Rivers of Orion

by Dana Kelly

  “I could fall asleep to this,” said Orin.

  “Let’s test that theory,” said April, and she guided him back to the loveseat. She glanced at her phone as they sat down. “Happy New Year, Orin,” she said. April lifted hers and Orin's masks just enough to kiss him. “For good luck,” she said, and she lowered the masks back in place.

  Orin blushed. “For good luck,” he whispered.

  They got comfortable, and she wrapped herself in his arms. The low-pitched chorus eased them gently through the veil of slumber.

  Chapter 22

  What Makes the World

  Well before sunrise the next day, Hector stood before the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth, shaved, and combed his hair. He cinched a pair of scrub pants over his mechanical legs, donned proper physician’s attire, and descended the stairs leading from his second-floor abode. Crossing into the lobby, he quickly scanned his slumbering guests and pointedly cleared his throat. “Time to wake up,” he said. “Come on you vagrants, shake a leg.”

  Casey stirred and sat up. She looked at her phone and squinted. “It’s four in the morning.”

  “That’s Galactic Time,” said Hector. “The days turn faster here. If you check your local chronograph, you’ll find it’s almost seven.” He grinned. “Yeah, I know, I let you sleep in. You can thank me later. Anyway, we’re in the middle of our winter, and there’s only eight hours of sunlight right now. It’ll be dawn in an hour, so we need to get moving.”

  “Why the rush?” asked Edison.

  “Why the rush, Dr. Stone? Why the rush? Because I need to run diagnostics on that little orb as soon as possible! I have no idea what I’m working with, so I have no idea what I’ll need,” said Hector.

  “Cool ya jets,” said Cajun, and he hunched up to stand. Fog lined the interior of his mask, and his beard was in disarray. “At the very least, we need a moment to get some coffee goin’.” He took a deep breath, removed his mask, and spit-cleaned it quickly before putting it back on. “Much better.”

  “There’s no time for coffee,” said Hector. “Coffee can wait!”

  Malmoradan groaned as he rolled on his side. “You guys are being way too loud. Quiet down, would you?”

  “Hector needs us awake, Pops,” said Shona. She stretched, and she adjusted her mask. “God, I can smell my breath.”

  “Just remove the mouth covering to brush your teeth,” said Edison. “The mask will automatically adjust the seals. Make sure you breathe through your nose, or you could end up feeling lightheaded.”

  “I’ve done this before,” said Shona. “I know how to work a rebreather.”

  Edison cast her a friendly wink and nodded at Mike. “I didn’t say it for your benefit.”

  Mike righted the easy chair, lowered the footrest, and yawned as he got to his feet. “What time is it?”

  “Too early,” said Casey.

  “April and Orin are still sound asleep,” said Shona. “Should we wake them?”

  “Probably,” said Casey. She and Malmoradan returned the cushions to their rightful furniture and pushed everything back into place.

  “Oh, good question,” said Hector, and his leg clinked as he tapped it. “Real good question. Let me think… I mean, what use could I possibly have for a multi-discipline binary or a psychic? Of course, wake them up!”

  Shona frowned. “No need to be an ass about it,” she muttered, and she stooped to gently jostle her companions. “Time to get up, you two.”

  “Good morning, guys,” said Orin. He stood tall and strong as he stretched. Turning around, he helped April to her feet.

  “Good morning, Orin,” she said, and she smiled sleepily.

  “Morning,” said Mike. “I don’t feel even remotely rested. How are you all so chipper?”

  “We’re not,” grumbled Malmoradan.

  “Mike,” said Hector. “Last night, you were practically begging me to pull an all-nighter. Are we doing this or not?”

  “I didn’t beg you for anything,” said Mike. “But yes, let’s do this. Thank you.”

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

  Hector led his guests along the halls to his diagnostics lab. There, he placed Nimbus within a large, transparent cabinet. Glowing tangles of wire hung within, amidst brilliant filament rods and a crown of magnetically hovering globules. Enthralled by the lightshow, they all watched as the machine assessed Nimbus’s condition. In time, the scanner delivered its report—a floating mass of holographic data points.

  Hector shoved his hands deep into his lab coat pockets as he read through each line. “Yup,” he said. “It’s all there.”

  “Ya sure?” asked Cajun. “Last I looked, close to ninety percent of his code was damaged, irrecoverable-like.”

  Hector clucked and clapped Cajun’s back. “John, John, John. To understand the utility fog, you’ve got to think like the utility fog! Look under the surface, past the veneer of big-corporation diagnostic tools.”

  Cajun lifted Hector’s hand away. “As opposed to this backwater rig?”

  “What, Daphne? Daphne’s my oracle,” said Hector. “She’s brilliant! See for yourself.”

  Glancing over the report, Cajun shook his head. “Not sure what I’m lookin’ for.”

  With his fingertips, Hector moved a cluster of data points, arranging them just so. He selected distinct fragments of code. At last, he stood back, regarding Cajun expectantly. “Stand where I’m standing. If you don’t see it, you’re an idiot.”

  Annoyed, Cajun moved into position and faced the layered data points. Stacked upon one another, the highlighted fragments formed a complete block of code. “C’est beau…” he whispered. “She is brilliant, but you—ya saw all that in the soup! Now, that’s genius, hear?”

  Hector waved his hand dismissively. “I look at this stuff all day. It’s become second nature. Help me prep a slug, will you? We can jumpstart the fog, but it’s going to need something familiar to get its bearings, and that means approximating Mike’s trauma.”

  “What kind of slug are you talking about?” asked Mike.

  “A body slug,” said Hector.

  “It’s a full-body organic prosthesis,” said Cajun. “Not exactly the golden road to immortality some folk had hoped, but they make fine organ farms.”

  “Why’s it called a slug?” asked Orin.

  Hector sighed. “What do you call a coin with no face?”

  Orin shrugged. “A slug.”

  “There you go,” said Hector. “Orin wins the prize!”

  “Cajun, for all your bellyaching about radiation sickness and empty domiciles, you ain’t at all bothered by organ farms?” asked Malmoradan.

  Cajun smiled behind his mask. “Wasn’t always an engineer, ya know.”

  “Shona. Malmoradan,” said Hector. “There’s a meat locker in the basement of my field office. That’s where I keep the slugs. Since you’re the muscle, I’ll need you to fetch one of them for me, preferably one that’s close to Mike’s height and body mass. There’s a guy up in room 7608, goes by the name of Xylander. He’s a guide. It’s his job to make sure visitors get to where they’re going safely. Find him and ask him to take you to my field office. Okay? Can you do that?”

  “How far away is your field office?” asked Malmoradan.

  “Over by the quarry, so… Maybe a click and half? Not far,” said Hector.

  “Yeah, we can do that,” said Malmoradan.

  “Bundle up,” said Hector. “It’s still dark out, and the dark’s bitter cold.”

  Shona glanced at her bandaged forearm. “Orin, would you mind coming with us?”

  “Of course,” said Orin. “Give me a minute to find my coat,” he said, and he rummaged through the duffle bag.

  Shona and Malmoradan gathered their cold weather attire, and they all took a moment to freshen up and pay a visit to the bathrooms. They exited Hector’s office and closed the doors behind them. Lamps shone from the gaps in buildings, and the atmospheric processors pushed a war
m breeze along the concourse.

  “Excuse me,” said a nearby woman. She wore comfortable clothing, and her wavy, silvery hair hung down to her waist. Her eyes were white, and her skin was orange. “I don’t mean to intrude, but are you brightlighters or just a bunch of corp-folk from Taranis?”

  “We’re brightlighters,” said Orin, and he introduced himself. Shona and Malmoradan did the same.

  “I’m Apple,” she said, and she bowed slightly. “Where are you from, then?”

  “All over the galaxy,” said Malmoradan.

  Apple smiled warmly. “The cantina’s just down the way. There’s a bunch of hearty folk who’d love to listen to your scealers, if you’re up for some breakfast and a whole lot of cantering.”

  “I think that sounds like fun,” said Orin. “Is cantering talking?”

  She looked at him, confused. “Cantering is cantering, and scealing is scealing, but I suppose you have to do one to do the other.”

  “Unfortunately, we need to get up to the 76th floor pretty quickly,” said Malmoradan. “But you’re welcome to walk with us.”

  “Ah, you’re off to see Xylander, I bet. It’s been a spell since he did any guiding,” said Apple.

  “Is it anything to worry about?” asked Shona.

  Apple shook her head. “It’s pretty cow-skully down there, but his cloddies are good.” She nodded at their footwear. “Looks like yours are too. I’m not much of a blucker, so I guess this is goodbye for now. Good to meet you all. I hope I’ll see you around.”

  “Take care,” said Orin.

  Apple excused herself and headed toward the cantina.

  Orin looked at Malmoradan. “Is cantering talking? Because on Rhyon, it’s something that horses do.”

  “Ain’t too familiar with this particular dialect,” said Malmoradan. “But based on the context, that’s what I’d expect it to mean.”

  “On Gladius Prime, all the free communities speak street cant,” said Shona. “Maybe they’ve got the same root word.”

  “Sounds likely,” said Malmoradan. “This way.” He followed the signs to the lift, and they boarded. “Roomy in here,” he said, and he pushed the button labeled 76.

  “It’d have to be, considering the size of the locals,” said Orin. “I’m used to feeling short around giants and ocelinis, but never around my own people.”

  Shona smiled smugly. “They’re still shorter than me.”

  “Everyone’s shorter than you,” said Orin, and he chuckled.

  The lift doors closed, and the car ascended rapidly. A moment later, it slowed, and they stepped out onto the concrete footpath of the 76th floor. Checkerboard walls framed the lift hall, a mix of protruding squares and the shadows they cast. Overhead lighting washed everything with a green hue, and grimy Plexiglas hslf-panes spanned each of the slab barriers that formed the interior perimeter. Apartment doors looked green, and festive string lights dangled around some of their jambs.

  Following the signs, Malmoradan led them to Xylander’s abode, and he knocked on the door.

  “Just a moment,” said Xylander. His voice sounded energetic and aged.

  “What do you think a log-lifter is?” asked Orin. “Yesterday when we landed, Rusty said there was a log-lifter moving in, and he made it sound dire.”

  “It’s a storm,” said Malmoradan. “It needs to be very windy to be a log-lifter, but it could be anything else that accompanies it. Rain, sleet, hail, or snow.”

  Xylander pulled open his door. Inside, the lights cast his humble apartment in shades of yellow and red. “Around here, it’s snow,” he said. “You must be the brightlighters everyone’s talking about.” He stood almost as tall as Rusty, with a slight hunch, and wrinkles covered his dark orange skin. “What can I do you for?”

  “We need to get out to Hector’s field office to pick something up for him,” said Malmoradan.

  Xylander whistled and looked at his watch. “All the jaypnies will be checked out by now, so we’ll have to get there on foot. I can see you brought warm clothes.” He stared at Shona, taking in her full measure. “And something to keep away the lantern skinks.”

  “Which are?” asked Shona.

  “Started out something we brought by mistake, but they’re a bit more than that, now.” He nodded steeply. “Moved right in, they did. Spread across the surface. Don’t worry, I’ll point ‘em out if they make an appearance. Nothing to worry about. Not lantern skinks, anyway.”

  “How soon can you leave?” asked Orin.

  Xylander smiled. “Give me a minute to get ready,” he said, and he closed the door.

  He emerged in short order, and they descended back down to the concourse. Orin, Shona, and Malmoradan put on their layers and coats, their gloves, goggles, scarves, and caps. Xylander led them out onto the platform, where snowy gusts promptly assaulted them. They trudged through the bazaar, pausing to enjoy the heat vanes and wind shelters, before making their way to the nearest tram station.

  Down they went, and the tram car swayed slightly as the blizzard buffeted them. Dense flurries obscured the tower’s structure, all the way to the planet’s surface, where they disembarked. Outside the well-lit tram station, ice formed on the glass, and snow mixed with brick-red dirt, turning it pink.

  Xylander approached a sturdy nylon rope mounted to a ring embedded in the side of the building. The cord vanished into the darkness and hazy wall of snow. He distributed paired ropes and carbine hooks, clipping two sets to his belt. “There’s steel posts every so often,” he said, and he clipped one hook to the guide rope. “As you’re making your way along, clip the free hook in front of the post and move the other hook around so it’s all loose like. It’ll make more sense when you’re doing it.” He gripped the tether and grinned. “Everyone ready?”

  Orin, Shona, and Malmoradan clipped themselves to the guide rope and took hold. “We’re ready,” said Malmoradan.

  “Let’s go!” said Xylander, and he made his way slowly along the tether. Only a few paces in, the tram station vanished from view. A few more paces, and all of Cherry Grove disappeared completely.

  Through the dark, bitter cold they moved, passing several other ropes that intersected certain posts. Colorful bands marked those rods, and although Xylander tried to explain where they led, he couldn’t shout louder than the storm.

  They reached a white pole with red bands, and they followed its interesting guide rope to the right. A stiff wind battered them, and Orin tripped over a patch of deep ice. He lost his footing, but the hook held fast, and he pulled himself back to the guide rope.

  Chilled to the bone, they at last reached Hector’s field office. As soon as everyone was inside, Malmoradan pushed the door closed. The silence was deafening.

  Lights flickered on, revealing concrete walls, a folding table, several filing cabinets, a dozen folding chairs, and a dormant space heater. To their right, plastic curtains hung from the entryway leading into Hector’s surgical theater. “Cold Storage” had been painted on the wall directly across from them, looming over a set of stairs leading down.

  “Go ahead and get what you came for,” said Xylander. He walked over to the space heater and activated it. “I’ll wait here.”

  Shona pointed at the stairs. “That must be the basement.”

  “Looks right to me,” said Malmoradan. He led Shona and Orin downstairs, and the basement lights buzzed as they switched on. Stacked coolers and rows of refrigerators lined the walls. Across from them, a heavy steel door stood closed and latched. Dents and scratches scuffed it edges, and frost crusted over the handle.

  Shona pulled it open, and clouds of chilled vapor tumbled forth. Dozens of body bags hung from the ceiling by rings and hooks, each bag marked with letters and numbers written in dayglow wax crayon. “That’s creepy as hell,” whispered Shona, and she shivered. “I don’t like this.”

  “How are we supposed to approximate Mike’s height and body mass?” asked Orin. “All the bags are black, and none of this shorthand makes any
sense to me. Should we call him?”

  “I don’t have his number,” said Shona.

  “We can call Casey,” said Malmoradan, and he tapped his commlink.

  After a moment, she answered. “What’s keeping you guys? Hector says it’s going to take all day for the slug to thaw, at this rate.”

  “Glad you’re okay too,” said Malmoradan, and he chuckled.

  “You guys all right?” asked Casey.

  “We just spent the past thirty minutes blind and frozen, but yeah… We’re fine,” said Malmoradan. “We’re in Hector’s meat locker, but we can’t make heads or tails of his markings. Can you ask him for some help?”

  “Sure, hold on,” said Casey.

  “I really don’t like this,” said Shona. “If one of these things moves, I’m out of here!”

  “You watch too many scary movies, baby girl,” said Malmoradan.

  Casey return to the conversation. “He says to look for one that starts with a four and ends in either a V or a Y, marked in pink. Does that make sense?”

  “We’ll find out,” said Malmoradan, and he repeated her instructions.

  Orin pushed aside several bags. “I think I found one,” he said. “4-1-L-M-V, written in pink.” He lifted it off the hook and set it down on the misty floor.

  “Casey, we found one. We’re headed back,” said Malmoradan.

  “Roger that,” said Casey, and she signed off.

  Shona crouched and picked up the body bag. Carrying it out into the room, she set its straps over her shoulder, under her coat, and with Orin’s help she tied it in place against her back. “It’s secure,” she said, and she shivered again.

  Malmoradan led them back toward the stairs. He noticed snow had gathered upon the steps, and the wind howled overhead. “Hold on,” he said, and he raised his hand. “Xylander! Xylander, are you okay up there?”

  Gusts whistled shrilly, and snow tumbled down onto the landing.

  Orin charged up the stairs, and the fire from his hands formed a whirlwind of icicles. With his arms at his sides, he stood at the top of the steps and surveyed the office. Frozen shards sliced against one another as they spiraled around him. All the folding furniture had been pushed away from the center of the room, and a large beast lounged, curled around the space heater. Xylander stood, his back pressed against the wall.