Chaos Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  The sec guard turned his attention to Beth.

  ‘Bethany Ionil, biologist,’ said Beth calmly. ‘Recently on the Miofarr.’

  ‘The Miofarr. She’s been here plenty,’ said the guard.

  They stood and waited while the recog confirmed Beth’s story. ‘You left the Miofarr at Dowl. Why?’ he asked.

  ‘My relationship broke down. He was a Mio.’ Beth let a small waver creep into her voice. Jo-Jo couldn’t tell if it was real or acting.

  The guard made a disgusted noise. ‘Always found those Mios slimy sons-of-fishes.’ He smirked and turned finally to Mau.

  ‘Petalu Mau?’

  ‘Work on Savvies. Now work for Mr Rasterovich.’

  Mister Rasterovich. Jo-Jo sucked on his lip to keep his mouth shut.

  Loker was doing the same, his instinct for paying customers warring with his desire to see them off his ship.

  The sec guard ran the same checks on Len the H-M and then nodded at Loker. ‘Let’s move on, Captain.’

  Loker dragged himself upright. ‘Yeah. Riveting stuff,’ he said dryly.

  They disappeared down the corridor.

  Len hauled his weary body out of his sink. ‘Going to catch some sleep before we shift again. We got no spare cabins but there’s a crawlspace above the maglevs. You might want to stretch out.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes,’ breathed Beth.

  They followed Len to a narrow floor space that vibrated and stank of burned oils. Mau lay down and rolled onto his side, facing away from them. In a few moments he was snoring.

  Jo-Jo lay down and watched as Beth removed her outer layer of clothes.

  ‘You going to tell me what’s going on with you, Beth?’

  She sat cross-legged between him and Mau: the floor space was just large enough for the three of them to lie side by side. ‘How much do you know about Orion politics, Josef?’

  He shrugged. ‘As much as the next person, I guess. There’s OLOSS. And they spend their time worrying about the Extropists taking over. In between the two there is Consilience, who like to keep everyone off balance.’ Jo-Jo settled his hands under his head and stared at the low bulkhead. It was coated with a thin but perceptible layer of oil. ‘I never really understood why the Extropists are such a threat to OLOSS. Guess I’ve spent too much time on my own—away from it all.’

  Beth slid down now, head to toe with him. She propped her head on her folded clothes. Her colour was drained by fatigue and she looked suddenly much, much older. ‘Who knows really? I mean at the most practical level. But I’ve always thought it was about God. OLOSS want to protect their notion of evolution. They want it to be a “natural” thing. The Extropists have forced evolution in a direction that they don’t like. They see the Extros as non-spiritual. Although I’m not so sure that’s really the case...’

  Jo-Jo thought about Sole. From the beginning many had called the strange entity God. What do the Extros think of that? he wondered. The Sole voice had been absent from his head since before Dowl and his mind seemed almost like it used to be. ‘What about the Entity? What do you make of that?’

  Beth yawned and rolled towards Mau’s back. ‘You’re the expert on that, Josef. What do you think?’

  For the first time Jo-Jo tried to put his experience into context, thinking back over the moment when his propulsion had died. His impression had been of a bloated energy-shaped leech overwhelming him and his ship. He remembered dying. At least, that was what he had thought. But something eluded his memory, a shadow around the corner that disappeared every time he turned to catch it.

  Afterwards, his mind had altered. The tyros of Belle-Monde referred to it as ‘shafting’. Sole had required them to undergo the transformation to make it easier to communicate. But no one knew that Jo-Jo had been shafted. No one knew that Sole could reach out to him, wherever he was.

  Then, as if he had somehow summoned it with his thoughts, Jo-Jo felt Sole’s presence return. A tug; a gentle, insistent pull forward—as if his life, his volition was not his own.

  He lay next to Beth, with Mau’s snores forming a background lullaby chorus, and wondered where the pull would take him.

  SOLE

  bring’m closer

  bring’m tight

  get’m messy messy messy

  luscious

  TEKTON

  ‘My cousin Ra? What has he to do with this?’

  Connit acquired a cunning expression. The words had slipped out.

  ‘Both of you are ambitious beyond calculation,’ Connit declared.

  ‘Beyond calculation is rather histrionic, don’t you think?’

  Connit shoved Tekton through the door. ‘You have what you want, Lostol. Now get out of my sight.’

  Tekton stumbled backwards, grabbing the corridor rail to prevent a fall.

  His free-mind seethed at the assault on his person, and, though his logic-mind rushed to reinstate his witness option, it was not quick enough to capture the actual push.

  Tekton left Connit’s rooms with two things on his two minds. What had Ra used Connit for? And how could he best repay the shove?

  The Ra topic caused his minds to argue all the way back to his apartment. Logic-mind determined that though Ra was a person to be watched, Tekton’s time would be better served making arrangements for his Sole project. Free-mind thought that its counterpart was obsessed with arrangements, and encouraged Tekton to follow his interest in Ra—or to plan a suitable payback for Labile Connit.

  By the time Tekton had reached his rooms, the tension in his head was akin to severe dehydration. He drank several glasses of viliri juice which gave him heartburn and an uncomfortably loose sensation in his lower belly.

  When his moud chimed, it was a welcome distraction.

  You have received a farcast from Araldis. The first shipment of quixite has arrived at the holding facility.

  Excellent! His minds spoke in accord.

  And you have a call from Dieter Miranda Seeward.

  Yes, yes, put her on.

  ‘Tekton, you dirty devil. How did you get on with Labile? My moud tells me you’ve been to visit him.’

  Tekton took a slow breath before replying. Miranda was astute and intuitive. ‘He seems well enough. A false alarm, perhaps—must have caught him in a mawkish moment. We’ve all been known to fall into the grips of the maudlin from time to time.’

  ‘Indeed we have. You rescued me from my own bout not so long ago and whisked me off on a romantic trip to Scolar.’

  ‘Now, now, my dear, are you trying to make Lawmon Jise jealous? You know as well as I that the trip was purely work-related.’

  Miranda chortled, sending her famous chins into a wobble. ‘It’s hard to know, between us, who the bigger tease is, Tekton.’ She fluttered her eyelids. ‘Or who has the bigger appetite.’

  Tekton’s free mind leapt to partake in her flirtation, but his logic-mind had other concerns. I will need craftsmen skilled in mineral processes. ‘Miranda, how truly thoughtful of you to call. I will no doubt see you soon.’

  Tekton ended the call without ceremony and turned his attention to perusing the master craftsmen’s register.

  He had worked with many fine trade professionals but there was one who had always eluded him, a brilliant eccentric who chose his work—it seemed—solely on whim. He had thrice refused Tekton—on the floating palaces, a synthetic-reed balustrade and, more recently, on the majestic Latour-moons bridges. It was said that he preferred boutique projects; projects inspired by love and beauty, not gal credits.

  I will have you this time, Manrubin. Even you cannot resist the lure of quixite.

  Tekton farcasted to the master craftsman’s last known point of contact.

  Within the shortest ping time, Manrubin’s moud returned a vulgar out-of-office response. ‘Manrubin is out fucking, so fuck off.’

  Ignoring the rebuff, Tekton pinged back a lucrative contract shell which also specified the materials that he would be supplying for use in the sculpt.

 
; Then he peeled off his clothes and treated himself to a well-deserved lotion rub.

  * * *

  Several days later Manrubin’s moud responded again; Manrubin had agreed to the contract. Gleefully, Tekton closed his farcast connection and clapped his hands.

  Labile Connit is outside, Godhead, his own moud informed him.

  Tekton left his ‘cast node and opened the door. He stepped outside tentatively, the memory of the younger man’s assault still fresh.

  Labile held out a small bead. ‘I have a location for you for the business we discussed. Here are the details. It is the only record of them. The hire cost of the premises will be waived by my... contacts.’

  Tekton fitted the bead to his ear and listened to the content. When he was satisfied, he removed it.

  Moud. Send a farcast to my holding facility to begin shipment of the alloy to a workshop on Rho Junction. And book my passage. I will meet both the master craftsman and the consignment there.

  TRIN

  Djeserit swam beside the flat-yacht as it sailed through the dawn to the closest island. Occasionally she flipped to the surface, sending small splashes of brown seawater onto the crowded deck where Trin sat. Mostly, though, she was just a shadow among others, moving beneath waves.

  Trin gave up trying to track her and turned his attention to the two remaining yachts on the shoreline. What would Cass Mulravey do? Would she follow him, or would she risk going to the holiday palazzo?

  His own feelings on the matter were torn. The woman was divisive and proud but without her group, his band of survivors numbered less than sixty—so many had been lost on the journey.

  Too many.

  As the last few refugees crammed on board the Mulravey yachts Trin’s own craft reached the breakers. Soon it would roll down onto the beach and they could seek out shade under the low scrub until nightfall.

  ‘She is a fool not to stay with you, Trinder.’ Jo Scali hunched next to him, his feet trailing into the water from the laden deck.

  Trin waited a moment before he answered, watching the last yacht push off the beach. Its plax sails glided up the mast and rotated.

  ‘She is no fool,’ he said. Mulravey was following them.

  Trin relaxed into a moment of satisfaction. Mulravey had been forced to follow his lead and that would add weight to his authority. Perhaps the two groups could yet assimilate—if the Saqr did not find them first.

  ‘Juno?’

  The scout had given the rudder over to Joe’s cousin, Tivi Scali, and lay curled on a small patch of deck behind Trin. ‘Si, Principe,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Was the marina guarded?’

  Genarro rolled his head from side to side. ‘Too busy around the palazzo to take much notice. No Saqr near the shore, only an ‘esque and a balol. I left some other boats adrift as though the nightwinds had loosened their moorings. Doubt they will even know they are gone.’

  ‘Your reasoning is good,’ said Trin. ‘What else did you notice?’

  Genarro shifted position, wincing from the pain in his weary joints. ‘I didn’t go close, Principe—we did not want you to be waiting for us. But the hangar roof was open.’

  ‘That is not so unusual.’

  ‘Pardon, Principe. I am not being clear. The hangar was open to its limit as though they were expecting a large SGV.’

  A Space-to-Ground-Vehicle? What could that mean? More Saqr? More ‘esques? Whichever the case, it was imperative that they moved south quickly.

  Trin turned to the island ahead. Even in the last moments before dawn there was already a heat shimmer making it seem larger and shadier than it was—the black thorn bushes clumped together in the centre as though gathering strength from each other’s endurance.

  To the south the islands were bigger and spaced further apart. Would the yachts withstand the stresses of more open water?

  Djeserit was ahead of them, on her knees in the shallows, tossing small objects high onto the beach.

  ‘She’s got fish,’ shouted someone at the front of the yacht.

  ‘The ginko girl’s fishing for us,’ said another.

  A small cheer went up but Trinder didn’t join in. They had called her a ginko and the sound of the word made him feel sick.

  ‘Principe?’ Joe Scali put an anxious hand on his shoulder.

  He shrugged it off. ‘Collect the fish and gut them straight away. We will eat as we rest.’ He turned from the sight of Djeserit then and clung to the deck as they wallowed over the last of the waves and down onto the beach.

  * * *

  Djeserit didn’t join Trin on the island but fished throughout the day, returning more food to shore.

  ‘You must tell her to stop, Trinder. She is exhausted,’ said Joe Scali. ‘She will not listen.’

  But Trin remained distant from her. Instead, he ordered that the strongest refugees should scoop out hollows under the thorn bushes to reach the wet, cool sand beneath, while the weakest were charged with cutting up the fish, using the few knives they had pooled or the edges of broken shells.

  When it was done, they crowded away from the rising sun into the shade and ate the fish raw. Those too listless to chew sucked at the pink flesh for moisture and for the salve of oils on their burned lips and throats.

  Gusts of moist salt wind tempered the unbearable heat but Trin worried about their lack of fresh water. He dozed fitfully in his hollow, unable to sleep properly because of thirst and the press of the exhausted bodies packed in around him.

  At suns set he walked alone to the water, opening his fellalo, to lie in the shallows. Even the stinging of sea lice couldn’t deny the refugees the balm of the sea. But could they live off it until help came?

  Trin looked along the darkening beach line to the clumps of survivors. Vespa Malocchi sat crying between Juno Genarro and another. He had wanted to bring his fratella’s body but Trin had forbidden it. The yacht had barely been able to carry the weight of the living. So Vespa had scraped the burning sand over Seb’s body and left him.

  Trin sat recalling the fire in Loisa and how he had risked his life then to help Seb Malocchi. The futility of it made him want to laugh but he had no heart for such things.

  Then a movement in the water made him shift uneasily. The shallow seas of the coastal islands harboured few predators but occasionally a xoc would find its way in from the deep. He had seen one at the holiday palazzo; speared by the Cavaliere and left on the beach to die. When he had dug Djeserit from under Seb Malocchi, the sluggishness of her gills had reminded him of that xoc—gasping as it expired.

  ‘Principe?’

  It was her. She had surfaced alongside him and was lying with her face raised from the water. Her voice was thick as if she had already forgotten how to use it. Her skin was no longer flaking, though, and the burns had faded, leaving her gleaming like the wet flesh he had eaten during the day.

  ‘You provided food for us. Grazi,’ Trin said stiffly. ‘Another night and we must move south to the bigger islands. There will be more shade and the Saqr will not bother to search for us there.’

  ‘Yes,’ Djeserit agreed. ‘The sea will care for us.’

  ‘For you,’ he said with a tinge of bitterness.

  She heard it in his voice and moved closer. ‘It is better if I stay in the water. I can fish for us and my skin—my body—will heal.’

  ‘Until when?’ Trin asked.

  ‘Until we are safe, Principe. I will rest for a while now and then I will swim to the Palazzo for fresh water.’

  Trin’s heartbeat quickened. ‘That is too dangerous. I forbid—’

  ‘You did not forbid Juno Genarro,’ Djeserit said softly.

  Trin hesitated. She was right. Their water supplies had dwindled to almost nothing and he had not thought ahead clearly. ‘There are several huts around the back of the palazzo that are used for storing leisure equipment. One of them will have a desalinator.’

  He waded back to the hard wet sand above where the waves lapped and drew for her a rough d
iagram of a small machine that consisted of tubes and cylinders.

  Djeserit rolled in the shallows like a seal, watching. ‘I will need something to float it back.’

  ‘They may be guarding the marina now.’ Trin thought

  for a moment. ‘But there is an inlet on the northern side, a tidal tributary. There is a pinnace for fishing trips moored in there.’

  He sank to his knees and slid into the water alongside her again. ‘Please, Djes...’

  Her hand grasped his and pushed sharp round buttons into his fist. ‘I have saved these for you. Pipis will give you strength.’

  Then she dipped under the water and was gone.

  THALES

  The two women faced each other across a ribbed, odorous cavern that they called the buccal: one was lean and muscular, her face rigid with fury, the other, the Latino aristocrat, was fragile-looking and trembling with emotion. At her shoulder stood the man who had accompanied her to the meeting with Sophos Mianos.

  Another man stood behind the muscular woman. All of them, aside from the Baronessa, were of a type that Thales had not previously encountered, and their manner alarmed him in a way that the OLOSS guards had not.

  ‘What have you done?’ said the muscular woman. ‘Who is this? A hiss as she jerked a finger at Thales.

  ‘OLOSS wanted to impound Insignia while they conducted an investigation—and hold me.’ A glance at Thales. ‘He... he gave us a chance to get away.’

  ‘And so you saw fit to tear the ‘zoon from the docking matrix and send us running from an OLOSS envoy.’ The hard-looking woman folded her arms, some of the heat going out of her expression. ‘And you call me foolhardy, Baronessa.’

  ‘I thought that was what you wanted—to run.’

  ‘With a distance between us, yes. Not while we’re almost in bed with them.’

  ‘My action was motivated by survival, not avarice.’ The aristocrat held her head high and Thales watched the emotions play across her face. She seemed at once sane and unbalanced. What situation had he brought himself to? Yet while he’d been standing behind Mianos, listening to her story about her world had been like a spear to his heart. She had been forced to leave her child behind, maybe leaving it to its death.