Transformation Space (Sentients of Orion Book 4)

by Marianne de Pierres

  His knowledge of her past seemed to make her more alert. ‘Thales? Is it really you?’ The clarity of Insignia’s ‘cast-imaging showed that her lips trembled.

  Tears burned the back of his eyes. ‘Yes, dearest. Did you not see me speak at the summit meeting on Intel?’

  ‘I—I’ve been on retreat. I’ve heard things about the Post-Species and Consilience. But so much is rumour. The Sophos have instructed us not to heed the farcasts.’

  ‘Rene, please watch the feeds from the summit meeting. Verify that I spoke to the assembled leaders, including your father. We believe that a Post-Species invasion of OLOSS territories is imminent. Scolar must disengage its shift spheres soon or face annihilation. I must speak to the Sophos.’

  She frowned. ‘But they will arrest you if you land.’

  ‘Will you help me convince them to give me an audience?’

  Her pale fingers strayed to her lips in a familiar absent-minded mannerism. ‘I will review the summit feed. Please wait.’

  Thales did not look at the Baronessa when the ‘cast winked out.

  ‘Your wife is beautiful,’ said Mira.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Thales, ‘and clever. But her loyalties are tied, above everything, to the Sophos. I learned that the hardest of ways. Yet today she did not seem herself.’

  ‘Perhaps she too has been affected by the virus.’

  Thales stared at the Baronessa. ‘No.’ His denial was soft and unsure.

  ‘If your leaders are also tainted by it, you may have difficulty convincing them of any danger.’

  ‘You don’t think that I should meet them?’

  Mira gave the slightest shrug. ‘What are the consequences of this virus?’

  ‘In truth, I don’t know. I saw signs of apathy among both the young thinkers and the Sophos before I left. I was frustrated but not alarmed, thinking it merely a passing thing, something that would rectify itself with a new crop of free thinkers. I was resolved to fight alone, to continue to ask hard questions when questions seemed passé. It was not until I met Villon that

  I considered it could be more than a mindset. Now I see that Scolar has fallen ill.’

  ‘Then will the Sophos believe you? Are they capable of truly grasping or caring about the threat?’

  The ‘cast display shimmered alive before he could reply.

  ‘Thales?’

  ‘I’m here, Rene.’

  His wife’s voice seemed sharper. ‘Is the woman you seek to help the fugitive Baronessa from Araldis?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘On what grounds do you believe Mount Clement can help her?’

  Mira left Primo to stand near Thales in the broadcast space.

  ‘I am Mira Fedor, Rene Mianos.’

  Rene inclined her head, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Baronessa.’

  ‘I would plead for your help. My baby, conceived on Araldis, has been subject to experiments in the Post- Species worlds. It is only a short time in the womb, and yet it wants to be born. My biozoon is of the belief that the child is not properly humanesque.’

  ‘The father is alien?’

  Thales saw the faint wrinkle of distaste in Rene’s expression, and felt embarrassed by her prejudice.

  ‘No. We fear it may be a Post-Species hybrid.’

  ‘That sounds far-fetched, Baronessa.’

  The scant colour in Mira’s face drained away, and she suddenly looked so tired that Thales thought she might faint.

  He took her arm. ‘Rene, please. I know her, and have travelled with her. The things she says are true. She needs help, or the baby will die. The cell accelerator may save her child.’

  Rene looked away from them, as if to someone out of their view. ‘Very well, Thales. I’ll make contact with the clinic.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mira steadied herself and nodded to Thales. She left the buccal.

  Thales watched her leave, and then looked at his wife.

  ‘We are alone now,’ he told her.

  ‘Strange company you keep these days, my husband.’

  ‘Fortune has taken me in unexplainable directions.’

  ‘Is it fortune? Your appearance...’

  ‘The scarring will soften,’ said Thales. ‘And the cause of it is not a story to be told in brief. I had hoped to see you again. I’ve thought of you often.’

  ‘I’m afraid that your fate is out of my hands, Thales. I would wish you well.’

  ‘That is all, Rene? That is all you would wish me?’ He couldn’t stop his voice from rising.

  She gave him her look of practised patience. ‘That sounds more like you, Thales.’

  ‘What sounds like me?’

  ‘You were always so easily hurt.’

  Thales faltered for a moment. ‘Is that how you remember me? As weak?’

  Her expression softened. ‘Not weak, Thales. But someone with a deep sense of entitlement.’

  Suddenly all the nervousness and the expectation of speaking to Rene again drained away in the face of her criticism. ‘I’m not the person you remember, or think

  you know, Rene,’ he said stiffly. ‘And I’ll manage my own fate. But I would ask one thing for what has happened between us. One boon for a marriage lost.’

  She waited.

  ‘Whatever happens to me in the coming days, please take care of the Baronessa Fedor. So many things depend on her.’

  JO-JO RASTEROVICH

  ‘That’s it!’ Randall called down to them.

  Jo-Jo crawled up the crest of a dune and peered over. The Araldis landing port might have looked like any other outer-world docking arrangement if over half of it hadn’t been burned beyond recognition. There was movement in the ruins too: Saqr, crawling lethargically around the twisted remains of docking tubes and hydraulic platforms.

  ‘Shit,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘What now?’ The sky was lightening, with sunrise imminent. Already the air felt like it was blistering his skin.

  Randall pointed to a low-set catoplasma building still intact, on the near side of the port, at the base of a bare red-rock mountain. ‘Pellegrini buildings. For a bunch of nobles, they were big on bureaucracy. Been in a couple of their offices when we first arrived here. Franco liked to show off his stuff. I say we head there. Should be coolers and water, might even be some food left.’ She looked at Catchut. ‘You make it, Cat?’

  ‘Sure, Capo,’ the mercenary rasped. ‘Not dyin’ out here.’

  Rast nodded. ‘Let’s move then. Keep low.’

  Dropping down behind the last line of dunes, they skirted the breadth of the landing port until the sand became the rocky underlay of the mountain.

  A faint hot breeze prickled against Jo-Jo’s sweat- drenched skin. The relief wouldn’t last long. One ray of direct sunlight, and every drop of moisture in his body would evaporate in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Rest, Capo?’ pleaded Catchut.

  Randall glanced to the horizon. ‘Not unless you wanna change your mind about dyin’ out here.’

  Jo-Jo glanced up. About a hundred metres of climb to the building, and only precious minutes before sunrise. He reached for Catchut’s arm again and hooked it around his neck. Randall did the same on the other side.

  Between them, they clawed their way up the already burning red rock. Their time trapped in the Medium had atrophied their muscles, and Jo-Jo struggled to make headway, each movement the result of willpower, nothing else.

  One more step.

  One more step.

  One more.

  One.

  By the time his hand touched the base of the catoplasma wall, Catchut was moaning with distress, and even Randall didn’t have the energy to tell him to shut up. She pointed to the far side. ‘Should—be—stairs.’

  The two of them crawled along to the edge, dragging Catchut behind them. To Jo-Jo’s relief, stairs jutted from the side.

  As Leah burst above the horizon, they crawled up the stairs, clinging to the shade of the building overhang.

  Randall made the top first, turning around to
pull Catchut up behind her. The injured mercenary rolled into the doorway. By the time Jo-Jo joined them, Randall had popped the door seal and dragged Catchut inside.

  Jo-Jo resealed the door after them and fell back onto the floor, alongside the others. The cool wash of air was like a fever breaking, allowing him to sweat. The environmentals were still working. Thank fucking Crux!

  But after a few desperate lungfuls of cooler air, Jo-Jo gagged. The place stank of death.

  None of them spoke, though Catchut retched as well.

  Jo-Jo rolled away from the other two and fell into an immediate exhausted sleep. Cramps woke him at some stage and then he fell back to sleep, dreaming that his legs were trapped in the hardening Extro gel. He started awake again, thrashing.

  A sharp kick to his thigh stopped him. He scrubbed his face and coughed out watery vomit.

  ‘Get up. I’ve found some food,’ said Randall. ‘You been out for hours.’

  She was standing an arm’s length away, leaning on the railing of a stairwell. Closer to him, Catchut was sitting up, eating something that looked like dry dough and drinking from a bucket.

  ‘Hope you don’ mind,’ Randall drawled sarcastically, nodding at the bucket. ‘They’re a bit short on cups.’

  Jo-Jo took the container from Catchut and gulped down some tepid liquid. ‘Cheers.’

  Catchut broke off some stale dough and gave it to him.

  While Jo-Jo ground a piece between his teeth, he marvelled again at Randall’s resilience. Hair caked with dirt and clothes ragged with filth, her lean face still looked alive and determined.

  ‘Most stuff’s intact here,’ she said. ‘Even a place to wash. Haven’t found an AiV yet, but a coupla days holed up here should give us some recovery time. Might even be able to listen in to the ‘casts if we can get the comms working.’ She glanced at the ceiling. ‘That’s if anything’s goin’ on up there that we can follow.’

  ‘Can’t believe we’re still fuckin’ alive, Capo,’ said Catchut, weakly. ‘Any chance we could find some boots somewhere?’ His feet were blistered and bleeding from the rock climb.

  ‘Sure thing. Plenty of bodies. Could have you dressed like an aristo, Cat. What you say?’

  ‘Never said no to a dead man’s clothes, Capo. He got no use for them.’

  Randall gave a screwy grin. ‘Life’s been kind to us, fellas. We’d ended up in here a few weeks ago, we’d be spewing our guts up at the stink.’ She sniffed the foul air. ‘They’re mostly dried out—just a little bit of dead left now. Rest is dust.’

  Jo-Jo wondered if Randall had ever felt any reverence for the dead, or whether that part got lobotomised along the way. ‘You think the Saqr are likely to come up here? There was plenty of ‘em down at the port.’

  ‘Can’t see no sign that they’ve been back here since the first attack. They’ve eaten and left. We just need to keep real quiet until we work out what to do.’

  Jo-Jo nodded. With stiff shaky movements, he got to his feet. First things first: he needed to take a piss, real bad. ‘Where can I wash?’

  ‘Up the stairs, next floor, other end. Few bags of bones along the way.’

  Jo-Jo followed her directions to the bathroom, stepping over several robed bodies showing signs of mummification. Randall was right—a few weeks ago the stench would have been unbearable. As it was, Jo- Jo still wanted to heave up his newly ingested stale dough.

  He relieved himself, sparing a moment to wonder whether being suspended in Extro goo had any lasting repercussions for his body. So far everything seemed to be working as usual, although he hadn’t had a crap since leaving Insignia, and that couldn’t be a good thing. The Medium had nourished them during travel, but how well, and with what consequences, he couldn’t tell.

  He stripped off his clothes and activated the water flow in the handbasin. Then he washed as much of himself as he could fit under the spray. Not bothering to dry, he took clothing from one of the bodies outside in the corridor, and was tying the waist cord on the robe when Randall and Catchut joined him.

  ‘A pretty fit, if it was made for a scarecrow,’ said Randall.

  Jo-Jo stepped back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His face was so gaunt underneath his beard that he barely recognised himself.

  They were all bone-thin, and paler than a living person should be. He stuck his chin out. ‘You could do with change of clothes yourself. I’m gonna look around.’

  ‘Just make sure you don’t set off any alarms. Don’t want something pinging down the port to the Saqr.’

  He nodded. ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘We’ll get cleaned up and meet you in the kitchen on the third floor. There’s some dried food left in the cupboards.’

  Jo-Jo searched the first two levels before fatigue ambushed him again. The lifts weren’t working, and he took care not to turn on any lights. That meant stumbling into overturned furniture, and having to feel his way through offices. The absence of bodies other than the ones in the corridor outside the bathroom made him curious. Had everyone evacuated before the Saqr came?

  He made his way to the third-floor kitchen and found Randall cooking up a pot of pasta.

  Jo-Jo stared at her with mild surprise. ‘You can cook?’

  ‘As needs,’ she said tersely, ‘and don’t get used to it. I’m powerful hungry; feels like I haven’t eaten in a year.’

  Jo-Jo was feeling the same. Now that he’d moved around a bit, hunger gnawed like a bitch.

  Randall strained the pasta and dumped it onto three disposable plates. ‘One thing you can say about these Latinos: they know how to stock a storeroom with food. Every building has a dining hall. Guess there’s no running out for quick food in this stinkin’ climate.’

  Jo-Jo sat himself down at the table next to Catchut. Randall had bandaged and braced his ankle, and they both looked cleaner.

  ‘No dead down below, other than the ones near the piss room,’ said Jo-Jo.

  Randall forked some steaming farfalle into her mouth and took a moment to savour the taste before she answered. She gestured up with her thumb. ‘Go

  look in the meeting room up there.’ Then she added, ‘Might wanna let your food go down first.’

  Jo-Jo wasn’t sure if she was serious, or just provoking him. Either way, he’d finish his exploration after he’d eaten.

  Between them, they ate the entire pot and drank another bucket of water. Meal finished, Catchut stretched out on the floor and fell straight asleep.

  Randall, though, got down on her hands and knees to search the bottom shelves of the cupboards. ‘Gotta be some... Knew it!’ She slid out two big flasks. ‘The other good thing about Latinos. Araldisian red.’ She unscrewed the plug and drank deeply. Her satisfied glugging made Jo-Jo’s mouth water. How long since he’d had a drink?

  She belched, plugged the flask and threw it to him. ‘A few hours ago I figured never to taste this again.’ Her bloodshot eyes sparkled as she watched Jo-Jo twist the cap off. ‘Been in plenny of tight spots over the years, but never come so close to losin’ it as I did in that Extro ship.’

  Jo-Jo took a swallow and nodded. ‘Weird stuff, all right.’

  ‘I said I’d never forget the fact you got me out of there, and I won’t.’ She opened the other flask and sucked in some more. ‘Can’t think of a much worse place to die than in that goo. Even the vac’d be better. You did all right in there, Rasterovich.’ She tapped her temple.

  Jo-Jo shrugged, not wanting her to make something out of it. ‘More to do with how the Entity fucked my head over back when I discovered it than anything else. Made it easier for me than for you to think.’

  They sat in silence for a while, drinking.

  ‘You think she’s still alive?’ Randall asked him.

  ‘Mira?’

  ‘No, the fuckin’ Extro queen.’

  She was baiting him, but he laughed. It felt good to be alive. ‘Yeah. I do. Might just be wishful,’ he said truthfully, ‘but she’s a survivor.’

&
nbsp; ‘Like us?’

  ‘No. She’s smarter than that.’

  They both laughed this time.

  Then Randall’s expression sobered. ‘I shouldn’t have left her alone on Rho Junction,’ she said. ‘Thought she’d be OK. We were so damn close to the ship. Didn’t expect anything to happen. Bethany was with her too. Beth’s got smarts.’

  ‘No. You shouldn’t have,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘And I won’t fuckin’ forget it till we find her alive.’ It was the first time the mercenary had admitted guilt at Mira Fedor’s kidnapping.

  Randall stared at him. ‘Figured as much. I don’t give a fuck about your forgiveness, though.’

  Jo-Jo didn’t like the direction of the conversation, so he hauled himself to his feet, then bent down and rubbed his shins. ‘Gonna find somewhere to sleep. I’ll finish looking around in the daylight.’

  Randall nodded. ‘Thinkin’ the same way. Don’t change the shade settings on the windows, and stay away from them once it’s light. Might be that the Extros in that big ol’ flying drum were happy to get rid of us, but the Saqr might fancy a bit of fresh brain juice.’

  ‘Hear you,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Where da ya think we’ll find a flyer?’

  ‘There’re buildings all over the mountain. If we go out at night, we should be able to cover most of them. Gould be, we get lucky and find one that hasn’t been damaged.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Could be, we spend the rest of our days eating pasta, right here. Until it runs out.’

  ‘I think we’re gonna get lucky,’ said Jo-Jo with a certainty he didn’t feel.

  ‘Sure,’ said Randall. ‘And OLOSS is gonna fly right in here and take Araldis back. Mira Fedor will be with them. She and I’ll fly off into the black together and get rich.’

  Jo-Jo gave her his best scowl. He didn’t like that scenario much better than the first.

  MIRA

  ‘Your placenta is breaking down. We must take the baby from you soon, or it will starve.’

  Mira felt vulnerable lying on her back, covered by a translucent membrane and under the scrutiny of an array of sensors. The clinician—Dolin, he introduced himself as—was like all the others who had come to examine the odd Latino woman carrying a child of indeterminate biology: curious but nursing a hint of faint repulsion beneath his spill-resistant research whites.