‘She is right,’ said Cass.
‘Si, mercenary,’ said Mesquite.
Rast eyed the three of them angrily. ‘Well, Mira Fedor, I got you your chance. Use it.’ Then, inexplicably, she laughed. She slapped her rifle into its magnetised sheath and strode off.
‘Sure of herself, that one,’ Mesquite said heavily. ‘And brutal with it. I wouldn’t like to sleep nights with her conscience.’
‘When you’ve seen... lived... most things, then conscience fades,’ said Cass wearily, as if she knew from experience.
‘How will the men react to the killing?’ Mira turned to them, sick in her stomach from the blood and the tension.
Mesquite shrugged. ‘They’ll either accept what she said, or they’ll mutiny. Either way we still need to know how to protect ourselves.’
* * *
They began rifle training the next night, Mira and ten young women, with Cass and Mesquite. One of the teachers was the wiry man who had spoken up for her. She knew she should thank him but the words would not come. Gratefulness had deserted her.
In a few days their class grew to thirty.
They also began a nightly women’s meeting, which Mesquite let them hold in her dorm.
‘We should plan for ourselves,’ Mesquite declared at the first meeting. ‘Prepare for the worst and not rely on the men to save us. Cass Mulravey, you have a barge than can carry many?’
‘The mercenary takes it to post her guards,’ replied Cass.
‘And between times?’
‘It sits in the parking bay. My brother and his friend live in it.’
‘Can they be persuaded to serve us when we need it?’
Cass nodded, keeping her gaze averted from Mira; Most knew that it was Cass Mulravey’s brother who had assaulted Mira Fedor.
‘Can he be trusted?’ asked Josefia Genarro.
‘He will do as I tell him,’ Cass said stiffly.
‘Will he truly, Cass Mulravey?’ Josefia turned to Mesquite. ‘And what of our own men? They are likely to harm us before they fight the Saqr. It is unsafe to walk at night—there are too many of them without women and the fear of waiting makes them erratic.’
‘My man is not like that,’ argued Cass.
‘Then he is a rare one,’ muttered an older woman.
Mesquite let their argument run back and forth until the heat left it. Then she took control again. ‘Use your common sense and you will be safe. Stay away from the drunken ones, walk in groups. Mira Fedor knows the mercenary. She can seek help from her.’ Mesquite looked to Mira.
‘Why would Rast listen to me?’ But even as she said the words, Mira knew the answer. Rast had already demonstrated the attraction she felt.
Mesquite did not bother to contradict her. ‘If the Saqr come we must be ready. Collect your things from the dorms if there is time, then go to Mulravey’s barge in groups—in numbers we are stronger, more threatening. Group leaders?’
‘Mira Fedor,’ called Josefia Genarro. ‘She should be one.’
Mira gave Josefia a startled glance. She had not expected such a thing.
‘You, Mesquite,’ said another, older woman.
‘Cass Mulravey.’ Another.
Voices called more names until a vote was cast.
After the meeting dissolved, Mesquite moved among the women, answering their worries, calming them. When they had gone about their business, Mira followed her into the makeshift laundry that was lit only by a small solar torch.
Mesquite began to beat the dust from the clothes. The women’s underliners were heavily stained with red dirt now that there were no soaps or sterilisers left.
‘You share little about your past, Mesquite, but you think for everyone. Where are you from?’ Mira asked.
‘What might that mean, Baronessa?’
‘The way you speak, your appearance... is it possible that you have ties to the familia?’
In the torchlight Mesquite’s face was sombre. She stopped beating the clothes. ‘I have a feeling it is not long now, Mira. The Saqr will find a way to get to us soon, and the women will need you to get them through this. Cass Mulravey is strong, but she has ties and customs that blind her. You can make her see things. She will let you make her see things.’
‘What about you?’
Mesquite fumbled inside her clothes for her tobacco. She deftly rolled a smoke and lit it. The acrid smell filled Mira’s lungs. ‘I cannot see my future but I know about yours.’
‘Who are you, Mesquite, that you can read my future?’ Mira laughed.
Mesquite sighed heavily. ‘A person who pays daily for the sins of her ancestors.’ She inhaled deeply, then let the roll-up hang from her lip. The smoke curled up into her dark hair. ‘When it happens, you run. I will hoard a little food in Cass’s barge but there is not much to spare. You take as many of the women from this dorm as you can—and get out. Go to the Pablo mines south of Pellegrini B.’
‘Why there?’
‘Provisions have been made for this kind of... occurrence.’ Mesquite hesitated as if she might share something more but the moment passed. She turned and began hanging more liners out. ‘You must accept this and trust me.’
More questions sprang to Mira’s lips but in the end Mesquite’s steadfast self-possession silenced them all.
* * *
That night Mira went to the town salon to see Rast.
Catchut patted her down against the wall in the large room they had first been taken to.
Mira stood stiff against the contact, wishing it to be over.
‘Nothing on you, but what about in you?’ Catchut’s smile was cruel.
Acid rose in Mira’s throat—what did the mercenary mean? She took quick nervous sideways steps until she knocked into something—the weapon that had so intimidated the miners.
Catchut pounced on her, rescuing it from falling.
‘What is it?’ asked Mira. ‘Why were they so scared of one rifle?’
Catchut moved the rifle to the table, placing it carefully in the middle. He raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘You aristos don’t get out much, do you?’
Mira thought he might even laugh but the hint of humour died as his stare rested on the covered rifle.
‘GRG. Gamma-ray. Best you go and see the Capo. Save your questions for her.’
Rast was in a smaller room that she was using for sleeping. She wore a soft grey underliner that showed the lines of her hardened muscles. Her combat hood and protecsuit were next to her feet.
Like Mira, her possessions were few—a spare underliner, some personal effects and a tube of cleaning gel. Parts of her rifle were spread across a low bureau in precise order. She selected a part and squeezed a small trail of gel onto it. ‘How fare the warrior gentry?’
Mira ignored the sarcasm. She leaned wearily against the door—she’d worked in the hydro tents through the day and had taken her rostered turn in the laundry. Clothes were becoming a problem. Some of the liners in the protecsuits needed replacing and the familia who wore fellalas needed the skins repaired.
Rast saw her fatigue. ‘I hear you’ve been getting your hands dirty, Baronessa’ she said. ‘You want to watch out, you’ll be getting a reputation.’
‘I suppose you would know about that,’ Mira countered.
Silence fell between them, which Rast showed no interest in breaking. She carried on methodically cleaning her weapon.
Mira straightened her back and took a deep breath. ‘I have come to ask you for guards on the dorms. The women are no longer safe.’
‘Safe?’ Rast’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. ‘Can’t do, Baronessa. I only have twenty people here that I can trust and I can’t spare them to babysit.’
‘Bodies are turning up around the town every morning. There won’t be anything left for the Saqr—we’re killing ourselves.’
Rast’s expression became unreadable. ‘It happens like that. But we need to wait.’
‘For who? What help will come here?’
&n
bsp; Rast seemed about to answer but instead she put down a rifle part and came over to Mira. She ran a hand down Mira’s arm. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘We all have,’ Mira retorted, edging back.
‘You look more real every day.’
‘Real?’ asked Mira, puzzled.
‘I like the look of you here... and here...’ Rast leaned over and caressed Mira’s neck.
Mira stood absolutely still, like a hunted animal. ‘The men think you are weak. They will do something whether you like it or not.’
Rast dropped her hand to her side. ‘The Saqr don’t fall down dead in front of ancient .44 Winchesters and electromagnetic pistols, Baronessa. Their skin is too tough.’
‘What about your fancy rifle that everyone is frightened of?’
‘Even with that we will be butchered if we fight them now.’
‘The miners don’t think so.’
‘What do you think, Mira Fedor?’ Rast asked softly. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that made Mira want to curl up.
‘I think we may starve to death. But before that we will kill each other. We are living on a diet of kranse and quark eggs. The high protein will send us all loco in the end anyway.’
‘As I’ve said at the town meetings, I have scouts out. One of them, Latourn, has just located some surviving Carabinere. They will be here within days to assist us. If they can launch a counter-attack we shall stand a better chance.’
‘And if not, one night you and yours will just disappear and leave us to our fate.’
Rast suddenly looked tired. She rubbed her eyes. ‘I can’t save all these people, Fedor. Not without help. But if I can save my crew, I will.’
‘We have assailant craft on Mount Pell. If I could somehow get these I could come back here and assist you to break the impasse with an air attack.’
Rast gave a humourless grin. ‘And what would your experience of this sort of thing be, Baronessa? A handful of virtual hours on a simulation programme? How do you think you might survive a journey to Pell? Do you think the Fleet is still intact? And if, by some miracle, you succeeded and got to them, would you come back? Wouldn’t it be easier to just disappear?’
‘I would never do that. Even a woman has honour.’
‘Even a woman?’ Rast narrowed her eyes. ‘You might have made a soldier—but you would be a terrible mercenary.’
Mira straightened her shoulders. ‘And you would disappoint as a Baronessa.’
Rast belly-laughed until her hood began to beep. She picked it up and slipped it on. ‘Yeah.’
‘Capo. An AiV’s just flown in on the north-side perimeter. I think you should see who is in it.’ Mira heard the voice as clearly as if she was wearing the hood herself.
Rast jumped to her feet, pulling her protecsuit on. ‘No, you can’t have a guard. Now get yourself back to the dorms.’
Mira reacted to being dismissed. ‘If it is to do with the Saqr maybe I can help?’
Surprisingly, Rast didn’t argue. ‘Sure. If you keep up,’ she said as she closed up her hood.
By the time Mira had sealed her velum and followed her from the building, Rast was reversing her TerV. Mira scrambled into the passenger seat as the mercenary leader started to weave between pedestrians before heading quickly to the northern perimeter.
Within moments Mira could feel the heat burning her skin even through the TerV’s canopy. Her eye- display told her that her fellala needed re-skinning.
She would not be the only one with such a problem. And she had heard that the melanin boosters were running out as well. How long before people started dying from heatstroke?
‘Are you sick, Baronessa?’ Rast had pulled the TerV alongside the northern guard post and was staring at her.
‘I’m due for a melanin booster.’
Rast took out her ‘scope and trained it on the AiV that had landed some mesurs back on the other side of the laser fence. ‘Well, I got some bad news for you there.’
Mira nodded. ‘They are finished?’
‘Yep.’ Rast tapped the focus toggle. After a moment of intense scrutiny she swore in cold, hard words that brought more heat to Mira’s body.
‘What is it?’
Rast brushed her arm as she handed her the ‘scope. ‘See the ‘esques? There’s only one reason for them to be here.’
Mira placed the ‘scope to her eyes, altering the focus. Her hands shook so much that the mechanism struggled to compensate. She braced herself against the door of the TerV and reset the eyepiece. ‘What reason is that?’
‘Killing.’
Mira swept the scope along the figures standing on the other side of the fence near a recently landed AiV—a dozen Saqr and two humanesques.
Jancz and Ilke.
TRIN
‘Where would you have us go, Don Pellegrini? If Christian Montforte and Jus Malocchi are dead then what of Franco? Is it likely that you are now the Principe?’
The question came through the shortcast from Juno Genarro who was piloting the AiV that hovered on Trin’s right wing. Trin sensed he was asking it for the benefit of the other Carabinere listening in.
Trin did not hesitate—he could not, if he were to take the lead. ‘It is very likely,’ he said gravely.
Are you dead, papa? He did not stop to probe his own feelings—they were too tangled. But he knew where they should go. ‘My tia Marchella has stockpiled her mine with food. Pablo also has many subsidiary tunnels. We can withdraw underground to the south if necessary.’ His voice sounded confident even though his mind was skittering through a thousand possible tragedies.
‘What about the Fleet?’ someone asked. ‘You are Pilot First. We could use the Fleet’s weapons to rid ourselves of these creatures.’
A strangling sensation rose in Trin. He would never admit to these men that he could not command the Fleet, that he was unable to fly the Insignia because its systems were too intuitive for him. ‘If this invasion has been well planned then the Fleet will be gone: destroyed or sequestered. We could scout the Fleet base but it
would be time wasted when we have injured who need medic. The Pablo mine will contain much of what we will need.’
Voices crowded the shortcast, trading opinions.
Trin let them debate for a few minutes before he cut across their talk. ‘It will be this way. Juno Genarro will take one craft to Dockside to see if the Fleet survives. I will lead the others to the Pablo mine.’
There were no objections to his decision. Trin felt energised: these men were listening to him.
Genarro immediately altered his direction to Dockside while the three remaining AiVs set their course south, for Pablo.
They flew for several hours across the great red plains, spotting only occasional burned-out ground vehicles among the dust swirls and quivering mirages.
Trin switched to autopilot and made a show for his Carabinere passengers of closing his eyes, though his thoughts rebounded between Djeserit, the fate of his papa, and the extent of his resources. Four AiVs and forty-five men—three injured—did not make an army. Are you dead, papa?
‘Principe?’ Seb Malocchi roused him from his reverie. He gestured below.
Trin glanced out of his window. They had reached the beginning of the iron dunes outside Loisa where rocks jutted like rows of broken red teeth. ‘Si?’
‘Our visual scans are showing a TerV on one of the dunes. They are signalling for our help.’
‘Search the lower frequencies.’
Seb sent his scanner flicking until he located an ‘esque voice.
‘—ed assistance. Repeat. Need assistance.’
Trin toggled the shortcast. ‘This is the Araldis Carabinere. Identify yourself.’
‘Thank fuck,’ the voice said in a muffled aside. ‘It’s the Carabinere.’ Then louder. ‘My name is Latourn. I’ve been sent from Ipo to scout for help. The Saqr have surrounded the town. We got over three thousand ‘esques trapped there. We’ve rigged a laser fence around from the town’s power c
ells and a team of eighteen IH are holding everything together. How many men do you have? Do you have weapons?’
Interstellar Hire. ‘What are IH doing on Araldis?’ Trin demanded.
‘The Principe hired us. We arrived a bare week ago.’
Trin sensed the men behind him glancing at each other. ‘I know nothing of this,’ he said.
‘Can’t help that, mate,’ said Latourn dryly. ‘Can you help us?’
‘What do you propose?’
‘Our Capo wants a distraction coming from behind them. She reckons we can get most out that way. Needs to be coordinated through her, though. We’ve got combat- com and one GRG. Things are getting desperate, though: food is short. The miners are fixing for a bloodbath, which wouldn’t be so bad—if the town wasn’t full of women and bambini.’
‘She?’
‘Our Capo is Rast Randall. Best IH in the business,’ he added.
Trin took a moment to think. Why had papa hired mercenaries? Had he suspected that danger was imminent? ‘We must collect some resources at one of our mines and then we will hasten to Ipo. Stay on this frequency. Give us two days.’
‘The quicker the better—I’ll tell the Capo that the cavalry are coming.’
‘Carabinere.’ Trin corrected Latourn humourlessly, and signed off.
* * *
They continued south but this time Trin returned to manual flight to distract himself from his hunger pains and his fears. Djeserit had not uttered a sound since Pell and he fought his compulsion to glance anxiously at her. Hovering over a ginko was not the way to keep the respect of these men he was leading.
As they descended towards the Pablo site, they flew over the giant excavation machinery at Pellegrini B, which stood inert and abandoned: vari-loaders, scrapers, and haulers, their paint blistering under the sun. Many, dust blowing from their half-full buckets, looked as if their operation had been suspended mid-action.
‘Looks like everyone’s deserted, Principe,’ said Seb Malocchi.
A sensation of unease grew inside Trin. Was he the only one who knew of Pablo’s food and medic stores?
The Sentients of Orion Page 25
