Transformation Space (Sentients of Orion Book 4)

by Marianne de Pierres

  ‘You’ve made grave accusations and bold statements, Thales Berniere. You secreted yourself aboard an OLOSS ship in order to escape questioning for an incident in a kaffe klatsch, in the Kant quarter. During Sophos Mianos’s interrogation of the Latino noble Mira Fedor you chose to assist her escape by attacking Mianos, and accused him of murdering our greatest philosopher, Amaury Villon. An offence, I might add, that amounts to treason.

  ‘Having absconded on the Baronessa Fedor’s ship, and having been absent for some months, you now return to our notice, accusing Sophos Mianos of barbarity. You have also declared that members of the Pre-Eminence, and others in our world, have been infected by a virus that alters our ability to think critically. How would you defend yourself against the charge of insanity?’

  Thales locked his knees to stop his legs from buckling. He was not afraid of the Sophos, but his wife’s presence made this more difficult. He would hurt her when he spoke of his encounters with her father, and then she would choose not to believe him. Whatever... friendship might have endured beyond their separation would surely be destroyed.

  ‘I will not even address the charge of insanity, Sophos Lauda. My mental health is not relevant, as I will repeat my story in my own words, and then offer proof of it.’

  He looked along the row of faces. Age had blurred their features, as well as something else—disinterest, perhaps. It was as if they were merely going through the motions of a hearing that would never amount to anything. These people would be impossible to convince or move to action; the motivation did not lie within them. They were too comfortable. Diseased.

  Amaury? Give me guidance. But Amaury Villon was gone. Mixed emotions swirled within him. He would let them see what it was to question. Remind them of the nature of passion.

  ‘After leaving Scolar, circumstances saw me in the company of the Baronessa Fedor. Though the decision to break away from the OLOSS ship that transported Sophos Mianos out to question her was the Baronessa’s, I would have supported her action. I regret the injury caused to my father-in-law, but he... intended to impound her ship and hold her in detention. The Baronessa was desperate and frightened.’

  He told them of Mira’s story and the invasion of Araldis, but throughout his tale the faces remained unmoved, almost bored.

  ‘How did the Baronessa become pregnant in this untenable situation?’ asked Rene.

  Thales looked directly at her for the first time. Her eyes seemed dull to him, her sharp intellect hidden behind cloudiness. ‘That is her story to tell, if she so wishes, and in truth I did not know of her pregnancy until our paths crossed again more recently.’

  ‘Where did you leave the Baronessa’s company?’

  ‘On Rho Junction. She was abducted by a Post- Species sect, and I met a tyro from Belle-Monde who offered me quick passage back to Edo.’

  ‘Belle-Monde?’ It was Kantos who spoke, but they all adopted a similar disdainful expression. ‘What would one of the famous Belle-Monde tyros be doing on Rho Junction?’

  Thales told them about Lasper Farr and the DNA.

  ‘You expect us to believe that we’ve been infected with a virus that affects our desire to question, that softens our intellect.’ Kantos burst into laughter. ‘Of all the preposterous accusations! This one borders on hallucinatory.’

  Thales expected the others to share this open scepticism. ‘The virus affects the orbitofrontal cortex, where decision-making occurs. Have you noticed a change in each other? A reluctance to make decisions? A tendency to maintain equilibrium? A fatigue that takes you when deep thought is required?’

  The Sophos members exchanged eyebrow-raised glances.

  ‘There is something else you can check. Fortunately, I chose not to carry the DNA in my bloodstream, as Commander Farr wanted me to. That, coupled with the virus the Commander administered to force me to comply with his wishes, would surely have killed me. As it was, it left its legacy.’ He touched his cheek. ‘Necrosis. The Baronessa’s biozoon has helped the healing.’

  ‘But surely your Health Watch would have protected you?’ said Rene.

  He stared at her intently. ‘It had been tampered with. Commander Farr scanned me when I returned to Edo. He told me that my most recent update had been sabotaged.’

  Rene’s pale face flushed. Her hands flew to her cheeks. ‘Impossible. You used the Sophos clinic.’

  ‘Someone deliberately interfered with my renewal, Rene Mianos. Scan my immunity and match it to the batch I received.’

  A murmur spread along the table. One to the other, they whispered and conferred.

  ‘Gutnee Paraburd’s premises were in the port terminal. Search his office and question him,’ Thales continued. ‘You shall soon see the veracity of my story.’

  ‘Who would have created such a virus, and why, Msr Berniere?’ asked Rene. She seemed to struggle to form the simple question.

  ‘I met the tyro Tekton of Lostol. He was able to trace the chain of business from the laboratory on Rho Junction to the original supplier.’

  ‘Which was who?’ demanded Lauda. Of all the Sophos, he seemed the sharpest, the most energised.

  ‘Her name is Miranda Seeward, a dieter of some note and also a tyro on Belle-Monde.’

  The Sophos began to murmur among themselves again. Clearly many of them knew of Dieter Seeward.

  Finally, Lauda stood up. ‘We shall consider your claims. Withdraw to the anteroom until you are called.’

  Thales nodded and followed the Robe out. Was the Baronessa right? Were the Sophos beyond making intelligent or balanced decisions? Were they beyond hope? And how did she fare right now? Had the baby been born? Had it survived? Thales felt weighed down by concerns.

  The bond between him and Mira was not romantic, as his feelings had been for Rene. Nor did it resemble the deeply passionate way Fariss moved him. It was more a genuine warmth, and a desire to see things go well for her. Friendship, he thought, one that would grow and endure, given a chance.

  He sighed and turned his attention to the two Robes waiting with him. Had the virus affected all walks of Scolar life or merely the philosophers? The politic guards seemed as composed and expressionless as he was accustomed to seeing them, but were they as committed to upholding the law of the Sophos as they had always been? Or had the ennui crept in among them too?

  ‘You heard my story,’ said Thales. ‘What’s your opinion?’

  The guards showed no indication of hearing him.

  ‘Have you seen a change in the people you serve and protect? Do you see that your world is different?’

  This time the guards exchanged glances but didn’t reply.

  ‘Our Sophos is no longer reliable. Their decisionmaking has been compromised by a virus. Are you still prepared to blindly follow their edicts, knowing that?’

  His statements were inflammatory, treasonous. He knew that and cared not. A sense of urgency had taken hold of him. There was little time to preserve his world.

  One of the guards looked as though he might speak, but then he stopped and nodded at an instruction unheard by Thales. He walked to the inner door and opened it. ‘Enter,’ he instructed.

  The Robes followed closely behind him as he returned to the Sophos meeting room and stood in front of the polished table.

  ‘You are fortunate, Thales Berniere, that one of our caucus has seen fit to support an investigation into your story,’ said Sophos Lauda.

  Thales eyes flicked to Rene. Had it been his wife?

  Her expression remained as serene and detached as that of the politic guard.

  ‘You will show the Robes and myself to the offices of this man you call Gutnee Paraburd. If he can be located and questioned, we will review our decision.’

  Thales nodded. ‘I th-thank you, for this much at least. However, it is possible that Paraburd has moved premises. I would imagine that a man of such criminal inclinations does not stay in one place for long. You may have to extend your search.’

  ‘You learned much about crim
inals on your travels?’ asked Kantos.

  Thales heard the superior, mocking tone. ‘It is logical that he would do that, Sophos Kantos. That is all,’ Thales answered firmly.

  ‘Let’s hope not, Msr Berniere. For your sake.’

  But Thales had not finished. ‘While you pursue your investigation of my claims, I would beg you to take steps to disable the shift sphere. The Post-Species are an imminent threat to our world.’

  ‘You believe we should cut ourselves off from Orion,’ said Rene.

  He turned to his wife, imploring her. ‘If we don’t, we’ll lose everything.’

  ‘But if we disable our shift sphere, we lose our influence. OLOSS cannot function without our counsel,’ said Kantos.

  Fury blazed through Thales’s body, overcoming his intention of remaining calm. ‘You speak of my insanity,

  Sophos Kantos. OLOSS forces will act with or without our counsel, to protect sentient life. We can offer them nothing else now. What we should have done is seen the possibility of this happening, and guarded against it. We should have been able to predict, or at least theorise that the Post-Species would return with a greater force after the Stain Wars. Instead, we have been isolationist and self-concerned. You—all of you—would do your job too late.’ His gaze roamed the line of preeminent thinkers. ‘All that is left for us now is to survive.’

  SOLE

  Scurry scurry

  Little’n’s go

  Follow, follow

  Drink’m up

  Eat’m up

  See’rn truth

  TEKTON

  Tekton sat in a once luxurious, now filthy, lounge on board the hybrid biozoon. From his brief inspection, the craft appeared to have been beautifully and comfortably outfitted, but without regular cleaning or maintenance it now resembled a place for squatters—or at least what he imagined a place like that might be like.

  He tried not to show his revulsion for the discarded food containers and empty flasks of alcohol. The stench was harder to ignore, though, a mixture of something sickly sweet and well percolated, probably musky Balol body odours.

  He closed his hood and set his suit to filter the scents. He wasn’t filled with confidence by his rescuers’ attitudes, but his situation had called for decisive thinking and compromise. If they took the money for his passage and delivered him to Mintaka, then he could put up with certain deprivations. A filthy ship was nothing, after all, compared to free-falling from an airborne taxi into the grips of detrivore, which had happened to him on Edo. He was, he told himself, able to take this eventuation in his stride.

  Only a matter of months ago he would not have dealt with this change in fortune nearly as well.

  Finally! said logic-mind. Rationalism.

  Lowering your standards, you mean, sniffed free-mind.

  Both minds were correct, he thought, and it didn’t bother him that they were. For a while he stared at the brown biozoon secretions on the ceiling, contemplating this until the ‘esque Jancz slipped into the room with the surreptitious manner of a crook.

  ‘We’re out of Intel space,’ he said quietly.

  Tekton smoothed back his hood and nodded appreciatively. ‘Msr Jancz, has my credit for the trip to Mintaka been transferred into your accounts?’

  Jancz’s eyes narrowed a little, and a small smile played about his lips. His face was so long and thin that it seemed almost deformed. ‘With the excitement about the Extros and all, the lenders are off-cast. Too much demand has bogged their systems. Everyone’s trying to move their credit somewhere else. We’ll try again in a day or so, when things’ve calmed. Meantime, we got a few errands of our own to run. Not in any rush, are yer?’

  Of course I am, you filthy imbecile. ‘No,’ said Tekton blithely. ‘Whenever you deem it safe and appropriate is fine by me. Though I might, if I could, request a cabin.’

  Tekton knew he was being ridiculously polite to this low-life, but while the semblance of civility remained between them, he would hold up his end.

  Don’t trust him, free-mind urged.

  He’s done nothing to suggest untrustworthiness, logic-mind countered.

  ‘Sure,’ said Jancz, stepping back towards the door. ‘This way.’

  Tekton followed Jancz to a small cabin not far from the galley. It was neat enough, if sparse, with the appearance of not having being used for a long while.

  ‘Help yourself to whatever’s in the galley. We aren’t ones for makin’ meals. Eat as yer go on this beauty.’

  Beauty? That absurd notion stayed with Tekton as he closed the door and locked it.

  Little was beautiful about this hybrid ‘zoon. What luxury it had once entertained had now faded in the wake of abuse. Its corridors were acrid with astringent scents, and its walls the pale pink of poor circulation. Rubbish was piled in every corner, and sticky secretions layered surfaces. The poor sad creature is sick.

  Tekton pared open the seal of his suit and fished around for Lasper Farr’s DSD. With relief, he pulled the box free and set it on the bed. Then he stretched out alongside it without bothering to remove the rest of the suit. His back was raw from rubbing against the device’s sharp corners, and suddenly, now that he was safely away from Commander Farr and Intel, he felt exhausted.

  He slept for a while, woke, peeled off the suit, drank, and washed in the tiny san. He found some lotion in one of the cabinets and spread it over his body. Despite having to put on the suit again, he felt refreshed and more able to think.

  His stomach complained of hunger, but Tekton ignored it. He did not want to venture out of his cabin into the galley just yet. Instead, he checked the door lock again, then sat himself down before the DSD.

  Taking a deep breath, he settled into a comfortable position, leaning against the bulkhead.

  ‘Balance,’ he said.

  The undulating 3D image of a Lorenz Attractor sprang into being above the box. Tekton watched the fluctuating brilliance of the fractal structure for a moment before speaking the next password.

  Was Cousin Ra really responsible for creating this magnificent device? What gifts did Sole bless my arrogant cousin with, to enable him to do this?

  Tekton had a sudden and overwhelming craving for his life to be as it was—before Sole, even. Back at Tadao Ando studium he’d been mired in politics and a certain level of intrigue, but nothing there had been beyond his experience or imagination. Since leaving Belle-Monde on his quest to win the Entity’s favour, his life had become nothing if not chaotic and dangerous. Tekton longed for safety—and regular sex.

  His akula swelled a little and then deflated again. On an insalubrious hybrid biozoon, in a location that could well be in the teeth of an impending galactic war, and with only two obnoxious mercenaries for companionship, thoughts of carnal pleasure were neither easy to sustain nor really practical.

  With a deep and heartfelt sigh, Tekton spoke the next password. ‘Shame.’

  A beam shot from the centre of the Attractor and he was swallowed up by the device’s stimulation of his visual cortex. Images appeared and spun quickly through his mind, coloured lights with no form or substance.

  He let himself adjust to the speed and glitter of the data, then focused on a recurring speck. The spin slowed and his reality shifted as if he was sucked forward into it. He found himself in the buccal of another biozoon, watching Mira Fedor lying in the pilot vein, her hands resting on her swollen belly.

  She’s been busy, his free-mind sneered.

  Logic-mind urged Tekton to experiment further, to learn control of the device’s quirks.

  Tekton let his focus withdraw from the Baronessa and slip back among the coloured lights. He tried concentrating in different places, and quickly became adept at controlling the speed and flow of the images.

  It’s an instinctive system, logic-mind mused. Designed for humanesque minds. Even uneducated ones.

  Bit like a recognition game, observed free-mind.

  No. It employs simple logic, logic-mind said. Like this...
and this...

  Tekton began to group images to form rough linear timelines, and practised the knack of viewing concurrent events.

  The device itself was a pure delight, responding to a variety of physical and neurological cues from its user. Tekton knew he could lose himself for days, dipping into the affairs of the galaxy and the permutations of the elegant arrangement of information—if, that is, the news out there had been better.

  As it was, what Tekton saw shook his composure. The galactic war which Mira Fedor had prophesied to the summit just hours earlier had already begun.

  Tekton flipped between terrifying spectacles. Entire systems were being swarmed by Geni-carriers. Thousands upon thousands of incendiaries descended into the atmospheres of habited worlds.

  Many of the DSD’s recorder eges had been damaged, transmitting barely discernible images of dense dust clouds where populated moons should be. Others showed the partial obliteration of colonies, and still more sent footage of suffering and carnage.

  Worse than that, the Geni-carriers had targeted the galaxy’s grandest architectural achievements—structures and designs which attracted billions of tourists. The bridges between the Latour moons now hung rent and broken, like tentacles torn free from the body of a huge sea creature. Who knew how many had perished during their destruction? There were over a million tourists inside the Great Diorama Well of Mapoor, helplessly trapped within sightseeing gondolas as the kaleidoscopic walls around them began to implode.

  Outrage, horror and despair consumed Tekton, drowning out any rationale that his logic-mind could offer. How could anyone... any thing... perpetrate such ruin... such sacrilege?

  All our greatest achievements, free-mind wailed. Everything that we are. Everything we strive for. All our beauty.

  The only tiny sliver of hope the DSD afforded him was that his home world, Lostol, had been one of those who’d heeded the Baronessa’s warning. The Lostolians had disabled their shift spheres, preventing the Geni-carriers from entering their system. Tekton could not detect their shift signatures, which meant that the Post- Species had likely bypassed Lostol.