They left the conveyor and walked into the first row. At the forecourt of each building was an exhibitor’s bubble where humanesques and aliens performed samples of the pleasures on offer within. Buyers crowded to each bubble.
Thales wanted to vomit again when he saw the enactments. Latourn was wiping his hands against his side and swallowing, repeatedly.
A humanesque female approached them wearing a stiff rainbow-thread robe not unlike the one that Mira Fedor had worn to greet Sophos Mianos. Her hair was secured under a silver-wire headdress and her face had been lightly sprayed with heavy silver paint that disguised any real expression.
The woman spun slowly around. The back of her body was entirely bare, the edges of the fine clothing sutured to the skin at her sides. A belt slung around her waist carried a sheathed dagger that fitted snugly against the line of her backbone. Her bare flesh was a ghastly mess of raised scars and newly crusted cuts and the backs of her thighs were grazed raw.
She pulled the dagger from its sheath with a practised hand and offered it to Latourn. He took it and fingered the blade.
‘We mustn’t stop,’ whispered Thales, terrified.
But the mercenary was transfixed. ‘Go ahead, then, scholar. I’ll catch you up. Stick to this route,’ he said hoarsely. He unhooked the map from his ear and pushed it against Thales’s chest, shoving him away.
Thales opened his mouth to protest but the words never formed; he was better without the surly man. Instead, he turned and kept walking. Confining his gaze to the view directly ahead, he held the bud to his ear and let the map navigate him through the centre of The Hoes. He did not need protection, he told himself. He had changed.
Whether through luck or destiny no other trader approached him, though he felt the weight of their curious stares.
At the edge of The Hoes the architecture changed with no space or allowance for the transition; wave buildings turned into a layered hive.
The smells were different, too; the spicy musks and florals were replaced by something less salubrious, less hearty. The factories of the Hiejunka were made from grown technology; dirty catoplasma tubes squeezed on top of each other like the inner workings of an insect mound.
The map steered him to bay GG and Thales found himself in front of a modest narrow popped doorfront bearing a medi-lab symbol.
He hesitated before entering, glancing around. None of the factory units had windows. Are they all interconnected? he wondered. A hive of darkness.
The factory unit on one side was much, much larger. A balol lounged against the wall of the other side, picking under its neck frill and inhaling from a small tube. It seemed oblivious to Thales’s presence.
He reached for the door and pushed inward.
A cooling chill and polycoated grey rubber greeted him. He walked to the desk and pressed on the reception pad.
For a long time nothing happened.
Thoughts streamed through his head. Wait for Latourn/press for attendance again/call out/leave/no! He had to get the DNA and return to Edo.
As Thales reached for the pad again, a four-legged figure in mask and overalls scampered out from a doorway behind the desk. He propped his prehensile paws up on the counter and did not offer any introduction.
‘Your DNA profile correlates with our visual scan. Welcome to Junction, Msr Berniere. I have sent a farcast to our associate on Scolar to let him know our deal is in progress.’
Gutnee Paraburd. Thales felt a stab of anger. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It would be good for Mr Paraburd to know that I have received the DNA.’
The lab-rat pressed a paw on the corner of the counter. It sprang open to reveal a small, cold-storage space full of vials and instruments. He selected a capsule and slotted it deftly into a gene gun.
‘Please hold out your arm.’
Thales licked dry lips. What if the naked DNA combined with the bacterium to break down the barrier substance more quickly? What if he did not have as much time as Farr had predicted? Would there be a warning?
He wanted to ask the lab-rat but any questions would arouse suspicion.
I can change.
He pushed up the sleeve of his robe and held his arm out.
‘The other side,’ said .the lab-rat.
Before he could proffer the other arm a commotion broke out.
A moment later the door burst open and a thin well-dressed Lostolian male staggered in supporting a filthy old ‘esque who was naked from the waist down and gasping for breath.
‘I need urgent medical help,’ cried the Lostolian in a commanding tone. ‘This man MUST NOT DIE!’
TEKTON
‘Do you understand? He must not die!’ Tekton repeated himself slowly and with unmistakable vehemence.
A lab-rat in a laboratory uniform of mask and frock coat edged out from behind the counter and hopped around as Tekton dropped Manruben on a chair. The old craftsman’s colouring had turned from chemical- ruddy to an unhealthy shade of white.
‘What is it?’ hissed the lab-rat.
‘Heart failure, I would surmise,’ said Tekton. ‘I believe he has no HealthWatch.’
‘I have a temporary patch,’ said the lab-rat. ‘You want it?’
Tekton stamped his foot and gave him a fierce glare. ‘Are you mentally impaired? Of course I want it!’
The lab-rat blinked and twitched but it didn’t move.
An oddly dressed young man stepped from the corner of the counter into the ensuing silence. ‘I think... what he means is... well... who will pay.’
‘Lucre? Of course!’ Tekton tossed a credit clip at the lab-rat.
The ‘rat ran behind the counter. When the clip verified itself he scuttled back and stickered a HealthWatch patch on Manruben’s chest. ‘Nanites will take a little while. Maybe it’s too late, even. Have some business to attend to now. You should wait outside.’
‘Wait outside?’ Tekton frowned and mustered his most imperious demeanour. ‘Most unlikely.’ He turned on his heel and began to pace the length of the office.
‘Sir, may I say,’ said the young man, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Manruben’s exposed and shrunken manhood, ‘that it is surprising to meet such a cultured gentleman in this... establishment.’
Tekton stopped and looked properly at the young man. Despite the voluminous robe, he was refined in looks and educated in manner. ‘I should say the same to you, young man.’
To Tekton’s astonishment, tears filled the young man’s eyes and he cast the lab-rat a desperate look. ‘I-I c-can’t d-do i-it without knowing!’ he said between chattering teeth.
‘Knowing what?’ Tekton glanced back and forth between them. Then a sense of prescience tingled across his scrotum. What dealings had he interrupted?
Words spurted from the young man’s mouth. ‘Whether the DNA will interact with the bact—’
‘You gotta go,’ insisted the lab-rat, hopping from paw to paw. ‘We got business. Now see! Now!’
Moud, who is this impertinent creature?
The door opened and a scarred balol entered, brandishing a Micro Tavor.
Tekton initiated his Heedless Shadow which shot up from his shoulders like a tossed hat, arming itself as it unfolded. Its kinetic pistol blew the Tavor and the balol’s hand back out the door. The balol went howling after both.
‘I have paid for this temporary HealthWatch and I shall remain here until it works,’ said Tekton calmly.
According to station records, Godhead, this laboratory is a bio-merchant’s distribution office for an OLOSS company. The ‘creature’ is simply a local employee.
Tekton’s scrotum stopped tingling and tightened.
Which company? The top of the chain, moud, not some insignificant subsidiary.
That information will need to be retrieved from the Vreal Studium Byways. It will be charged to your allowance.
Yes, yes, I know that. Just hurry up!
Manruben gave a cough and began to breathe more evenly. Some of his colour had returned and his b
elly rumbled. He reached down between his legs and scratched.
... There are several inexpert attempts to conceal the connections but the original company is called Jis-Ward Inc...
Tekton’s prickling testicular prescience spread into a full-scale body quiver. Who is the Principal?
While the moud continued to hunt records in the Vreal Byways, Manruben began to hawk and spit and then mutter. Finally he sat up. When his eyes were able to focus, he seemed neither surprised nor concerned. ‘Where’s that girlie gone?’ he demanded. ‘I haven’t finished wi’ her.’
‘Sit still, you disgusting bag of bones. I have just paid exorbitantly for temporary HealthWatch which has brought you back from the dead. You will now keep away from women until our business is complete.’
Manruben’s jaw sagged in dismay. ‘You’re a harsh one, Tekkie Godhead.’
‘Godhead?’ said the young man. ‘Does that... mean you are a tyro—from Belle-Monde?’
Tekton inclined his head. ‘I am.’
Good Sole, said Tekton’s moud, it’s Dicter Miranda Seeward.
Aha! Tekton’s minds crowed. Gotcha!
Instructing the Heedless Shadow to target the agitated lab-rat, Tekton drew the young man by the elbow over to the door, out of earshot. ‘And I sense that somehow you have been forced into unfortunate circumstances. Can I be of assistance, perhaps? I have access to the foremost expertise in microbiology.’
The young man held out his hand. ‘Thales Berniere from Scolar. I have been tricked into accepting a job as a bio-courier.’ He lowered his voice. ‘My life has been further complicated by a chance meeting with a man who sought to further exploit my situation.’
‘May I enquire who engaged your services on Scolar?’
‘A man named Gutnee Paraburd from my homeworld. His real name, I have since learned, is Gutnee Fressian and he is a known criminal. He led me to believe that I was bringing back DNA that would be used in the vaccination of influenza. I am not at all sure that is the truth.’
Tekton’s stomach fluttered with excitement. What is dear Miranda up to in her effort to impress Sole? ‘Perhaps it is time for you to find out.’ He reached to the door and flipped the lock. Then he turned purposefully back to the lab-rat who was gnawing the end of the counter in aggravation.
‘What is the true nature of the package that Msr Berniere is about to receive?’
The lab-rat made a high-pitched sound. ‘I’ve ‘casted for station sec. Your arse is about to be dragged out of here.’
Tekton did not quaver. ‘You may have noticed my security float. Not even the OLOSS elite forces would interfere with a gentleman wearing the Heedless Shadow.’
The lab-rat’s whiskers quivered. ‘That’s a Shadow?’
‘Indeed. Would you like another display, or is it safe to assume that your job as a wretched laboratory hack is not worth the risk of a mishap?’
‘Mishap?’
Tekton instructed the pistol to shoot the leg off Manruben’s chair.
The craftsman crashed heavily to the ground, rolling into the middle of the room. ‘Oi! Oi!’ he cried. ‘You be trying to kill a man with fright?’
‘If necessary,’ said Tekton. He was enjoying himself immensely. More so, even, than during his blackmailing of Labile Connit.
The lab-rat had crouched down behind the counter. Tekton could hear him gnawing the catoplasma.
‘Stand and speak,’ he ordered. ‘Or...’
‘Steady, steady,’ the ‘rat said. It popped its head around the corner. ‘You said it. I’m the hack. I just gun the couriers with their payload and go home. Don’t get involved past that.’
Tekton told The Shadow to target the middle of the counter.
The lab-rat spied the pistol realigning and a few moments later Tekton smelled the pungent aroma of urine.
‘I jus’ know the disease targets the orbitofrontal cortex,’ it squeaked.
‘To what purpose?’ Tekton could barely keep the shrill excitement out of his voice.
The lab-rat peeped up and gave him a deprecating look. ‘To affect decision-making, of course. There are some subtleties to it that I don’t get. Haven’t seen it at work yet. Clever, though.’
‘Why would she want to affect decision-making on Scolar?’ mused Tekton aloud.
Thales reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself. His face had drained of all colour. ‘I think I know. But you said “she”. Who is “she”?’
The lab-rat, Thales and Manruben all stared expectantly at Tekton.
TRIN
He should have been relieved, even pleased, that Jilda was alive. Yet each evening as they boarded the flat- yachts to sail to the next island Trin’s irritation grew. At first he had tolerated her joy, was even able to endure her obsessive embraces and fondling. But within days her prattle and her moaning and her needs became the burden they had always been.
She wept too long at the news that Franco was dead.
‘He gave you neither respect nor love and yet you grieve for him?’ Trin dug angrily into the sand, preparing a daytime hollow for them both. This island was larger than previous ones and had a shadowy spread of stunted bushes. Under Semantic’s indifferent glow he had chosen his shade bush furthest from the others. They were curious about his reunion with the Principessa. Too quick to listen and talk among themselves.
‘It would be the same if you had died, mio figlio. You have not always treated me respectfully but a woman loves with her heart, not her mind. Franco was a strong man, Trinder.’
‘And I am not?’
Jilda clasped his hand and patted it in a way that made his stomach churn. ‘You have saved these people. You are destined to be like your father—a leader. But it was hard for you to become that in the shadow of his greatness. It was the right decision to send you to Loisa. He would be proud of you.’
‘Franco would never have been proud of me, madre. I am your child.’
His barb stung her to silence and she huddled disconsolately in the grey dark, a frail, unkempt woman in the tatters of a grand fellalo.
Trin continued to scoop out sand. Dawn was close now and Djeserit still hadn’t returned to the shallows. He had seen little of her during the past few days, as if she was hesitant to come near him since rescuing Jilda.
It was Jilda and her Galiotto servant who recounted their escape from the Palazzo Island. They told Trin how they had been hiding in a backhouse since the Saqr had landed at the Palazzo, living on sea vegetables and molluscs that the Galiotto collected from the tide line under the cover of dark.
When they were alone the Galiotto also told Trin of her meeting with Mira Fedor, and how the mercenaries had killed her brother before her eyes. The girl wept as she remembered the chore of burying him, using shells to dig deep enough into the sand. Her voice became so thick with emotion that Trin could barely understand her. But finally, when she had unburdened the worst of her memories, she sat up straighter and managed a tremulous smile. ‘The Baronessa entrusted a message to me. She said that you must go further south to the Galgos, that the Saqr would not follow you into the water. And scuzzi, Principe. Felicitazione for your bambino!’
Trin was stunned for a moment. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Baronessa Fedor spoke of it. She wanted your madre to know.’
‘How kind of the Baronessa,’ he said softly. ‘And did you pass this news to the Principessa?’
The girl bowed her head. ‘I-I have not. It seemed—’
‘How did it seem, Tina?’ Trin urged.
‘I was not sure if it was true. The Baronessa was distraught. Not in a calm mind.’ The servant trembled, fearing that she had given offence.
Trin put a comforting, collusive hand on her shoulder. ‘You must not speak of this to anyone, Tina. Mira Fedor deserted us and escaped with the mercenaries. It has caused much upset among those who are left.’
Tina Galiotto’s face registered shock. ‘But I thought that the Baronessa had left to bring help for our world.�
�
‘No!’ said Trinder quickly, barely controlling his impulse to shake the girl. ‘That is not so, Tina Galiotto, and do not let me catch you speaking of such things.’
‘Si, Principe.’ She bowed her head. ‘Si.’
* * *
Trin returned to the beach after he had fashioned day-hollows for Jilda and himself, leaving her to be tended by her servant. Djeserit had left them only a small amount of fish and Juno Genarro had taken help to search the lightening shoreline for weed and edible sponges. Trin could see the group now, bent to their task, shaking sand from weed and piling it into makeshift slings.
A small group lingered around Joe Scali as he fussed over the tiny desalinator that Djeserit had brought from the Palazzo. Lack of fresh water was their biggest single fear. If the desalinator broke they would perish.
Trin turned his gaze back the way they had come. The islands were like dark stones on the lighter sea and behind them was the long, unending shadow of the mainland. How he longed for the taste of cooked meat and the mellow flavour of Araldisian wine on his palate. They were simple cravings but profound and they brought with them a surge of disproportionate rage. How long could they keep up this ridiculous flight of bare survival? And Djeserit—she could not continue the gruelling duty of providing food for so many.
He kicked out angrily against the gently slapping water, repeating the action until his legs shook with fatigue and the pain of fury weighed deeply in his chest.
Trin threw himself down then, his face barely clear of the water, his hands gripping deep into the sand against the pull of the tide. It would be easy to drift out of his depth. It would not take long to drown—like all the Ciprianos he was a poor swimmer. Perhaps he should have left with Mira Fedor and taken his child to another place.
‘Trinder?’
Djeserit was there, surfacing alongside him, blowing a gentle exhalation spray from her gills.
Trin rolled on his side to face her. ‘How did you know?’ he said hoarsely. ‘How did you know that I needed you?’
The Sentients of Orion Page 58
