jancz’s trite responses irritated her. ‘I do, Captain Jancz. Or I would have kept quiet.’
‘The Extros are taking over OLOSS. Won’t be a planet left that doesn’t answer to them.’
‘It seems you chose the right side.’ She kept her voice cool despite her rising agitation.
‘You know your people are dead. All of them,’ he added.
Acid rushed up into her gullet. She tasted its sourness and felt the burn.
Mama, the voice is trying to hurt you with its words. Nova’s simple thought calmed her.
Si, Nova. This humanesque is cruel.
Are most like him?
Mira hesitated. Some. You remember Thales?
From my birthing place. Si.
He is not like that.
I’m glad.
‘I’m here for the sake of the Post-Species. Will you help it?’ she said into the comm.
This time it was Jancz who hesitated. ‘Stand by.’
Mira waited, stroking Nova’s back. What is the status of the Geni-carriers? she asked Insignia.
These are only a small portion of the ones we saw leave their system. The rest have been deployed.
Then he is not bluffing. Is there news of the OLOSS worlds?
No. The silence is most unnerving.
Unnerving? How unlike Insignia to use such an evocative word. The biozoon was largely pragmatic, and fatalistic. Are the Pod safe?
My link is very faint. But it is there.
Mira felt relieved. The notion of the Pod seemed almost as much ‘home’ to her as the world they now orbited.
‘You are permitted onto Araldis,’ said Jancz without preamble. ‘We’ll shortcast landing coordinates. Don’t deviate from them, Baronessa—I’ll be trackin’ you.’
The ‘cast terminated, and Mira indicated to Primo that she wished to sit upright. The membrane moulded around her to bring her to a sitting position. She slid Nova down onto her knee.
The baby stared up at her. Will it be safe where we are going, Mama?
Mira sighed. You are too young to concern yourself with risk and safety, Nova. That is my job.
Nova kicked her little arms and legs in what appeared to be a mild protest. I grew inside your womb. I understand danger.
Did you... was there... a moment at which you gained clear thought? She tried to ask the question that had been burning her mind as delicately as possible.
Si. I’m not sure how to explain it. Tasy-al was there. From the beginning. I could feel Tasy-al around me, around us. It was nice. Warm. Then it became difficult. You needed me, and I could no longer sleep and dream. Nova’s thoughts were a little muddled.
When was that, little one?
On the Hub world.
Mira let out a breath. The Post-Species had altered her child, she was sure. You helped me? She repeated the thought despite already knowing it to be true. Through the Hub wall and into the Bare World, and then again, when I would have fallen into the flood.
It’s all right, Mama. I will need you, too. Perhaps soon.
Nova?
What must be.
I don’t understand.
I’m hungry now.
Mira sighed and put Nova to her breast.
I have the coordinates, Mira, Insignia said.
She leaned back more deeply into the Primo membrane. As the sensors reclaimed her skin
, so an image of Araldis blossomed in her mind.
The image skewed, grew, shrank, then grew again. When the focus defined, she saw an enormous cylindrical object, mesurs wide, resting on the desert rock, its surface pitted from space travel. Hundreds—thousands—of Saqr crawled over it, their maws bent to the skin of the craft, as if either tending or feeding from it.
An AiV and numerous terrain vehicles were parked in a cluster near one edge, close to a wide opening in the ground. As she watched, a barge, like the one they had fled Ipo in, ground its way out of the mouth of the mine cut and along the rocky road towards the large craft.
I know this place.
Your familia called it the Juanita mine, said Insignia.
But what is that object covered with Saqr?
Nova paused in her suckling, her face upturned. Wanton believes it to be Medium.
You can speak with Wanton from a-a distance?
As I can with you, Mama. Wanton ‘s energies are low, but it has listened to my description and recognises the craft.
Has... has Wanton told you what it is?
It’s a carrier of what he calls n-non-c-corpo-real Post-Species. Unlike his own Host family. Nova stumbled over Non-Corporeal, having several tries at expressing the concept. Her difficulty was a small salve to Mira’s anxiety. Perhaps there was yet some real child in the tiny body.
Does Wanton know what they are doing here? Mira asked.
Wanton says they need the same thing as him. A certain mineral.
‘Quixite.’ Mira said the word aloud. All the pieces of information she’d gathered since leaving Araldis began to arrange in a pattern. ‘They destroyed my world for it. But why Araldis? There are other places in Orion where quixite can be found.’
Not like this, Insignia reminded her. The alloy doesn’t normally occur naturally; it has to be manufactured. I have a little of it in my substructure. It helps me configure my body to accommodate my symbiote, and handle res-shift.
You’ve never told me that before.
It is very expensive. The Pod has had an agreement with a Post-Species supplier for many, many years.
Is that why you are permitted to trade with them when no other OLOSS members are?
The Sentients of Orion Page 109