And Fariss needed him.
She was kneeling on the horizontal strut now, inching her way up.
‘Open the passenger door,’ he told the vehicle.
‘This is a manufacturer warning. Opening the door at current speed will cause instability and changes in cabin pressure,’ the vehicle bleated back.
‘Proceed!’ ordered Thales.
As the door opened, he was slammed back against his seat by the wind that tunnelled through. He reached out a hand, which Fariss grabbed with bone-crunching force. She hauled herself up onto the seat, sprawling over him.
‘Close door,’ Thales gasped.
The door slid shut quickly, leaving them tangled and breathless.
Fariss lifted her head and dropped a heavy breathless kiss on his face. She slid her legs down and levered into the passenger seat. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’ll land near Clementvale. Make enquiries for the woman Linnea.’
‘But how we gonna shake them first?’
Thales stared out of the window. The city was passing beneath at a terrifying pace as they reached maximum speed. Worse was the vibration.
‘You overridden the safety?’ shouted Fariss.
He nodded and waited for her reaction.
She slapped him on the back with approval and squared her shoulders as the harness wrapped around her. ‘Make a soldier of ya yet.’
They didn’t try to speak again as the flyer strained toward its destination, leaving the slower politic flyer further and further behind. When they began to ascend Mount Clement, the vibration intensified, and a dreadful tearing noise filled the cabin.
‘Slow!’ Fariss bellowed.
‘Reduce speed!’ said Thales.
The command came too late. A large piece of fairing peeled off the nose and smashed into the passenger bubble. The bubble cracked under the impact, and a blasting gust of cold air speared through the cabin.
‘Engine malfunction alert,’ blared the flyer.
The dashboard flashed a sequence of lights that meant nothing to Thales.
‘Land!’ he shrieked.
Their descent was swift and ragged. For a few desperate moments Thales thought they’d hit nose first, but the vehicle corrected its wing balance in time to drop tail first. The impact was so hard that Fariss’s lap restraint snapped, and her lower body was flung forward. Only the shoulder restraint prevented her from smashing her head.
Thales’s neck jerked back and then forward. As he gasped for breath, Fariss was already wriggling out of her shoulder harness and kicking the door open.
She released Thales from his restraint and pulled him into her arms as though he was a small child being rescued by its mother.
‘Where to?’ She didn’t put him down as she slid onto the ground.
Through his daze he noticed grease on her face and the spatter of blood that ran from her high broad cheekbone down to her generous mouth. There was no smile on those lips. They were pursed with pain and determination.
He remembered how easily she’d strangled Lasper Farr’s soldier on Edo, the one sent to kill him. And then later how she’d shot the mercenary, Macken, when she’d caught him forcing himself on Thales. When Fariss decided to kill, she showed no hesitation. Or remorse.
He shook in her arms.
‘Thales!’ she demanded. ‘We stay here, and they’ll be all over us. Where to?’
He raised his head and tried to get his bearings. They’d landed on a commuter siding near the mouth of the quarry. Thales knew the area vaguely. His father had brought him here once, hoping his son might choose a less lofty position than scholar. He still recalled their conversation—his father’s resignation and acknowledgement of his mother’s genes.
‘You must know what it means to work for a living, Thales. Sometimes I think they forget. Those up there, with their ideas.’ He stared into the distance towards the city. It was then that Thales had felt the yearning to go there and become one of the untouchables. The pull had been so, so strong.
‘Follow the escarpment. Town’s over the other side,’ he whispered.
Fariss strode on without another word.
He tugged her shoulder and made her look at him. ‘I can walk,’ he said. ‘Put me down.’
She gave a nod and dropped him to his feet. ‘Shame. Kinda enjoy doin’ that.’
Another warm feeling infused his hurting body. She could still do that to him despite everything.
They headed up the side of the quarry toward the treeline. Thales found himself jogging to keep up with her. The brush at the top was thick, slowing their progress. Halfway along the escarpment, he begged Fariss for a rest. She stood impatiently over him as he sank into the dry grass, panting.
The politic flyer made several passes over the quarry before settling to land near their discarded flyer. Guards poured out.
She grabbed Thales by the arm and pulled him to his feet. ‘Get your arse moving, or I’ll be carrying you again.’
Staying under the cover of the trees, they crested the quarry. Beneath them, Clementvale spread through the hollow, between the quarry and another heavily wooded mountain on the opposite side, proof of what the area had been like before its excavation.
‘Cat-cons—are—down—there,’ Thales gasped. He pointed to a discoloured section of the uniformly white catoplasma rooftops. ‘If she’s a worker, she’ll live there.’
‘How will we find her?’
‘Ask—someone.’
Fariss nodded. ‘Come on.’ She gripped his hand as they slid and scrambled down the quarry-side, keeping him upright when he might have fallen.
They skidded down the last section as the guards reached the crest. Fariss had the first line of houses in her sights, and her unrelenting grip propelled Thales forward.
They hastened between rows of houses, weaving
through the lanes at Fariss’s whim. He wanted to ask her if she knew which direction to go, but he couldn’t catch his breath enough to speak.
As they moved through the centre of the town, a cloak of familiarity descended over him. He’d grown up in a town like this, and the sense of familiarity delivered a rush of emotion. Unbidden, tears began to stream down his cheeks.
Fariss cricked her neck to stare down at him. ‘You hurt?’
He shook his head and dashed the moisture away. ‘How far to the Cat-cons?’
She glanced at the rooftops. ‘Nother block, maybe.’
Scolar’s sun had started to set; they’d have darkness on their side soon. For the first time in his life Thales was relieved that Scolar had no moons. The street lights were already warming, and quiet had descended. It amplified the shouts of the Robes tracking them.
Fariss pulled him down one more lane and into a small amphitheatre. They skirted around its edge and past the next set of houses. These ones were a different colour: the Cat-Cons.
A group of children were playing in the last light, throwing balls at a wall. They stopped their game and stared at the fugitives. Then the oldest one grabbed the younger ones and shuffled them inside one of the homes.
Sirens were blaring now, alerting the town to an emergency. Inside the houses com-soles would be ‘casting images of Thales and Fariss to the occupants.
An ‘esque appeared in the doorway through which the children had disappeared. He carried a weapon.
‘Get on yer way!’ he bellowed.
Fariss squared her shoulders, and Thales felt her tension escalate. Her body became taut, ready to fight.
Thales straightened and limped forward. ‘We’re looking for a woman named Linnea. A Swestr. A woman—friend of hers—told us she would help.’
The man glanced back into the shadows in the doorway. He inclined his head towards Fariss and Thales. ‘Inside. Quick.’
Fariss stepped in front of Thales, her hands loose at her sides, fingers flexing. As they crowded into the small entrance, a woman spoke to them from the shadows of the hall. ‘I’ll take you to a safe place until Linnea c
omes. She’ll decide.’
Fariss didn’t like it, Thales could tell. He placed his hand in the small of her back and stepped round her bulk so he could see the woman. The man shut the door behind them.
‘Thank you. The Robes are searching for us. We don’t wish to bring you trouble.’
The woman was round and dark, and her Scolar accent was clipped, less cultured than his. She wore soft boots, loose pants and a collared shirt as if she’d just got off work.
‘You already did,’ she said without preamble. ‘Come.’
They followed her through the dully pigmented corridor, straight to the back of the house and into a neatly paved yard. The automated gate swung open at her request, and she hurried along an equally tidy paved laneway.
They could hear the Robes clearly. They were broadcasting a warning message along the streets and banging on doors. Thales glimpsed two of them between houses. They had their weapons raised and were engaged in animated conversation.
The woman began to jog.
Thales tried to keep up with her, but his body was close to collapse. Fariss fell back and linked her arm with his.
‘Just a little further,’ she whispered. ‘Then we can rest.’
He thought of Mira Fedor—how she’d escaped the Post-Species world and the Saqr invasion. From somewhere he dragged up determination. Mira had no one and nothing, and yet she’d survived. He was blessed with Fariss. He would not let her down. He pulled his arm from her support and quickened his pace again.
The dark was upon them when the woman stopped abruptly. She leaned forward, panting into a comm. The gates to another yard opened, and she hurried them through before they closed again.
From what Thales could see they were in an almost identical yard. Soft garden light lit their way towards the house, but the woman deviated from the path and squatted down among some well-pruned bushes. ‘Quiet as you can,’ she said. ‘Don’t want those inside knowing you’re here.’
Thales opened his mouth to ask where they were going, but he shut it again. The woman was nothing if not decisive. Like Fariss.
‘Hold hands,’ she ordered. She grasped Thales’s fingers, her own cool and dry against his. He reached out for Fariss, and she engulfed his hand with her huge grip. The woman inched into the dark shrubbery along the side of the house.
They stopped and started a few times, bumping into each other. Branches brushed their legs, and the ground became uneven.
Finally, she stopped and let go of Thales’s hand to kneel down in front of a large shadowy object.
Thales could hear rather than see her push the bushes aside from it: the soft crack of the breaking twigs, her even softer cursing. And then faint scraping noises as she turned some type of pump handle.
Fariss was still holding his hand. Her grip tightened when lights flooded the yard. She pulled Thales down into the cover of the bushes in the time it took him to comprehend what had happened.
Voices drifted around the side to them, clear and curt. ‘We’ve not seen your runaways here, Politic.’ The voice sounded honest and anxious—an older man.
The woman had done the right thing by not taking them into the house.
‘Stand aside while we inspect your yard,’ said the robe in reply.
‘Mind the garden,’ said the homeowner. ‘We supply the Sophos offices with lilies. Wouldn’t do to damage them.’
‘Where’s your wife?’ asked the robe, ignoring the man’s warning.
‘She’s at work. Won’t be home till the dinner’s cleaned up.’
‘Work?’
‘The Mount Clement clinic.’
‘Scrubber?’
The man didn’t answer immediately. ‘Galley supervisor,’ he said eventually.
Thales felt a tug on his arm, then the woman’s mouth close to his ear. ‘Get... down... in here.’ Her words were so faint he barely heard them.
He pulled his hand from Fariss’s and reached forward. The soil crumbled away and he felt a smooth edge of catoplasma.
‘Hurry,’ she whispered again.
Thales contorted his body round and slipped his legs over the edge as the Robes left the veranda. His feet dangled for a moment before connecting with a ledge, and beneath it another ledge—a rough stairway of some kind built into the catoplasma, leading to an underground chamber.
He climbed down as quickly as he could, not wanting Fariss to be left in the open. Within moments, her large feet were following him. As soon as her head was below the catoplasma lip, the opening closed, and they lost all light.
They both landed in a tumble on the dry floor. Neither of them spoke as they disentangled their limbs from each other and listened.
Silence from above.
‘OK, hon?’ whispered Fariss eventually.
Her concern had its usual anaesthetising effect. Somehow, it meant more to him than any of Rene’s slightly patronising attentions ever had.
‘What is this?’ she asked.
‘Underground water tank, I think,’ he said. ‘All the houses had them in my hometown as well. They pipe the catoplasma into the ground and blow it out so it forms a bubble. It sets hard, and then they siphon rainwater in.’
‘They safe?’
‘I’ve never been inside one before.’ He thought about it for a moment; remembered his father making him wait a distance from the house when theirs had been installed. ‘I suppose so. The problem is the displacement. When they expand the catoplasma they run other pipes to suck the soil out. Usually the catoplasma moulds to the terrain. But sometimes there’s a fault or a subsidence, and the whole thing shifts. I’ve heard of them cracking under significant uneven pressure.’
‘Significant pressure, eh? Let’s hope we don’t get none of that.’
‘What do we do now?’
Fariss reached for him and pulled him against her. ‘Wait, I’d say. At least for a while.’
He moved closer and relaxed against her hard body. She smelled sweaty and stale, and wonderful.
Her hands slipped inside his robe, stroking his skin. He lay passively in her arms. Fear and exhaustion and claustrophobia seeped away.
BALBAO
They were taken to a cabin high in the ship’s structure. Despite the residual head and body ache from imperfect shift, Balbao took in as much of the surroundings as he could. This was a battleship, fully serviceable and worn from recent business, not something dragged from retirement because of the invasion. He noticed little signs—the well-lubed hatches and the working shelf locks.
Because of his observations, he had less of a surprise than the tyros when the captain turned out to be Lasper Farr, Commander of the Stain Wars.
Not all the tyros. He amended that thought. Ra of Lostol showed little reaction, and Labile Connit looked unhappy rather than shocked.
Lasper Farr, like all infamous ‘esques, was less impressive in person than in myth. Balbao took in the lean, almost gaunt figure. Though he looked unimposing, something about him made Balbao entirely uncomfortable. It would be wrong, he thought, to underestimate him.
Farr looked along the line of them and offered Miranda a seat. His greeting cabin was sparse and functional: a table and attached seats. He did not ask the rest of them to sit.
‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Dieter Seeward and Lawmon Jise. But who are you?’
Balbao shifted under the penetrating gaze. ‘Belle- Monde’s Chief Astronomien. Balbao.’
‘Ahh, of course. So pleased you didn’t disintegrate with your world, Balbao. Would be a shame to lose such an excellent scientist.’
The Balol didn’t believe for a moment that he meant what he said. Commander Farr, he’d already decided, cared little for strangers.
But Balbao would not be intimidated. ‘This is Ra of Lostol and Labile—’
‘Connit,’ finished Farr quietly. ‘I know my own son, Chief Balbao. And Ra and I... have worked together on projects before.’
Many glances were exchanged in the shocked silence that followed his sta
tement—two revelations that almost made Balbao wish that he’d perished on Belle-Monde. Had he been harbouring a member of Consilience? What mischief had Labile wrought? And Ra? Why had he been conspiring with Farr? His thoughts swirled in a way that made it difficult to extract answers.
Ra spoke first. ‘Where is the device, Lasper? We must locate Sole.’
Farr’s face grew pinched with irritation. ‘No thank you, Ra? No heartfelt gratitude for the risk taken by me and my ship to keep you alive?’
Ra stared at him steadily, his multicoloured insect eyes shining in the cabin light. ‘It was not me you came to save, Lasper. It was your son.’
‘Don’t underestimate your value to me,’ replied Farr, letting his lips curl into a small unreadable smile.
Ra relaxed a little.
Labile Connit, on the other hand, looked as Balbao felt: sick and tense, but not about to be trodden on. ‘You are not my father,’ he insisted.
Farr regarded him steadily. ‘You may not like it, Labile, but it’s the truth.’
‘Good Sole!’ exclaimed Miranda. ‘What a pretty state of affairs. I’m sure there is much to be caught up on, but firstly... thank you, Commander Farr. Can you tell us, are we quite safe now? Where are we?’
Her brash interruption diverted Farr’s attention.
‘We managed to evade the Post-Species by using imperfect shift. We have taken casualties because of it. Not all the buffers withstood the untested vibration.’
‘A bold but necessary move, Commander,’ said Ra.
Farr was unimpressed by Ra’s declaration. ‘Our only choice. The Post-Species have obliterated the systems they have reached. Those who heeded the alarms have closed their spheres. But I must thank you, Dieter Seeward. The virus you created was quite a success on Scolar, I believe. And because of that, their shift sphere is still open. We are on our way there now.’
Every exposed piece of Miranda’s flesh turned pink. ‘We are going to Scolar?’
All heads turned to her.
‘Miranda?’ said Jise. ‘What does the Commander mean?’
The Sentients of Orion Page 107
