The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  Mira drank and ate and went through the simple routine of calisthenics she’d adopted to combat the inactivity caused by her confinement. After that, she attempted the meditation exercise Thales Berniere had explained to her. At first her mind wandered, but she persisted until she gained some respite from the turmoil of questions and worries that plagued her waking moments.

  Afterwards she ate again and slept, to be woken by another visit from the Siphonophores. This time they congregated around her bed, saying nothing, doing nothing that she could perceive.

  Then as quickly as they appeared, they left.

  Wanton-poda floated down from a high corner of her cell, descending until its fringe brushed her chest. It had never been this close to her face before.

  She sensed its distress. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Mira-fedor’s baby is to be removed. Wanton-poda has been directed to do it.’

  Mira sat up so quickly that Wanton-poda was forced to slide down onto her lap. ‘Why would they order that?’

  ‘There is evidence that this is the optimum time to study the development of the Innate gene; optimum time to modify it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mira hollowly. ‘Of course that’s what they want.’ She felt a deep welling of bitterness. ‘It’s what everyone wants.’ She stared down at the cephalopod. ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘Wanton-poda suggests Mira-fedor accompany it to a safer place.’

  Mira’s eyes widened. ‘You’re saying we should escape?’

  ‘Mira-fedor should eat and drink in readiness for a journey. Timing is crucial.’

  Hope glimmered alive inside her. Insignia.

  Her thought was rewarded with the faintest of tugs, yet something more palpable than before. She sprang from her bed and ate food cubes from the tray.

  Wanton-poda hovered around her, waiting. ‘In a moment, when Wanton-poda disintegrates the containment wall you must not speak again, even if directly addressed. You may not say a word until Wanton-poda uses the words “Mira-fedor, you are safe.’“

  Mira nodded. ‘Is there anything else I should know? How should I behave?’

  ‘It will be assumed you are a Host body that has not yet fully integrated with its Post-Species and cannot talk.’

  Mira stared at Wanton-poda in shock. ‘You mean hosts are sometimes humanesques?’

  ‘Accurate,’ said Wanton-poda. It spun away from her, passing through the transparent field a number of times in quick succession until the field flickered and disappeared, and she was trapped in silence, unable to get more information about the terrifying thing she had just learned.

  Extropists with humanesque bodies. She had no idea. And neither, she was sure, did the rest of the Orion.

  Wanton-poda had settled into a hovering position an arm’s length in front of her and at shoulder height. ‘Follow behind,’ it said.

  They left the laboratory through a spongy door similar to the walls of her confinement cell, and stepped directly out into brilliant sunshine and a warm, light breeze.

  Mira took a deep, deep breath and blinked repeatedly. All her senses told her that she was standing on the shore of a small island gazing at a string of tiny atolls in a sunrise-dappled ocean. She glanced behind. There was no evidence of the door they had come through.

  Turning back, she surveyed the vista again: sun, water and a myriad of islands so like the Tourmalines. But unlike the scantly inhabited waters of her home, this sea brimmed with creatures, floating around her, and across the waves, and in the waves, all moving at abnormal speeds. Hundreds of different varieties of water species.

  Something scratched at her toes. She looked down as a starfish-shaped creature with twenty or more tentacles lifted its body up and crawled across her bare foot. Splashing water dragged her attention back to the ocean. A crab emerged from the waves, taller than her and with a black shiny carapace, dragging one huge heavy pincer.

  A tumble of questions threatened to escape her lips so she kept them firmly closed, bottling her curiosity.

  Wanton-poda moved directly forward and she followed it down the sand to the water’s edge, revelling in the feel of the warm sand under her feet. But when the cephalopod floated out over the water, she baulked.

  It returned and circled her several times before proceeding back out over the water.

  She shook her head. Had the creature forgotten she couldn’t float?

  It returned again. This time it positioned itself behind her. Without warning it brushed its fringe against her neck. The sting caused her to jump forward away from it.

  It stung her again.

  She jumped away from it again, biting her lip to keep from exclaiming aloud. This time though, the water lapped around her feet.

  Or not quite.

  Tentatively she took another step.

  Instead of walking from the sand and into the water, she found she was a tiny distance above it. On a cushion of air? Or perhaps the water wasn’t real?

  She stopped and knelt down and dipped her fingers into the rolling waves. They felt real—wet and tingling, and the scent of salt and the moisture on her skin. It had to be real.

  Wanton-poda returned to her and made an irritated sound.

  A large fish lifted its head from the water and turned a large silver eye on them.

  Mira felt a disturbance of the air around her, as if it were vibrating.

  Wanton-poda began to bob.

  ‘Is there a problem with this Host?’ the fish asked.

  ‘Highness Most Capable of Cultivation is escorting the humanesque shell to Symbiosis Revival. There are some anomalies. It has no speech,’ said Wanton-poda more calmly than she expected.

  ‘The Host shell may need to be destroyed. Some don’t revive. My own has been replaced several times in this form. But I chose carefully this time.’

  Destroy the Host shell. Mira tried not to look disturbed. If she appeared too aberrant she would attract more attention.

  ‘Most Excellent Host,’ said Wanton-poda as a kind of farewell salutation.

  ‘Most Excellent Host to you as well, cephalopod,’ replied the fish.

  Wanton-poda circled behind Mira and stung her until she stood and continued on.

  She kept her eyes downcast after that. The fish had sounded mocking, condescending even, but she knew it could be dangerous to judge Post-Species by her own humanesque values.

  They continued their walk across the water for some time—much further than she should have been able to go without tiring. She assumed this was because of the lack of friction and a sense of lighter gravity.

  They traversed one large, flat island that appeared bare of vegetation, its only discerning characteristic round indentations spaced at regular intervals, in lines, in the sand.

  Instinctively she avoided stepping near them, and something deep-seated urged her to move on quickly, away from them. But Wanton-poda seemed distracted by the sight of them. It fluttered down from time to time for closer observation.

  As they crossed the island and passed down towards the sea again, it floated lower to observe the last line of depressions. The sand in one of the indentations began to shift and the Extro wafted back out of the way. A pearly-coloured orb the size of a humanesque’s head erupted from the shallow hole. The skin of the orb bubbled and contorted for a few moments until it tore open. Thin feelers poked through, followed by larger, thicker ones with bulbous ends.

  Mira’s heart gave a terrified leap as one of the bulbs peeled back to reveal a moist maw.

  Saqr. Smaller than the ones on Araldis but unmistakable.

  She trapped the scream in her throat and ran out onto the water. Wanton-poda accelerated to put itself in front of her and they travelled for a while at a higher speed as if it comprehended her need to get away.

  After they’d passed several more islands that showed no sign of the Saqr, her fear began to subside and was replaced by aching in her feet and knees. Her dry mouth told her she needed fluids.

  She coughed
to attract Wanton-poda’s attention.

  It swirled and spun a full circle around her, coming to hover in front of her face.

  She swallowed and licked her lips, signalling her thirst.

  Its ear flaps shot up in a way that she was coming to recognise as alertness. Though they stood on the water between islands, it changed direction heading for the closest one. When they reached it, Wanton-poda floated straight up the beach and disappeared into a thick grove of palm trees.

  Mira baulked before the trees, sending a cluster of small red crabs scuttling away from her around her shuffling feet. Spines, almost as long as Mira herself, protruded from the palms’ stems.

  She could not see a way past them.

  Wanton-poda reappeared after a time. ‘We will return to functional space for refreshments,’ it said in a neutral tone.

  It re-entered the tree line, passing straight through the criss-cross of spines.

  Mira took a deep, shaky breath. Despite the fact that she had just walked across water, her mind would not be convinced that the spines in front of her were anything other than totally real. Even in her interface with Insignia, she had never felt so at odds with her perception.

  She took a step closer, positioning herself in the exact spot that Wanton-poda had entered. The red crabs reassembled and began crawling over her feet to enter the same space at sand level. One by one they disappeared from her view like ants vanishing inside their nest. Tentatively she reached out her hand and encountered the sharp prick of the spine.

  She recoiled and sucked her finger. Perhaps the exit to the functional space that Wanton-poda referred to was narrow or oddly shaped. She knelt down and then lay on her belly. With small, careful movements she began to crawl in under the line of the bottom spine.

  ‘How rude!’ protested a voice near her ear.

  She turned her head sideways to locate it and a crab claw slapped her across the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Wait your turn,’ said the crab.

  It climbed over her head, and by the time she dared to look up it had gone.

  Avoiding contact with the small creatures congregating around and behind her, she crawled slowly after the crab and found herself suddenly in a tissue-walled room similar to her confinement cell, only this one appeared open-ended, leading into further cells.

  Not really cells, she thought, as she dusted sand from her clothes and stood up. More like fleshy caves. An endless, almost featureless cave system.

  She looked down expecting to see the sand she had brushed off, fallen to the floor. But it simply no longer existed.

  ‘Mira-fedor will take refreshments now.’ Wanton-poda hovered off to her right near one of the pearly walls.

  Mira nodded and moved cautiously closer, the way she had approached the spine-laden palm. Wanton-poda propelled itself directly into the wall but did not bounce off as Mira had when trying to break out of her confinement. Instead, the wall enveloped the Extro, leaving only a small opaque mass where it had entered.

  Mira heard a soft pop. An arm’s length from the Wanton-poda mass, the tissue wall rippled and a crab popped out onto the floor.

  It raised its claw. ‘You again,’ it muttered in a less than impressed tone. It scuttled wide of her and off deeper into the caves.

  Something bumped into her back. ‘Hurry up! You’re slowing everything down.’

  She half-turned, and encountered the oddest-looking creature. It had the head, wet eyes and whiskers of a sea mammal but its torso tapered into humanesque- shaped legs with webbed feet.

  Biting her lip, she faced the wall and stepped into it. There was no resistance this time, in fact, quite the opposite. It seemed to suck her forward.

  She automatically closed her eyes and held her breath until she could no longer. Then she let it go and gulped. To her surprise, she was able to breathe normally. She felt like she was lying on a cushion of air—no sense of pressure or verticality. Only a mild, cool sensation as if someone was wiping her skin with a damp cloth.

  With each wipe her aches and fatigue lessened. Even her thirst vanished. Energy filled her body as it had not done since before the invasion on Araldis.

  And then... she was pushed back out into the cave, stumbling to catch her balance.

  Wanton-poda spun agitatedly nearby, waiting.

  She opened her mouth to tell the Extro how wonderful she felt and to ask what exactly had happened, but then noticed a group of Siphonophores floating near the far wall. They propelled themselves across the cave on their undulating, suckered feet until they surrounded Wanton-poda.

  Mira’s heart contracted in fear as they began to bully the little cephalopod as they had in the lab, converging on it with their stingers.

  Wanton-poda squealed in pain.

  An ungovernable rage rose in Mira, as it had before. She threw herself among them, raking at their jellylike skins with her fingernails; then slapping and punching at their swaying jelly bodies.

  They returned her attack by curling their stinging tentacles around her arms.

  But her anger had found a release that seemed to nullify the fear—or distance it at least.

  Or was it something else that lent her strength and fury? Deep within her she felt a cold rush of adrenalin, and then a small but distinctive movement in her belly.

  Child?

  She grabbed some of a Siphonophore’s tentacles and rent them apart. They tore easily, like, worn cloth, and the creature pulsed black ink from its sac in a wide arc.

  The squealing intensified: not all Wanton-poda’s any more. And not just sounds of pain. Voices joined in; a cacophony of them, calling for her to be stopped.

  The rest of the Siphonophores retreated, leaving her with the cephalopod and the remains of the torn Extro in her hands. Her hands and shift were stained with ink.

  Other small creatures gathered around them, popping out of the walls or entering from other places, curious and shocked.

  ‘Mira-fedor.’ Wanton-poda’s voice projection was barely a whisper. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘They were hurting you,’ Mira said hoarsely. ‘And I... I...’ She couldn’t finish because she didn’t know what she’d done. ‘Th-the child moved.’ She cupped her belly. ‘And...’

  ‘Mira-fedor must leave quickly,’ said Wanton-poda, ‘or she will be punished.’ It hovered low near her shoulder. ‘Mira-fedor and Wanton-poda must go into the Bare World.’

  JO-JO RASTEROVICH

  Jo-Jo woke flailing and shouting from the worst of overheated, dehydrated alcohol dreams. He’d been in the mud crawling along between Rast Randall and her Capo and ahead of the balol like. Rast silently signalled an enemy sighting and rolled sideways under some thick reed. Jo-Jo threw himself in the other direction, colliding with the Capo. The pair grappled with each other to be the first to reach the cover of a fallen tree.

  ‘Get yer own,’ whispered the Capo.

  Jo-Jo was so close to the man that his spit made him blink. So close that he could see every minute detail of the Capo’s face beneath the layer of grime. So close...

  ‘Wait!’ Jo-Jo sat upright. ‘I know who you...’

  ‘Shut the fuck up or they’ll hear you,’ the Capo hissed. He raised his fist to club Jo-Jo but Jo-Jo warded him off with his forearm.

  ‘I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!’ he shouted. ‘I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!’

  And he did.

  And then the sleep dropped away and he found himself sitting upright in bed, shaking and still shouting the words.

  He dragged himself straight into the wash cubicle and sat there until the tremors subsided.

  It gave him time to sort his brain out—think over things.

  He was on a half-crazy, pining ‘zoon travelling though Extro space with a bunch of self-serving, edgy mercs.

  Something new. Think, harder.

  Rast Randall had strong feelings for Mira Fedor. Maybe as strong as his. That meant she must be feeling guilty as hell about losing Fedor. And worried. Jo-Jo could use that, and to a degre
e, he could trust it.

  Slightly cheered, he went to the medi-lab and connected himself up to an IV of electrolytes. When the drip ran out he moved on to the cucina and forced himself to eat some bread and dried meat.

  Better.

  But the effort of the walk he then took up to the buccal almost had him vomiting up the food. And the shaking was back—though not as bad.

  This time when he sank his fist into the pucker it opened.

  Rast was reclining in the sink they called Secondo. She didn’t appear surprised to see him but her hand drifted to the weapon on her lap.

  ‘Let’s talk,’ said Jo-Jo.

  She sat more upright at that, eyes narrow and suspicious. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Tell me the situation out there.’ He lifted his head to indicate outside.

  Rast chewed her lip before replying. ‘From what I can tell we’re heading to the outer reaches of Saiph. ‘Zoon’s sticking close to a bunch of freighters. Think it’s trying to muddy up its signatures.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘Lots of activity around the system, especially back near Rho Junction. My Extro space nav isn’t exactly sharp though.’

  “Zoon’s got a connection with the Baronessa—maybe it knows where she is,’ said Jo-Jo.

  ‘I’m banking on it. And on the fact that it’ll let us do our thing when the time comes.’

  What’s your thing? Jo-Jo wanted to shout at the merc. Desert two vulnerable women? But he bit the words back. He needed information and commitment. He wouldn’t get that from the likes of Rast Randall by being antagonistic.

  His legs began to tremble, forcing him to sit down on the edge of the Autonomy nub.

  ‘Looks like you’ve just trashed a kidney and a liver,’ observed Rast.

  ‘Gotta get my HealthWatch upgraded. Forgotten what a real hangover was like.’ That was true. Jo-Jo had never felt this bad from drink before.

  ‘Yeah. Never know what you might pick up—the places you frequent.’

  Jo-Jo hunched, not seeing the lighter side. ‘I’ve been thinking over some stuff. Strikes me there’s a lot of things that seem connected that shouldn’t be and I’m wondering why.’