Transformation Space (Sentients of Orion Book 4)

by Marianne de Pierres

  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 waiting 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.’

  ‘Mebbe.’

  ‘Don’t play games,’ he said, not in the mood for it.

  She grinned at him again, in a loose unhinged kind of way. Their imprisonment on Medium had fucked up her head, he thought. She’d changed in a way that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  ‘I found us an AiV,’ she said finally. ‘Looks to be working. Won’t really know till we power up. Powering up means the Saqr will know we’re here. Best we go at next nightfall.’

  ‘Capo?’ said Catchut. ‘You sure?’

  ‘No.’ She pressed the seek function again. ‘But it’s better than starvin’ to death sittin’ around here.’

  ‘But where’ll we go?’ Catchut sounded uneasy.

  ‘The islands. Where the refugees went.’

  ‘Where we think they went. They might all be dead. Or still down a mine shaft somewhere. I mean, we could starve out there as well.’ Catchut glanced at Jo-Jo.

  It was the first time the man had looked for his support.

  ‘We might only get one chance in the air. Let’s listen to the com-sole for a day or two. See if we can pick up anythin’,’ said Jo-Jo.

  ‘What if the Saqr come and trash the flyer? What if it’s the only one left on the mountain?’ she countered.

  ‘If it’s intact now, chances are it will be in a few days too.’

  Rast began to tap hard on the com-sole, impatient to get something from it.

  Jo-Jo pushed her hand away, slowly but deliberately. ‘You break it, we won’t hear nothin’.’

  Randall’s fists clenched and her shoulders bunched, as though she might launch herself at him. He tensed for the assault, but her expression changed again.

  ‘I’m going to catch some shut-eye. Wake me if you hear anythin’.’

  She got up and left the room.

  Catchut stared down at his hands.

  ‘Sleep’s a good thing,’ said Jo-Jo eventually, and went out.

  * * *

  Jo-Jo woke some time later, stiff from lying on the floor. He was in the room next to the galley—anywhere else had seemed too far to go. Easing up into a crouch, he stretched his back before attempting to stand. He’d been dreaming of Mira Fedor, he realised. A vivid, intense dream in which they were talking; she was so close that he could smell the biozoon secretions on her skin and see the hunted look in her eyes.

  He scrubbed at his face, waking himself up more, but the sense of her stuck with him. When would this stupid obsession fade? Weeks had passed since he’d seen her. He’d barely known her before that. And yet here he was, trembling from the dreamed contact, filled with a compulsion to try the com-sole again.

  He listened for sounds of the others. The building was quiet except for
Randall’s shallow snores. Jo-Jo followed the sound to a room down the corridor, where Randall and Catchut lay with their backs to each other, clubs fashioned from broken furniture within easy reach.

  Jo-Jo backed out and headed down the stairs, to the basement room where they’d left the com-sole. He examined the selection options and reset a couple. On his first scan, he picked up real noise on several channels. Some of it was coded, or at least in a language he couldn’t understand.

  He ran the scan again. And again.

  Nothing. Whatever had prompted him awake to try the device had been wrong. No one was there. No rescue.

  Yet he tried several more times, for lack of anything else to do.

  Still nothing comprehensible. On impulse, he switched to the visual band. If there were OLOSS ships out there, he might recognise their ident signatures.

  The com-sole’s small display showed clusters of unidentifiable craft.

  Extros, he figured. Hundreds. More than hundreds.

  He stared at the screen. What are they doing here? It couldn’t just be for the quixite. Maybe Randall was right. There was something else here. Someth—

  A new signature appeared in the centre of the display, and resolved into a recognisable OLOSS ident. A biozoon. He knew the peculiar wave signature, similar to his hybrid ship, Salacious.

  He left the com-sole, ran up the stairs and woke Randall and Catchut.

  Randall was up and heading from the room before he could speak.

  ‘What? What is it?’ she demanded.

  ‘There’s a ‘zoon up there!’ Jo-Jo thumbed skyward.

  Randall grabbed his arm with strong fingers. ‘Who? Fedor?’

  He shook her off and turned to hurry back with her. ‘Yeah. For what it’s worth, I think it’s her.’

  Randall accelerated past him, beating him to the com-sole by holding the railing and jumping down the stairs. She was peering at the display by the time he joined her.

  ‘That it?’ She pointed to the blip, her voice trembling the same way his body had been when he’d woken.

  He wanted to tell her about the dream. How close he’d been to Mira. How he could have touched her... but it sounded wishful and stupid. And he had no reason to share it with his competitor, other than that it made Mira seem real and alive.

  ‘Crux, I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s a ‘zoon, all right. Any chance it’s yours? The one that was stolen?’

  Jo-Jo shrugged. ‘Doubt it. The hybrids leave a slightly different sig. This one looks to be pure ‘zoon.’

  As they watched, the biozoon wave suddenly extinguished.

  ‘She’s gone.’ Randall’s voice went hoarse.

  ‘No.’ Jo-Jo jerked his head up, testing the air as if he could scent something, or feel a vibration. ‘The signature’s gone, but she’s still here.’

  ‘How do you know that? You guessin’?’ Randall rounded on him, her face so close that her spit wet his cheek.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But I do. The biozoon’s there, and Fedor is on board.’

  ‘Loco,’ said Randall, fingers to her temple, pulling the trigger on an imaginary pistol. ‘Inventin’ things.’

  Jo-Jo shrugged. ‘Yeah. Probably. But we need to find those survivors. When she comes, it’s going to be one trip only. She’ll be looking for them, not us. We don’t want to miss the ride.’

  Randall paced a few steps. ‘Did you check the maps in the studium?’

  ‘Yeah. Two likely places with enough cover and fresh water. Got the coordinates here.’ He tapped his head.

  She snorted. ‘Couldn’t you think of a safer place?’

  ‘Seemed the safest to me. Insurance in these uncertain times.’

  ‘What about the Saqr? Find out anything useful?’

  ‘They can survive in anything, even a vacuum. Can handle extremes in temperature. A decade without water.’

  ‘That tough?’

  Jo-Jo nodded. ‘Whoever picked them to take over this planet knew what they were doin’. Seems they can go without food too.’

  ‘The ones we saw acted hungry enough.’

  ‘I guess while they’re active they need to eat. But in stasis they can go for years without it.’

  ‘Physical weaknesses?’

  Jo-Jo screwed his face up in recall. ‘They’re plated in five sections by an exoskeleton. Then there’re the claws. Everything inside them is real basic: pharynx, colon, ventral nervous system. Not much to mess with.’

  ‘Ventral? Whassat mean?’

  ‘Their nervous system runs along their belly instead of their back. Bastards don’t even need each other to spawn.’

  ‘Wait! Along the belly. Gotta be something we can work with there.’

  ‘Maybe. But the exoskel—the cuticle—covers everything.’

  ‘Must be somethin’ that can dissolve the cuticle.’

  ‘Fedor will know that,’ he said.

  ‘You’re losin’ it, Rasterovich. No way you c’n know if it’s her up there.’ He heard her frustration.

  They fell silent, both watching the display.

  ‘But it could be someone. Someone who can get us off this dead rock. It’s nearly daylight,’ she said eventually. ‘Get some more sleep. We’ll go tonight.’ She brushed past him and headed upstairs again.

  THALES

  Fariss’s gaze scalded Thales. ‘You ‘n’ her?’

  He turned from watching Mira Fedor disappear out of the doorway, and tilted his head to stare up at the woman he adored. Her wide eyes were narrow with doubt. At any other time he might have felt some satisfaction, even pleasure, that she was suspicious. Now though it seemed strangely unreal. ‘No,’ he said with finality. ‘Never. I want to find Gutnee Paraburd.’

  Fariss accepted his clipped response without insult or comment. She was a pragmatic person, not a sensitive one, and she was shaking her head. ‘Best thing now is to get out of here. Sophos won’t listen to you, no matter what you got as proof. I say we go ‘n’ hunt down those that don’t like the way things are here. Talk to them. Maybe they got some leverage.’

  He smiled. ‘You sound like a member of Consilience.’

  She cracked the door open again and squinted. ‘Whatever it is, you better decide, quick.’

  A welter of thoughts ran through Thales’s mind. He knew that finding Paraburd was not just about proving his innocence to the Sophos. In all honesty he wanted revenge on the devious fellow. An image of Fariss placing her hands around Paraburd’s neck... No! He stopped himself and searched deep within to touch his Jainist beliefs. Revenge would not serve them at this point. Revenge was not a worthy motive.

  ‘We should go. Find the woman, Linnea. Build a case among those who would listen,’ he agreed.

  Fariss glanced back at him and grinned approvingly. She pulled a small dagger from her boot and used it to prise an iron leg from a chair. Then she slipped the bar through her belt as a secondary weapon. ‘We go straight for the outside pad. Steal a local ride. Once we get out into the transit area again, I’m gonna start some trouble. Keep me in sight, but stay back. It’s gonna be untidy for a bit.’

  Thales moved alongside her, and stood on his toes to kiss her mouth.

  She responded by lifting him to her and sliding her tongue into his mouth—a moist, passionate, dominating kiss that left him weak. He clung to her for a moment or two, savouring her strength and solidity.

  She lifted her head and set him on his feet gently, as if he were a child.

  ‘Fariss. Thank you for staying—’

  “Nother time, hon. We gotta go.’

  Her casual endearment filled him with unbelievable warmth.

  Then she was all business. ‘Go left down the corridor and take the first door into the main port. I’ll be behind you. Once you’re out there, blend into the crowd and tail me. When we get close to an exit, go outside and find a taxi.’

  ‘What if I can’t get one? The terminal is frantic.’

  She looked a
t him steadily. ‘Thales, I want you to steal one.’

  ‘S-steal? But I’m not—’

  ‘Just get the taxi and get it near me. I’ll do the rest.’ She gave him a confident smile. ‘Got it?’

  He nodded and looked to the door.

  She stepped in front of him and threw it open.

  ‘Go!’

  He ran left without looking back. In a few seconds, raised voices echoed from the way he’d come. Fariss was blocking the corridor, stalling until he got out. He heard the groan as her fists made contact with the first guard. A rifle discharged.

  Not her. Please, not her!

  But he didn’t stop. If he stayed, he’d be a hindrance. He would do as she said. She was a soldier. She could take of herself. She can. He repeated it to himself as he ran.

  The nearest service entrance to the port was blocked by a cleaning trolley and several large containers containing liquid catoplasma. He tried to heave the trolley to one side, but the containers were too heavy. In desperation, he dropped to the floor and used all the strength in his legs to push. The trolley shifted enough to slide the door ajar. He squeezed through into the terminal.

  A quick glance told him the biggest crowds stood around the ticketing counters, so he hurried over and joined a queue.

  Only moments later, heads began to turn as the door he’d come through was flung open, and a catoplasma drum—minus lid—rolled out. The liquid splashed and spread like an oil spill. It would thicken soon, and then harden.

  Fariss followed it, jumping the puddle of liquid with one enormous leap. The pursuing politic guard tried to emulate her athleticism and fell short, slipping in the mess and giving her a precious advantage in the chase.

  But more Robes came from other directions. Thales saw that they were hesitant to use their rifles in the crowds. Fariss ducked under the kaffe railing and threaded through tables, pulling them over behind her, knocking over beakers of mokka and plates. Patrons scrambled away, shouting, adding to the furore.

  Thales saw his opportunity and walked quickly to an exit. In his rush, he bumped into someone. An apology sprang automatically to his lips until he recognised the man: Gutnee Paraburd, his hair longer, his chin covered with gingerish stubble.