The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  Mira saw no reason to lie but she also saw no reason to tell Rast everything. ‘I’m going to Pell. The Fleet’s been destroyed but one ship is hidden. I will take it to OLOSS to plead for sentientarian help.’

  ‘You’re telling me there’s a way off this dry rock?’

  Mira nodded carefully.

  Rast gave a short, joyous laugh and eased the rifle back onto her lap. ‘Baronessa, it was a fine day, the day we met.’

  Mira couldn’t suppress a shudder as she took back manual control of the AiV. She did not, in any way at all, share Rast’s sentiment.

  They passed no air traffic the rest of the way to Pell, only TerVs carrying Saqr.

  ‘Beats me how Jancz got so many of them in here without anyone noticing,’ said Rast.

  Mira swallowed nervously. ‘Jancz?’

  ‘The ‘esque who joined the Saqr at Ipo. He’s IH, like us. He was my capo in the Stain Wars. Afterwards he went chasing pots of gold in Latino Crux. I didn’t like the fight. I choose my battles but Jancz’s only god is his pocket,’ she said.

  ‘What did he do there?’

  Rast shrugged. ‘Latino Crux was about clan wars, wasn’t it? One of your kind wanting to be dominant. I guess Janez just fought for whoever paid him the most.’

  ‘But why would he bring Saqr here?’

  Rast shrugged again. ‘The only thing you can be sure of is that someone’s paying him to wipe you Cips out.’

  Mira’s guilt throbbed harder than the pain in her arm. How could she have been so naive, so indifferent?

  If she had alerted the Carabinere would the invasion have been thwarted?

  Rast fell into a doze, her head lolling.

  In the back of the AiV Catchut attempted to patch up Latourn’s wounds. Mira caught snatches of his monologue over the thrum of the rotors. Despite having lost most of their team, Catchut was animated by the conflict. How could anyone relish such terror?

  Suddenly Mira yearned for the Studium palazzo and the cool comfort of her room. She yearned to see Faja and drink wine with her. Things that she could never have again.

  Those longings intermingled with something else that had begun to burn deep inside her. With the cold, logical part of her brain she understood why Trin had done what he had. But her being—her self—was outraged and sickened. Mira knew that she was carrying Trin Pellegrini’s ‘bino. And that, one day, she would dance on his regret.

  JO-JO RASTEROVICH

  Jo-Jo was having trouble putting the whole Hera death-contract thing behind him.

  Even though the fop Tekton had stamped the agreement and Jo-Jo had duly disposed of the contract shell, he couldn’t let go of the edginess. He vac’ed the remains just to be sure and then got so drunk that his Health Watch took evasive maneouvres and brought him back from near-coma.

  The edginess was his reward for still being alive. And the thing eating at him was the hunger for revenge. Payback. Vengeance. Retribution. Call it what you like. Jo-Jo was itching to kick fop arse.

  He recognised, despite having a giant hangover, that he had to be clever about it. The contract had been perfectly legal and Tekton lived the life of a protected species on account of his being a god-in-waiting to the Entity. Jo-Jo could not go after Tekton with guns nor would he pay someone else to do the job.

  No, this was personal.

  So Jo-Jo tagged Tekton from Belle-Monde to Scolar and then on to the hick planet called Araldis.

  Jo-Ja parked in one of Dowl’s executive bays and got properly, bad-tempered sober. Then he collated everything he’d learned about Tekton.

  When he got bored reviewing the information he stretched his legs and hung out at the kafebars, listening to gossip. It confirmed most things he already knew and coloured in a few extra pictures. Araldis was run by inbred aristos who couldn’t organise a jar of piss in a tavern.

  Jo-Jo found the best bar tucked in a corner of the station that had a view of the res-shift zone and a pervasive smell of av-oil. He reset his Health Watch to low sensitivity and idled away more hours brooding about Tekton. The fop had played the wrong guy for a sucker. Jo-Jo’s rejuve was in good shape and he was rich enough not to have to do anything but plan.

  Everything he’d dug up on Tekton reeked of privilege. There was the upper-class Lostolian family with over a thousand spare epidermises each in secure store (the average Lostolian tight-skin had three, maybe four). That meant the fop would probably be as long-lived as Jo-Jo himself, barring accidental death.

  Then there was the brilliant academic career as an architect, distinguished by his contributions to the design of the Latour Moons Bridge and various other God-awful constructs. Jo-Jo thought of them as Godawful because he was an old-fashioned guy when it came to messing with the universe. That was the reason he’d become a minerals scout. All that artificial crap on the civilised worlds wasn’t for him. Giant gas formations and meteorite-cratered worlds were his type of architecture—and were what God had intended.

  The frontiers of space were Jo-Jo’s idea of romance and beauty—or they had been. Since actually discovering God, though, he seemed to get a lump in his chest and a pain in his frontal lobe every time he tried to think through the wonders of space. It wasn’t a good pain. Not a ‘Shit-this-is-too-big-to-contemplate’ pain: more like a ‘Something’s-not-right-and-I-can’t-for-the-life-of-me-put-a-finger-on-it’ pain.

  It was as if something was trying to stop him thinking in a certain direction. Jo-Jo wasn’t in the least given to superstition or speculation of the metaphysical kind but his trip to Belle-Monde had become a kind of blur. He remembered the details of being there but not why he’d actually gone there. If he didn’t know better he’d think that substance abuse had finally wreaked its havoc.

  No, he consoled himself, not with my HealthWatch model.

  As Jo-Jo watched shifters resonate in and Out of the station space he pondered the best way to crush a humanesque. Tekton had risked his reputation by using a Hera contract to get what he’d wanted. Then he’d forced Jo-Jo to search out a metal alloy that had the properties of liquid and the strength of steel.

  What for?

  Somehow the fop needed that to better his position on Belle-Mode. If Tekton lost his position, what did he have left? A failed career and shame to take home to Lostol.

  Jo-Jo had already learned that returning to Lostol wasn’t optimal for Tekton. It seemed that the fop had left back there a disgruntled Dean’s daughter who was relying on him to come up big in the godhead stakes to save her pride. Tekton had wedded and bedded her to get to Belle-Monde and everyone knew it. The only way to make that less tawdry was for the fop to be a hit with the Entity—and then all would be well. The Dean’s daughter could justify her choice of husband and Tekton could stay away as long as he damn well liked.

  Tekton had narrowed his options before Jo-Jo had even got started on narrowing them for him. That notion gave Jo-Jo a shiver of excitement. Which got him looking around for a drinking buddy.

  The only other humanesque in the bar was sitting next to a singularly ugly Balol female. It reminded Jo-Jo that his feet still hurt when he went barefoot. Last time he’d walked on a Balol female’s back he’d ripped his tender soles on her spines. This one didn’t look like the back-walking type. In fact, she looked as though she’d as soon rip his feet off than let him walk on her. That kind of turned him on too.

  The humanesque, though, had a different kind of effect on him. He had antagonist stamped all over him—in not-so-obvious ways. Jo-Jo found himself caught somewhere between wary and randy. Ugly could make an ‘esque as damn horny as beauty.

  After a pathetically one-sided struggle Jo-Jo allowed his sexual urge to win and moved along the bar.

  ‘Buy you and your mate a drink?’

  The humanesque gave him a hooded look. ‘My mate might eat you.’

  ‘That’s what I was hoping,’ replied Jo-Jo.

  The humanesque laughed spontaneously. ‘You berthed on that luxury yacht. Fancy gear for someone w
ho drinks in bars alone.’

  ‘‘Salacious II is company enough for most. It’s stationside when a bloke gets lonely.’

  ‘I’ll have blood juice. My shipmate likes OP rum. What business would you be in, then?’

  Jo-Jo spoke to the Table Order before he answered. ‘An easier one than you, my friend.’

  The humanesque gave him a sharp look. ‘How do you reckon that?’

  ‘Your clothes tell me you don’t like to dress up, and the ship you’re in on is known for shuttling mercs. I’d say you’re on your way to a job. Probably Dash or Latino Crux.’

  ‘You’re a smart man...’

  ‘Ivan.’

  The merc laughed at the false name and held his hand out. ‘Jud.’ He took his blood juice to a small table by the window and sat back to watch Jo-Jo woo his companion.

  Later, when Jo-Jo’s Health Watch began to whisper in his ear that his sexual function would be impaired if he imbibed further and the Balol merc had begrudgingly told him her name (‘like, but you may not use it’), Jud rose and bade the pair goodnight.

  Jo-Jo took But-you-may-not-use-it-Ilke back to his room-in and let her walk on him.

  She did it with a vehemence that forced him to raise his endorphin levels to cope with the pain. ‘Outstanding,’ he gasped as she pressed her spines into his buttocks. ‘Truly illuminating.’

  Jo-Jo, an armed intruder has entered shipzone. The quiet mindmessage from Salacious II snapped him out of his ecstasy.

  He shoved But-you-may-not-use-it-Ilke onto the floor and pulled on his clothes.

  She stood up, showing fully flushed arousal and growling menacingly. ‘You do not run out on like.’

  Jo-Jo pulled a revolver from the pocket of his suit. ‘Put your clitoris away, Balol. If you have anything to do with this, I’ll come back for you and rip those charming spines out, one by one.’

  She remained motionless as he backed out of the room, a tiny smile hovering around her false lip.

  * * *

  Salacious II was parked on theta arm in a secure bay for luxury craft. The ship’s port entry was wide open as if someone had left in a hurry.

  Why is the damn door open?

  The intruder damaged a portion of my senses with a virus. I cannot tell what hatches are closed or open, I cannot... I cannot fly. The last sounded like a sob. I am trying to grow new sensors but as you know—

  Yeah, yeah—it takes time. Well, hurry up, you’re buck naked and ready to pluck.

  I fear I may already be plucked.

  Jo-Jo dragged the hatch across manually but could not make it seal. Fuck it. I’m going in to have a look. Where was the main action?

  My subsidiary sensors detected that the den was entered.

  The den! Jo-Jo ran the decks to the heart of his ship.

  A quick scan told him that the room had been searched—not so that it would appear so, but with a singular purpose in mind. He checked his log vault and his credit crystals.

  What else? What could the merc have been after?

  Then he noticed the Carabinere.

  ‘Mr Rasterovich?’ A station-security man stood in the doorway, fidgeting in an officious manner.

  ‘You’re too late. He’s gone. But I know which ship he was on.’

  The Carabinere didn’t move. ‘We have a warrant to search your vessel.’

  Jo-Jo’s jaw dropped. ‘For what?’

  ‘Our information is that you have an undeclared life form aboard.’

  ‘What life form?’ Jo-Jo felt his heart change rhythm.

  The Carabinere glanced out into Salacious II’s corridor.

  Another officer appeared and handed him a sample bag.

  He opened it and waved the contents under Jo-Jo’s nose.

  It smelled and looked like a decayed jellyfish. ‘Uuli.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Place your hands on your head and keep them there until I say otherwise.’

  ‘But you don’t understand,’ said Jo-Jo as the Carabinere pressed a pistol into the small of his back and marched him off Salacious II. ‘I wouldn’t... I couldn’t... I’M ALLERGIC TO THE DAMN THINGS.’

  * * *

  The courtroom on Dowl was a grimy basement in the station’s underbelly. The closed-circuit screens provided most of the light and the only humanesques present were the Latino defence lawmon and the court custodian: a paid witness slept in a corner. The defence lawmon zapped Jo-Jo awake with a laser-pointer.

  ‘All stand for the judge,’ rumbled the custodian.

  At one time, courts had been conducted via uplink but too many proven cases of fakery had occurred and OLOSS had chosen to go back to the old-fashioned face-to-face ways. It saved a fortune in disputed convictions.

  Jo-Jo had prepared his defence using Dowl’s executive-lawmon suite, knowing that its legal-aid wrap would be more than sufficient for anything a circuit judge’s automated prosecutor could deal him.

  He stood, confident and impatient, his mind on the two scores he had to settle. Tekton, and now the unknown mercenary: Jo-Jo Rasterovich planned to live for a long time.

  The ceiling opened and the judge descended into the room in a darkened protective-sealed transparent capsule. He was already seated and shuffling deskfilm.

  ‘Presiding today will be Samuel L. Frattini-Longbok-Speaking-Goh,’ said a disembodied voice.

  Jo-Jo experienced a frisson of shock like a cold hand on his balls. S-samuel L?

  The capsule lit up and the judge fixed Jo-Jo with a neutral stare. ‘Proceed!’

  The court’s auto-pros read the charges.

  ‘Mr Josif-Josif Rasterovich. How plead you?’ said Judge Goh.

  Jo-Jo ran angles as fast as his brain could manage. The lawmon dangling before him in the large capsule just happened to be the same man he had blackmailed to obtain the location of the shape-changing alloy. The blackmail had involved compromising snaps of Samuel L. and his attempt to give cunnilingus to a Balol madam with six orifices.

  Perhaps he won’t recognise me. Perhaps he has recognised me. Perhaps he—

  ‘Speak or be held in contempt.’

  ‘Um... not guilty... Judge Goh.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  Jo-Jo launched into his version of events, letting his wrap dictate the necessary phrases. As he recounted his story, Samuel L’s face remained in a frozen ‘judgely’ expression.

  ‘Have you finished?’

  Jo-Jo nodded. To his consternation, a hint of a smirk twitched the corners of Samuel L’s mouth.

  ‘The OLOSS court finds Josif-Josif Rasterovich guilty of neglecting to declare a Class Three life form, and cruelty to a Class Three sentient species. The penalty for such an offence is two years in confinement. The defendant will serve that sentence on Dowl resonance-shift station without cause for appeal or transfer. Good day.’

  ‘No!’ bellowed Jo-Jo.

  The court witness woke with a start, the newsfilm slipping off his knees.

  Samuel L darkened his capsule as effectively as if he were drawing the curtain on a stage.

  ‘Goh, you fat, dirty prick! You can’t do this to me. I’ll find your wife and tell her about your—’

  The capsule shot upwards into the gap in the ceiling and the hatch snapped shut with a smooth click at the precise time that auto-restraints snaked around Jo-Jo’s neck and ankles and secured him to his chair.

  The court witness got to his feet and stumbled over. ‘Haven’t always worked here,’ he said, conversationally picking his nose. ‘Caretaker for most of my life.’

  Jo-Jo stared at him. What was the dumb fuck on about?

  The court witness patted his head. ‘And for a small fee I can bring you excellent food and women, ersatz or genuine.’

  Jo-Jo strained at his bonds in mounting fury. ‘My ship,’ he demanded. ‘What will happen to my ship?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said the witness with bored assurance. ‘It’s been missing for two days.’

  MIRA

  ‘Cheap,’ said Rast suddenly.
r />   Mira had thought she was still asleep. Indeed, her eyes remained closed.

  Below them smoke snaked from Malocchi’s building along and up the range to the Studium and the Principe’s palazzo.

  ‘This is a cheap invasion. No AiV capacity other than what they commandeered. Basic weapons. Lots of groundwork done, though. All those little accidents beforehand. Distractions. Get the local Carabinere running around stamping out groundfires and they don’t see that the forest’s about to be burned down.’

  Mira didn’t understand the mercenary’s odd analogy. ‘Other than the climate, Araldis would not be a difficult planet to plunder,’ she allowed.

  ‘Yes. One minimalist fleet and a toothless enforcement agency.’

  ‘That is why you were here?’

  Rast gave a mocking salute. ‘Touché, Baronessa. Yes, we hire out as security. Obviously the Principe had cause to worry.’

  Mira returned her attention to the scan. Sprawling out along the bottom of Pell, Dockside looked normal enough. ‘It’s overrun with Saqr, according to what I’ve been told.’ She stopped short of using Trin Pellegrini’s name.

  She felt Rast’s gaze on her. The mercenary sensed that she had been about to say more.

  ‘You look different, Baronessa. Where did you get this AiV? Catchut saw you and Mulravey take some women out of Ipo on a barge. What happened then?’

  ‘We were caught in the dust storm. There are some survivors hiding out among the smaller mines. One of them found us after the storm. We were fortunate, I suppose.’

  ‘Fortunate? Hmm.’ Rast lapsed into a moment’s silence. ‘So who did you kill to be the only one getting off this planet?’

  ‘I-it was agreed. I am the only one who can fly Insignia.’ Again, she avoided mentioning Trin’s name. ‘If she is still intact. If I can get to her.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘The biozoon is not inanimate. Only a fool would treat them as such.’

  ‘If she is intact, I’ll get you to her,’ Rast said grimly. ‘But I want out of here. If you try and blow me off, Baronessa, I’ll kill you. Is that clear? I lost most of my crew and only got part of my payment. I’m not feeling generous.’