The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  She climbed onto the track and glanced backwards. One of the containers behind her on the conveyor was making erratic, rocking movements. Had something alive been trapped in there?

  Above her, the bottom of each ceiling tube had opened and projected a directional nozzle.

  She crouched, preparing to crawl through the rubber- fringed entrance to the cargo tunnel, but the container noise became louder and punctuated with sounds that could have been grunts. Not animal, perhaps... but surely not...

  She climbed around the cartons between her and the moving container and bent to inspect it. It was adorned with icons denoting it as a refrigerator, and she sighted the refrigerant bar along one side. Now she was closer, she could see the door partially opened but the latch caught on the carton next to it.

  Using her knees and lower body she shifted the neighbouring carton a fraction closer to release the latch.

  The door of the refrigerated container flew open and a body spilled out, almost knocking her off the conveyor. She scrambled onto the top of the carton and clung to it.

  The ‘esque emitted a moan or a sob, she could not tell which, and glanced wildly around. Eyes fixed on her, unfocused at first and then slowly, incredulously widening.

  ‘Baronessa?’ The male ‘esque’s voice was hoarse with emotion and distress.

  She stared into the stranger’s face. How did this man know her?

  She inhaled sharply and then stopped. The taint of something sickly sweet filled her lungs. She let out her breath. ‘Quickly,’ she said. ‘The spray.’

  He followed her back along the conveyor, crawling into the wall cavity behind her. The conveyor veered off at a right angle, disappearing through a slot under a closed shutter. There wasn’t enough space for them to follow it.

  ‘We’re trapped,’ said Mira shrilly.

  The ‘esque seemed even more frantic than she, flailing at the first shutter with his fists in a way that seemed familiar.

  ‘It’s unbreakable,’ she said automatically. Something about his panic had the reverse effect on her. She felt calmer; more able to think. ‘There must be a failsafe option. Automated facilities are required to have them.’ She knew that from the flight manuals she’d studied. ‘Look for a flywheel or an embedded disc.’

  The ‘esque obediently began searching one side of the small tunnel section while she looked over the other. The sweetly poisoned scent was creeping in,

  ‘Here,’ he cried, pointing overhead.

  ‘Spin it,’ she instructed. ‘Quickly.’

  He worked the embedded wheel with frantic fingers but it was stiff and unresponsive. ‘It won’t move,’ he gasped.

  ‘Harder!’ she urged him. She put her sleeve to her mouth. The scent was stronger in only a few breaths.

  He grunted with effort, the way he had when still trapped in the container, biting his lip, screwing up his face. As he did a flap of skin moved along his cheek as though it might slough off altogether.

  He wiped the sweat from his face against his sleeve as he pressed on the wheel. The skin peeled off and fell onto the belt. Beneath it was an ugly, blackened scar.

  ‘It’s moving!’ His voice raised, and slowly, as he wound, so did the screen.

  When it was just high enough for them to crawl under she bade him leave the winding. He followed her again and she could hear him coughing and grabbing his throat.

  Mira wanted to do the same. The fumes were caught in her chest and mouth, coating them. As soon as she was through, she was up on her feet searching for the next failsafe.

  ‘S-same p-place,’ she gulped.

  The ‘esque reached up to the wheel but couldn’t hold his body steady. He collapsed forward, hands on the floor, mouth open wide.

  ‘Close it.’ She didn’t urge him this time, she demanded. ‘Wind it closed, now!’

  He reached up again and began the reverse process. This wheel worked more easily. In a few movements he had closed the screen behind them.

  They both fell to the floor either side of the conveyor, shielding their noses and mouths with their clothes.

  Mira’s eyes streamed and the ‘esque began to cough violently.

  Neither spoke until the fumes lessened and their symptoms began to abate. ‘Climb onto the belt,’ she managed finally. ‘As soon as the pipes retract it will move.’

  Her instruction brought them closer together. The ‘esque was shuddering, his chest heaving against the poisoned fumes still. ‘Don’t—you—know me?’

  She looked at him, close as he now was. So much of his face seemed familiar, but the fear in his eyes and the haggardness and scarring were not. ‘Who?’ She was still not able to waste breath on unnecessary words.

  ‘I am Thales,’ he said. ‘Thales Berniere.’

  THALES

  Thales watched the Baronessa’s face fill with confusion. ‘Th-Thales? Thales Berniere?’

  He swallowed, trying to wet his dry, irritated throat. ‘I-I have had much m-misfortune since we p-parted.’

  ‘You had had much misfortune when we met,’ she whispered, with the ghost of a smile.

  Thales could not return it. ‘It follows me.’

  Her eyes roamed his face, and he saw her try to connect what she knew of him with what she saw. ‘Our circumstances must be equally dire if we meet again in such surroundings.’

  ‘Then you first, Baronessa.’ He mustered some gentlemanly manner. Not just his appearance had changed, he knew, but even the patterns of his speech.

  Yet he was not alone in change. Mira Fedor was even gaunter than before, and her smooth skin showed the beginnings of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. More significant, though, was the change in her expression. The confusion and softness had left her. He saw only determination and below that, perhaps, a deeply embedded anger.

  She nodded. ‘But quickly. The conveyor will start soon and we will need to move with it.’

  ‘I was told that the Extros had kidnapped you,’ said Thales.

  ‘That is true. As you can see, I have escaped... but with dire news. The Post-Species have amassed a huge scale of weaponry. I must find my way into the OLOSS assemblage and inform them.’

  ‘But you are sought by OLOSS for questioning. They won’t believe you.’

  ‘I can make them believe, but not if I’m prevented from presenting what I know by Stationmaster Landhurst.’ Mira shifted position and he suddenly noticed her swelling belly.

  She saw Thales staring and waited.

  ‘Baronessa? Are you...’

  She placed her hands across the small mound. ‘I was raped on Araldis by my Principe. He saw it as the only way to ensure the survival of his bloodline. I was the only surviving Crown Aristo.’ Her eyes met his without embarrassment or upset.

  ‘Then all the time that we travelled together, you were...’

  ‘Si.’ She nodded.

  A muffled alarm sounded and the shutters lifted. The conveyor began to move. The rocking forced them both to grab the edges of the belt.

  ‘I know a woman who will be at the meeting, Baronessa. But...’ But what? Could he tell this poor, ragged woman that he had just killed a man to avoid his own rape, and that he now had to stay hidden? No. Not yet. But he could do his best to help her. ‘We should find fresh clothes and a safe place for a few hours. The meeting is scheduled for station morning.’ He peered ahead. ‘It’s hard to tell, but I think it’s evening.’

  Mira stared at him with a hint of suspicion. ‘A contact?’

  As the conveyor trundled them on he gave her an abridged account of events. ‘Samuelle will be at the meeting. She’ll help you.’

  ‘Who is Samuelle? A safe place? New clothes? But I have no lucre and no credit.’

  Thales felt in his pocket. His aspect cube was still there. He pulled it out and removed Rene’s credit clip. ‘But I do.’

  * * *

  The conveyor stopped in the recesses of a food depot storage area, and began its loop back to the fumigation chamber. The dim lighting
and lack of ‘esque or alien presence confirmed Thales’s impression that it was station evening.

  They crept past the automons and large refrigerated containers, and into the warren of narrow service corridors. Eventually one led them out into a busy food court.

  Thales hesitated, crouching down behind a row of cleaning trolleys. He gave Mira the credit clip. ‘My face... I’ll wait here.’

  She nodded and returned shortly with warm bread and berry tubes. Thales ate his ravenously but the Baronessa sipped her drink slowly, nervously glancing around.

  ‘I’ll watch now,’ said Thales, brushing the crumbs from his fingers and standing.

  With obvious relief she sank down behind the trolleys and began to nibble on the bread. But her whole body started to tremble, as though the food somehow made her weaker. When she tried to stand her legs collapsed underneath her.

  Thales leant down to her. ‘Baronessa?’ ‘The child...’ she cried, clutching her stomach. ‘Thales! Help me!’

  TEKTON

  Tekton paused at the door to Lasper Farr’s cabin and reviewed the spatial image of the map he’d committed to memory. Samuelle had been showing him the route on the comm-desk when something had sent her wheezing out of the cabin with unseemly haste.

  It had occurred to Tekton right then that using Samuelle’s spare nano-suit might be a clever way to reach the upper levels of the ship’s bow without too much fuss. The Commander’s soldiers were, after all, used to seeing Samuelle in it.

  And up to this point, his idea had worked. He’d proceeded unhampered through the ship, disguising his face by pinching the suit’s hood so tight that only his eyes remained visible.

  He’d scarcely been given a backward glance by the soldiers running to their docking duties, and now he stood on the brink of entering Farr’s cabin.

  According to the suit’s ‘cast link, the Commander had already left the ship. It was possible he’d taken the device with him but Tekton didn’t think that likely. Farr wouldn’t risk having it on station.

  Tekton tried the door but it was locked.

  Pacing a few steps either way, he checked for observers. Satisfied that no one was close enough to hear, he returned and experimented with the suit’s various add-ons. To his delight it confused the locking system into opening with a simple jamming device. Samuelle had shown a certain flair when she’d had this made.

  Farr’s cabin was a replica of Samuelle’s, though larger and furbished with an infinitely superior comm-desk. Clothes hung neatly in a cupboard, and the tightly tucked bed sheets looked unused. The black box artefact that Tekton had seen on Edo sat to one side of the comm.

  He wheezed his way to it in Samuelle’s suit and sat down. ‘Balance,’ he said.

  The box sprang a beautiful three-dimensional representation of a Lorenz attractor.

  Now what? asked free-mind.

  Ssshh, I’m thinking, logic-mind replied.

  It was the first time since Jelly Hob’s timely rescue of him that his minds had been vocal.

  Need another cue word, logic-mind decided.

  Hampered by his own limited memory, Tekton was forced to take a risk. Moud, activate and synchronise with ship’s AI.

  The delay was short.

  Good evening, Godhead. I am your new moud. Fully synchronised with your previous assistant.

  Yes. Yes. Review of all my conversations with Lasper Farr. Rank verbally emphasised words.

  Review shows the greatest verbal emphasis on the words ‘shame’ and ‘balance’, it replied almost instantly.

  Ah. Yes. ‘Shame.’

  A light beam shot from the undulating image and hit Tekton squarely in the eyes. His surroundings darkened, and he fell into a mind-space occupied by a pond of spinning lights like a shift sphere, though infinitely denser. The lights looped and spun and knitted in an elegant and never-ending fashion.

  Fascinating. Logic-mind was entranced. Endless possibilities, dependent on changes made to the parameters of the closed dynamical system.

  How do you know that? free-mind asked with suspicion.

  A Bifurcation Device. Thought only to be a fancy.

  Explain, demanded Tekton. Quickly. The ship’s security will have detected my moud activation.

  It’s an organic system representing sentient behaviour. With this level of information it’s possible to predict outcomes. Altering the course of precursor events will change those outcomes.

  God-meddling, thought Tekton.

  Indeed. Logic-mind was in agreement. Commander Farr is using a system that should not be possible.

  Unless a god created it.

  For whom? Logic-mind pondered.

  For its most deserving acolyte. Cousin Ra. But why would Ra supply an object of such potential to Lasper Farr?

  Who better to play OLOSS against Post-Species? free-mind chimed in.

  What can be gained from such meddling? Tekton peered closer at the spinning, weaving lights. Can it be interpreted?

  Of course, said logic-mind.

  Then get it to explain how I best find my way out of this hapless situation, and back to ranking most highly in Sole’s favour.

  The twinkling lights brightened and he found himself awash in rapidly moving images; scenes of what had been and what would be. At odd instants, an image would freeze, allowing his mind time to create a sequence.

  The deluge continued as he made a series of choices and the narrative ravelled: his rescue by Jelly Hob, meeting Samuelle, sharing her cabin aboard ship, and finally an image of a distraught and dishevelled woman, clutching her stomach in a dirty corridor.

  Who in Sole’s prickless body is that? asked Tekton.

  Baronessa Mira Fedor, logic-mind declared.

  What’s she doing there—in my future? Tekton might have stamped his foot. He wasn’t sure.

  She is significant to it somehow.

  Tekton stared at the Baronessa’s round belly. Good gonads, the woman is having a baby!

  Yes. That seems to be rather the point.

  Tekton didn’t like the idea of his life being tied up with the pregnant Baronessa at all. Review previous sequences.

  New images flared: Lasper on the bridge, the Baronessa again with an equally unkempt Thales Berniere in a tiny and unrecognisable room. And then a final picture of the Baronessa, Thales and Samuelle in intense conversation.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Tekton cried aloud in frustration.

  Actual events and potential outcomes, surmised logic-mind.

  ‘But which is which?’

  ‘Tekkie?’ A familiar voice dragged him away from the hypnosis of Farr’s Bifurcation Device and back to the present.

  Jelly Hob was standing on one foot in the doorway of the cabin. He looked ill at ease and edgy. ‘You ain’t supposed to be in here. Commander’ll have your conkers.’

  Tekton fixed the old pilot with his most appealing smile. ‘Jeremy? I want you to fly me to Belle-Monde near Mintaka.’

  Jelly Hob’s expression fell into perplexed lines. ‘When?’ he asked. ‘In what ship?’

  ‘Quite soon,’ replied Tekton. He widened his smile. ‘In this one.’

  TRIN

  Trin wanted to shout at them. It was taking too long’ to allocate the carrying of the shells and the remainder of the xoc and weed, and his desire to leave this place had suddenly become acute.

  They’d all ingested the first of their weed pods, which seemed to engender confusion rather than energy as the stimulant began to rage through their depleted bodies.

  Djes was next to him. She’d said nothing since Kristo had spoken out in support of Trin.

  ‘What is wrong?’ she asked him now.

  Trin swivelled, glancing around. Semantic was rising at least, giving them light to travel by. ‘Something...’

  ‘We’re ready, Principe,’ said Juno Genarro.

  ‘You will go ahead, Juno, and I will lead the group. Vespa, stay at the back, make sure nobody lags behind.’

  ‘I’ll watch our ba
cks with Malocchi,’ said Kristo.

  It was the first time one of Mulravey’s men had offered freely to help. Trin glanced at Juno, and the Carabinere nodded.

  ‘Si,’ Trin agreed.

  ‘But Kristo, I need you to help with Thorn,’ protested Cass Mulravey.

  ‘C’n walk on my own, Cass,’ snarled the subject of her concern.

  Trin looked at him. They were all thin, but Mulravey’s man Thomaas seemed the weakest of the men. He scratched his skin constantly as though bitten by unseen insects, and his hands had the tremor of a person either ill or addicted.

  Cass Mulravey shrugged and reached for her ragazzo. The child climbed onto her shoulders and grasped her mother’s knotted hair. ‘Hurry, mama,’ he cried in a soft voice.

  The ragazzo felt it too; the thickening of air and the smell of... lig.

  Trin began walking, tracking Juno, who’d set off at a run, and the group followed him. As they stepped off the carpet of creeper onto the cracked earth, something landed near their feet. One of the women screamed in fright, setting off reactions in the others.

  ‘Settle,’ yelled Mulravey. ‘It’s just a lig.’

  ‘B-but it’s h-huge,’ called out Josephia. She stood near Tina Galiotto, who lent her shoulder to Jilda Pellegrini.

  The lig’s body was the size of Trin’s forearm, its wings like stiff, transparent curtains. Tivi Scali kicked at it, and it lifted lazily to settle again not far away.

  More came then, landing on the edge where the sand-creeper met the cracked, heavier clay.

  ‘They’re feeding on the flowers,’ said Mulravey loudly. ‘Nothing to fret about.’

  It seemed that way, as if they were dipping deep into the white star blossoms that opened only at night.