Transformation Space (Sentients of Orion Book 4)

by Marianne de Pierres

  ‘Means squat to me,’ said Jo-Jo.

  ‘Lost two of my original crew in there. Tunnel collapse. Still ain’t convinced it was accident. Always had an inklin’ I knew who did it.’

  ‘Tough,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘But so what?’

  ‘Juanita mine had somethin’ goin’ on. Namely, quixite. The Pablo mine next door has the longest tunnels on the continent. We had a tour down into one of them where there’d been some trouble. Fedor said she left Pellegrini and the survivors inside the Pablo shafts. She thought he’d follow the tunnels south, get as close to the coast as he could.’

  Jo-Jo stared at the eerie sight of Saqr crawling all over Extro ship. ‘Can we get closer?’

  Randall was obligingly conversational for once. ‘I’m figurin’ they already know we’re here. If we keep on movin’, chances are they’ll be too caught up in what they’re doin’ to come chasm’ us. We go in close, who knows? They might just blow us out of the sky.’

  She was probably right. Their curiosity wasn’t worth the risk of attracting attention. Yet something itched at Jo-Jo. Something important was happening there. He knew it.

  Randall reset their direction, and within a short time Medium had faded into the distance and the dark.

  Sunrise came a few hours later, a gradual lightening then a blinding raw incision of light into the scorching world. The cabin windows automatically dimmed, and the AiV’s environmental struggled to keep them cool. Despite wearing the fellalo he’d stripped from the dead Latino, Jo-Jo was hot. The flowing robe with the interior webbing of cooling nanites felt like a shroud.

  They discussed the water situation and agreed how best to stretch out their supply.

  ‘They reckon these robes can recycle your piss into something palatable, if you need it,’ Randall remarked.

  ‘Got none to spare,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Haven’t pissed since we left.’

  She shrugged and stared out across the endless red desert.

  * * *

  By the time they saw the first glint of water, Jo-Jo’s tongue felt twice its normal size. None of them had spoken for several hours.

  Randall tapped the map, changing direction.

  ‘What you doin’?’

  ‘We left an AiV on the Principe’s island. It’s how we got to the biozoon. Mebbe the fuel cell’s got some life in it.’

  Jo-Jo nodded and blinked away the stinging sweat that ran from his hair into his eyes. The AiV turned on a northerly bearing and followed the coast. The islands beyond were dots of grey relief in a brilliant stretch of ocean. Somehow, it soothed Jo-Jo to see so much water.

  ‘Most of them are nuthin’ more than spits of sand,’ said Randall, nodding towards the islands.

  ‘You think they made it this far, Capo?’ asked Catchut.

  The mercenary’s ankle injury from being stuck in the Extro goo was festering. Jo-Jo could smell it. Hopefully, Catchut’s Health Watch was enough to overcome the infection. He seemed lucid enough, and without fever.

  ‘Here? Yes. But how they’d get over to the islands?’ Randall shrugged. ‘Maybe the palazzo’ll give us some ideas.’

  On the back of that statement, she sent the AiV into a descent. Ahead of them and to the left Jo-Jo saw an island marked with wide-arched buildings, incongruous on the scantly vegetated tract of sand.

  ‘They like things to look like home,’ commented Randall, as if reading his mind. ‘You been to Latino Crux?’

  Jo-Jo nodded. ‘Once. The women were too quiet for my liking.’

  Randall laughed and gave him a sideways glance. ‘Funny how things work out, huh?’ She stopped short of saying, funny that you fell for one of them anyway, but the implication was loud and clear.

  Jo-Jo bit back a retort. Things had been amicable enough between them on the flight, and he didn’t need to fan any flames. He craned forward over the dashboard. ‘Any life signs?’

  ‘Don’t seem so,’ said Randall. ‘If there were, they’re gone now. I’ll land as close to the hangar as I can.’

  In descent, Jo-Jo got a clear view of the extent of the Pellegrini holiday chalet, a main building with numerous outhouses connected by covered walkways. The largest of the outhouses had a partially open roof. He took this to be the hangar Randall had mentioned. Wide sand beaches were segmented by empty jetties, and paths wound through the low brush. On the beach closest to the chalet sat another AiV, partially covered in sand.

  ‘It’s still there,’ said Randall with relief. ‘There’s a half-arsed infirmary in the chalet. Or there was. Lat used it.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Catchut, her face grim.

  ‘He knew the risks, Capo. We all do.’

  It was the first time Jo-Jo had ever heard Catchut attempt to reassure Randall.

  Losing your crew was a disturbing thing—even Jo-Jo, who’d spent most of his life working alone, scouting for minerals in the far reaches, understood that. And Rast Randall had lost all of them, apart from Catchut.

  ‘Let’s check the infirmary out first,’ said Randall. ‘See if there’s somethin’ that’ll help yer ankle.’

  Catchut nodded his appreciation.

  They put down close to the hangar on the wide courtyard and got out, pulling up their hoods against the heat. Randall led the way along the path into the chalet.

  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 a
nother. 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 turned 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 shortc
ast. 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.