How recently?
On Edo, I would surmise.
What is his prognosis?
Untreated he is likely to expire within weeks. Those with strong immune systems have been known to last months.
Can our medi-facility provide a treatment?
No.
Mira recalled Thales’s distracted anger after his meeting with Lasper Farr, his unwillingness to go near the Commander again. What had Bethany’s brother done to Thales? What had he done to all of them?
Hurry, Insignia. This task had to be completed quickly—for all their sakes. Mira removed her hand from the pucker and slipped away to her cabin.
* * *
Mira sought out Rast Randall after a restless night. Her dreams had been filled with urgency and frustration and she awoke with an ache under her breast that made it painful to breathe.
Insignia located Rast up in the designated armoury, a cavity in the upper body of the biozoon directly under its uppermost fin.
Mira watched the woman as she bent over a weapon. Rast was still slick with sweat from her morning run with Josef Rasterovich. The muscles in her forearms were taut as wire and the veins on the backs of her hands stood out like bulging tributaries.
Rast didn’t bother to look up but, unlike Thales Berniere on the previous night, she sensed Mira’s presence immediately.
‘No wonder Franco hired us. These weapons couldn’t stop a puff of wind.’ She slapped her hand against her thigh in exasperation. ‘What’s up?’
‘Do you believe that Lasper Farr will honour his promise to aid Araldis?’
Rast straightened, putting down the rifle and sliding her hands to her hips in her usual aggressive stance. Finally, she looked at Mira. ‘Figured you already decided he would, otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed.’
‘I know why I am here—but why are you?’
‘Pretty simple. He’s paying me to watch after Berniere and his sister. And you, by default.’
‘And?’
The mercenary folded her arms. ‘Reckon you’re getting a bit of a handle on me at last, eh, Baronessa?’
‘Perhaps I am not as naive as I was,’ Mira allowed.
‘Well, that’s a damn relief.’ Rast wiped sweat from her temple with a finger and flicked it from the tip. ‘You may recall that I did a little buying on Intel station.’
Mira’s eyes widened. She had almost forgotten about the existence of the cryoprotectants.
‘Can’t think of a better place to sell ‘em than Rho Junction,’ said Rast.
‘And then?’
‘Well... you owe me a trip to Rigel but I’m kinda thinking the lucre might be elsewhere. Could be Lasper has some more work. Maybe I’ll let you off the hook.’
‘You would go back to Araldis with Commander Farr?’
Rast leaned towards her, close enough so that their cheeks brushed. ‘If it’s worthwhile.’
Mira recoiled from the bare, moist, heated flesh. ‘How would I know what is “worthwhile” to you?’
‘I didn’t know you cared,’ Rast teased.
But Mira saw no humour in it. She pressed her fingers to her face as shaking overtook her body. ‘I care about the bambino I left on Araldis. I care that the women are starving. I worry that they are forced to rely on a cruel, selfish man for their safety,’ she said.
Rast rocked back on her heels and let out a long breath. ‘If you want me on the same film as you, Baronessa, then maybe it’s time you told me what happened to you—after Ipo.’
There was no teasing in the mercenary’s manner now, only an intense scrutiny that drew the poison in Mira’s mind-wounds to the surface. ‘Why is that necessary?’
‘Because I work for who I frikking please, because I please. I’m not some custom-bound Carabinere who’ll jump when the Baronessa sniffs. I need reasons and background, or I won’t play in your puddle.’
Rast’s blunt honesty crumbled Mira’s barriers. She needed the mercenary on her side, even if it meant being vulnerable. There was no one else.
Still, the words came haltingly as she told Rast of their flight in the TerV: the deaths, her fingers dipping into the child’s skull-wound, burying the child, pulling her mother from the grave, the korm starving and trying to eat the flesh of the dead humanesques. And then the dark fear in the Pablo mines.
Mira meant to stop at that, but Rast probed with more simple, direct questions, and with each word that Mira released the pain under her breastbone eased.
Finally, the last of it came out—how they had held her down for Trinder, and why; his fertility chant and his sickening remorse.
After she had finished, the vacuum of spent words made room for quiet, grieving, relieved tears.
‘Women get raped,’ said Rast harshly, her pale skin flushed with emotion. ‘Sometimes in war, sometimes just for the hell of it. That’s what happens.’ She gripped Mira’s wrist and pulled her close. Then she hugged her tightly for a long moment.
‘We’ll get your world back for you, Baronessa. But tell me something: are you sure you really want it?’
THALES
As Thales listened to the medi-log’s immune-system analysis his hope disintegrated. A tiny part of him had held out for the possibility that Lasper Farr had bluffed him. But the proof was in front of him now: an irrefutable auditory confirmation of Farr’s criminal act—of his own helplessness.
He wished desperately that he could reverse things; that he had never left Scolar; or at the very least that Rene was with him.
There was no comfort. No hope.
Idealism and principles had been desirable—laudable, in fact—when he was safe. Now they had begun to seem both futile and dangerous.
Anger and fear came in alternate waves. From the moment Thales had adopted a dissident’s position and met Villon, his life had begun to unravel.
Did he care about which philosophy was observed when moment by moment his body was being destroyed?
Panic ringed his anger and he fought down a desire to cry out. He must calm himself. He must think... he must...
... But the calm would not come and he flung himself out of the medi-facility and ran randomly through the ship’s strata.
But was it random? For when his legs would no longer carry him and he could no longer catch his breath, Thales found himself at the egress scale. If somehow he could force the scale open then Farr would be denied what he wanted and Rene would be freed from the guilty burden of her husband.
How long before she would find out that he was dead? How would she feel then? Relieved? Annoyed? Would she hold a requiem? Would Sophos Mianos play the part of a grieving father-in-law?
Thales tugged at the fleshy inside of the egress scale, one thought bothering him—he would never have a child. Somehow that seemed more important than anything else; more meaningful than the people of Scolar’s indifference, and his revenge on the insufferable Sophos Mianos.
Thales sobbed as he tugged, hearing or seeing nothing until a hand gripped his shoulder. Even then he did not take his hands from their task.
‘Msr Thales? What is it? What has happened?’
But he continued to tear at the scale until the heat of his intention diminished. Then he crouched down, unable to speak.
After a while, arms slipped around him and a warm body moulded itself lightly against his back. Two small hands patted his arms and soft whispers soothed him. When his tears were spent he turned into Bethany’s embrace and stayed there.
Later, she took Thales back to her cabin. She was not much taller than him and yet he leaned on her shoulder as if he was injured. She helped him onto her bed and disappeared, returning a short time later with a cool, sweet drink.
She watched him drink it from the edge of the bed, her eyes serious. ‘I went to the medi-facility for my headache. I saw you leave. I knew you were upset but it took me a while to find you. You ran so quickly.’
Thales huddled into her pillows like a sick child. ‘Why would you bother? You barely know me.’
She frowned, and the lines made her face older: a worried mother’s face. ‘I know my brother,’ she whispered. ‘He’s found a way to force you to do this. Lasper has seen some opportunity in you and he will exploit it—as he exploits everyone.’
Bethany’s voice trailed off and they sat in silence.
‘He has infected me with a bacterium that will alter my genome. If I bring him the DNA that I was meant to receive, he will nullify the infection,’ said Thales abruptly.
‘He could be bluffing,’
Thales shook his head. ‘The infirmary gave me an analysis of my immune activity. I’m fighting a bacterium—and losing.’
Bethany paled. She sprang up, her fists clenched. ‘Crux!’ She paced the length of the cabin. ‘Msr Thales, I am deeply sorry. I-I... I loathe him in so many ways but you have to understand.’ She turned back to him, her eyes burning. ‘He can accomplish anything. Anything. He will save my daughter.’
Thales’s anger waned in the face of her honesty. He understood this woman’s motives, at least: her desperation for her child.
‘I will collect the DNA and return it to Edo,’ he said. ‘And then I will be free of him. When he has retaken Araldis, maybe you will be free of him as well.’
Beth hugged herself tightly. ‘I believe that you will be, Thales. Despite everything, he is a man who keeps his bargains. But for what I ask from him, I will never be free.’
Thales saw into her then, to the heart of her guilt and her weaknesses. They mirrored his own so perfectly that he could not stop himself climbing from the bed to stand next to her.
‘Comfort me,’ he said simply.
JO-JO RASTEROVICH
Rast called a meeting in the cucina after the biozoon calmed near Rho station. With the exception of Jo-Jo, they all gathered together around the table. He stood near the door, watching.
Randall sat next to Mira Fedor, a slight protectiveness that was new apparent in her manner. Latourn stood behind her, equally attentive. The scholar, Thales, leaned close to Bethany, his knee touching hers.
Jo-Jo had heard their muffled passion on the previous nights and found it hard to begrudge Bethany her pleasure even though he thought her taste in men was atrocious. Necessity changed perspectives—Jo-Jo knew that better than most. But the sounds of their ardour had only sharpened his own desire and it had plucked at his nerve ends. His craving for Mira Fedor had grown so powerful that he could not bear others to be close to her.
Get control of it, he ordered himself.
Only Catchut seemed detached from everything. Rast’s second in command rocked his chair back against the food compactus so that it made an annoying repetitive clunk.
Rast scowled at him and hooked her foot under his seat, toppling it over. ‘Desist!’
Catchut climbed to his feet and righted the chair without a word.
‘We need you to get us landing permission.’ Rast addressed Jo-Jo.
Jo-Jo nodded. ‘I’ll request a speaking tour.’
‘Catchut will go with you, in case there’s trouble. Once we’re docked Berniere will make his contact. Latourn will go with him to collect. I will stay on the ‘zoon with Beth and the Baronessa.’
Her last statement triggered a wave of suspicion in Jo-Jo. Rast Randall wasn’t the type to stay behind anywhere. Was she manufacturing time alone with Mira Fedor? No! He wrestled his paranoia down. There must be something else on Randall’s agenda.
‘I will go with Thales,’ said Bethany.
They all stared at her.
‘I suppose so. But stay with Latourn out of the way. I don’t reckon they would be expecting him to bring his woman: Rast ladled sarcasm onto the last two words.
Thales blushed and stared down at the table.
Jo-Jo clenched his fists. Did the young idiot think he was too good for Bethany?
‘All settled, then?’ said Rast.
‘Might be best if you went with Berniere,’ said Jo-Jo.
The mercenary’s expression became cool. ‘Might be best if I make that decision.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jo-Jo softly. ‘As long as you make the right one.’
His challenge was mild but unmistakable. The mercenary was running more than one job here, Jo-Jo was sure of it.
‘Just get on with your god-speaking, Rasterovich. Leave the protection to us.’
Jo-Jo shrugged. He didn’t need to say any more. They’d all heard him.
‘I need to use the shortcast.’ He gave a half-serious bow. ‘Baronessa?’
Mira Fedor stood up immediately. ‘Of course.’
As she moved behind Bethany and Thales her robe caught on the corner of Thales’s seat. It pulled tight for a brief moment and she wrenched it loose with quick, nervous hands. Her belly seemed unnaturally round on her slim frame.
Jo-Jo’s heart contracted. No. Surely not...
* * *
According to the visitor information, Rho Junction didn’t have a studium or any other such pretensions to learned institutions—but it did harbour a body called The Alliance of Free Thinkers. The TAFTers welcomed Jo-Jo Rasterovich with open arms.
‘It is timely,’ said their spokesperson, ‘that you should contact us just as we are about to hold convocation.’
‘Timing,’ Jo-Jo replied, ‘is one of my many talents.’ Like crap.
His bold approach had been rewarded and Insignia was granted landing rights along with priority docking. But the TAFTers’ enthusiasm and the proximity to Extropy space had made Jo-Jo jumpy.
The half-heads were unpredictable. Look at the Stain Wars. Just as Orion had looked set to be dragged into a protracted battle, Commander Lasper Farr had led an intervention backed by his own mercenary force, and the Extros had withdrawn. Just like that. Just like that.
Although Jo-Jo was pissed off with Rast, she was his best sounding-board. He sought her out again before he left the ship. She was in the armoury, counting ammunition, and halted only to give him a scowl.
Jo-Jo wasn’t going to be put off. ‘Why do you think the Extros pulled out so quickly when Farr entered the war?’
She logged a number in her filmtab and crossed her arms. ‘Funny time for a history lesson.’
‘Not a lesson,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘I’m about to go and hang my arse on the line about a few things. I want to know if it might get shot.’
‘Didn’t think you were the kind to worry about what others thought.’ Rast was being deliberately obtuse and Jo-Jo knew it. ‘Loner like you.’
‘I’m not and you know it. I’m also not stupid. This is too close to Extro space for my liking. Hell, just look at the station log-in—the place is teeming with them. Come on, Randall, you’ve seen them up closer than I have. What’s the deal?’
Rast counted and logged another shelf of ammo before she answered him. ‘Like I said to the Baronessa, they don’t think like us—or like any alien I’ve known. Maybe it’s something to do with the cryo process or the chemicals they use but it’s hard to get a grab on their logic. Maybe they don’t have any.’
‘What about Farr, then?’
‘There’re a million theories about why Farr had the juice to stop them. Most ‘esques don’t care, though—they just know he did and that’s enough.’
‘You’re not most, Randall. You make your living out of this kind of thing.’
‘You shoulda asked Lasper when you had the chance.’
This time Jo-Jo scowled. ‘Yeah, well, I’ll remember that next time we’re having beers together.’
He left Rast to it but continued to brood over what might await him as Insignia was directed to Bell Six of the mega-station: a huge, grey dome with multiple docking shelves affixed to its fluted outer shell.
When the Baronessa confirmed their arrival, he collected Catchut from the cucina and went to the egress scale.
On the outside, a long uuli escort draped in a scent- and-colour translator waited in the docking tube for them. Without turning, it undulated back along the tunnel and out into Bell Six, stopp
ing next to a taxi.
As they followed, Jo-Jo noticed flakes of dried uuli excreta, like dry snow, swirling in the air. His skin started to itch and his throat thickened. What if he lost his voice? No voice, no God-lecture, no distraction for the idiot Berniere.
‘Convocation convenes in the Orb Chamber in Bell Four,’ said the translator in pompous Gal. Its lofty tone seemed ridiculous in contrast to the uuli’s soft, quivering movements.
Jo-Jo got into the taxi and peeled off one of the complimentary filter masks from the back of the headrest.
Catchut climbed in next to him. ‘Stink, don’t they? Why do they have to shit everywhere?’
‘It’s not shit,’ said Jo-Jo. He coughed. His eyes were beginning to water. “S mucus. Reduces friction when they move. Ever seen a mollusc?’
‘Eaten plenty,’ Catchut conceded.
‘Think of molluscs.’
Catchut laughed and licked his lips as the uuli slid onto the front seat of the taxi. ‘Probably best not.’
* * *
The trip to Bell Four nearly had Jo-Jo forgetting why they were there. Where Edo had been almost colourless in its meld of grey and silver parasite-polished metal refuse, Rho Junction was a riot of colour and movement and scents that forced their way past Jo-Jo’s mask and fizzed in the back of his throat like a scoop of sour sherbet.
While his mind tried to sort out the assaults on his senses, the taxi veered from the designated road and drove straight up the nearest wall. With a loud click it ejected a slide from a side panel which magnetised to the silver tracks snaking along the walls. Suspended there above the mêlée of foot traffic, Jo-Jo and Catchut were free to gape.
Jo-Jo had travelled more than most, first as scout and then as God-Discoverer, but nothing compared to the Arrivals Bell at Rho Junction.
‘What the shit is that?’ said Catchut.
He pointed to a group of transparent fluid-filled figures with large oval heads from which odd flaps protruded. The flaps resembled ears but seemed to be used for propulsion.
‘Extros, I’d guess,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Heard they like to hang out in different bodies.’
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