Chaos Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  Thales pursued his meditations rigorously, first upon awakening and then later in the middle of the day when Amaury was disposed to nap. He followed his contemplations with a bout of vigorous exercise—running on one spot and other calisthenics suitable for a small area—which he did in the confines of his room so as not to disturb Amaury’s sleep. He then took a protracted bath and returned to their common area where Amaury would be transferring their evening meal from the cart to the table.

  The old man seemed to enjoy this ritual, like a mother who was used to supervising mealtimes for her family.

  Thales surveyed the present meal with some satisfaction: a choice of tender meats, gingered kumara and salt greens on silver platters, to be followed by a splendid cream pie perched on a crystal tier.

  ‘A meal fit for the Sophos themselves,’ said Thales as he seated himself.

  Amaury did not reply. He seemed oddly distracted.

  ‘Amaury, there is something I have been meaning to discuss with you. I took occasion to visit The Children of God after hearing that I had been denied my petition.’

  ‘You were seeking comfort, no doubt.’ It was a statement.

  Thales flushed. ‘I suppose that I have inadvertently proved your earlier argument with that comment.’

  ‘I would never denigrate you for seeking comfort, Thales. But I would urge you to remove the root of your need.’

  ‘It is something I will give thought to, Amaury. But, even so, it does not change the disturbing nature of what I learned... I joined a group at the base of Exterus. I spoke to one of them, a woman I know, an Eclectic called Magdalen. The Pre-Eminence have injected selected statues with an erosion substance which will cannibalise them within a short time.’

  ‘Selected statues, Thales?’

  ‘Yes. From what she said, only the statues of Exterus and Villon. I’m afraid it was then that my rational mind deserted me, Amaury. I became deeply, deeply... incensed. When I returned to my wife for consolation she would not even see me. It appears that she already knew of this travesty. Her father, you see, is Sophos Mianos.’

  Thales balled a fist into his palm. Recounting the event unbalanced his carefully created equanimity of the last few days. He forced his hands to his sides and waited for Amaury to speak.

  But Amaury, for the first time, was neither listening to Thales nor watching him. And why, Thales wondered, was the old man trembling so...

  Thales sought to distract him. ‘So now, Amaury, tell me more about yourself. We have discussed ideas and values, but you have said little concerning where you were born, or your life.’

  But Amaury continued to tremble, as if shocked. ‘Who I am, my life, matters little now. Please excuse me, Thales. I have something for which I must prepare.’

  ‘Of course. But may I ask for what you need to prepare?’

  Amaury rose from the table and took shuffling steps towards his bedroom door. ‘Today I will die and there are things to think about.’ He said it simply and without dramatic pause. A quiet statement that invited no response.

  ‘D-die?’ Thales sprang up from his chair. ‘And upon what do you found such information? A dream, perhaps? A portent?’

  ‘I have long known that I would be executed. All the Sophos needed was enough time, and from what you have just told me that time has elapsed. This fare’—he gestured to the meal before them—‘is significant in its splendour.’

  Thales glanced across the magnificent silver and the succulent food. ‘You mean a last meal?’

  Amaury nodded.

  Thales struggled to believe what he was hearing. The old man seemed so sane and rational and yet this was surely a flight of fancy. Had he been alone too long? Perhaps he could banish Amaury’s fears with logic. ‘For what crime would they execute you? What terrible offence could someone as temperate as you have perpetrated? And if it is, as I expect, not a crime at all, then why would they incarcerate us together? I am witness to anything unfair that happens to you,’ said Thales.

  Amaury ceased trembling and straightened as though infused with sudden new courage. He rested his hand on the handle of the bedroom door and looked at Thales with compassion in his gentle stare. ‘Indeed.’

  A crawling sensation stirred in Thales’s stomach.

  Amaury let go of the handle and returned to take Thales’s hand. His skin was papery and cool, the way Thales’s father’s had been in his latter years.

  ‘The Pre-Eminence seek to frighten you. You’ve spoken of many things these past days. Things that you have observed about our once-dynamic society. And your observations are correct. We have become stale and toothless. Our philosophising is nothing other than a way for us to justify our secure existence. We no longer have an impact on the worlds around us... on the future of the sentient species... but this malaise that you so accurately perceived is, I fear, not from the innate weakness of the humanesque mind, or lack of endeavour, but something much... much more sinister.’

  Thales felt a light perspiration break out across his body. This was the longest speech that Amaury had yet made. He leaned closer to the old man, utterly enthralled by his sombre, smooth voice. ‘Sinister? Are the clusters being held to ransom by the Sophos Pre-Eminence? Is Sophos Mianos behind this?’

  Amaury’s mouth twisted. A life-weary smile. ‘Would that it were merely the harmless politicking of a few power-mongers! It is worse than that and more pervasive. Scolar has been damaged in some way—our ability to think and debate has been compromised.’

  Thales stepped away now, confused. He had been so captivated by the man’s gently subdued manner and yet Amaury’s latest suggestions bordered on paranoia.

  ‘That is implausible!’ And yet even as he said it Thales felt a growing empathy with Amaury’s words.

  The old man perceived the doubt in Thales’s eyes and straightened his robe with infinite dignity. ‘I cannot say what is happening here—Scolar knows I’ve had time enough to ponder it. But I am heartened by the knowledge that you are not blinded to it, and that somehow you have escaped it.’ He gave a heartbreaking smile. ‘They put you in with me, Thales, to frighten you and to destroy my hope. But they have in fact accomplished the opposite. I am overjoyed that I finally have a use for this.’ Amaury reached inside his robe and produced a tiny container. Inside was a minute lump of a putty-like substance. He pressed the container into Thales’s hand. ‘This was smuggled to me by one of my advocates. It will dissolve most materials when wet. You will know when to use it.’ He retied his waist sash as the tramp of boots sounded outside their door.

  Thales held the object in his open palm. ‘But why have you not—’

  ‘It was not the way. They would have caught me. I am an old man. But you...’ He did not finish. Instead, he closed Thales’s fingers over the container and pushed his arm down.

  A moment of silence passed between them, broken by the continuing trample of booted feet in the corridor. The door swung open and a group of Brown Robes entered. One of them crossed the room and knelt in front of the old gentleman.

  ‘Eminence Villon,’ said the guard and bowed his head.

  Villon? Thales’s insides were gripped by something painful. Amaury Villon?

  ‘Forgive me.’ The guard stood and held out a set of restraints.

  Amaury shook his head sadly and placed his wrists in them. ‘I am sorry—I cannot find it in myself to forgive you. But ultimately it is not my forgiveness that you need.’

  Unhappily, the guard triggered the restraints and they wrapped around the old man’s wrists.

  The action broke Thales free from his state of shock. ‘Where are you taking him?’ he demanded.

  But the Brown Robes ignored him.

  He grabbed at one of them. ‘Answer me! Where do you take him? Sophos Mianos will hear of this! The Pre-Eminence will know!’

  ‘Thales, be calm now,’ said Amaury as the Brown Robe thrust Thales away. ‘The Pre-Eminence already know. It is their doing.’ He let himself be shepherded to the door. ‘
Remember,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Remember the things we talked about. Remember...’

  Thales flung himself after Amaury but the guards blocked his way again, one of them clouting the side of his face with a baton as they took the old man from the room.

  Thales fell heavily to the floor. He scrambled back to his feet and beat at the locked door. But, as before, nobody came.

  TEKTON

  Tekton knocked on Labile Connit’s door rather than have his moud announce his visit in advance. In this case, he calculated, the unexpected might yield greater results.

  Connit took some time to answer. He had clearly been sleeping off his hangover. ‘Tekton?’

  ‘I thought it seemed that you could do with some cheering.’ Tekton brandished a bottle of lime-tinctured bubbly which he thrust upon Connit. Then from beneath his coat he produced—and popped the lid on—a dish of reconstituted pungent quark eggs. ‘Here.’ He wafted the dish under Connit’s nose.

  The Geneer swallowed several times and bolted inside, leaving the door ajar. As soon as Tekton heard the sounds of Connit’s violent reaction to the eggs, he entered the rooms, placed the dish on a side table and began a quick, concise hunt through the Geneer’s possessions. His rooms were similarly configured to Tekton’s and with deft hands Tekton rifled through clothes and in drawers, finding nothing that might give away Connit’s origins.

  As the reassuring noises of illness had not abated, Tekton was encouraged to search the Geneer’s sleeping quarters. The room was singularly uninspiring aside from one startling object. On the bedcovers lay a book.

  Tekton knew it was a book because the Tan Andao Studium had one in its vacuum vault which was never removed for fear of deterioration.

  Tekton pounced on it. The weight of it surprised him and the brittle outer cover pricked at his trembling thin-skinned fingers. Imagine a Geneer, of all ‘esques, owning such a priceless thing and using it.

  Horrifying, observed free-mind.

  Insane, agreed logic-mind.

  Their agreement left Tekton rather unnerved. He turned the pages with utmost care, wondering over the mess of hieroglyphics.

  Moud?

  A detectable delay as the moud brought itself out of hibernation. I’m here, Godhead.

  Can you tell me what this means?

  Another pause.

  It appears to be the title of the work: ‘Welding for Four Dimensions’.

  And the other?

  An inscription, I believe, Godhead.

  Yessss...

  From your loving father, CF(C)’

  Aaaah... copy this page to your memory. I wish to review it later.

  Yes, Godhead.

  Tekton heard the short blast of a sanitary jet and replaced the book in its original position on the covers. Several quick, soundless steps took him back into Connit’s living room where he swiftly retrieved the dish of quark eggs.

  Labile Connit returned, bleary and out of sorts.

  ‘I can see,’ said Tekton, with a bold lack of concern, ‘that I have come at an inconvenient time. Please, have the quark eggs and champagne with my compliments. I will call again when you are feeling better.’

  Connit stared fixedly at the dish of eggs that Tekton once more held out to him and pressed his hand to his mouth. Tekton dropped the dish onto a table and turned to leave. By the time he had reached the door he could hear the sanitary jet blasting again.

  * * *

  Back in his rooms Tekton reviewed the inscription. From your loving father CF(C).

  For some reason those initials piqued his memory.

  Is there any record of Labile Connit’s planet of origin?

  No, Godhead.

  Tekton sucked a finger. To his annoyance the ingre membrane shed onto his tongue. He spat it out and made a note to increase the oil in his diet.

  On what planet does the Yeungnam Studium reside? Tekton knew that he should remember such a detail but Geneering Studiums—even the famous Yeungnam—did not figure on his list of itinerant facts that were worthwhile retaining.

  Yeung Lesser, Godhead.

  I want you to collate the names of all the C. Connits—or variations on that name—alive or passed, living within several parsecs of Yeung Lesser.

  I would have to employ the Vreal Studium’s VI to gain such information, the moud informed him.

  Tekton paused and thought for a moment.

  Should I pursue this?

  No, his logic-mind stated firmly. Satisfying idle curiosity is not worth the computational allowance.

  Instinct is not merely idle curiosity, argued his free-mind. Instinct is a most profound and valuable ally.

  Employ the VI, Tekton told his moud.

  The list came back seconds later. It was lengthy but not interminable.

  Now, see if you can connect someone on this list with your available known facts about Labile Connit, he told it.

  Godhead?

  For Lostol’s sake, do I have to spell it out! Can you think for yourself?

  Of course, Godhead, in a restricted way. The moud sounded rather hurt.

  Do any of them have a male offspring of Labile Connit’s age? Are any of them engineers? Commonalities. I WANT COMMONALITIES! Tekton’s mind-shout brought on the beginnings of a throbbing temple but when the moud reinserted a new list in his virtual eye the headache was swept away by a rush of akula.

  Three Connits had commonalities but Tekton knew immediately that only one mattered. Lasper (Carnage) Farr-Connit: progeny—one male child, whereabouts unknown. Mother: Tekla Connit, deceased. Lasper Farr was currently reported as holding the ownership of the Savoire Refuse System.

  Even Tekton had heard of Carnage Farr, the man who had thwarted OLOSS’s plans to invade Extropy space by leading a small but effective force against League warships. The Stain Wars, the conflicts were called, and Farr had proclaimed himself keeper of the balance.

  On some worlds he was considered a hero of peace, but Tekton’s impression was that the man was a violent opportunist who railed against order, an anarchist who wanted indeterminate rules so that he could pursue his own shady ends.

  If Labile Connit was his son then OLOSS were harbouring the ultimate viper in their bosom here on Belle-Monde.

  Tekton’s minds clamoured with opinions.

  How titillating! declared free-mind.

  Dangerous! proclaimed logic-mind. But potentially useful.

  Informing OLOSS would cause a stir and possibly attract some type of commendation. But blackmailing Connit could mean some useful ‘impartial’ contacts.

  Which did he want more? Applause for being a good citizen? Or to beat Ra and all the other tyros, and impress Sole?

  A plan blossomed in Tekton’s thoughts, as beautiful as a new design.

  Moud, extend an invitation to Labile Connit to attend a soiree at my room tomorrow evening.

  Yes, Godhead. Would you care to make arrangements for the event? Is there food to order? Are there others to be invited?

  No. Tekton smiled. None and no one.

  * * *

  Connit arrived a little late, carrying a bottle of yellow liquid not dissimilar in its hue to that of his normally golden skin, which today looked sallow and dehydrated.

  He glanced around the room. ‘Late, am I? Or early?’ His eyes lost focus for a moment as he consulted his moud.

  ‘No, no,’ said Tekton. He closed the door and stood between it and Connit. ‘A little misunderstanding. The soiree is for another night. But I had some... personal business to discuss with you.’

  Labile’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tekton? What trickery are you up to? You know I will record this.’

  Tekton folded his arms in a mild but confident gesture. ‘Actually, Labile—may I call you that?—while you are welcome to record our little talk it is most likely, I would think, that you would be disposed to erase it later.’

  Labile’s look of suspicion deepened into a frown. He took a step forward as if to brush past Tekton and leave.

 
But Tekton raised a hand. ‘I also think it would be in your best interests to hear what I have to say. That is... better you hear it than OLOSS do.’

  Connit froze. He reddened. For a professional and one of the foremost in his field, he was alarmingly ingenuous. ‘Out with it, Tekton.’

  ‘I know who your father is.’

  ‘I do not have a father and I find your insinuation in poor taste.’

  ‘The circumstances of your gestation and birth are not the issue here,’ snapped Tekton. ‘Your genetics are. So pray tell me: how is it that the son of the League’s most infamous agitator is being educated at their expense?’

  Connit looked, Tekton fancied, as if he might collapse. His body began to tremble in a way that suggested it might actually unglue.

  ‘Are you in contact with Lasper Farr?’

  Labile took a gasping breath at the sound of his father’s name. ‘What, Tekton? What is it that you want from me?’

  ‘I require a neutral engineering facility on Rho Junction and I thought, my dear fellow, that you might be just the person to negotiate it.’ Tekton slapped the Geneer on the back as one might an old friend.

  Connit’s shoulders squared and for one second Tekton thought that the younger man might hit him.

  Duck, screamed logic-mind.

  Hit him first, urged free-mind.

  But Connit replied before Tekton had a chance to do either. ‘And your silence is what I will get in return?’

  ‘Precisely,’ breathed Tekton. He loved this sort of bargaining. It was almost as sexy as conceiving a new model or overcoming a design flaw. Perhaps he should have been a Lawmon.

  ‘What assurances do I have on that?’

  ‘I’m choosing to consort with dubious types, my dear Connit. I will have just as much to lose as you.’ Tekton paused and sniffed, allowing himself a small smirk. ‘Well, not nearly as much, actually, but some, all the same. Our collusion itself will ensure my silence.’

  Connit’s fists clenched so tight that the golden skin of his knuckles turned a bright yellow.