Tekton was rewarded with silence while it did as he bid, and he felt a little surge of triumph. Connit had placed a privacy screen on questions about himself. He had not thought to protect himself from a sideways query.
There is no record of such humanesques.
Was Miranda correct, then? Had Labile been incubated illegally? He sat up again and this time he dressed with purpose.
Moud, call me a taxi and then hibernate.
Yes, Godhead.
Tekton put on a comfortable day robe, moisturised his smooth skull and sat down to wait for the taxi. It looked like he would have to find out the old-fashioned way what he wanted to know.
THALES
Politic detention was in a grand Renaissance Redux building adorned with gold-impregnated pilasters and movement-activated uuli hums, and took up an entire block along Gorgias Boulevard. Each detainee—so Thales’s guard informed him—was afforded a sleeping room and an antechamber with a desk and an aspect cube.
Though the surroundings were eminently comfortable, Thales felt the infringement of his liberty as painfully as a fresh scalding. Worse, when he realised that he would have to share his confinement.
As the Brown Robe thrust Thales to the floor and slammed the door, his room companion regarded him with interest.
‘You have trodden on someone’s toes. In fact, I would surmise, their fingers as well,’ the man said.
Thales scowled and climbed to his feet. ‘This is shameful. What sort of city is this where one cannot disagree with one’s wife without being jailed?’ He pounded on the door and continued pounding until his knuckles bled and his voice became hoarse. ‘Release me!’ Rene. Rene!’ he roared.
Then, finally, when it became apparent no one would come he slid to the floor and crouched in a trembling huddle.
The older man poured a glass of coloured water from a china pitcher and brought it to him.
Embarrassed and angry, Thales ignored him at first, but the man was gently insistent.
‘Please. It will not serve you at all to be wretched. Perhaps a civil discussion might lift your spirits?’
Thales took a sip and held it in his mouth, letting the minerals soothe his throat. He stopped short of gargling for, at first glance, the other man seemed most refined and hence out of place in such an establishment. Not only were his manners and demeanour superior, but his bearded face bore the furrows of a man who thought much and had seen more. Not leathery or worn, but erudite. He did not affect the glamour allusions that many scholars favoured and his aquiline nose was untouched by the sculptor’s rod.
Still, Thales was too upset to be gracious. ‘What do you know of discourse? What do you know of me? Your; presumption would suggest... very little.’
The older man did not sigh or take umbrage. He sat down and gestured across a small polished table at another plain leather armchair. ‘You are quite right in that. I know very little other than that it will be more comfortable for you to sit here rather than on the floor.’ He took a small sip from his own glass of stained water and waited.
Something about the man’s mildness stung Thales into recognising his own childishness. He glanced down to his bleeding hand. ‘I sh-should wash first.’
The gentleman nodded.
Thales climbed to his feet and found the washing cubicle next to the vacant bedroom. He hastily rinsed his hands and face and patted his hair into some order. It had come loose from its weave of plaits and fell loosely to his shoulders. The swing of it in the mirror reminded him of Rene and he clamped his lips together.
When he had dried himself he took his seat opposite the gentleman and attempted to adopt an air of reasonable composure.
‘I am Thales Berniere, incarcerated by the Sophos for disagreeing with my wife.’
The man smiled sadly. ‘Even in Scolar I would have thought that would be permitted.’
‘Not when your wife is the daughter of a Sophos Pre-Eminent,’ he said bitterly.
‘Your disagreement was... philosophical in nature?’
Thales blew air from his cheeks. ‘I suppose you could say that, though the nature of it was more encompassing than a simple point of dialogue.’
The man’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. ‘How so, Thales? In a city of such wide and varied philosophy and learning.’
‘Wide and varied Scolar may be, but it is also toothless. Here you may come to learn and preach almost anything but actual decisions are made only by the Sophos Pre-Eminence. And their doctrines are stale and limited. There are no challenges to their practice. Arguments between opposing doctrines are hypocrisy—no more than that.’
‘Would you care to share your own beliefs with me?’
Again, the gentleman’s mildness lulled Thales’s antagonism. He settled back into his chair. Draining his glass, he nursed it against his chest. ‘Currently I am investigating Jainism. I find the upashrayas serene and uncluttered with opulence. They are a fine place to think.’
The gentleman frowned in recall. ‘Jainism? Aaah, yes... eternal, universal truths, spiritual independence and individual equality... non-violence: Ahisma, Satya, Asteya, Brahmacharva, Aparigraha.’
Thales blushed. ‘As you can see, I am far from attaining Moksha. I am at the beginning of my journey but I would never, never use violence on another sentient.’
‘What of the lower life-forms?’
Thales reddened, unsure how to answer.
They sat in silence for some time. When they spoke again it was of generalities, the gentleman enquiring at length about Thales’s upbringing and pastimes.
MIRA
The corduroy texture of Insignia’s outward vision showed the Intel Res-shift Station as a ball-and-flute construction, pirouetting midway between the third and fourth planet of the Tantine system.
You should be in Primo for this shift. I will protect the health of your baby, the biozoon advised.
‘I don’t care,’ Mira said irritably from where she lay on the vein couch. She was constantly nauseous and her limbs felt heavier than they should. Sitting up had become a huge effort, walking almost unthinkable. Insignia said her body was flooded with large amounts of chemicals, which accounted for her symptoms. The knowledge did little to improve her mood.
‘Don’t care about what?’ demanded Rast from the other side of the buccal where she was watching the station’s vase-like structure loom closer. During the last few days the mercenary had taken to spending time in Autonomy where she could get a virtual representation of their position. Mostly she and Mira had ignored each other. ‘You’ve been acting pretty weird, Fedor.’
‘I was speaking to the...’ Mira hesitated before finishing.
‘Yeah, I know—the ‘zoon. They say most of you Inbreds go whacko after a while. You got it coming already.’
Rast was deliberately baiting her. The mercenary was restless from inactivity and there were still a few weeks to Scolar before Mira would contemplate taking the mercenaries to the planet of their choice.
‘Don’t queue for a direct shift. We want to go station-side,’ Rast said.
Mira sat up straighten ‘There is no time for that. Araldis—’
Rast cancelled the virtual feed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. ‘To use your own words, Baronessa, “I don’t care.” I lost most of my team there and never got paid. I hope someone nukes the damn place.’
Mira clenched her fists. Tears of anger sprang to her eyes and blurred her vision. Her tolerance of Rast’s taunting had been exhausted by her own misery. ‘Is it possible that you are truly that shallow? Or perhaps you are not even humanesque?’
Rast’s pale complexion suffused with colour. ‘You calling me a ginko?’
‘I am calling you inhumanesque. It is not the same. Do not assume that aliens do not have principles.’
‘Principles!’ Rast made a choking sound. She slammed her feet to the floor as if she might launch herself across the buccal.
Mira drew her knees to her chest and threw her hands up in
defence.
Her reaction stopped Rast dead. ‘Look, just give us a few hours there. We’re used to ships that need to be worked. The boredom is killing us.’
Mira dropped her hands. ‘Boredom does not kill people.’
Rast shot Mira a penetrating stare. ‘Fedor, I need some physical release. I’d hate to lose it completely and for you to be the only one around.’
Mira’s mouth went dry. Did Rast know what had happened with Trin Pellegrini? Or was the mercenary simply being honest?
Mira, Intel station is requesting our shift plan, said Insignia.
Can I farcast yet?
Not from my relays. You could use the station relay. You will need to convince the stationmaster of your credibility... and need.
Would it be quicker simply to continue on?
Perhaps. However, I need to replenish unsustainable supplies. I was not stocked for this journey.
How will we pay for them?
Insignia paused. Credit would automatically be extended to Latino nobility under flag, but once you have informed them of the invasion they may consider it unwise to allow you to incur a debt that may not be repaid.
Surely they would understand our refugee situation?
Understand, yes. But it is my observation that humanesques are largely motivated by economic concerns.
Mira tried to recall the specifics of biozoon metabolism but the heaviness that dragged at her body had made her mind sluggish as well. Your unsustainable supplies—can you survive until Scolar without them?
Survive? Yes. But it may be uncomfortable.
How so?
I need over three hundred amino acids to avoid degradation of my body tissue. Without them lam unable to generate the normal level of comforts you are accustomed to. For instance, my core temperature may rise, thus affecting my ability to keep the climate suitable.
Anything else?
Should we encounter something unexpected, like unusually high magnetic streams, I may have to use energy reserves that will affect my ability to maintain a suitable atmosphere.
You mean we will not be able to breathe.
While I am alive I can support your needs, as long as you remain in Primo. I can support Secondo for long periods as well. Other passengers, though, may not fare as well.
What do you require?
Insignia began to rattle through a list.
After a few moments Mira interrupted. Tell Intel that we request landing rights and request refugee status.
I am pleased that you have made that choice.
The biozoon’s relief surprised Mira. Had Insignia thought that she would run her deliberately into degradation? You must explain your needs. I am unable to read your physiology in the way that you can read mine.
Yes. I forget sometimes that you are so limited.
The biozoon’s ingenuous manner did not offend Mira in the way that Rast’s did.
The mercenary was standing now, staring at her. Hands on hips. ‘Have you finished communing with the big whale?’
‘Whale?’
Rast sighed. ‘The ‘zoon.’
Mira frowned. ‘Biozoons are infinitely more sophisticated than most animals. I would hesitate before insulting them.’
‘You clearly know shit about whales. What’s your call, Fedor?’
‘We will stop for supplies. That should give you long enough to... relieve yourself.’
Rast nodded. ‘Dandy,’ she said and spun on her heel.
* * *
The Intel Stationmaster kept Mira waiting in the chilled functional corridor outside his office. Though she welcomed the coolness on her overheated body, standing seemed to amplify her nausea. Her limbs felt bloodless and she wondered where she might run if the sickness became too great.
Finally, a small bow-legged humanesque dressed in smooth khaki overalls emerged. His hooked nose was like a hand-fashioned dividing line in his narrow face.
‘Baronessa Fedor?’
‘Si.’
‘Master Landhurst.’ He waved Mira through into an unadorned office but did not invite her to sit. ‘Your reports of your planet are grave but I have not been able to verify them,’ he said.
‘Of course not, Signor Landhurst. Dowl station was overrun by the Saqr. There is no communication in or out,’ she said.
‘Yet you escaped?’
‘The biozoon was well hidden and I am fortunate to have the Innate Talent.’
‘Biozoons are rare enough and highly prized—but women do not have the Talent.’
‘It is not usual, no. But I do have it.’ Mira kept her face composed. Landhurst was trying to intimidate her. ‘And if you are implying that I might have stolen Insignia then you do not understand the biozoon nature.’
‘I assume it has an Autonomous function?’
‘Yes. But I would never usurp that. Not unless...’
‘You had to?’ Landhurst gave a sharp deprecating laugh.
Mira stiffened. ‘The Autonomy function is for protection of the biozoon and its crew. Should the biozoon be hurt or incapacitated in some way, a skilled pilot may take command. But the disabling itself is a cruel measure to be taken only in extreme situations. On Latino Crux the vaqueros liken it to a bosal.’
‘Aaah, yes, I’ve heard that explanation—the bridle that tortures the nerves of the animal it controls. I gather, then, that your situation is not extreme?’
Landhurst twisted her words easily. ‘I... yes... but the biozoon was in agreement that I did not need—’
‘Why are you the only one of your clan on board? Where is your... what do you call your governor?’
‘Our Principe was killed in the invasion. His son is the new Principe. Trinder Pellegrini recognised that I was the only one who could take the biozoon and bring news to OLOSS of this atrocity.’
‘Yet he did not come with you?’
‘He is loyal to his home. He wished to command the survivors, to keep them alive. They have withdrawn to the islands in the hope of evading the Saqr.’
Having to defend Trin to this unpleasant man cost Mira much precious energy. Shadows began to steal over the edge of her vision.
Landhurst noticed her swaying. ‘Sit down, Baronessa. It is not usual for women to faint in my rooms.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘At least, not in my office.’
Mira did not return his smile as she sank onto a hard chair.
Landhurst brushed past her to sit on the edge of his desk. ‘How did you res-shift from the system if the station was overrun?’
‘As you would know, signor, biozoons can calibrate their own shift, unlike ordinary craft which rely on the Station systems. Shifting was not an issue. Being damaged before we could shift was. Dowlspace was chaotic.’
He stared at her. ‘I know a little of your culture, Baronessa. Women are not educated in the functional aspects of space vehicles.’
‘I have degrees in Latino Studies, Orion Literature and Genera. The rest I learned by choice and... discreetly.’
Landhurst looked at her with more interest. ‘Tell me about the Saqr.’
Mira attempted to put her tired thoughts into order. Why did he want so many details? ‘They are tardigrades that have been adapted for land living.’ She returned his intent look. ‘They feed on fluids, Stationmaster. Body fluids. What more would you know about them?’
‘Who brought them to your planet?’
‘No one is sure. I understand your need for information but what I have told you is the truth. I am neither loco nor misguided.’
‘You are travelling with known mercenaries. What would you call that?’
‘They have told me that our Principe employed them. Perhaps he sensed danger for his people. Our own military force is... was limited. The mercenaries lost many of their own but they kept a town of people alive. I judge on what I see, not on what I am told. Our travelling together is a coincidence based on mutual survival.’
Landhurst’s expression hardened. ‘I run one of the busiest shift-stations in Orion, Ba
ronessa. I have heard every story imaginable. I need to be convinced that yours is authentic before I can provide you with the provisions you request and allow you to use our emergency ‘cast. And, frankly, I don’t know that I am.’
Besieged by tiredness, Mira found herself no longer caring about discretion or manners. ‘My sorella is dead. While you search for your authenticity the last of my people are being hunted to death. I have a child there, Master Landhurst. My child.’
He wavered at that. ‘You have left your child behind?’ he asked.
She didn’t attempt to hide her wretchedness. ‘I had no choice.’
Landhurst watched her for a long moment. ‘Very well, Baronessa. You may farcast on our emergency line and I will charge your consumables to OLOSS’s refugee fund. But if it turns out that things are not how you say they are then I have my own methods of redress. I run a profitable business. I do not hold this position because of my compassionate nature.’
‘I have found that compassion is a rare attribute, Master Landhurst,’ said Mira. ‘But decency will do.’
At that, he had the grace to blush.
* * *
When Mira had composed and sent her message to OLOSS, she returned to Insignia, sinking gratefully into the comfort of the Primo vein.
Where are the others?
I cannot locate them precisely but they left shortly after you.
Mira felt a mixture of relief and irritation. She was alone on Insignia—yet they would need to leave as soon as the supplies were loaded. The stationmaster has agreed to provide our requisitions.
Yes. Station Intel has contacted me.
How long before we can shift?
Two station hours if the loading is efficient.
Place us in the shift queue. Please. Mira entertained the idea of leaving without the mercenaries. The likelihood that they would ever meet again seemed slim. And yet they could corroborate her story. If OLOSS were as sceptical as Stationmaster Landhurst she might need their support.
The Sentients of Orion Page 39
