Transformation Space

by Marianne de Pierres

  It was a long speech for someone not long out of a puddle of Extro goo, and her voice got hoarser with each word. Jo-Jo took some time to digest it all. ‘So we’ve just got to dodge Saqr till we find something that can fly?’

  Randall started down the dune and they automatically followed her. ‘You got it. More important though …’

  ‘Yeah?’ As they reached the bottom, Jo-Jo felt firmer ground under his feet and the sting of pebbles.

  ‘Look,’ she said.

  Jo-Jo could see her pointing to the sky. Sunrise was coming.

  ‘We’ve got to get to shade before Leah’s up, or we’ll be mummified before you can think jack shit.’

  TEKTON

  Tekton’s legs didn’t seem to want to hold him upright. Fortunately, the nanosuit he’d borrowed from Samuelle lent him stability. A glance across Commander Farr’s cabin told him that the old Stain Wars veteran Jelly Hob was feeling much the same.

  The pair had been arguing over Tekton’s wild demands – that Hob fly him back to Belle-Monde – when Farr’s com-sole had activated to record the summit meeting on Intel station. At first they’d paid only scant attention to it, too busy with their own exchange, and the fact that Hob had discovered Tekton trying to access the Commander’s Dynamic System Device.

  But since Baronessa Fedor’s sudden and unvarnished announcement to the summit that the Post-Species were mobilising mass weapons, neither had spoken a word.

  Hob broke silence first. ‘Only one place this ship’ll be going now, Tekkie, and that’s to war.’ Alarms started up, as if to lend weight to his words. ‘I be thinking that you’d best get off now ’less you wanna be flying inta a dogfight with the Extros. Catch a civilian ride; there’s enough of them here. Best to hurry though. Things’ll get messy, I warrant.’

  Tekton nodded, thinking Hob made good sense. ‘Yes. Best. What ships are available? And how do I get to them?’

  Hob took a step closer to Lasper Farr’s com-sole and ran gnarled but surprisingly deft fingers down the pad, calling up reports. Images of the shift sphere formed in the air between them. The rings glittered with activity as ship icons changed positions and jostled for queue ranking.

  ‘Ship’s moud says there’s around three thousand civvies in-system,’ said Hob, reading from the display. Not sure how much longer, though. Dowl res station in the Leah system’s been reported as open agin. Couldna’ be a good sign. Not if them Extros are there like she said.’

  The Baronessa had told the summit that a primitive species, the Saqr, had invaded the planet Araldis and the Dowl station. Now she feared a huge Post-Species force had based itself in the same place – her home world.

  Mira Fedor. Such an unimposing figure to be delivering such profound news, thought Tekton. His abdomen tightened with apprehension. Though his academic life had been coloured with devious and sometimes murky politics and the pursuit of personal aspir ations, he had never suffered physical threat.

  Since venturing into the wider worlds, though, as part of his endeavour to construct an edifice that would impress the Sole Entity back on Belle-Monde, his life had taken a sinister and terrifying turn.

  Not quite recovered from Lasper Farr’s failed attempt to murder him on the planet Edo, he’d been coerced into hiding aboard the same lunatic’s ship as the only way to escape.

  Now, it seemed, he’d found himself in the last place in the galaxy he could wish to be. If the Dowl shift station had reactivated, and Mira Fedor was truthful in her pronouncements, it could mean only one thing: the Post-Species were preparing to invade the OLOSS worlds. And Intel station – where he was now berthed – with its concentration of OLOSS leaders and dignitaries, was a most plump and juicy target.

  A trap! yelped Tekton’s free-mind. This whole summit meeting was designed to bring OLOSS leaders into one place. It could be the Post-Species’ first target.

  After a few extra moments of consideration, his logic-mind was in complete agreement. Dastardly simple and effective.

  ‘They’re coming here,’ Tekton told Hob. ‘The Extros are coming here first.’

  Hob stared at him unhappily. The sirens had settled into a high-alert pattern. ‘I’m thinkin’ you be right, Tekkie,’ said the old Stain Wars veteran. ‘I gotta get to the bridge.’

  Tekton gave Hob’s shoulder a light squeeze. He was not inclined to friendly physical displays, but the occasion seemed to call for it. Though their acquaintance had been brief, the grubby pilot genius had saved his life and extended him compassion and kindness. Tekton had never needed those things before; never cared for them nor offered them to others. The halls of the Tadao Ando studium and the corridors of the Belle-Monde pseudo-world had not been places for such things.

  To say that the scales of selfishness had fallen from Tekton’s eyes was perhaps overly dramatic, but his perspective had altered, he allowed, on some counts. And now he wanted an opportunity to explore his newfound compassion, see how it affected his decision-making and the outcomes of events in his life.

  These arrogant and infuriating Extros, who were planning to annihilate every sentient species in Orion, did not serve his new frame of reference at all.

  ‘Lead on, good fellow. Show me the way off this ship,’ he said, gently pushing Hob out of the cabin door. ‘But just let me pee first. I’ll be but a step behind you.’

  The pilot nodded and stepped outside.

  In a trice Tekton had snapped up the small black box on Lasper Farr’s com-sole and stuffed it inside the seal of his nanosuit. Sammy would be furious to loose her spare combat gear, but there was no time for bargains or explanations. The suit adjusted around the DSD, leaving only the faintest telltale bulge over his belly.

  Let’s see how Lasper Farr goes without his Dynamic System Device, thought Tekton. And let’s see what I can do with it.

  He hurried out of the door to join Hob. They moved quickly along the corridor to the lifts.

  ‘Ship’ll be in lockdown soon. You c’n use the Commander’s uplift to get down ta cargo. Should be able ta still get out through the hold. They’ll be loadin’. In that suit they’ll think you’re Sammy. Shouldn’a be too many questions. Jus’ look like you know where you’re going. Good luck, Tekkie. We’re gonna need it – all of us.’

  Hob used his ident to open the door to the private lift and ushered Tekton in. Then the door slid across, and Hob’s battered old face was gone.

  A ridiculous pang of loss stung Tekton as the lift plummeted to the cargo area of the ship. He might never see the old fellow again, depending how things panned out.

  For Crux sakes, suck it up, free-mind barked with passionate concern. We’ve got to get out of here. No time for blubbing.

  Concentrate, proffered logic-mind more moderately.

  With his Sole-altered minds badgering him, he had no time to dwell on loss. The doors at the other end opened, and he stepped into the ship’s large and gloomy cargo bay. No one took any notice of him; automatons and crew hastened around the hold, shifting and securing payload.

  Tekton slipped into a gap between crates and crouched down, Sammy’s suit making slight wheezing noises with his movements. The loading ramp was still open, but not for much longer, he guessed. He must leave now or face being stuck on Lasper Farr’s ship.

  That realisation brought an unfamiliar surge of adrenaline-fuelled determination, and Tekton ran with suit-enhanced speed towards the ramp. One of the crewmen saw him and shouted. The ramp light flashed its closing sequence, and the connecting section began to retract.

  Heart pounding painfully, legs burning with the effort, Tekton sprinted up the inclining ramp and leapt the distance to the Intel loading facility. He landed heavily, jarring his legs and falling forward onto his hands and knees.

  He looked back. Relief lessened the pain. The ramp was almost closed now, and the disorder out on the docks meant that no one would chase him.

  Disorder? More like an apocalypse! Free-mind was aghast.

  Like an anthill that’s been
kicked over, thought Tekton. Scramble and scurry.

  But logic-mind gave only questions and warnings. Don’t fall in front of that loader! Look for the exit! Which ship is leaving next? Check the signage.

  Tekton scanned the leader boards for each dock, but the ship names and codes meant nothing to him. Something commercial. A captain who’ll accept money and ask few questions, logic-mind instructed.

  He walked purposefully through the crowd, his suit lending him agility and speed, praying to avoid an accidental meeting with Commander Farr or Samuelle. Soldiers in a host of differing uniforms swarmed, waiting to be let aboard their ships. Tugs descended to pull the bigger ships to the launch bays. As soon as one left, another replaced it, and the loading continued at a frenetic pace. Tekton could barely make sense of the endless broadcast announcements.

  To avoid Farr’s soldiers, he headed to the furthest dock, stopping only to ask random ’esques where they were going, hoping to find a non-military ship. His enquiries were met with either garbled panic or ignored.

  ‘I’ll pay double your normal fare,’ he begged one harried ship’s bursar.

  ‘I told you there’s no room, mate. I don’t give a crap about how much you can pay. We’ve got the entire Matamon government aboard, and not enough res buffers to fit them. You come on here, and you’ll likely rattle to death. That’s if we even get out of this damned system in time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The fucking Extros are coming, mate. That’s what I mean.’

  Tekton stepped back from the bursar’s sweaty vehemence. The man was almost harassed enough to pull his holstered pistol and shoot the next person who asked to be taken aboard.

  With a growing panic fingering his insides, Tekton watched as the bursar shouted closing instructions for the hold and headed up the ramp.

  What will I do? he asked his minds. Wild and dangerous options danced across his thoughts.

  Then, unexpectedly, the bursar stopped and ran back down.

  ‘Look, there’s a ’zoon hybrid scheduled for berth as soon as we pull out. It’s one of the last coming in. Everyone else is in the shift queue or gone in-sys. Hang around this berth and you might get luckier with them.’ He checked his hand-com. ‘Ship’s name is Salacious.’

  Tekton nodded his appreciation.

  ‘Good luck, mate,’ said the bursar and hurried onto his ship.

  Tekton’s minds considered options while he waited for the trader ship to slip dock. He could go to the station master and request assistance, but with the station in utter chaos it was unlikely he’d be heard. That option also meant he risked an encounter with Farr.

  Or he could pay his way onto this hybrid and take what fate brought him. If the Extros were indeed coming, a biozoon might be a safer option than an OLOSS military ship or a mercenary vessel. Biozoons were rumoured to trade with the Post-Species.

  All he needed was to get himself, and the DSD that pressed so uncomfortably against his ribs, out of this system. He could make different travel arrangements from the next place he docked. He would wait. Yes. That was best.

  Stepping back near the frame of a loader, he grasped its hydraulic arm and held on. The structure shook as ships peeled from their moorings in quick succession, hurrying from the station.

  In an absurdly short amount of time, Tekton was alone on the dock and the vibrations had stopped. It was eerie and surreal; just him and the rows of automated loaders.

  He wondered, irrationally, if he was the last left here.

  Ridiculous, snapped logic-mind. Not enough ships to get them all off.

  How can you be sure? challenged free-mind.

  Tekton let them bicker while he concentrated on his breath and attempted a meditative manner.

  At inhalation three hundred or so, he heard a noise. Glancing up, he saw the scarred grey belly of a biozoon descending through one of the docking channels. It set down heavily into the mooring, as though worn out with the effort.

  For the briefest flicker Tekton thought it was the Baronessa Fedor’s biozoon, the one he’d seen docked at Rho Junction, but upon inspection it was smaller and less impressive. The restrained cephalic fins and generally degraded appearance confirmed the bursar’s statement that it was a hybrid. From what Tekton knew of biozoons, hybrids tended to lose their condition, especially those who fell into the hands of less considerate operators.

  Tekton quickly reached inside his suit and shifted the DSD so that the telltale bulge lay at his back.

  The egress scale peeled open, and an ’esque climbed out onto a set of rungs crudely pegged to the biozoon’s skin.

  Wait, both minds warned him simultaneously. Don’t approach him.

  He listened to them. Samuelle’s combat suit could be interpreted as threatening, and he noted that the ’esque carried a weapon. Tekton didn’t wish to test the suit’s weapon resistance ability. It was, after all, Samuelle’s spare.

  The ’esque stopped just short of him, giving him a slow appraisal. At the same time a grey-skinned Balol emerged from the egress scale and began to climb down.

  ‘You the welcoming party?’ asked the ’esque.

  Tekton slid back the suit hood and showed his face. He and the ’esque were of similar height and both lightly built. Tekton, of course, had the advantage of wearing combat protection but even so the man’s casual demeanour unnerved him; his pale eyes were not unlike Lasper Farr’s.

  ‘Of a sort, sir,’ Tekton said. ‘It’s been recommended that I seek passage on your ship. I’d be happy to pay a generous fee, of course.’

  The man scowled. His skin was as pale as his eyes, giving him the look of one of the nocturnal races or that of a perennial space traveller.

  ‘Recommended by whom?’

  ‘The last ship leaving,’ said Tekton a little ruefully. ‘My decision to leave my own billet was rather last-moment. It seems that passage has become rather hard to acquire, due to … circumstances.’

  ‘Circumstances!’ The ’esque snorted out a laugh. ‘Ilke, you hear that? These are circumstances.’

  The Balol sauntered up and stopped alongside her companion. Unlike him, she was stocky and muscular, and wore no clothing other than her natural grey skin plating to cover the fact that she was female.

  Tekton couldn’t help but examine her with interest. He had heard that Balol females made energetic, though often violent, lovers, if you could ignore their odour.

  The ’esque noticed Tekton’s scrutiny and laughed again. ‘What’s yer name?’

  ‘Tekton,’ said Tekton. ‘From Lostol.’

  ‘Well Tekton-from-Lostol, I’m called Jancz, and we’re picking up some urgent payload. If yer credit checks out, then maybe we can offer you a ride. Where would ye be heading?’

  ‘Primarily, away from here, but if the reports of imminent invasion are true then I would be seeking transportation to Mintaka. Or thereabouts.’

  The ’esque nodded as if giving the request serious consideration. ‘That’s a fine combat suit you’re sportin’ there, Tekton. Only seen one like it before.’

  ‘I … err … borrowed it from a friend. She was concerned for my protection in these uncertain times.’

  The ’esque exchanged smirks with the Balol.

  Tekton didn’t mind if they danced naked together as long as they took him off this doomed station.

  ‘Got some things to attend to,’ said Jancz when he’d gotten through being amused. ‘Ilke will check yer credit and take ye aboard.’

  Tekton stifled his misgivings as Jancz moved on. After all, lowbrow types like this wouldn’t have enough imagination for anything sinister.

  MIRA

  Mira?

  Si?

  We are close to Scolar.

  Mira worked to get her eyelids open. She’d slept the entire sub-light leg from the shift station to Scolar orbit, and her body craved more. Still.

  Baby? She moved her hands through the viscous protection of vein-sink and touched her stomach.

  O
ur baby will be born soon. Its survival is now dependent on the humanesque medics, Insignia commented.

  Mira shifted, and Primo responded by buoying her up and withdrawing its receptors from her skin. She swung unsteady legs onto the floor of the buccal, wiping a layer of goo from her face and blinking rapidly.

  As her hand fell back to cup the small curve of her belly, she watched Thales, sedated in Secondo, his face relaxed in sleep. Less ravaged.

  She felt a flowering of tenderness for him. He wasn’t the person she’d first imagined him to be, but he had his own strengths, his own sense of honour. She was glad to have seen to the true heart of the man.

  Thales?

  He is recovering. But diverting attention to his medical needs has been … distracting.

  Mira wanted to smile at Insignia’s annoyed tone. The biozoon didn’t welcome relationships with ordinary humanesques. It cared only for itself, her and her baby. Thank you for caring for him. Where is the soldier?

  Eating. The humanesque female has an insatiable appetite. There is only a small stock of food left. My stores have not been replenished for some time. Nor has my nutrient supply. My own health is at risk.

  Insignia’s last statement brought Mira fully awake. The biozoon had not received an amino acid boost since visiting Akou. I will negotiate for refugee aid on Scolar.

  It is possible that you will not be well received on that score.

  Why so?

  Planets have begun stockpiling supplies.

  What do you mean? Mira waited in silence. Insignia? Please answer me.

  The biozoon gave its grunting equivalent of a sigh. It is best you see the farcasts for yourself. It will no doubt affect how you negotiate with Scolar.