The Sentients of Orion

by Marianne de Pierres

  Jo-Jo continued upward in a straightish line, his sights set on the huge shadow of the Araldis studium. The gardens were so immense that he reached them a long while before the buildings.

  Before the invasion, Randall said that they had been protected by a climate bubble. Since the Saqr landed, the bubble had been disengaged, and the once-lush gardens were now a series of dead tree trunks and dusty grottos. The water had evaporated from the recycled fountains, and the lawns had returned to their natural state: slippery screes of rock.

  He threaded between the fountains, using them as cover to watch for Saqr. Their observations through the ‘scope had told them that the creatures seemed to randomly move among the Latino ruins. Not organised patrols, Randall said. There was little enough to do but forage on a planet like this, once the first ready food source was gone. Which meant that any Saqr they encountered would be hungry.

  They’d timed their foray to travel before the moons had risen, and it was hard to see any detail on the facade of the main building. There was a portico, he thought, judging by the columns, which meant inside stairs or lifts.

  The last stretch of garden seemed to be open space, perhaps even a games pad or informal gathering area. The ‘scope didn’t reveal any boulders or ditches, so he risked jogging toward the portico, making it to the first arch without incident.

  The exertion had him breathing hard though, sweating copiously onto his fellalo’s insulation. He stopped to catch his breath, and then felt his way along the wall until he reached a set of narrow stairs. A servants’ entry, perhaps. He stepped onto them, and a dull light flared, sending him jumping back.

  Sweat poured from him. He could feel it running down his arms and legs as the robe worked to redistribute it and cool his skin. If the Saqr saw the light, they’d be here soon. He turned and hurried back along the portico to the huge main doors. They were slightly ajar and he cursed himself for not trying them first.

  He stepped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. The biggest staircase he’d ever seen dominated the circular entrance hall, and grand carved doorways led away from it. He walked along them, trying to decipher the signs.

  BIBLIOTECA. Randall had suggested he try the library ports to access the data banks. ‘There might be some life in them yet, if they’re not damaged. Most things here are solar powered,’ she’d said.

  He pushed the door open and found himself in a chamber lit by the dull glow of emergency lights running on their last dregs. It was filled with rows and rows of seats, divided down the middle by an inactive escalator.

  He sat down at one and flashed the ‘scope’s lamp for long enough to see the array of interface options. He chose the simplest audio download, hoping it still worked.

  Slotting the audio pad over his ear, he waited, imagining Mira Fedor here, engrossed in learning from the studium interface. He felt strangely exhilarated, knowing she’d sat in one of these seats, maybe even this one.

  The overwhelming and ridiculous nature of his sentiment for her had begun to fade; perhaps it had only been a moment of lust for one of the most decent and refined women he’d met in his life. And yet an equally powerful yearning had replaced it, a yearning for something he would never have. Maybe those moments in space, without air, had done more than scare him. Maybe he’d lost part of his mind, then.

  Come on, he urged the library, talk to me.

  ‘Choose from the menu,’ crackled a faint voice in his ear.

  Jo-Jo’s heart lurched. ‘Alien genera,’ he said after listening. ‘Saqr.’

  He asked for the summary overview.

  Tardigrada giantus... relative of arthropods... segmented bodies... eight legs...

  Nothing new there. ‘Dietary needs. Reproduction. Special qualities,’ he asked.

  Polyextremophiles that are known to survive in extreme environments.

  ‘More detail.’

  ‘Tardigrada giantus can withstand maximum temperatures of 151 °C (424 K), through to minimums of -200°C (70 K). Dehydration: Tardigrada giantus have been shown to survive for decades in a dry state. Radiation: Tardigrada giantus can withstand median lethal doses of 5,000 Gy (gamma-rays) and 6,200 Gy (heavy ions) in hydrated animals. Pressure range: vacuum through to more than 1,200 times Cerulean atmospheric pressure. Environmental toxins—’

  ‘End.’

  The audio stopped.

  If humanesques could do even half of that... ‘Main menu.’

  The response was sluggish.

  ‘Visual map of Araldis,’ he requested.

  He studied the dull image on the film that unfolded from his armrest. ‘Southern sector. Islands.’

  Thousands of tiny dots scattered across the screen. The survivors could be on any one of them. Then again, maybe not, he thought. Some of the islands were little more than dots of sand with scant cover, and the surviving population would need shade and fresh water.

  This time Jo-Jo set some search parameters. The library took so long to respond that he became fidgety, thinking at every breath that he could hear the Saqr,

  It wasn’t until he was standing up preparing to leave that the search result flashed onto the screen. Only four islands fit the criteria he’d set. Two lay close to the southern axis, too far for the survivors to have reached on yachts or small vessels. The others were across the open water of the Galgos Strait, a dangerous crossing but possible.

  The name Galgos scratched at his memory. Mira Fedor had mentioned it, he was sure. The two potential islands were large and according to the map key harboured fresh water. Only one, though, was vegetated. It also had species of fauna not found on the mainland.

  He committed the map coordinates to memory and told the search to clear and close. As he made his way from desk to door, a scraping noise drifted across the quiet.

  He abruptly changed direction, seeking another exit. Though he could see nothing, the sweet Saqr scent was unmistakable. Something fierce and cold gripped his stomach. How many were out there? Did they know he was here?

  He found a narrow door and opened it, stepping through and flattening his body along the wall on the other side. A passage led him to a room that stank of spilled chemicals. More dim emergency lights revealed a number of well-worn com-cast modules, and desk-films languishing on real wood tables. He breathed in air thick with dust. The environmentals were barely functioning in here; heat pooled.

  He made his away across the room, looking for another door, but something made him stop and look more closely at one of the com-soles. It was an old-fashioned desk variety, probably used by students who needed to interact with the Vreal studium, or other off- world academics. Mira had mentioned how delayed their farcast signals were, how inadequate—they’d only heard of the Stain Wars after they’d ended. Perhaps if he could get one working, they could pick up signals from OLOSS craft?

  He felt along the bottom edge of the com-sole and undipped it from its station. It was light enough, but awkward. How could he get it back without dropping it? He needed his hands free to climb down the more slippery rocks.

  A wash of sweet scent wafted in, drowning the smell of the spilled chemicals. The Saqr were close again—outside the room, perhaps. Taking the com-sole, he dropped to the floor and crawled over to the centre of the room, assessing his options.

  A rush of air blew on his face as the door opened, and the sweet scent grew chokingly strong. He stifled the instinct to gag and gripped the com-sole tightly. There must be another door, somewhere he could run to.

  Scraping sounds on the far side. He held his breath as the noise moved around the perimeter of the room and back. Hard to tell if it was one or more. Don’t look. Don’t move at all.

  Silence. Then another shift of air. The door closed.

  He sat for a long time, clutching the com-sole, aware only of the sound of his heartbeat and the wetness between his legs. Jo-Jo Rasterovich hadn’t pissed his pants since he was a kid, waiting for his mum to get through an evening with her latest beau. He’d been sitting outside
the condo door, in the corridor, playing with a set of chrome jacks. He was four years old.

  The loss of control didn’t make him proud, but he wasn’t ashamed either. He’d seen what the Saqr could do. He was no hero.

  When he could make his legs function, he got up and quietly searched the room for something to carry the com-sole. It was curiously bereft of incidentals, as if someone had swept through and tidied just before the Saqr invaded.

  Instead, he found another door and exited, stealing deeper into the studium until he came upon the kitchens.

  Here, things were different. Every pot, pan and sealed storage container had been rifled. Even the rows of cookers down the centre of the room had been damaged, smashed with the force of an axe or hammer.

  That didn’t make sense, but he didn’t stop to examine them. Instead, he searched among the debris until he found a length of kitchen tie that had once hung meat, and threaded it through a notch on the com-sole. Tying the ends together, he looped it over his shoulder.

  The kitchen, he knew, would have a service entry for food loading. Leaving the studium from the rear meant a much longer walk back, but it would lessen his chances—he hoped—of running into Saqr.

  He found the entrance to the service bay at the bottom of the extensive pantry, a roller door with a mechanism to handle inter-gal freight cartons. Alongside the door was a hatch, larger than the average Balol. He pressed spots around the roller pad, and the hatch sprang open. He stepped through quickly. It took him moments to adjust to the flooding light outside.

  He looked for the moons, but neither had risen. The night skies of Araldis, though, were filled with a flotilla of tiny star-bright objects.

  Jo-Jo blinked a few times to see if they went away, but the objects remained above him, cruising in a serene orbit. Instinct told him to get back to Randall and Catchut quickly. If they could get the com-sole working, maybe they could find out what the Crux was happening up there.

  MIRA

  Even this remote arm of the landing port teemed with activity. Mira threaded her way through queues and past kiosks selling credit exchange and transport vouchers. Ahead, she saw the crowds streaming onto four different conveyors. The signs hanging above them confused her, so she stopped at a seedy kaffe, which served pastries swimming in liquid and oversized cups of dark mokka, and asked directions.

  The attendant was unobliging and distracted, his eyes flicking between a man at a corner table and a spot on the opposite side of the transit court, where an unmistakable, roughly dressed figure stood towering head and shoulders above the rest.

  Fariss O’Dea would stand out in any crowd, on any world, thought Mira. Something the soldier must’ve found a mixed blessing.

  But who was the man at the table? Mira observed his aquiline nose, large ears and smooth complexion. Something about his looks stirred her memory. She’d never seen him before, but...

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the attendant in crisper, more authoritative tones. ‘I believe I know the gentleman on the far table. I’ve forgotten his name. Would you by any chance be able to tell me what it is?’

  The attendant blinked at her, taking a moment to make sense of her words and assimilate them into his thoughts.

  ‘You callin’ him a gennelm’n means you can’t know him too well, missus.’ He began to stack cups into a washer.

  ‘His name, prego!’ Mira snapped. Insignia’s need for urgency crawled along her skin. She didn’t have time to stop for this, but something told her it was important.

  The attendant shot her a glowering look. ‘It changes all the time. You want somethin’ or what? I’m busy.’

  Mira glanced behind her. A queue was starting to build. She moderated her tone. ‘Please. I think he might owe my husband money. Just tell me his name, and I’ll go.’

  The attendant glanced at the newborn baby in her arms and relented. ‘Gutnee’s a common name he uses. But, like I said, it changes. Now move. Please.’

  Mira nodded her thanks and stepped away from the counter. Her stomach churned. She knew that name; Thales Berniere had said it to her many times. Gutnee Paraburd was the man who’d duped him.

  Nova began to cry, a gentle but insistent hunger noise.

  Our child is hungry, Mira.

  Si. I am close.

  Then why do you stop?

  I’ve seen the man who duped Thales. He is watching the soldier Fariss.

  Insignia made a harsh sound in her mind. You’re being distracted again. Bring Nova to me.

  Mira deliberately shut the biozoon’s voice out of her mind and used the cover of passers-by to move closer to Fariss without being seen. The soldier appeared to be loitering, chewing open-mouthed and surveying the patrons from under half-closed lids. She seemed neither threatening nor alert.

  Mira glanced at Paraburd. There was no doubt the man was watching Fariss. But where was Thales? Mira had seen him taken by the politic guards. So why was Fariss here?

  I should tell her that she’s being watched.

  Mira swivelled back towards the soldier, but she’d gone. Impossible!

  Joining the flow of traffic, Mira walked past the spot where Fariss had been standing and could see nothing save a narrow corridor peeling off from the main thoroughfare.

  Jiggling Nova against her shoulder, she stepped into the corridor and sagged against the wall. At the other end was a service door. Fariss must have gone through there, but the door appeared firmly locked. Maybe she’d gone elsewhere? Further into the main station?

  The nervous energy that had sustained Mira through the birth and the AiV trip down Mount Clement had completely drained away. Her legs and arms trembled. Tears threatened. She needed to feed Nova.

  Slipping her overall off one shoulder, she lifted Nova to lie against her. The baby latched on and suckled without fussing. Mira’s whole body relaxed with the movement of her tiny mouth, but with the release came an overpowering need to rest.

  She set her feet and fought the sensation. There was no chair or ledge, and she would not sit on the filthy floor. O’Dea had gone. She would feed Nova and continue on to Insignia. It was all she could do.

  Nova finished quickly and fell straight to sleep. Mira lifted her back up onto her shoulder and wriggled back into the sleeve.

  As she pressed the seal on the overall back together, the service door burst open. A red-robed politic guard staggered out holding his head, blood running from a wound on his temple.

  Mira pressed against the wall, out of his way, and he barely spared her a glance as he lunged past. Through the doorway, she saw fallen bodies in uniform robes. She glanced back to the guard, but he’d disappeared out of the corridor, probably looking for assistance.

  Mira ran to the doorway and peered through in both directions. She glimpsed two figures, one much taller than the other, trying to open a series of locked doors.

  ‘Thales!’ she called. ‘Fariss!’

  O’Dea jerked around, wielding a metal stanchion.

  ‘Mira.’ Thales’s voice was hoarse and soft. ‘Come.’

  She climbed over the fallen guards and hurried to join them.

  Fariss levered a door open with her weapon and hustled them inside. While she relocked it from the inside, Thales embraced Mira.

  ‘The baby,’ he said, stroking Nova’s head. Wonder smoothed the worry from his face, and he looked as young and attractive as the first time she’s seen him.

  ‘What have you—’

  But Mira didn’t let him finish. ‘The man that you spoke of to me... the one who duped you here. Gutnee.’

  ‘Gutnee Paraburd?’ Thales gripped her arm. ‘What of him?’

  ‘He’s outside, sitting at the kaffe across from here.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I stopped to ask directions. The kaffe attendant was watching Fariss and another ‘esque. The man seemed... familiar. Not someone I knew, but yet I felt as if I did. I asked the attendant who he was. He said his name... I remembered it. I went to tell Far
iss, but she’d come down this corridor.’

  Thales let go of Mira and turned to Fariss. ‘I must find him. The Sophos will not be able to ignore me if I can show them Paraburd.’

  The soldier’s broad expressive face creased with mistrust. ‘You sure, hon? From what I can see, they’re not gonna believe you anyways.’

  ‘Signorina O’Dea is right, Thales.’

  ‘Fariss,’ the soldier said to Mira. ‘Not Signorina anything. What’s going on out there? ‘Esques everywhere. Heard some things while I was waitin’ around. Seems too busy to be just rumour.’

  Mira quickly told them of the Sophos announcement and the broadcast images. ‘I’m going back to Insignia. We believe it is better to leave now.’

  ‘But you could res-shift straight into trouble,’ said Thales.

  ‘The Pod will keep us informed, and I don’t wish to be trapped here. I will take my chances. Now Nova has been born, there are things I must try to do. Will you come with me? Unless the shift sphere is disabled, they will come and destroy your world. Your Sophos don’t see the threat as real.’

  Thales and Fariss looked at each other, an exchange that held meaning she couldn’t decipher.

  ‘Then I must make sure that they do,’ said Thales.

  Mira saw the strength of his resolution, felt his need to accomplish this.

  She nodded. ‘Then I wish you success. A woman who works in the galley at Mount Clement, named Linnea, helped deliver Nova. She says many are unhappy with the Sophos. If you find her, she might lend you support.’

  ‘What sort of support?’

  ‘She is Pensare.’

  Thales raised both eyebrows.

  ‘Women’s movement. They’re everywhere. Militant, some of them,’ said Fariss. ‘I thought about joining ‘em, then I met Sammy.’

  ‘Mia sorella is—was Pensare.’

  ‘Your sister was one? I would find this woman at the clinic?’

  Mira shook her head. ‘Don’t go there. They are too curious. Linnea lives in the town below the clinic.’