Paraburd waved his hand and squeezed his eyebrows together in disdain. ‘Tiny, tiny risks.’
‘Wouldn’t an animal suffice as host? An alpacania or even a rodent?’
‘Lesser animal hosts do not provide the most efficacious response. Besides, it is quite safe for humanesques. No, Thales, altruism is the key here. And there are so few altruists in Scolar any more.’ Paraburd stared sadly into the distance.
An idea formed in Thales’s mind as he sipped his chocola. It was a particularly delicious drink, and relaxing. He must have it again soon, he thought. With a million lucre he could enjoy many more of them. ‘Where must your courier go?’
‘To a laboratory on Rho Junction.’
‘And then?’
‘The courier will receive the naked DNA and return with it to our own facilities here on Scolar where we can harvest it and begin the transfection process.’
‘Will the courier need travel finance and so forth?’
Gutnee Paraburd clicked his tongue. ‘No, no, no. My company covers all such things, of course.’ He rubbed his temples with frustration, then stared at Thales with a hopeful expression. ‘Why do you ask?’
Thales cleared his throat, took another sip of chocola, then cleared his throat again. ‘I would offer myself. My services, that is, if you would have me.’
Paraburd’s mouth fell open in undisguised delight.
‘Indeed. Would you, sir? A distinguished philosopher working for me! Well, I’m smitten shivery with shock.’
‘I am just a man like you, Mr Paraburd. You have done me a favour, now I can return it... Does that mean you accept my offer?’
The man bowed in his seat. ‘I accept with most humble gratitude. Let us hasten to my office.’
Thales returned Paraburd’s smile with less enthusiasm but a lighter heart. He had made a decision and done a good turn. ‘One thing I would ask. I would not care to run into the politic.’
His new employer nodded in complete understanding.
* * *
Gutnee Paraburd led Thales through a door in the catoplasma wall and into the rear corridors of the station. The filthy halls were piled with disused tubing and other unrecognisable items, and smelled of sour chemicals.
‘I did not realise there were parallel passages in the landing port.’
‘All large transit stations have service areas,’ Thales’s new boss explained. ‘It wouldn’t do for travellers to see the less glamorous end of things. Now, Msr, when we reach my office I will provide you with a courier uniform. Then we will hasten to the ship. Loading has already begun.’
Thales felt a sharp twist in his stomach, a pang of anxiety, followed by a thrill of anticipation. He was going into space—something he had not had occasion to do before, certainly not as a paid personage. It gave him a sense of purpose. Rene would be surprised if she knew and he liked that notion.
Paraburd turned along a narrow, dim corridor and opened a door at the very end. His office was crowded with shelves of receptacles and chilled by a draught from an adjacent cool room. A balol hunched over a desk in the middle of it all, dwarfed by the stacks of laboratory objects. He scowled at Paraburd who ignored him and ushered Thales into a small ablution cubicle.
‘I will hand a uniform in to you.’
Thales squeezed past a crate of tube syringes and waited behind the door. After a few long moments, in which he became acutely aware of the dark stains in the ceiling and an unpleasant smell coming from the toilet, Paraburd tapped on the door and passed a uniform in.
Thales emerged in ill-fitting pants and jacket. ‘There is a tear under one arm,’ he said.
Paraburd shook his fist at the balol. ‘Tell me what it is that I pay you for?’
The balol’s scowl didn’t alter. Nor did he proffer an explanation.
Paraburd took Thales’s arm. ‘Keep your arm at your side and no one will notice. You see, your position on this ship will be a dual role. For the duration of the trip you will assist as an escort for a travelling diplomat. It is a way of managing costs, you understand. Now for the DNA barrier.’ He went into the refrigerated compartment and returned with a fluid-filled, sleeve- shaped object. He pushed the uniform up to Thales’s elbow and slipped the sleeve over his wrist.
Thales felt a series of tiny pricks.
When he tried to remove the sleeve Gutnee Paraburd held it fast with a surprising show of strength. ‘Do not move until the sleeve has drained.’
The pricks continued for a few more seconds until Paraburd relaxed his grip and removed the empty sleeve.
‘You are now protected from the disease. But please remember, Msr Thales, that the barrier substance has a finite lifespan. You must deliver the naked DNA to me in-order to have it harvested. If not, transfection will occur in your genome.’
Thales felt a twinge of uncertainty. ‘Mr Paraburd, this DNA I am to receive ... is it that important?’
Gutnee Paraburd appeared hurt and shocked. ‘Mr Berniere, all my work is important—’
‘But what do I know of escorting dignitaries?’ Thales interjected.
‘Pfft!’ said Paraburd. ‘It requires nothing more than trailing around after a diplomat. This type of cross-utilisation of labour is a common and accepted practice. But then, as an esteemed scholar you would have seen such things. I am a reputable businessman and if you do not wish to make honest lucre, then—’ Gutnee Paraburd made a show of returning his purse to his pocket.
Thales forestalled any further negative pronouncement by taking the purse. ‘I apologise. Of course you are.’
‘Indeed,’ said Paraburd, mollified. ‘The purse contains an instalment of the lucre. You shall have the balance when you return. It is not safe for a man to walk around with a million lucre in his pocket, Msr Berniere. Now let us go.’
* * *
Their final words were exchanged a short time later at the entrance to a docking tube. Thales could not see the craft but a deep whine emanated through the tube and it shuddered periodically.
Gutnee Paraburd pressed a document film into his hand. ‘Your instructions are all here.’ He gave Thales a wide-eyed look. ‘Safe travelling, Msr Thales—may fortune bring you back to me quickly.’
Thales could not think of a suitable reply and settled for ‘I will do my best, sir.’ He climbed the small rubber gradient to the entrance of the tube but when he turned to give Paraburd a final farewell the man had already gone.
A humanesque dressed in the same kind of uniform as Thales waited at the ship’s entrance.
‘You Paraburd’s man?’
Thales nodded, not sure that he liked the fellow’s curt tone and thick features.
‘Here,’ said the guard, slapping a mask against Thales’s chest. ‘Get this on. The diplomat will be here in a moment. Make sure you stand at the back.’
‘Is my uniform too unkempt?’ asked Thales, anxiously prodding the rip.
The man gave him an odd look. ‘Yeah. Sure enough. But that’s it.’
As Thales pulled the visor down over his face, more uniformed personnel appeared in the lock, assembling themselves into two lines. He dutifully lined up in the second row.
A few moments later two Brown Robes entered through the shuddering docking tube.
Thales held his breath, grateful that he’d been instructed to stand back. The politic guards scanned the group of assembled personnel and exchanged a few words with the man who had greeted Thales. Satisfied that all was in order, one of them spoke into a personal, ‘cast.
The tube rattled again and the diplomat entered.
Thales found himself unable to let go of the breath that he was holding in. Sophos Mianos stood a mere body’s length away.
MIRA
‘Cryoprotectants?’
‘Surely even on your backward planet you’ve heard of them?’ ‘I-I...’
‘Who opposes OLOSS, Baronessa?’
‘The Extropists, of course—’
‘OLOSS has been trying to destabilise them for yea
rs because they won’t sign the charter. One of the ways they’ve done that is to make the cryoprotectants that the Extros use in their transformation processes illegal—outside approved consignments for OLOSS use.’
‘They are illegal?’ Mira’s heart thundered.
‘Not just illegal, Fedor. Do you know what they do to ‘esques caught trafficking them?’ Rast’s eyes were so narrow that Mira wasn’t sure if they were even open. ‘They don’t bother to put them in jail. They just box them up and cremate them,’ she said.
‘OLOSS would not be so barbaric.’
‘Would be and are,’ Rast said flatly. ‘Crux, Fedor, you’ve just had a close-up view of what humanesques can do to each other. Why would OLOSS be any different?’
‘But the charter—’
‘Prevents lawlessness but doesn’t stop cruelty.’
Rast impatiently tapped her fingers on the conductor pad while Mira digested what she had learned.
‘But if you knew I was going to an OLOSS planet—why would you risk such a thing?’ Mira said slowly.
Rast’s glance flicked to Catchut—so quickly that Mira wasn’t sure whether of not she’d imagined it. ‘You were going. Not us. We—ah—intended to... stay aboard. Didn’t figure the suspicious bastards would come out and search us.’
Is that the truth, Rast? Mira wondered. She examined the mercenary’s face but Rast’s expression showed nothing, neither guilt nor discomfort nor fear.
Insignia, how long until the OLOSS ship reaches us?
Exactly?
Approximately.
Less time than it takes you to dress.
‘They are too close now. We cannot avoid them boarding—you must hide it,’ said Mira decisively.
Rast reared up out of her seat and grabbed Mira’s arm. ‘No, we must run.’
‘We cannot run,’ Mira cried. ‘I have to tell them about Araldis.’
‘They won’t believe you—’
Mira stood impassively in Rast’s grasp and summoned her most imperious tone. ‘Hide it. And send Latourn to attend me at the egress scale.’
‘A-attend you!’ Catchut spluttered. ‘Why, y-you—’
But Rast cut him off with a decisive hand movement. ‘Play your game well, Baronessa. Your life depends on it.’
Mira took that warning back to her cabin where she hurriedly changed into a Pellegrini ceremonial robe.
The bodice and skirt were too large for her thin body but the headdress fitted well enough. She bundled her hair behind the wimple and tucked away a couple of stray wisps. The mirror showed her strained eyes and faded skin colour. She turned sideways and stretched the fabric across her belly. There was no hint of her secret in this voluminous dress.
Insignia, contact the OLOSS ship and explain that they are welcome aboard but that one of the survivors has a quarantine-level illness. And—
Mira?
– Why did you not tell me that Rast had brought cryoprotectants on board?
I am not interested in the minor activities of your species.
You mean... only when it suits you.
There was a long pause before Insignia replied.
The OLOSS ship has requested that your delegate comes to their quarantine area.
Mira let out a relieved breath.
* * *
Latourn was waiting for Mira at the egress scale. His dark hair was slicked flat and he wore an ochre-coloured everyday fellalo over his grey garb. The robe was a little short but he looked well enough in it—as though he could be Latino.
Mira felt the force of his stare. ‘I do not need you to speak, merely to act as my attendant. Stay behind me,’ she said.
Latourn nodded, and smiled in a way that made her uneasy. There was no warmth in it, only a strange kind of hunger. It was a risk taking him to the meeting but preferable to the others.
She heard a dull thud.
‘That’s them,’ said Latourn, turning to face the rough, thickened flesh of the egress scale. ‘Lemme go first. Might be that someone’s nervous in there.’
Mira shook her head. She would let no one risk themself on her behalf. ‘No. Stay behind me,’ she repeated.
“He shrugged and gave a mock bow. ‘Whatever m’lady wants.’
The docking connection is complete, Mira.
Let’s proceed.
* * *
The OLOSS ship’s entry chamber was as grey and functional as the corridors of Intel station. Mira was forced to sit on a bench close to Latourn as they were screened for contamination. Finally, a strong astringent scent filled their nostrils.
‘Anti-bac spray. It cakes your pores. Gives you a rash,’ Latourn muttered. Then he added, ‘Let me know if you need a hand to wash it off.’
A masked guard in an olive OLOSS uniform entered before Mira could react to Latourn’s suggestion. Two more joined him a moment later, carrying a chair and a fold-up table. When the table and chair had been set in front of Latourn and Mira, all three guards took up positions on either side of the door.
Latourn mimicked their action, settling himself against the wall opposite. Mira clasped her fingers together to keep them still and sat stiffly, waiting.
Finally, an affluently robed male with thin patrician features and soft skin entered. Something in his manner reminded Mira of the Principe Franco: confidence born of authority. And not just authority, she sensed; self- belief as well.
He held out his hand in greeting. ‘Sophos Mianos, OLOSS designate on Scolar.’
Mira half rose from her seat and returned the soft- fingered touch. ‘I am Baronessa Mira Fedor of the Cipriano clan on Araldis.’
The man stumbled over her use of her title, she thought, but he quickly arranged his expression into sympathetic lines. ‘Now, Baronessa Fedor, tell me quickly of this tragedy that brings you in such haste across Orion.’
Mira began hesitantly but found momentum in the reliving of her story and the presence of a sympathetic ear. She told Mianos most things—except for Marchella’s part in the events and Trin’s final act. When she had finally exhausted herself she sat, hunched and miserable, wishing for sleep or any type of oblivion.
Sophos Mianos took her hand and patted it for long moments until she grew uncomfortable and withdrew it.
‘Would you care for refreshments, my dear?’ he asked gently.
‘Th-thank you,’ Mira stammered. His refined manner was almost jarring after so long with the mercenaries.
They sat in an awkward silence until a menial bought a jug of iced water. Mira drank hers quickly but Latourn refused, frowning at her.
When the menial had removed the tray, another one appeared with a plate of meats and pastries which he placed in front of the Sophos. With a sigh and an innocent smile, Mianos tucked a serviette over his robe and began to eat. Between mouthfuls he began to ask questions.
Mira could not concentrate due to the smell of the marinated meats and the look of the honeyed cakes.
Her exhausted mind struggled to answer Mianos, for his questions seemed designed to trip up her logic and confuse her recollection.
She began to realise that though his skin was soft and his eyes gentle, Sophos Mianos was neither of those things. He continued to eat with a fastidiousness that could only have been intentional—fussing over the tiny scraps of fat and drips of meat juice, never once offering food to Mira or Latourn.
‘Tell me again, Baronessa, why the Principe’s heir provided you with transport to escape, while he stayed on?’ he asked.
Behind the Sophos one of the masked soldiers moved restlessly as though he too was impatient with proceedings.
Mianos turned and scowled at him: a fierce, quelling look.
Mira forced herself to speak. ‘I have explained, Sophos Mianos. The young Principe Pellegrini chose to stay to lead the survivors to a safe place. Our fleet had been destroyed—only the biozoon remained. He told me where it had been hidden. He knew—’
‘He knew what, Baronessa?’
She hesitated before co
ntinuing. ‘He knew that I was the only one who could fly her.’
Sophos Mianos put his fork down on his plate and blinked. ‘Are you telling me that you—a woman—have the Innate gene?’
Mira clung to her erect posture despite the dreadful fatigue flooding her body. ‘Si.’
‘But you cannot—’
‘Si, Sophos. But it has happened—a freak of nature, perhaps, but undeniable.’
Mianos threw his napkin down on his meat scraps and stood. He paced a few steps as if the knowledge of Mira’s talent had somehow changed things.
He turned to her. ‘What is it that you expect OLOSS to do?’
‘Trinder Pellegrini said that you would lend humanesquetarian aid. That the OLOSS charter meant that you would intervene on behalf of the Ciprianos.’
Mianos paused, plucking at his soft hairless chin. ‘Indeed, our accord protects worlds from such atrocities—but these things are never simple matters. An investigation and recommendation will need to be made to the OLOSS secretariat before any intervention can occur.’
‘But how long will that take?’ Mira cried.
‘I cannot answer that precisely. You will be notified when a decision has been reached. In the meantime, OLOSS will need to isolate and examine the biozoon. We will of course provide supervised accommodation for you on Scolar while the decision is pending.’
Isolate the biozoon. Supervised accommodation... Blood thundered in Mira’s ears. ‘No!’ She rose hastily from her seat and stepped back towards the connecting matrix. Latourn did the same.
‘Politic!’ snapped Mianos at the three guards.
Two of them reacted immediately, bringing their weapons to bear on Mira and Latourn. The other, though, pulled his weapon from its holster and threw it towards his fellow guards. The impact when it hit the ground caused it to discharge and one of them fell to the floor, wounded.
The now-unarmed guard cried aloud—a childish, frightened noise. Then he rushed at the standing soldier, knocking his weapon from his hand.
‘Flee!’ he shouted at Mira.
Chaos Space (Sentients of Orion) Page 15