The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  ‘And what of your family’s operations, Marchella?’

  She gestured at the AiV pilot to sweep lower over a large scar in the ground. ‘Below is Pellegrini A, and to the south, Pellegrini B. Each produces 60,000 tonnes of ore per thirty-hour day. The ore is conveyored back to Dockside and stockpiled. The Pellegrini conveyors are some of the longest known. The mining belt has the perfect geography and climate for our conveyors, flat and hot—no frost to damage the machinery. Subsidiary feeders from the smaller mines join the main conveyor all the way along.’

  ‘The process is very primitive.’

  Marchella sighed. ‘Yes, but it works. Our society uses some gro-technology to maintain its infrastructure but we found it to be too expensive on the mining scale. We are still a young planet.’

  ‘And youth is so seductive, my dear. What of the non-Pellegrini mines?’

  ‘They use land barges to transport their ore, or rent space on the conveyors.’

  ‘So indeed your family has the monopoly?’

  Tekton’s provocation caused Marchella no embarrassment. ‘The Cipriano Clan purchased Araldis after seeing the assay reports from the first exploration ships in this area. The Pellegrinis are the most powerful of the Araldis Ciprianos, the royal family. It is... our planet.’

  ‘And what would it take for me to convince you that an exclusive minerals contract with me would be in the interest of the Pellegrinis’ great name?’

  ‘Orion lucre,’ Marchella said quickly and bluntly.

  We have her! Tekton’s free-mind sang joyously, drunk on the proximity of the minerals and the unbridling effect of the wine. ‘That is something I am in a position to offer.’

  ‘What minerals do you want?’

  ‘Only one little mine, Marchella. It is named Juanita, I believe.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The one that produces a quantity of quixite.’

  Marchella nodded thoughtfully. ‘Our financiers will negotiate with you on that issue, God-Tekton. But, if you’ll pardon my frankness, there are others bidding for the same alloy.’

  ‘May I enquire who that may be?’

  ‘You know that I cannot disclose who bids against you.’

  Tekton inclined his head, his logic-mind running lists of possible competitors. Or perhaps there were none. Perhaps she had more negotiating finesse than he thought. ‘Is there nothing that might convince you to short-cut this... this... bargaining?’

  ‘Unlikely.’ Marchella shook her head, showering him with the musky perfume of her velum. ‘Though there is one small thing that would gain you favour in the bidding.’

  Tekton’s arousal became painful again. Marchella was indeed much less naive than he thought. Desire began to agitate the waters of his akula. He reclined into the envelope of his seat, giving her the full benefit of his arousal.

  ‘Which would be?’

  ‘You are tyro to the Sole Entity?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I... that is, we want one of our familia to be admitted to Belle-Monde to undergo testing by the Entity.’

  Tekton hid his surprise: such ambition for a backwater family with no scholarship. ‘But only the very brilliant are chosen.’

  ‘And you do not think there could be one so brilliant among us Latinos?’

  ‘No need to take offence, ambassadress.’

  ‘No offence taken, God-Tekton. But this point would be, in brutal parlance, a deal-breaker.’

  Tekton’s minds streamed alongside each other, considering her request. Perhaps his influence stretched far enough to give Marchella what she was asking for. If it meant he could get what he wanted, Tekton would do almost anything.

  Unconsciously he stroked himself, exhilarated. Araldis called to him. He wanted to land the AiV and rub the dirt on his skin, taste it in his mouth. He wanted to ingest this planet and build from its lifeblood the greatest-ever structures. ‘Then perhaps it could be arranged, Marchella, once the terms of export are agreed. Do you have one person in mind?’

  Her expression softened—a peculiar juxtaposition in her square, pragmatic face. ‘I do.’

  Marchella’s words resonated deep inside him as though significant in the scheme of things. Tekton pondered them and his future. ‘Then I would say we are close to a deal.’

  He reached out a hand to touch her. The texture of Marchella’s skin on his felt rough in comparison to that of a Lostolian female—and yet not unpleasant. He smelled the light perspiration on her brow, could feel the minerals she sweated from her skin.

  She withdrew from his grasp and he felt an instant loss.

  ‘God-Tekton?’ she said.

  ‘There is one other thing I would also have, which would be, to use your words, a deal-breaker.’

  ‘Si?’ Marchella gave him a look of earnest enquiry.

  With the confidence of one used to getting his own way, Tekton reached for her, running his tongue along the side of her face, tasting the bitterness of iron and the tang of copper. He then shuddered into a seated position and pulled her down to him. With her face pushed to his thighs, he sent his logic-mind diving under the sea of his akula and began building magnificent cathedrals in his free-mind.

  MIRA

  Mesquite was folding a pile of underliners when Mira returned to the dorm. She spared no moment for courtesy. ‘What did I tell you, Mira Fedor?’

  Mira avoided the older woman’s gaze. ‘I had a weapon — a knife—but no knowledge of how to use it. I do not wish that to happen again. I want the other familia women to understand how to defend themselves. Can you call then! together?’

  ‘Si. But how do you think you will persuade them?’

  Mira unwound the neck-folds of her fellala. The dark bruising was a stark contrast against her vivid cerise skin. ‘I will show them this.’

  Mesquite swallowed hard, blinking tears from her eyes. ‘I will set up the meeting for tonight, here. But remember this: you are not the first person to be bruised by a man, Mira Fedor. Some will not care about your plight.’

  * * *

  After the mid-evening meal sittings, most of Ipo’s women packed into Mesquite’s dorm, sitting on the floor where they could, or standing and leaning against the walls. Mira stayed on the opposite side of the room to Cass. She couldn’t find it in her to relinquish her anger. Innis had tried to kill her and she held Cass in part responsible for her fratella’s actions.

  Mesquite stood in the centre of the room and called for quiet. But the women had their own ideas.

  ‘When’s this gonna end, Mesquite? We’re low on detergents. Soon we’ll be washing by hand. It’ll be more damn primitive than the early days,’ called out a tall, thin woman.

  ‘What about the food?’ another said. ‘It can’t last. We should fight the ginkos, or we’ll starve.’

  Nods from many.

  Mira watched them, trying to sense their mood. They were mostly humanesque, with a small proportion of lower-caste familia: Galiottos, Cabones and Genarros. The familia women clustered together, distinguished by their traditional dress and their diffidence. They did not look comfortable crushed alongside the miners’ wives and they held their bodies stiffly.

  ‘It’s not safe to be out walking on your own. These men are getting damn restless,’ piped up another. ‘This week I had two of my women attacked near the north-end dorm.’

  Mira reached automatically to her throat. Now was the time. She threaded her way between the women to join Mesquite at the centre of the room. As she unwrapped the neck of her fellala and turned a slow circle, she could barely control her fluttering hands.

  Those closest gasped. Others strained forward, unsure what it was she had revealed.

  Mira glanced across to Cass and read the pain on her face. It seemed the smallest, meanest of retributions.

  ‘Baronessa Fedor was attacked by a man a night ago. If the mercenary and her people had not come, she would have joined the many who have already gone to their graves,’ said Mesquite.

  Upturned faces re
garded them both, waiting.

  ‘I think we should take up weapons,’ Mira said quietly.

  The room stilled. Above all, she sensed Cass’s surprise.

  ‘You mean... fight?’

  Mira couldn’t see who had spoken but she answered anyway. ‘We do not know what the Saqr want. We do not know how long this will last or what it will do to our world. I have to protect my—my ‘bino and I have to protect myself. I have my wits but that is all. Knowing how to use a weapon may not save me—but then, it may.’ She sat down again on the nearest bed. The short explanation had exhausted her.

  Around her the conversation of the others buzzed. Some of the women were unimpressed—the miners’ wives to whom weapons were no taboo. And yet, as Mira dropped her hands from her face to look around, she saw the flicker of something in the faces of the rest. As palpable as Mesquite’s heavy breath, Mira felt their minds open to possibility.

  ‘Who will teach us?’ called the young woman who had minded Vito.

  Her question prompted a range of expressions on the other women’s faces: some puzzled, others disapproving. A handful looked keen—the younger ones, mainly. How easily youth married with change. Thank Crux.

  Cass Mulravey’s reaction fell somewhere in the middle. She was hesitant, Mira could tell. She stood to speak, commanding attention. ‘You think it might save you. I think it might get you killed.’

  ‘You’re entitled to that thought, Cass Mulravey.’ Mira heard the defensiveness in her answer. ‘But you are the one who put a knife in my hand.’

  Whispers followed this. Mira Fedor might be a native of Araldis, but she was also a crown aristo. Privately, many respected the gap between her and them.

  Mesquite saw the way things were going and clapped her hands. ‘Well, I believe her to be right. What happens if all the men are killed? What happens if we are the only ones left? Who will save the bambini?’

  ‘The men will never agree to teach you,’ said Cass.

  Mira forced, herself to her feet again. ‘I will do the asking.’

  ‘What difference will that make? Why would they listen to you?’

  Mira waited a moment before she answered, allowing the tension to build. ‘Because I may be your next Principessa.’

  Her bold statement was met by calls of derision from many, until one of the familia women came and stood next to her. A ragazza younger than Mira but old enough to have children pushed the velum back from her face. Josefia. The one who had minded Vito. ‘I am Josefia Genarro and I wish to learn.’

  Mira looked at the other familia women. One by one they voiced their agreement. Her skin prickled with emotion.

  Soon non-familia females joined them until over half the room had spoken up in support of Mira.

  She took a deep, shaky breath. ‘Come with me.’

  * * *

  Cass caught up with her as they walked through the daytime heat, past the town salon and the vehicle bay and on to the Men’s Depot. The bay was filled with TerVs, from the smallest all-terrain vehicles to the enormous land barges.

  ‘I think you are mixing things up. You are choosing this because of what Innis has done to you. But that is different to the matter of the Saqr,’ said Cass.

  Mira did not look at her as they kept pace with each other. ‘You have great endurance, Cass Mulravey. I do not have that kind of strength. I must take other steps to protect myself.’

  Cass seemed surprised. She sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps fortitude is not the only way.’

  Mira felt a fragile bond re-emerge between them. Despite Innis’s attack, Cass Mulravey was a reasonable person.

  They paused to watch the men taking turns to practise with e-m rifles under the tattered shade cloth at the back of the Depot. Faded targets stood at the far end of the range, while Catchut and several of Rast’s people gave instruction from the benches at the other.

  ‘Rast has the projectile rifles under lock and key so that they can’t waste the ammunition,’ whispered Cass in Mira’s ear.

  Mira nodded. It could not be said that Rast was a fool.

  The men stopped when they saw the women and shouted coarse suggestions.

  Mira quickly led their delegation inside before her nerve failed. The depot itself was a shabby gume filled with rough furniture and a makeshift bar. She walked directly to the largest, most crowded table.

  A bank of curious stares followed them, some openly hostile. Everyone knew that Mira was a crown aristo. Perhaps the only one left alive. That possibility was a knot inside her.

  ‘We want to learn how to use your weapons,’ Mira said.

  Their laughter was vociferous and their dismissiveness offended her hut she kept her expression calm. ‘I nearly died because a man attacked me. What will happen when the Saqr come? I want a chance.’

  ‘And who are you?’ said a big man with a beard and a barrel chest.

  ‘I am Mira Fedor.’

  ‘Aaah, the pilot aristo.’

  ‘It does not matter who I am. What matters is that when you are all dead, your children will be next.’

  The big man slapped his chest. ‘Well, I am Brusce, Mira Fedor, and no ginko’s getting past me to my woman. Besides, giving a rifle to you means one less for a man. I know whose hands I would prefer it in.’

  Mira glanced around the other faces. She saw curiosity in some. The fact that not all of them mirrored Brusce’s arrogance gave her the courage to go on. ‘You should be teaching your women everything you can,’ she said.

  ‘Who are you to be speaking for all these women? You aristos don’t dirty your hands. Your don’t lift a damn finger to do anything.’

  ‘Hear her out,’ said a wiry man to Brusce’s left. ‘I’ve seen her on the work detail.’

  ‘Nothin’ to hear.’ Brusce thrust his finger at the women standing behind her. ‘Now go back to your work and leave us to make the decisions.’

  Some of the young women edged nervously towards the door but Mira did not move. ‘Is that what you have told the mercenary?’ she said. ‘Isn’t she a woman?’

  A few of the men hooted and Brusce waved them quiet. He spat at Mira’s foot. ‘Mercenaries ain’t real women and maybe you’re not one either. Maybe we should find what’s under that fine robe. You’re sure damn skinny for an aristo.’

  Mira trembled. Would he rape her? Would he kill her in front of this crowd? She watched the sweat on his forehead trickle to his eyebrows.

  The silence became a thick, dangerous thing.

  It was broken by the click of boots on the floor. A rifle butt thumped onto the table. Some of the men eased back but the big man stayed where he was.

  ‘What’s your name, cazzone?’

  Rast. Mira felt faint with relief.

  The big man leaned across the table, his fists clenched and threatening. ‘Brusce is my name.’

  ‘What’s the problem, Brusce?’

  ‘This loco aristo bitch wants to teach women to fight.’

  ‘To protect themselves.’ Mira choked the words out.

  ‘That is our job,’ he spat back at her.

  ‘Quiet!’ Rast thumped the rifle on the table again. She eyed Brusce. ‘Have you ever been in a war before, son?’

  The big man rocked the table with his clenched fingers as if he might pick it up and throw it.

  Rast ignored him and sat down at it, one leg hooked over the other, the rifle laid casually across her knee.

  From the corner of her eye Mira saw Catchut climb onto the bar.

  ‘Well, I’ve been in four of them and there’s one thing I’ve learned: there are no rules. When your life is threatened—whether you’re ‘esque or ginko—you’re capable of anything. Fedor here might save your carcass one day and you’d be lucky, because I’d leave you to die,’ said Rast.

  Suddenly she dropped her feet to the floor, lifted her gun and shoved the muzzle into the soft part of Brusce’s neck. ‘Teach the women who want to learn.’

  But Brusce clung to his belligerence. ‘
Piss on you, mercenary. This is our world and we would have defeated these ginko bastards if you had not interfered. You tell us we must wait. Waiting is for cowards and women.’

  Rast’s expression became so hard and so intent that Mira wanted to run from it.

  Without warning she shot Brusce through the neck. His body flopped off his chair to the floor, spouting blood.

  Mira sagged against the woman behind her, appalled. This was worse than seeing the ‘bino who had fallen under the tracks of the barge. Too close. Brusce’s blood was all over her.

  Rast swivelled in a quick, tight arc. ‘Anyone else like to suggest I am a coward?’

  Catchut slipped the cover from his rifle and pointed meaningfully at the crowd. Their gasps told Mira that the gun was no ordinary weapon: around her she heard whispers and grunts of disbelief.

  ‘I’ve said over and over that we need help to fight the Saqr. We wait until it comes. I’m not going to be responsible for a mass slaughter, though Crux knows why I care.’ Rast pointed her rifle at the man closest to her. ‘Now, you prehistoric pricks, teach these women to defend themselves.’

  She grabbed Mira by the arm and strode out, pushing her ahead.

  * * *

  In the shade of the Depot the mercenary rounded on Mira, her fists clenched in frustration. ‘What in Orion’s arsehole did you think you were doing, going in there?’

  ‘Why did you kill him?’ whispered Mira, dazed.

  ‘I mean, what do you think you’re doing? This town is wound tight as a screw and you want to start a cultural revolution.’

  ‘Why did you—?’

  Rast took an impatient breath. ‘I killed him because they need to know that I mean what I say. And because ... he would have raped you to make his point. Men like that can’t let things go.’ She spat on the ground and thrust her blood-spattered rifle at Mira. ‘You still want to learn to use this?’

  For a moment Mira thought Rast meant to shoot her. ‘W-we need a... a chance,’ she stammered. ‘That is all I want.’

  ‘Then make sure you understand what that might mean.’ Rast withdrew the rifle as Cass and Mesquite joined them, one on either side of Mira.