The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  In desperation he fell upon the closest bed, unaware that it was already occupied.

  The attendant shouted for him to stop, but he’d already lifted a knee onto the mattress and was falling forward. The momentum seemed to tip his nausea past the non-returnable point and he vomited the residue of his last meal onto the feet and legs of the occupant.

  His eyes cleared after that, the grey patches abating.

  An angry, surprised and horrified face confronted him. A face, surprisingly, that he knew.

  ‘Thales Berniere,’ said Tekton, spitting little bits of vomit from his mouth. ‘Heavens to Crux. What are you doing here?’

  JO-JO RASTEROVICH

  Diving into the clamour without a particular tone or voice to focus upon was like being drowned in noise; so loud and so blurred that it caught the sides of his throat and sucked them together. Only Jo-Jo couldn’t feel the sides of his throat, didn’t even know if he still had one. Was the sensation imaginary? He did have a vague sense of breath—but that could well have been hindbrain memories.

  As he grappled with the auditory explosion, part of his mind ventured further with that notion. He hadn’t wanted to think about it properly before, but Rast’s fear had sparked a deep survival instinct. He had to face all the possibilities.

  His knowledge of the Extros’ transformation procedures—like the rest of Orion’s—was sketchy. He thought he’d heard that their trans-processes varied, dependent on what form of Post-Species sentience they wished to attain. There were the typical Extros that used a Host body, and then there were these guys; the bodiless kind.

  The very first Post-Species experiments had been on humanesques, but aliens joined them quickly enough. Where their practices had taken them since then Jo-Jo could only guess. Were there second-, third-, fourth- generation Extros? Or did their population—if you could call it that—remain static?

  Most importantly though, did his body still exist, and was it still alive?

  Somewhere inside his mind, deep, deep below the level of the neurons that struggled to organise the crashing noise pollution into something acceptable, came an emphatic retort.

  It better fucking well be, or...

  Or what? What was he gonna do about it? Really?

  Make a giant fucking nuisance of myself.

  Feeling better for that conclusion, he turned his full attention back to the spinning wall of sound. There had to be a way to interpret it.

  He recalled his Ferris wheel image and tried to refine it a little; not a Ferris wheel, perhaps, but a colour wheel like the ones sold to kids at fairs. In the wind they became a blur but when they were still the colours were well-defined, individual blades. He needed to slow the spinning noise right down to find the solitary voices.

  It was a long time since Jo-Jo Rasterovich had practised meditation, and even then it had been part of his ploy to convince a nun at the Kanada Monastery on Kanada Keys to have sex with him. Still, he’d worked at it for a time (until, in fact, the Mother Superior had caught them at it and had him ejected from the city) and the mindset came back easily enough.

  He picked out the blue sounds, listening carefully to them, much as though he was staring at the tip of his own nose, with a kind of defocused concentration. But his mind wandered all too quickly and he lost the threads.

  He restarted the process, over and over, until his concentration span increased a little. The solid blue turned into shades of blue. He picked one of them and applied the same method.

  Suddenly, as with his pursuit of Rast’s voice, he dropped into a clear audio space.

  ‘Cipher?’ asked a voice. A single word spoken but it seeded and grew into multiple responses in Jo-Jo’s mind. ^what’s your name?ǀǀyou’ve never been here beforeǀǀhave you heard the news?ǀǀeveryone’s talking about itǀǀ^

  ‘You m-mean me?’ asked Jo-Jo.

  ‘Answer.’ Again the single word blossomed into a deluge of replies and questions. ^you firstǀǀit’s not polite to crash in without introductionǀǀare you one of the monitors?ǀǀ^

  Jo-Jo took one of his imaginary deep breaths. ‘OK, I’m new around here. Just been transformed or whatever the frick you call it. Having a hell of a time navigating the noise.’

  ‘Transformed?’ ^impossible!ǀǀwhere from?ǀǀno transformation allowed when Medium is travelling!ǀǀ^

  ‘Medium? Is that what this thing is called?’ asked Jo-Jo. ‘My name is Jo.’

  ‘Cipher.’ ^names?ǀǀwhat are they?ǀǀdid you skip the orientation stage?ǀǀweird stuff!ǀǀJO??ǀǀ^

  Jo-Jo let the many responses rattle around his head for a while before he spoke again.

  ‘I didn’t get any orientation. Tell me, are you one consciousness, or many?’ he ventured.

  ‘Question.’ ^cute questionǀǀsend him back to Oǀǀweird stuffǀǀ^

  ‘Does that mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Alert.’ ^An aberrant!ǀǀmonitor should knowǀǀenemy perhaps?ǀǀtoo obvious for thatǀǀcuteǀǀ^

  ‘I’m not your enemy, I’m here... accidentally,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Can you tell me how this works? What’s this monitor thing?’

  ‘Aberrant.’ ^VoteǀǀTallyǀǀ30,000,132 say yes to Joǀǀ7,128,003 say notify monitorǀǀ^

  ‘Thirty million say yes? Nearly fifty million of you are listening to me? Frickin’ impossible! But... I can only hear a few,’ Jo-Jo finished limply.

  ‘Account.’ ^Medium is conduit to billionsǀǀJo speaks with Minority Socialǀǀ^

  Even though the odd speech pattern was becoming easier to follow with each interchange, Jo-Jo wasn’t sure that he was making correct, even vaguely correct, interpretations. As long as they didn’t summon the monitor... ‘So you’re a Social Minority group? You mean like... a gossip group?’

  ‘Gossip?’ ^Revoteǀǀabuseǀǀconfront—^

  ‘Whoa,’ Jo-Jo interjected. ‘Steady, steady. I meant... is your group swapping information?’

  ‘Travel.’ ^Medium travelsǀǀquick quickǀǀ^

  ‘Travels where?’

  ‘Time.’ ^Secure the futureǀǀLeah systemǀǀtell Jo nothingǀǀ^

  Leah system. Jo-Jo searched his memory. Araldis was in the Leah system. ‘You mean Araldis?’ If he could have, he would have spluttered, but he’d been robbed of that kind of bodily reaction.

  ‘Time.’ ^Araldis is preparedǀǀready for usǀǀfoolsǀǀ^

  Ready for us. That thought loosened Jo-Jo’s concentration and he recoiled out of the Social Minority cache and back into the clamour. He let himself float there for a time while he assessed and organised the information he’d gleaned. To his thinking, the cache was a large—really large—chat group, like one you’d find on the main ‘cast channels in the OLOSS worlds. Jo-Jo had always avoided those communities—other than some of the sex groups—but he knew they existed and how popular they were.

  If the voices were being honest, then the Social Minority group was so huge that somehow the Medium translated or organised answers to his questions into grouped responses. Either that, or Jo-Jo was incapable of hearing and receiving all the information at once.

  The latter made more sense—maybe the Post-Species brain or consciousness, or whatever the hell they were, could process many more things at once. The gist was pretty clear though. The Medium was headed for Araldis.

  For the first time since coming to awareness in this weird, cerebral, auditory world Jo-Jo felt complete and utter anguish. He was heading into trouble, and he was saddled up and riding with the wrong side.

  He floundered around, for a time, in an emotional fug. All his earlier bravado seemed to have deserted him; his calm, almost superior attitude in the face of Randall’s disarray, gone.

  He grabbed at mind-things, things from his memory that might buoy him up. But even his desire for revenge on Tekton seemed pointless now.

  He wanted something to warm him, give him hope, but there was little enough. Only, perhaps, a kernel of stubbornness and a single desire.

  Mira Fedor. Want to see her again.
/>   He wasn’t sure who he sent that plea out to—maybe to himself. But it was enough to rally some spirit.

  He went back to Rast with the news. This time he found her cache without having to locate her voice—as though his brain was building some kind of aural map.

  ‘You there, Randall?’

  ‘Josef?’ She sounded calmer but nonetheless relieved to hear his voice.

  He told her what he’d learned and his theories on Medium and how it was organised.

  ‘Talk about wrong place, wrong time,’ she muttered. ‘OLOSS will be all over Araldis by now.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Remember that Dowl station was in the hands of your ex-Capo and the Saqr. Can’t see them letting OLOSS in first. If this ship is shifting to Araldis then they’ll be doing it under a tight window. Open the shift sphere then shut it again as soon as we’re through.’

  ‘Unless they’re shifting on different coordinates,’ said Rast.

  ‘Imperfect Shift?’

  ‘Yeah, but not the one the Savvies use. Maybe they’re tuned to their own frequency. Maybe they can shift through any sphere like the ‘zoons do, without using the OLOSS system.’

  The very thought of it made Jo-Jo want to change the subject. ‘You said you thought the Extros were after something else on Araldis.’

  ‘They’ll be after the quixite all right, but maybe more as well. You’ve got geo training. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s got to be something that needs them to be there. Physically there. Otherwise, why send this wheel rim full of billions of sentient sound waves shooting into a potential war zone?’

  ‘Yep,’ Randall agreed, but had no more answers than he did.

  ‘You think Farr’s got something to do with it?’ Jo-Jo asked.

  ‘For sure. But whether it’s stoppin’ them, or provokin’ them, would be hard to say.’

  ‘You think he’s a hero?’

  ‘Not much. But he’s smarter than most, and more convinced.’

  “Bout what?’

  ‘Whatever it is he believes in. Attackin’ those Geni-carriers with his own ship near the Mio moons was one ballsy act. But we were at war. He got lucky with the u-missiles, found some weakness in their shielding. He had a great pilot too—Captain Jeremy Hob. Don’t get much better than old Jelly Hob. Lasper’s got a knack for finding the good ones. Thing that got me, though, was what happened next. When he nulled the Geni-carriers, the Extros were vulnerable. OLOSS wanted to go in and void what they could: Rho Junction, Saiph, the lot. Lasper wasn’t going to let that happen. Faced them down right then and there. Told them he’d take the OLOSS C-ship out.’

  ‘How did he know which one it was?’ Like everyone else, Jo-Jo had seen virtual re-enactments. OLOSS had a hidden command ship.

  ‘He was on their side. At least, that’s what they thought up until then. They must have given him the intel. The threat to the C-ship was enough to delay a decision on the Extros. By then the humanesquitarians were involved. The Extros looked like they’d showed the yellow flag and OLOSS got pressured into letting them go home. Lasper got to be hero and peacemaker in one sweet move.’

  ‘He musta made some enemies that day.’

  ‘You’d think. But OLOSS came off looking good in the end. Benevolent. That soothed things some. Don’t imagine that there’s much trust there, though.’

  ‘So Consilience is just a farce?’

  ‘No!’ Rast was sharp. ‘There’s plenty among them that were... are... committed to peace. I just ain’t so sure that Lasper’s one of them. Nor, I’d reckon, are they.’

  ‘They feed his fighting force though, with their members.’

  ‘And will do until the time’s right to change things.’

  They were both silent for a bit.

  ‘So you think this place is a bunch of voices or consciousnesses that can communicate at light speed, but they’re socially organised as well—just like any sentient group?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go thinking they’re just like humanesques.’

  Rast made a sound that could have been a sigh. ‘You’re right there.’

  Another silence.

  ‘Do you think our conversation’s on some broadcast channel round this joint?’ she asked.

  ‘You and I?’ Jo-Jo thought about it. ‘Hard to say. It’s like each voice has a private space and from there you have to consciously reach out to communicate. I found you this time even though I couldn’t hear you.’

  ‘How’d you do that?’

  ‘Not sure. There’s a marker in my brain now. You’re up top left on the Ferris wheel.’

  ‘What?’

  An explanation would have sounded straight-up crazy. ‘Forget it. Just an image I’ve got of things in my brain. I noticed something else—not sure what it means.’

  ‘I’m listenin’.’

  ‘The voices I heard in the chat cache were real flat—lacking normal expression. Dunno, maybe I just couldn’t pick it out with all the input.’

  ‘Or... it could be a downside of the transforming process,’ she said.

  They were both silent for a bit.

  ‘That’s the first good news you’ve given me,’ she added.

  Jo-Jo pictured Rast’s lean face, her blue eyes narrow in contemplation. He suddenly craved real sight. ‘How so?’

  ‘Think about it. If they have different social cues, it might mean we can talk... privately.’

  He so wanted to nod. She was right. ‘Worth a try.’

  ‘You first then.’

  Jo-Jo thought for a moment before he spoke. ‘It’d be sad to see the Extros have problems with OLOSS.’ He ladled sarcasm into his voice.

  ‘A shame,’ agreed Rast, with equal mockery. ‘We should do our best to support a peaceful outcome.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll go see if I can rally up a peace movement.’

  ‘You do that, Josef. I’d like to join it—can you help me out of here so I can participate?’

  ‘Do my best to make that happen,’ said Josef. ‘Back when I can.’

  He let his focus drift back out to the clamour. Suddenly, he was feeling a whole lot better.

  THALES

  Thales surfaced from a semi-sleep state, gasping for breath, his arms thrown wide in a startled manner. He snatched his arms back, embarrassed, and rolled instinctively onto his side towards a wall.

  Where was he?

  Fariss had brought him here. Saved his life and brought him here. To... whatever the place was called. Shell place. Sam—Samuelle—old face, young body. She wanted his DNA. He must have fainted. And now?

  He heard doors open; a concerned voice speaking in Gal. Something about getting on a bed.

  Thales began to roll over to see what was happening but his movements were slow. Before he could sit up a figure loomed close to him; a face and the smell of something sour. Paper-thin lips parted and vomit splashed onto his feet. Worse than sour. Acid-smelling and vile. He grabbed his bedcover and threw it off, swallowing back his own desire to be sick.

  ‘Thales Berniere,’ said an all-too-familiar voice. ‘Heavens to Crux. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Godhead.’ Thales kicked out at Tekton. ‘Get off me.’

  Then the infirmary attendants swooped on them, easing Tekton to a bed of his own and wheeling Thales off to wash.

  Though Thales returned clean, it was as though the hot, wet spew was still on him. The ignominy of being vomited on was difficult to shake, though it was tempered by curiosity and surprise.

  Tekton was sitting up in his adjacent bed while the attendant pored over deep, ragged cuts on his legs.

  ‘You appear to be in the wars, sir,’ Thales commented, finally.

  ‘And you,’ said Tekton, indicating the curative skin pasted around Thales’s neck and across his cheek. ‘Looks like you tried to cut off your own head. And my apologies, good fellow, for earlier. I have been through some trying circumstances.’

  Thales accepted Tekton’s regret stiffly. When the two had l
ast met, Tekton hadn’t wished to disclose anything that might help Thales further. Bethany didn’t trust the Godhead. Something had happened on The Last Aesthetic that she wouldn’t talk about.

  Thales wasn’t sure if Tekton was friend or antagonist. The man was clearly brilliant but with an inflated sense of his own importance. Don’t be fooled by glamour, Bethany had said.

  And here they were, thrown together once more.

  Tekton remained silent while the medi-lab attendant finished dressing his wounds.

  ‘I wish to leave,’ Thales said as she finished up.

  ‘Sammy says you’re to stay until the sample analysis comes back. We might need to run the test again.’

  ‘And what if I don’t wish to wait?’ Thales heard his own petulance and didn’t care.

  The attendant glanced towards the guard at the door. ‘Sammy said wait. So I would, if I were you.’ She retired to her small, partitioned office, shut the door and turned her back on them, not prepared to get any more involved than that.

  Tekton lay comfortably propped up on his pillows, his face relaxed by the pain relief flowing from the capsule stuck to the crook of one elbow. Their beds faced each other across a small array of blinking equipment.

  ‘Where to start, young fellow? You first,’ said the Godhead.

  Thales set his jaw, refusing to be so easily compliant. ‘I recall, you had little to share with me at our last meeting, sir. Perhaps it is you who should begin.’

  To his surprise, Tekton made an unhappy sound. ‘You were right to be seeking information from Lasper Farr, Thales, and I was foolish withholding what I knew. Little enough as it is. I had thought to use the situation to my advantage, but Farr is a man without moral bounds.’

  The Godhead then told Thales the extraordinary recount of his visit to Farr’s prayer room and his ensuing near-fatal escapade.

  ‘But why did you go there, Godhead??

  ‘Lasper Farr has a secret.’ Tekton lowered his voice. ‘I think he’s found a way to predict the future. In fact I’m sure of it. He let me try and find his system.’

  Thales frowned. ‘Even if such a thing were possible, why would he do that?’