‘Summer. How fabulous. I shall pack my bikini,’ she trilled.
‘But Miranda,’ said Tekton in desperation. ‘I am meeting my... paramour. She is unlikely to approve of—’
‘Nonsense, Tekton! Don’t be such a prude. We could have a scholarly ménage. Ho, ho! That will get Jise snapping his jaws. He rather envies you, you know. Something about being unfettered by the constraints of evidence. Besides, I am sure I can find some research to attend to there.’
Snap! bawled Tekton’s logic-mind. The woman is playing you again. What does she want to access directly from the archives?
But Tekton was having a hard time concentrating. His free-mind had surfaced and was painting lurid images of Miranda and Doris locked in a vigorous bout of bikini-clad amour.
MIRA
No one on the viuzzas stopped to speak, though some shouted words of warning about packs of cane. Mira strapped Vito into a sling around the korm’s neck. The alien’s night vision was keener than hers and she was exhausted already. She could have asked Trin but she didn’t trust him.
They walked, aided by Tiesha’s light, until Mira begged for a rest. Semantic would rise earlier tonight and for those few minutes when both moons were present in the sky it would seem like daylight.
‘Here.’ Trin herded them behind the wreckage of an overturned TerV. Its axle had broken and the canopy had ripped open.
Mira took Vito from the korm and sank to the ground. She searched Loris’s pack for latte and slipped a proper cleated teat into his mouth.
‘Where did you get that?’ Trin demanded.
‘From the ‘esque, Loris. She believes that her husband is somehow involved in this.’
‘Why did you not tell me before?’
‘You might have acted... rashly,’ Mira said.
‘I would have found out more.’
‘How so, Don? Beat it out of him. And his cane?’
Trin took some food from her without answering.
They ate in silence. Mira gave the korm some piol nuts and offered the water bladder to Djeserit. The ragazza had not complained but her epidermis looked pinched and dry in the moonlight. Her tightly pored skin was less efficient at cooling than that of the others.
She nodded gratefully and took the water.
Mira stared into the night. She recognised the Duca’s chamber from the bank of solar arrays along its flat top. The Carabinere office must be close. ‘How far now?’
‘Another hour. Perhaps less.’
She pinched oily cheese from a wedge and sucked it slowly. A pungent sweetness permeated her breather. It was not the cheese, she thought, for the scent had lingered on the edge of her consciousness since leaving Loris’s casa. Now, suddenly, it had intensified and she sensed its danger. Perhaps she should share her fear with Trinder?
What fear? What would she say to him? That she had hidden in a biozoon carrying ginko artefacts? That she had bargained for her freedom with a smuggler?
‘That smell? What is it?’ Trin asked.
‘Trinder, I—’ Mira began with a rush. But the korm screeched, silencing her.
Something moved behind them under the TerV’s damaged canopy. Trin shone his light onto it. A large, rough-surfaced globe lay nestled between two damaged crates, fluid dripping onto it from a ruptured water tank. The water formed no puddle around it—the moisture was evaporating in moments.
Figures came from the shadows to stare at the object, attracted by the korm’s screech.
Mira wanted to speak to them, ask them what they knew. But the globe began to judder and distort. Its movement jolted Mira’s memory into a shocked realisation. ‘Crux,’ she whispered. ‘No!’
‘Che, Mira? Che?’ Trin said, urgently.
‘I know. I remember,’ she cried. ‘Cryptobiosis. I only touched on it at the Studium. Even before when I saw the globe in—’
‘Before? Cryptobiosis? What in Crux’s name...’
‘It’s a dormant state in which living things hibernate.’
‘What is hibernating, Baronessa?’ Fear lent Trin’s voice an imperious edge.
‘Saqr.’ As she spoke the name, the globe warped and split. A feeler of dark tubular flesh crowned by a bulbous maw uncurled. The maw trembled as if tasting the air and another rush of sickly-sweetness flowed from it. The globe split even wider, and a glistening, carapaced creature, as large as the korm, with six foreclaws and two hind claws unfolded from within it. Though it had no discernible head, mouth lobes protruded from the tube at one end of its body. Tiny eye-spots glittered in the light, in a semicircle behind the lobes.
‘Saqr? But they are water creatures,’ protested Trin.
‘Then these have adapted. Or have been adapted.’
‘Mira?’ He sounded far less imperious now, far less sure. ‘How can you be sure?’
Her only response was an intensification of the hollow fear in her stomach. Instinctively she began to back away but before she could urge the others to do the same the Saqr lunged at Trin.
Djeserit anticipated its action and threw herself in front of him. A foreclaw slashed through her robe and blood fountained from her leg. She screamed, arching her body.
Next to her the korm erupted into more screeches, enraged by her friend’s injury. It went down onto its small forearms: haunches high, crest stiff, it launched itself at the Saqr.
With unexpectedly quick movements, the Saqr tried to slash the korm’s flesh with its claws, while the korm countered with its slashing hind limbs. They traded attacks but the korm was weak from hunger and in a few short moments it tired of sparring. The Saqr caught the korm’s forearm and pinned it to the viuzza with several claws. From its mouth lobes thin, needle-like stylets protruded. It pierced the korm’s skin.
The korm screeched again, this time in agony.
Mira stood transfixed by the hideous scene. How could she not have realised? How could she not have understood what Jancz had hidden in the biozoon?
‘There is a pistol,’ she cried, suddenly.
‘Give it to me,’ Trin shouted.
But even in that moment she hesitated to trust him. He snatched the bag from her and fumbled for the weapon but when he pressed the discharge the pulse was weak and the beam glanced off the creature’s thick carapace.
Thin rivulets of fluid streamed from the korm’s arm wound and the Saqr’s mouth lobes worked hard, sucking greedily through its stylets.
Trin crouched over Djeserit, tearing at the lining from his fellalo to bind her wound. ‘Go,’ he shouted at those around them.
Mira’s legs still refused move.
The Saqr tightened its grip on the korm as a cacophonous baying resonated along the viuzza. In a blur of shadows a pack of cane, drawn to the smell of blood, attacked the Saqr from all sides. It withdrew its stylets from the korm to counter them. Blood spurted from its mouth lobes and sprayed the cane. They became frantic, leaping, howling, and buffeting their horns against its hide.
The Saqr reared onto its hind claws and began to fight in earnest, clawing and screaming until it chased the cane away into the night.
No one moved.
Slowly the korm righted itself and sank, exhausted, into a roosting position. Its wounds leaked a clear fluid, the sight of which broke Mira’s state of trance. Uncertain of what what else to do, she took water to it.
It gulped some down and chittered softly at her.
Mira then took the water bladder to Djeserit. Trin had bound up the tear in her leg with his royal ensign and hovered over her with concern. ‘Is there probiotic in that pack?’ he demanded.
‘No. There is no medicine,’ said Mira.
‘I cannot walk on it,’ said Djeserit. Her face was contorted, her eyes disappearing behind the folds of her lids.
Trin touched her face tenderly. ‘Then I will carry you.’
The action stopped Mira’s heart. His concern. His touch. Why had she not realised before? That night of the explosion at Villa Fedor, his presence in the lodge... but Djeserit is only a ‘bina. Su
rely even you, Trinder...
Vito began to cry in her arms. Mira rocked him. The Pagoin infant had not uttered a sound throughout the fight, as if he had already learned when to be silent.
Trin lifted Djeserit in his arms. ‘We are close to Carabinere headquarters. We must keep moving before the sun comes.’
He was right. It was all they could do—Mira knew. She slipped the water bladder over Djeserit’s shoulder. ‘Keep drinking. You have lost precious fluid.’
Djeserit nodded weakly. She clung to Trin’s neck, her head sagging against his shoulder.
Mira’s stomach clenched. Djeserit was a juvenile alien on a world that despised her kind and Trin Pellegrini was a privileged humanesque used to the finer things. What use, what attraction could he possibly have for her?
Trin walked on, leaving Mira standing with her thoughts. She hastened to the korm and urged it to its feet. If they lost sight of Trin, Mira knew that he would not stop for them.
* * *
‘Behind those casas.’ Trin staggered now under Djeserit’s weight.
Mira looked up at the brilliant night sky. Tiesha and Semantic spilled their combined light across Loisa for a few precious minutes before Tiesha set. What Mira had thought were merely shadows of walls became tight huddles of ‘esques, banded together for comfort and safety. Dawn was not far away now but its light would be harsh and unforgiving. They had to hurry.
By the time they turned along the viuzza to the Carabinere compound the sky was brightening to purple. A crowd awaited them: mamas with strained, desperate looks on their faces clutching their ‘bini, and angry men with weapons.
Vito fretted at the noise and Mira jiggled him against her shoulder. His weight made her arm ache but she did not dare to sit.
A scuffle broke out as they tried to move closer to the compound’s fence.
‘There have guards at the gate entry,’ said Trin.
‘How will we get near them?’ asked Mira. ‘Everyone is here for help.’
Trin stared into the crowd. ‘Use the ‘bino,’ he said.
Before she realised what he was doing, he snatched Vito from her arms and forced his way into the throng. Carrying both the ‘bino and Djeserit, he bellowed to be let through. People made way for him, affected by his commanding tone and the young ragazza in his arms with a royal ensign as her bandage.
The korm whistled and chirped and lurched after Djeserit, leaving Mira alone. Again, people parted automatically for the large, bloodied ginko. If she didn’t follow quickly...
She stopped. Trin had the ‘bino and Djeserit, and the korm would follow. He would take them somewhere safe. Would it be so unforgivable if she lost them in the crowds?
If she were alone then she could find her way to Insignia and leave Araldis for ever. Without Faja here she need never come back.
The escape fantasy lifted the weight of Mira’s misery.
She felt heady, a ludicrous sensation amid the heat and dust and panic—but an irresistible one. She began to edge her way out of the crowd but a woman grasped her arm, stopping her.
The woman had a ‘bino in her arms and an older one clinging to her legs. ‘I need food for my children. They’re starving. Please. I’ll do anything.’ She wore only light robes and her crimson face was coloured almost black by the sun. Her expression was exhausted but stubborn. Something about her reminded Mira of Loris.
Without realising what she was doing, Mira reached into her bag and brought out the last of the pane. The woman took it with shaking hands, nodding her thanks, and broke off bits—some for the ragazzo, tiny bits for the ‘bino.
‘Eat it slow, mind,’ she barked at the toddler.
The child ignored her, gobbling it, spilling precious crumbs on the ground. He fell on them, licking up dirt. His mother dragged him up by his arm, cuffing him lightly. The child wailed.
How unacquainted with hunger we are, thought Mira. A stab of pain that had nothing to do with starvation pierced her belly. There was no escape for her. She was trapped here with the rest, waiting. Faja had died here. Vito, the korm and Djeserit were her last connection with her sorella—she could not abandon them in the way that Trin Pellegrini had abandoned her. No.
She turned back and searched the crowd for the korm’s unmistakable shape but she was too late. There was no sight of them at all.
Trin
Trin forced his way through the crowd to press against the fence. The sun had only just risen but already the wire was too hot to touch. ‘Seb Malocchi!’
The guard saw him and stepped closer, gripping his rifle with gloved hands. ‘Pellegrini! You have a Principe’s timing. The last of us are leaving soon.’
‘Let me in the gate.’
He shook his head. ‘Too risky. Go to the office and call the Capitano.’ He nodded at the ‘bino and Djeserit in Trin’s arms. ‘There will be room for you, Don Trinder, but...’ He left the rest unsaid.
Trin’s heart contracted. He couldn’t leave Djeserit behind. He didn’t have time to examine his reasons for thinking so—but from the moment he had seen her alive after the bomb blast at Villa Fedor he had wanted to protect her. He knew that if he lived, then so she must. But would Montforte allow her to be evacuated with them? And Djeserit would want the korm to come with them. And what would he do with the ‘bino? He should have left it with Mira. Mira Fedor would find her own way. The eccentric Baronessa had the heart of a survivor.
‘Where is the Baronessa Mira?’ said Djeserit in panic. She struggled to look over Trin’s shoulder, nearly overbalancing them both.
‘Keep still,’ Trin ordered. His arms had begun to grow numb with the strain of carrying her light body. Pain stabbed the muscles across his shoulders. He lowered his mouth to her ear. ‘The Baronessa is close by. But I must get you away from the sunlight. In the Carabinere office there will be spare suits.’
She fell back against him, exhausted. The skin on her cheeks had erupted in ugly bubbles of fluid and the movement of her neck gills was sluggish. If she stopped land-breathing he doubted that he would be able to revive her.
Gripped by urgency, Trin pressed back through the crowd and along the viuzza. The redcrete outside the office was deserted. He placed his finger in the authenticator and carried Djeserit and the ‘bino inside. The korm followed them, making odd noises. She leaked blood still from the puncture wounds on her arm, as though the blood refused to clot.
‘Quiet!’ Trin made a stern face, stifling a desire to shout at her. He’d seen what the korm could do, even injured and exhausted.
She chittered, unhappy about something.
He placed Djeserit onto a chair and laid the infant on his desk. Its arms flailed in fear of abandonment but it didn’t cry.
Trin shortcasted to the Carabinere. ‘It’s Trin Pellegrini.’
Christian answered from the compound. ‘Where have you been, Pellegrini? Your negligence has cost us... I will personally discipline you for desertion.’
‘Not desertion, Capitano—Nathaniel was on duty,’ Trin countered.
‘Later I will find the truth of this but now we are evacuating. We have been recalled to Pell.’
‘Si. I have been down at the compound gate. Seb Malocchi told me to go to the office.’
Christian made an impatient noise. ‘Come to the inner gate of the service yard. I will let you through.’
Relief was like a first mouthful of wine: Trin had feared that Christian would refuse him. He raced into his tiny room and collected his few belongings into a valise, then ran back to Christian’s office and removed the medkit. Thumbing through it he found the coagulants used for stemming blood flow in wounds. There had been more of them yesterday, he was sure.
Rummaging in the kitchenette he found a tray of leftover dried carpaccio—Nathaniel’s meal, perhaps—which he pressed into Djeserit’s hand. She took two slices and gave the rest to the korm.
While they devoured the food, Trin pasted analgesic from the medkit on her leg around the wound. ‘We have a chance
to leave here now. We must take it or perish. You need proper medical attention and the ‘bino needs food,’ he said.
Vito began to mewl at the smell of the meat. Djeserit reached for him and let him suck the taste from her finger. He screwed up his tiny face and coughed; a heartbreaking look of disappointment.
Tears leaked from Djeserit’s eyes and she brushed them a way with unsteady bloodstained fingers. ‘Where is the Baronessa?’ she asked. ‘Why hasn’t she come?’
‘Mira Fedor has others who will help her,’ Trin reassured her. ‘Now you must put this on.’ He held out a spare Carabinere fellalo.
As Djeserit repeated his words to the korm, Trin showed her how to wrap the cloth and thread the fluid tube. The korm listened to her intently, her crest inflating and flattening as if she was agitated or unsure. But when Trin lifted both Djeserit and the ‘bino into his arms and headed out through the coldlock she followed.
Christian opened the connecting inner gate. ‘Pellegrini—what in Crux’s name—’
‘Please?’ Trin held out the ‘bino.
Christian took the ‘bino with bare, trembling hands. His face was sweating and his pupils had contracted to tiny pinpricks of darkness.
‘Trade visitors. Th-they were staying at the Villa Cabuto,’ Trin lied. ‘Jus Malocchi ‘casted to say they were in trouble. That’s where I went. Their aide is dead and the female is injured.’
‘What of the Cabutos?’ Christian looked unconvinced by the story.
Trin shook his head. ‘Gone, Capitano.’
‘Cazzone.’
Around them the remaining Carabinere loaded rifles and supplies into the AiVs. A vehicle lifted off through the open roof as they entered, leaving only three.
‘You. In that one,’ Christian told Trin. ‘We’ll go now before they break through the fence.’
Trin experienced a pang of guilt about Mira. Would she survive? ‘Can we take more of them?’
Christian’s eyes glittered. ‘And who might that be? Would you like to pick them? I am sure they will be delighted to wait in an orderly manner while you decide who will come with us. Idiota!’ He slapped Trin across the face. ‘A war has started, Pellegrini. Not just here but all over Araldis. Malocchi wants us back at Centrale as per the code. If you weren’t the Principe’s son I would leave you here for desertion. But you are our heir—Crux help us.’ He spoke the last words softly.
The Sentients of Orion Page 17
