Tekton shrugged. He detested Lamins, but a guide would be useful in this instance.
Surprisingly, the Lamin took him upwards, towards the surface, not deeper into the planet-station as he’d anticipated. Leaving the central lift shaft, they found a taxi that took them across the dock bridge and through a channel in the thick wall of twisted metal. Although the taxi appeared to stay level, Tekton experienced the sensation of ascent.
His curiosity forced him to talk to the Lamin. ‘I had thought the docks to be the highest level of Edo?’
The creature gave a smug smile. ‘Commander Farr resides on the surface of Edo.’
‘The surface? But there is no surface,’ objected Tekton. ‘The whole planet is a mound of floating rubbish.’
‘The Commander’s habitat is... fluid.’
‘Fluid? What in Sole’s tube does that mean?’ Tekton became irritated. Lamins were obtuse at best, and altogether too arrogant for a race of tedious bureaucrats.
‘You will see soon, visiting-Lostol.’
Visiting-Lostol! Tekton had an urge to smack the annoying creature across the face but thought better of it in case he tore his skin on its coarse facial hair. Lamins were known for their proclivity for diseases.
He settled for a look of crushing disdain.
Before the Lamin could further bother him, the taxi slowed to a halt outside a large hatch, big enough to have belonged to the hold of a deep spaceship. The hatch had been fitted arbitrarily into a wall of interwoven scrap, telltale trails of welding slag securing it in place.
The Lamin tapped along a section of the wall with its ridiculous nails.
The hatch popped open with a frightening sucking noise. Tekton felt a rush of wind and cold. He gasped against it and a sense of oxygen depletion.
‘Fr-ree-ezing,’ he chattered.
The Lamin’s fur stood on end against the cold, and it gave another smug smile. ‘Commander Farr likes to be reminded of the outside. The environment is within humanesque endurance limits, and the chapel itself is comfortable. Or would you prefer to return to the dock and await your departure?’
Tekton clamped his teeth together to control them. He would not let the Lamin intimidate him. He snatched the simple nose-mask it proffered and stepped through the hatch, head held high.
His next gasp was one of pure fear. The rubber collar on the other side of the hatch attached directly onto a long and fragile suspension walkway. In fact suspension, thought Tekton, was description overkill. The bridge appeared to be floating free in a void that was circled by a number of floating metal constructions.
The Lamin stepped nonchalantly onto the bridge and glanced back over its shoulder. The only sign of discomfort from the wind and cold was the shiny discharge from its tri-part nose. It licked that away.
‘Are you coming, Lostol-Tekton? I cannot activate the bridge until you are on.’
Tekton forced himself to move forward, but could not stop himself from staring down. Jagged objects floated in the deep abyss below, which was periodically lit up by the flash of something silver.
‘W-what is making that 1-light?’ he demanded in shrill, stuttering tones.
‘Your moud’s guest protocol will tell you,’ said the Lamin, over its shoulder. It trotted on ahead, causing the bridge to undulate unnervingly.
Tekton reached for the guide rail, frozen to the spot. Moud, he shrieked. His akula and the erection that had been with him for hours had completely deserted him. What is making the silver flashes?
Transmuted-metal detrivores, Godhead. Their smaller counterparts were created to keep the metals clean and rust- free. However, the overabundance of food has allowed some mutation.
Mutated detrivores. What do they look like? Do they only eat metals?
The moud flashed a representation of one across his retina. Tekton absorbed the appearance of the creature: a roachid with a large, dull-grey disclike plate covering its head, and wide silver-veined wings. The scale showed it to be much larger than a canine.
The larger detrivores live on a primarily metal diet but there have been reported incidences of them attacking sentients whose blood contains a high level of certain minerals.
Tekton’s stomach contracted into a hard lump.
A salty flavour in his mouth alerted him to the fact that he had bitten his lip sufficiently hard to make it bleed.
Turn around and go back to the taxi, free-mind urged.
If the Lamin is leading then the way must be safe, reasoned logic-mind.
Why are you even here? his free-mind demanded.
Because I want information about Farr, and this might provide it.
Might?
Tekton closed his eyes for a moment. Courage was something he’d never had to consider calling upon before. His life was largely without physical risk. Even Lasper Farr’s unveiled threats hadn’t been as real to him as this spindly, swaying bridge and its dreadful abyss. He desperately wanted to piss.
He cracked open his eyelids. The Lamin was already halfway across.
Across where?
His eyes opened wider. While he’d been gripping the railing, the far end of the bridge had drifted higher, and appeared to now be secured to the base of a large triangular-shaped object.
The Lamin continued onward, its thick, stumpy legs pumping hard to keep its high-heeled feet climbing.
Tekton took in a long and deliberate breath. Courage might be unfamiliar to him but pride was not. He forced his legs to move, keeping his line of sight on the Lamin’s back, diverting all his thought and energy into catching the arrogant assistant. He would not be the butt of Lamin jokes about cowardice.
The creature waited for him at the end of the bridge,
where the structure coupled roughly onto a railed platform at the base of the triangle.
Tekton’s sense of triumph soon faded when the Lamin gestured for him to precede it across the platform, up several flights of narrow stairs that seemed to be barely attached to the side of the triangular structure. From what he could see there was no safety net or even a harness. The railing on the abyss side of the stairs looked flimsier than those on the bridge.
‘How far?’ he managed to ask.
‘The entrance to the chapel lies at the top.’
Tekton gritted his teeth and began the ascent. This time he kept his eyes on the steps above him. He knew that even the briefest of glances would allow the spinning sensation in his head to overtake everything else.
Within a short time, his legs trembled with effort and he couldn’t catch his breath. He felt some small satisfaction to hear the Lamin breathing heavily below him.
Halfway up, he stopped to rest. With both hands gripping the rail and his backside planted firmly on the step, he allowed himself a brief glimpse down. The shape of the chasm below seemed to have shifted, like the moving outline of an enormous snake. Different structures had appeared. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of perspective.
He used his design sight to assess it: No. The chasm had definitely moved.
‘Lostol-Tekton?’ said the Lamin. ‘Are you ready to continue?’
‘Everything has shifted,’ said Tekton aloud, ignoring him.
‘The outer rim is composed of large objects less firmly caught in the gravity spin. It is an extremely fluid composition. That is why the Commander had the flexible conduit constructed.’
A clever way to confuse enemies, thought Tekton, when your home is never in the exact same place.
But dangerous.
He stood and resumed his climb, trying to ignore the possibilities of colliding structures and flying detrivores. If he lived in such a place he would certainly not use such precarious means to gain access to his private rooms. It was ridiculous to say the least.
His legs began to ache in a manner that he’d never known, and by the time he reached the top, his finely pored skin was warmed by effort.
At least, he supposed, he would not die from the chill.
His chest heaved as he fin
ally reached the broad entry pad to the chapel. So much so that he was unable to greet Lasper Farr, who came towards him from the chapel entrance.
‘Tekton.’ He smiled, but did not proffer his hand in greeting. ‘Enjoy your reflection time as I have mine. It is unlikely we’ll meet again.’
Tekton nodded as he gasped and watched Farr walk to the other side of the platform.
What is he doing over there? It seemed simpler to ask the moud than the Lamin. And he did not have to speak to do so.
But the moud remained silent.
A moment later the sound of his impatient reiteration was drowned by the noise of an incoming air-taxi.
This time Tekton found his voice. ‘You can taxi here?’ he spluttered to the Lamin. ‘All the way here?’
The Lamin’s smug smile seemed to have grown a degree smugger. ‘If the Commander permits.’
Farr was already inside the passenger compartment. He did not glance once at Tekton before the taxi disappeared over the lip of the pad with a groaning exhalation of air.
‘That sadist!’ roared Tekton. It had been a long time—if ever—since he’d lost control of his anger. Not since Ra had beaten him to the tyro position on Belle-Monde, and even then his fury had quickly turned cold and cunning.
Now all he wanted to do was slap the Lamin down.
As if sensing the possibility, the Lamin trotted away towards the chapel door.
‘May I suggest we go inside, Lostol-Tekton?’ it called over its shoulder.
‘No!’ shouted Tekton, waving his fist. ‘You may not suggest anything to me. In fact you may not speak to me again, you simpering bag of fur and wind.’
The Lamin stopped and turned. It seemed unmoved by his anger but glanced meaningfully above Tekton’s head. ‘If you say so.’ Then it opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it slightly ajar.
Tekton let his rage vent through a string of disgusting expletives he had not even known were in his repertoire, and would have gone on much longer if a strong and sudden draft of wind had not cooled his heated body. The very few hairs he had on his skin stiffened at the sound of a high-pitched wail; a cry of pain, amplified by echoes.
A cold, hungry sound.
Tekton glanced upward. He saw a flash of reflective silver, lent luminescence by the blinking array on the side of the chapel that had lit their ascent. The flash faded then returned in a steady rhythm as a detrivore spiralled down towards him.
Tekton learned how promptly fury could be replaced by terror, and how slowly his unconditioned body reacted when called upon, as he drove his aching, out-of-condition legs across the platform and dived for cover through the door, landing, ignominiously, at the Lamin’s feet.
The Lamin leapt deftly backward, allowing Tekton to tumble inside. As it shut the door Tekton heard a heavy thud and felt a shudder.
‘A large one,’ observed the Lamin, nostrils flaring. ‘And hungry. Does your blood, perchance, have a high iron count, Lostol-Tekton?’
TRIN
The land yachts glided onto the island shore on the gentling swell. While the men pulled the boats high above the tide line, Trin walked ahead towards the line of stunted trees, his face upturned, letting the rain drops catch in his mouth and on his skin.
Occasionally, on the Tourmalines, the lightest of rains would fall, no more than a mist, but never in his life on Araldis had Trin ever felt the full force of heavy raindrops.
He wanted to strip his robe off and let the pure liquid run over every part of his body. The salt taste on his lips could have been the seawater, or the tears that he made no attempt to stem, They’d survived and yet for those long moments during the storm he’d thought they were lost.
‘Principe?’
Djes was behind him, standing on unsteady legs, her waterlogged skin wrinkled and puckered. She’d covered her nakedness by knotting together the torn signal cloths and her smile was wide and childlike as she held her webbed fingers out to catch the rain.
He embraced her for all to see. ‘Thank you.’
She shook her head, dismissing her part. ‘You are the one that gives us belief, Trinder.’
He hugged her tighter. Over her shoulder, he watched the women’s yacht wallow in the small waves. The stronger ones helped the weaker ones through the shallows, while his Carabinere pulled the yacht to shore. Pitifully few of his men still survived.
‘The clouds will disappear soon. We should find shade,’ said Djes, stroking his arm. ‘I will fish now.’
While he reflected on their failures, she already looked to their survival.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You are exhausted. The swim was too far.’
She shook her head stubbornly. ‘We are safe now for a time. I can rest when we are fed. We will have time then.’ She pointed into the island. ‘Go past the line of trees, and to the south you’ll see large rocks—boulders. There are shallow caves among them, and fresh water on the eastern side. Don’t go towards the hills to the north. The bush is too dense. We will need to cut through it.’
He nodded, listening carefully. ‘I will tell Joe Scali to wait for you. He will carry what you catch.’
She smiled and pressed her face lightly to his arm. Then she stepped away. Her gait was ungainly as she walked along the sand to the water. She disappeared into the waves, tossing the cloths back onto the beach. Joe Scali collected them in a bundle and waved her off.
Trin walked down to join him. The euphoria of survival and the intoxicating feel of the rain were rapidly deserting him. Fatigue replaced them.
‘Wait in the bushes on the dunes for Djes until she has fished. Carry them back. She has told me the best place to take cover.’
Joe nodded, his swollen eyes roving the water for sign of her. ‘But she is exhausted.’
‘We are all exhausted,’ Trin said sharply, to allay his guilt. ‘Djes knows her limits.’
He left Joe and went further along the beach to Juno.
‘Crux Watched over us, Principe,’ Juno rasped.
‘Then let’s hope Crux brings us help soon. There is shade and water just beyond the bush line.’
* * *
They reached the outcrop that Djes had described, as the last wisps of rain cloud evaporated. The Carabinere had struggled through repeat trips to carry the weakest of the women when they could barely carry their own weight. Trin felt a swell of unutterable pride for his men who had given over their fellalos at his command, and still uncomplainingly worked to his word. To the last one, they were exhausted beyond speech.
They huddled in small groups in the shallow caves that had been created by the loose arrangement of the boulders. Trin shared one with his madre, who mercifully lay in the sand and slept almost immediately. Though he had not meant to, he dozed beside her until Tina Galiotto woke him with water cupped in a pod. She had begun to serve him, as well as his madre, as if it were the natural order.
‘Principe?’
He nodded thanks, and she left him.
He drank deeply and stared out across the open ground to the tree line that divided them from the beach. Leah had set, bathing the island in softer, almost bearable, warmth. Trin stood and stretched. Sleep had revived him enough to bring back the bite of hunger, and he walked from cave to cave, searching for Juno Genarro.
The Carabinere lay next to one of the women, his distant cousin Josephia Genarro, whispering. He sat up when he saw Trin. ‘Principe?’
‘I will go to the beach. Djes has not brought food yet.’
Juno began to climb to his feet but Trin forestalled him.
‘No. Stay. There is enough light left that I will be back before dark.’
Juno slumped back gratefully. ‘Walk with care. Do not get lost, Principe.’
* * *
In the fading light, the vegetation seemed altered, and Trinder broke through to the shoreline to the south of where they’d landed. He picked his way along the waterline towards the shadowy shapes of the flat-yachts. The low tide and the efforts of the men had beached
them but they would need to find another way to secure them from freak waves.
He approached on feet made silent by the breakers. Where was Joe Scali? Where was Djes?
Then he heard them; the low murmur of voices coming from between the two yachts. He hastened, worried that she was hurt, or too exhausted to walk inland. He slipped past the bow of the first yacht and called out.
What had been one shadow on the sand between the yachts suddenly became two as Djes and Joe Scali pulled apart.
For a shocking moment he thought that the two of them had been embracing in the way of lovers, but as Djes found him and threw her arms around his waist, he crushed his unworthy suspicion.
Such a thing would never happen. It would not.
JO-JO RASTEROVICH
‘What is it?’ Jo-Jo asked the question that was on all of their minds.
Latourn and Catchut stood on either side of Rast staring at the same image above the Primo vein that was making Jo-Jo’s jaw clench. The ‘zoon’s buccal smelt stronger than normal; an astringent odour that reminded Jo-Jo of an aged shark he’d cleaned straight from the sea one time. Iodine. It made his eyes water. A stress smell, he decided. The ‘zoon’s pining for her.
‘Looks like a frigging wheel hub,’ offered Catchut.
‘It’s a drum,’ Rast corrected. ‘Or based on the design of one.’
Jo-Jo cocked his head at an angle to get another perspective. The object spinning slowly in the image captured by the ‘zoon’s sensors was like a giant cylinder wrapped in skin.
‘What’s a drum, Capo?’ asked Latourn.
‘They used to use instruments to make music.’
‘Instruments?’ Catchut had drawn a blank from the explanation.
Rast looked helplessly at Jo-Jo. ‘You know what I mean?’
He nodded. ‘They still get used some places where the tech’s limited.’ He continued to examine the image—their first look into Extropy space. ‘But that wouldn’t be here, I’d warrant.’
‘Guess we’re gonna find out first-hand anyway,’ said Rast. ‘Looks like we’re heading straight in there with or without an invitation.’
The Sentients of Orion Page 70
