Chaos Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  Mira shuddered. ‘Insignia is stable. I will be along in a while.’

  The last flicker of concern left Rast’s face and she managed to saunter out.

  Mira sighed. The mercenary seemed to thrive on danger. Why can’t I be like that? Why does each hurdle make me more tired?

  She placed her hands on her abdomen and prodded at the lower area. Had the baby been harmed? And why now, when she so craved only solitude, did her body demand food? She could not face the others yet.

  Insignia, how are your wounds?

  I am depleted of fluids but Scolar is close. I have time to replenish.

  What would have happened to us if you hadn’t recovered sufficiently?

  Insignia hesitated. It is deeply instinctive for me to survive resonance shift. Even wounded.

  So I was wrong to use Autonomy.

  Silence.

  But Mira could not let it rest. If I had maintained Autonomy would I have killed us?

  Yes. You are inexpert.

  A longer silence this time while Mira fretted over her choices. Why would Landhurst cripple you?

  It is the nature of some to destroy what they can’t have. But more, he did not think that you would have the courage to attempt an Autonomous shift. He did not count on your resolve.

  Mira felt warmth soak from the vein into her aching, weak muscles. You are comforting me. Can I do anything for you?

  You can sleep and recover. Then we will discuss my Autonomy component. It is time you had some proper tuition.

  * * *

  Instead, Mira dragged herself to the cucina.

  The cellar shelves stood unfolded and bare. The mercenaries were drinking straight from demijohns—the last of the Araldisian wines.

  ‘Saved you one, Baronessa.’ Rast swung a full bottle up from beside her. ‘Figured you, out of all of us, deserved it.’

  Mira accepted the bottle and searched for a flute. She found one in a cabinet full of Pellegrini-crested utensils. Rubbing the stem of the glass gently between her fingers she took a seat on the side of the table opposite the mercenaries.

  The first sip tasted harsh, not only because of the acidic wine but because of the memory it evoked. Her last drink had been with Faja. Tears pricked the rims of her eyes.

  ‘When you came tottering down that docking tube and pulled out a pistol, Fedor, I nearly pissed my pants,’ Rast pronounced. ‘Thought you were going to shoot me. You better watch out or I’ll start counting you as one of ours.’

  Mira stiffened at the good-natured comment. ‘I would never kill for a living.’

  ‘See, Capo, you throw her a bone and she gets all hoity,’ observed Catchut, with a belch.

  But Rast ignored him. She lifted her blood-spattered boots up on the table and rocked back on her chair. ‘Do you think your farcast got sent to OLOSS?’

  Mira turned away from the disgusting sight of the mercenary’s boot and shrugged. ‘I will try again now that we are in better range.’

  ‘So you think Landhurst was after the ‘zoon?’

  Rast steepled her fingers. ‘I knew him for a businessman but I didn’t know he was dangerous.’

  ‘What about Captain Dren from Audacity? How do you know him?’ Mira asked.

  The mercenaries exchanged glances. Latourn, whose complexion had turned as white as Rast’s hair, rested his head on his arms on the table.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘He said that “you owed him now”.’

  ‘What else did he say, Baronessa?’

  ‘That I should join Consilience; that there was room for people like me.’

  The mercenaries all exploded into laughter. Latourn hammered the table with his fist and Rast rocked back and forth on her chair until tears streaked down her filthy cheeks.

  Mira took a large swallow of wine. It was beginning to lift the edge from her fatigue. She let them spend their mirth, not caring one way or the other what they found amusing.

  ‘Have you heard of Consilience?’ Rast asked finally.

  Mira sipped deeply again—

  Mira, your body chemistry is changing. It might not help your foetus if you ingest drink—

  – and refilled her glass before she replied.

  ‘Si and no. You hear things on Araldis but there was no way to prove their veracity. Our farcast links were always unstable and our Studium texts were...’

  ‘Bullshit?’

  ‘Parochial,’ Mira finished.

  ‘Consilience is the third side,’ said Rast.

  ‘The right side,’ added Catchut.

  Mira regarded Rast with a steady stare. If the mercenaries wished to talk more she would listen but she would not play a guessing game with them.

  ‘OLOSS brought order and rules and accountability to most of Orion but not everyone wants that.’

  ‘Criminals do not, I should imagine,’ Mira said.

  ‘That’s where you show your ignorance, Fedor. It’s not as simple as that. Not everyone wants to be safe and constrained. OLOSS is seen as a protector by most, but as a dictator by some.’

  ‘The Extropists?’

  ‘Them, yeah. And others.’

  Mira found Rast’s ability to switch between crude and eloquent baffling. For the first time she wondered about the mercenary’s background. ‘Where do you fit in this web?’ Mira asked.

  ‘I fit where I please. I take people as I please. But Consilience believes in something that OLOSS doesn’t, and that’s loyalty. Loyalty can keep you alive.’

  ‘You believe in loyalty?’

  Rast took several noisy swigs from her demijohn. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone with an unnatural sparkle. She ran her tongue over the neck of the bottle, licking the runaway drops. ‘I could teach you something about loyalty, Baronessa. In fact, I could teach you... a lot.’

  Mira’s throat tightened. She put her flute down so that they would not see her hand trembling. She let her glance slide to Rast’s filthy boots. ‘You should wash yourself,’ she said.

  They all laughed again at that, as if she’d meant to be funny, not acerbic.

  Catchut yawned and stood. ‘I’m heading to kip down, Capo. And, like the Baronessa says, to wash. Feel like I’ve been poking my shaft in a jam roll.’ He moved his thighs apart in an exaggerated fashion as if they were stuck together.

  Latourn climbed unsteadily to his feet as well. ‘Me too, Cap. This ‘zoon goo crusts up your crap-hole.’

  They left together, still laughing.

  ‘I knew Dren in the war,’ Rast announced when the pucker settled shut. She sprawled sideways out of her chair, taking quick swigs. ‘He fought for Consilience too, but he wasn’t just on the payroll, he was... is one of them.’

  Mira saw her guard dropping with each swallow. ‘We didn’t hear much news of the war—until it was over, at least.’

  ‘If you take the history downloads they’ll tell you that the Extros started it but it was OLOSS.’

  ‘What do you mean? OLOSS retaliated after one of our worlds was attacked.’ Mira searched her memory. ‘Longthrow, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The Extros need raw materials; they exist in one small corner of Orion and there’s not enough minerals there to support their needs. They bought Longthrow from its OLOSS owners. The owners were broke and it was a shitty, slimy place overrun by amphibians. OLOSS panicked and sent in a bunch of hired meat to spoil the sale. They expected to send the half- heads packing but it turned out that the Extros had been sitting on some advanced-tech weapons. They didn’t crawl back into their hole like OLOSS expected.’

  Mira frowned in disbelief. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Because I was the hired meat. That’s how I met Ludjer Jancz. He was my Capo.’ Rast gave a short laugh. ‘He said it would be short and sweet and lucrative. But things got out of control. The Extros only had a small force but they were close to home and, as I said, their weapon tech was classy. I mean, you’d expect that, I guess, but it seemed to take OLOSS by surprise.’ Rast’s stare fixed
on the last measure of wine in the demijohn. She swirled it around. ‘I’ll sure never forget it.’ She drained the demijohn and tossed it onto the table. ‘Don’t ever underestimate Extros, Fedor. They don’t think like any humanesque or alien I’ve ever met. Damn near impossible to predict and not given to fits of compassion.’

  Rast rocked her chair back to the floor and closed her eyes. A moment later she was asleep.

  Mira was astounded that the mercenary could relax so instantly, bolt upright and in company: just another disparity between them.

  She sat for a while, watching Rast’s face. The mercenary seemed more feminine in sleep, her skin smooth and her lips soft. But the shadows under her eyes and the bruise along one cheekbone kept the picture real. Rast was as unpredictable and pitiless as the Extropists she had fought against and yet Mira felt envy again at the woman’s freedom. Was it as easy as that? Could you just grasp it? Or did you have to be able to kill and fight and view life through a sieve of cynicism?

  Would she swap her life with Rast?

  Even with the weight of tradition and her enslavement by her altered biology she would not. But she could transform herself with knowledge.

  Mira dragged herself to her feet and went to her cabin where she removed her fellalo and laid it onto the steam couch. While it was cleaned she examined herself in the small mirror. It reflected a person vastly different from the one who had looked back at her on Araldis.

  This person was thinner and had lost much of her vibrant crimson colouring. As with Rast, there were exhaustion shadows under her eyes and her skin had developed a waxen texture. It was the kind of fatigue, she knew, that did not quit easily: the fatigue of a person living in constant dread and uncertainty.

  It gnawed at her that she had not been able to say goodbye to Cass Mulravey, nor give her a word of explanation.

  ‘Don’t let her return to the mine,’ Trin had told his Carabinere. Then he had driven away.

  The muzzles of their rifles had stabbed into her back as they forced her inside the cabin of the AiV. They’d shared Trin’s righteousness, the imperative that his line should continue, that a woman should be accepting of everything.

  But nothing in Mira accepted Trinder Pellegrini’s act.

  The memories began to well up but she clamped down on them. What had Trin told the women about her, she wondered? That she had stolen an AiV and run away? He would have been careful to ensure that she did not become more than him to them; more of a hero. And now she carried his child.

  My child, not his! My child. My child. Mira intoned the words as she crawled into bed and let oblivion finally claim her.

  * * *

  Insignia woke her.

  There is a farcast from Scolar, Mira.

  She surfaced instantly, as if her sleep had been only a breath below wakefulness.

  Si. Si. What does it say?

  You have been granted an emergency meeting with Sophos Mianos, the OLOSS delegate for Orion Edge. The meeting will occur in twelve hours.

  How can that be? We are days out still.

  Insignia hesitated. I enhanced the length of your sleep cycle and nourished you.

  Mira jerked up out of bed. You sedated me!

  It was for the best—for the baby. Your blood pressure was elevated and your liver function had degraded. You are refreshed now. Your organs are coping better.

  Anger flared hot through her body. Do not do that again. Never do that. She thrust her feet onto the floor. Insignia!

  The only reply was the biozoon’s whispering rhythm.

  Mira dressed and hurried to the buccal.

  Rast was there, lounging in Autonomy, dressed in a strange combination of amber Latino brocade robe and grey mercenary garb.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mira demanded.

  Rast’s eyes focused on her slowly as she came out of virtual sight. ‘Baronessa. We tried to wake you up but short of breaking into your cabin...’ She shrugged. ‘Figured maybe you’d died in there and I should start working out how to fly this thing.’

  Mira stared at the mercenary. Was Rast joking?

  ‘I found the shift phase extremely... exhausting. Now I have had contact from the OLOSS delegate on Scolar. I will meet with him in twelve hours.’

  ‘Then you’ll be taking us where we want to go?’

  ‘I...’ Mira dropped her head. She had given her word to return Rast to their planet of choice yet she wanted to go with OLOSS to Araldis. She had to go back. ‘I will do what I can.’

  ‘We had a deal, Fedor. You don’t ever want to break a deal with someone like me,’ Rast added softly.

  ‘But I must go back there with OLOSS—quickly.’

  Rast lifted her hands from the conductivity pads and leaned forward. ‘I thought you aristos cut your teeth on politics.’

  Mira sat on the edge of Primo. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you really think OLOSS will go running off to Araldis to save a bunch of Latino idiots from their self-inflicted fate?’

  ‘The Saqr are not self-inflicted,’ said Mira stiffly.

  ‘What makes you so sure about that? You’re smart, Fedor. Think it over. You know that the Principe hired me for added protection.’

  ‘You have alluded to that, but you haven’t been specific.’

  ‘He wanted us to protect a woman and her property—a mine.’

  Mira suddenly remembered the data sponge that Trin had pressed upon her. She had slipped it into the inner pockets of her fellalo and forgotten about it. ‘Do you mean the mine where Cass Mulravey lost her husband?’

  Rast nodded. ‘I lost two of my crew in there.’

  ‘What was the woman’s name?’

  ‘Lancia or something.’

  ‘Silvio?’

  ‘No... wait... Luna something.’

  ‘Luna II Longa?’

  ‘Yes. What do you know about her?’

  That name. Trinder had spoken of her in their last conversation. ‘She is... was the Principe’s concubine. The name II Longa is an Eccentric name.’

  ‘Eccentric?’

  ‘Not full-blooded Latino. Like me.’

  ‘Eccentric, eh?’ Rast ran the word over her tongue, exaggerating the last ‘c’. ‘That fits you well. Eccentric and erratic.’

  Mira did not want to continue the conversation. ‘I will return to my cabin for a while. Do not touch the Autonomy controls. Insignia is well enough now to manage herself.’

  Once out of the buccal she grasped the folds of her robe and ran her fingers along them. Her fellala was badly worn now but she could not bring herself to wear another; she wanted the reminder of what she had left. There were many luxurious royal robes stored in Insignia’s cabins but they belonged to the Pellegrini familia. Although the child she carried made her part of their clan, she would not wear their colours. Not ever.

  The data sponge had worked its way into a side seam. She felt the unevenness as she squeezed along the hem.

  ‘Problem, lady?’

  Mira glanced up, dropping the end of her robe. Latourn was leaning against the stratum wall. He was taller than Rast and dark: dark eyes, dark hair, but a different swarthiness to the Latino kind. Thickset enough, too, though his frame had thinned with fatigue and injury, as if his health had not properly recovered. She had not spoken to him really, and his closeness made her nervous.

  ‘No.’ She moved to pass him but he stopped her with a hand on her sleeve.

  ‘Jus’ wanta say... that... you getting us on board here... saved me. I was gone fo’ sure. I’m wantin’ you to know that I’ll keep that with me. Knowin’ you did that. Capo was right about loyalty.’

  ‘It was your... captain who saved you. And your friend Catchut.’

  Latourn blinked. ‘But you got us through shift. Never met one woman who could do that before. Maybe ‘cos you’re one those...’

  ‘Innate,’ said Mira. She stepped away from him and he dropped his hand, rebuffed by her cool reaction.

  ‘Well, whatever, I figure
to be evening it up one time. Showing you what I can do,’ he said.

  Mira shook her head. Latourn’s intense manner and the idea that he thought he owed her something, made her uneasy. ‘There is nothing. No debt. Please, I must go to my cabin.’

  His look was part longing, part annoyance but he leaned back for her to pass.

  She hurried on, knowing that she had handled the interchange poorly. But he reminded her of Trin and Innis—damaged somehow. Rast, at least, was not like that.

  Once inside her cabin Mira worked the sponge along the seam of her fellala to a worn patch. Then she tore a tiny hole in the robe to remove it and reached for the virtual-sight add-on attached to the wall by the bed.

  Mira pushed the sponge into the insertion port and slipped the mask on. When her eyes had adjusted she began to wiggle her fingers along the conductivity pad.

  Icons cascaded into her v-sight and a burst of nausea hit her. It was still too soon after the strain of res-shift to be back.

  Audio sotto, she told it.

  The speed and luminosity of the icons immediately diminished and a stream of murmuring took its space in her mind.

  Mira let it saturate her, waiting for her senses to attune. As before, it seemed a better way to manage the clamour. She began to distinguish noises: the wave booms of their movement and the faint glub of Insignia’s organs processing amino fluids.

  Then a small thing took her attention away from finding the data: a high-pitched whine that she intuited to be the farcaster.

  ‘Focus on farcast,’ she told the v-sight.

  All other sounds diminished.

  ‘Decode.’

  Rast’s voice came through as intimately as if the mercenary was speaking in her ear. ‘... on Scolar. Who is it?’

  The answering burst was on relay from the Scolar hub.

  ‘Retrace.’ But the stream split and disintegrated.

  ‘Half payment at pickup,’ said Rast.

  Another burst.

  ‘Agreed.’ Rast gave a dry, deprecating laugh. ‘She won’t be a problem.’