Ra blinked again. ‘Only a fool is sure of anything.’
THALES
Thales stormed from the apartment and caught the conduit back to the Temple, not knowing where else to go.
Young men need exercise? Rene was treating him like a maladroit: an uneducated common man with no discipline over his urges.
Thales controlled his desire to hit something, vowing to prove her wrong by finding his composure in prayer. Yet, as he exited the carriage he experienced an irresistible urge to visit Villon’s statue instead of the upashraiya.
He hurried past the Jainist Temple, along the well- swept Avenue de Montaigne, and into the gracious sweep of Sextus Circe. The Circe was criss-crossed by streaming spotlights that roamed the neat garden borders and flashed across the colossal statues of the great philosophers—The Children of God. As Thales walked among them he found peace in their solidity; like the relief as a child of returning home after vacation, to a place where the world felt stable.
Villon’s statue was on the northern side of the Circe, between his philosophic predecessors Shelaido and Averro. Thales sought it out and laid his forehead on the young Villon’s feet, seeking solace. If his father was alive and here, he would, perhaps, have gone to him; and his father would have pulled him into his embrace with warmth and humour and eternal optimism.
Why did he not carry that same optimism? Why was he so quick to become angry or excited over thwarted principles and ideas, and yet found little to care about in the common decisions that a man faces?
Lofty, the girls in his home town had called him, with a snide curl of their lips.
And then later, at the Noble Studium, lofty became gifted. And the girls had smiled—softly, invitingly. But all the while his father had loved him for those ideals, and encouraged and been proud of him.
Why aren’t you proud of me, Rene?
Perhaps he was more like his mother than he cared to admit. But she had left them when he was so small that he had not known her well enough to make a truthful comparison. She was gephot, though, a member of an undeniably intellectual race who some thought had spawned the beginnings of transhumanism. Maybe his father’s patience stemmed from recognising the gephot in him.
Thales finally lifted his head, and noted the fully darkened sky. The spotlights had steadied into a pattern. As he watched one full sequence, it occurred to him then how heavily Scolar was influenced by Cerulean philosophies. Other than Greatest Elder Muuluan, there were no uulis immortalised here, nor mios, nor skierans. Indeed, only one other non-Cerulean statue held its own in Sextus Circe—a huge flat, smooth jade block upon which rested a marble representation of a flame: the flame of the sentient spirit and a tribute to Exterus, the first true Extropist. The Flame had been placed in Sextus Circe over five hundred years ago to celebrate the vast difference in Sentients’ beliefs.
Thales threaded his way over to Exterus and was surprised to find a small circle of candle-bearers kneeling at its base. He sank to the pavement beside them.
The one closest to him dropped her veil. The woman was of a similar age to Rene, and had a face that, surprisingly, he knew.
‘Thales?’ she whispered.
‘Magdalen? May I join you?’
‘What are you doing here?’
He forced a smile. ‘Is it unreasonable for a native of Scolar to be sightseeing in his own city?’
‘If that is all you were then I would welcome you to our remonstration. But you are part of the Pre- Eminence and that would serve neither us, nor you.’ Her dark eyes were lined with kohl, which seemed to accentuate their hollowness. She and Rene had been friends until Magdalen had chosen to follow the doctrines of Eclecticism. Rene had found its system too unformed and open to perversion.
‘I am not part of the Pre-Eminence,’ Thales said hotly. ‘I am me, Thales Berniere, Jainist.’
Magdalen smiled in a way that reminded him of his wife: patient and almost amused. ‘When you married Rene Mianos you married the Pre-Eminence, Thales. To declare anything else is self-deception.’
Thales’s anger returned in an instant, as if it had never really left him. He refused to have his life defined by his marriage or his relatives. The welling of his bitterness was so fierce and came from so deep within him that he could barely maintain a civil tone. ‘I am not Pre-Eminence!’ He did not shout, but the vehemence of his tone was meant as such.
‘And neither are you Jainist, if you raise your voice in such a way,’ Magdalen said coldly.
Her reaction stemmed Thales’s moment of vitriol and he swallowed hard to moderate the harshness of his voice. ‘Forgive me, Magdalen, but it has been a difficult day. Tell me, what remonstration is it that I am likely to disadvantage? Why are you here?’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ Her surprise had a mocking note to it. ‘Exterus is to be razed.’ She touched the block base and the marble crumbled off in her hand. ‘It has been injected with an industrial detrivore that will tunnel through it like a termite. In a matter of days it will fall. And it is only the first. Villon is next, then Averro.’
‘But that is outrageous!’ exclaimed Thales. ‘The Children of God are sacred.’ He glanced around the small group of candle-bearers, no more than ten of them. ‘Where is everyone else? Where is your assemblage?’
Magadalen pulled her veil up to cover her face again and her reply was muffled but unmistakable. ‘This is all there is.’
* * *
Thales left them and returned home, choosing to run up the stairs rather than take the lift. They mustn’t harm The Children. The thought burned him. He must tell Rene. She would help extinguish the terrible heat in his chest.
The moud opened the front door but Rene’s remained locked.
‘Rene!’ He hammered on it. ‘Rene, we must talk. The Pre-Eminence is planning to desecrate The Children.’
Rene’s cool voice entered his head through the moud. Be quiet, Thales. I can hear you.
‘Open the door so I can see you.’
Your tone suggests that you are not in control of yourself. I would prefer to see you when you have calmed down.
‘Did you hear what I said? The Children—’
I know. My father has spoken of it.
‘Your father?’ Thales pushed his palms against his temples to suppress the building pressure. ‘You knew?’
It is only selected statues, Thales. Villon was an agitator. It will not be a significant loss.
Not be a significant loss. Rene’s last words shredded Thales’s self-control.
In one quick movement he overturned the table, dislodging papers and Rene’s favourite drinking cup. Then he tore the apartment’s aspect cube from its mounting and threw it against the wall. As it shattered he looked for something else to break. Anything, anything to relieve the unbearable frustration. He lifted a chair and hoisted it at the window.
Alambra, call the politic, Rene instructed.
The moud set off the house alarm.
Thales threw the chair down and fell to his knees. ‘Rene. Come out here,’ he shouted. ‘Moud, override that.’
The moud remained silent.
I am Alambra’s priority, Thales. She will obey me. I think that you need appropriate reflection time.
I don’t need reflection time. I need your appreciation.
I need your prescience. I am being marginalised, shelved because of my ideas. What does that say about Scolar, Rene? What does that say about your father and the precious Pre-Eminence? To Thales’s chagrin his frustration turned to tears.
Behind him the outer door opened. He swung around to see the red sabres and brown robes of the politic guards as they swept into his view.
Rene, for Jain’s sake...
MIRA
‘Take us to the Rigel system,’ Rast badgered Mira again.
‘If help does not come to Araldis quickly, it will be too late. I must find an OLOSS representative first.’ Mira stayed resolute despite her churning stomach. Rast will not kill me. Not yet, she told
herself.
They sat, all four of them, in the ship’s cucina, eating diverse fare: a freeze-dried porcini risotto for Mira, while Catchut was feeding Latourn soup between swallowing mouthfuls of rehydrated stew. Latourn had recovered from the worst of his injuries but his strength was slow in returning. He still could not walk without help.
Rast played with her pistol as though it was a favourite toy. But her expression was filled with suspicion. ‘What else is going on, Baronessa, to put you in such a hurry? Rigel is only two shifts away. A few extra weeks and you would be rid of us.’
Mira hesitated. Rast had sensed her tension; she could see no option but to tell the mercenary. ‘The biozoon’s contract with my clan has nearly expired. It may not choose to renew.’
Rast spat a mouthful of kranse back onto her plate. ‘What in fucking Crux do you mean by that?’
‘I mean... there was... an agreement between
Insignia and my ancestors. When the biozoon considers that agreement fulfilled, it may choose to do something else.’
‘It?’
‘I—I’m not sure of Insignia’s gender.’
‘Thought you Inbreds were supposed to know everything about them?’
Mira wasn’t in the mood for Rast’s provocation. ‘Innate. You were in vein-sink as well as me—what do you think?’
Rast stabbed the half-chewed lump of kranse with her fork. ‘I don’t recall sensing any hard-ons, so I’d go with female.’
Catchut sniggered.
‘You are wrong. They do not have a clear distinction between male and female,’ said Mira.
‘Self-fuckers?’ said Catchut.
Mira winced at the crudity. ‘Not hermaphrodites. No. They need several of their own kind to reproduce. Two are not enough.’
‘Bonus.’ Rast smirked. She slouched and slung her arm along the back of Mira’s chair. ‘We could learn something from that.’
Mira shifted forward to avoid any physical contact. The mercenary loved to goad her. ‘Will it be so humorous if the biozoon decides not to allow us to stay aboard?’
‘What’s it going to do? Dump us?’ Rast touched Mira’s neck as if brushing away an insect.
She refused to flinch. ‘That is possible.’
Rast stopped her teasing and returned to shovelling in the last mouthfuls of food. When she finished she pushed the disposable container away, belching. ‘You’re shittin’ me. Right?’
‘No,’ Would Insignia harm them? Mira didn’t know. Right now the biozoon murmured comfortingly, almost lovingly, in the background of her mind. ‘Insignia is a highly evolved tetrapodomorph, not a humanesque. I have no way to predict its actions.’
Rast exchanged looks with her companions. ‘So what does the ‘zoon want to renew the contract and not spit us into the vacuum?’
Mira hesitated again, not wanting to sound ridiculous. ‘Insignia was bored on Araldis. I think it seeks... stimulation.’
Rast guffawed. ‘Now you are definitely shitting me.’
‘It had not realised it would have such a long period of inactivity.’
‘It’s like living inside a cooked ribcage. Even smells like it.’ Rast stared at the densely fleshed ceiling and ribbed walls of the cucina. ‘Can it hear me?’
‘If it so chooses.’
‘Frickin’ creepy,’ muttered Catchut.
Latourn began to cough, his body racked by the effort. When the fit passed he laid his head on the table in exhaustion.
‘Get him out of here, Catchut,’ said Rast. ‘He’s hawking spit all over the place.’
Catchut hooked Latourn’s arm over his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. He gave Rast an unreadable look and shuffled Latourn out.
The mercenary leader watched them leave, then turned to Mira. ‘So when does this so-called contract run out?’
Mira suddenly wanted to slap Rast for her indifference to what they had left behind on Araldis. Surely even a mercenary had regrets for her own dead team.
And yet, in the same moment, Mira could not help but envy her. No male would ever force himself upon Rast. ‘Insignia has not said—other than that it is soon.’
‘Ask it then.’
Mira listened for a moment to the background hum. ‘It does not choose to answer.’
Rast made an impatient noise. ‘Well, then, Baronessa, I suggest you get to know your tetrapodo-whatever a bit better so that you can bargain with it. Whatever its tastes are, I can probably get hold of it. Even the bizarre—’
‘No!’ Mira stared at Rast in disbelief. How could the mercenary think that way?
Rast saw her expression. ‘What, then?’
‘I will... see,’ Mira said.
Rast dropped her hand onto Mira’s shoulder and squeezed it hard. ‘Thing is this, Baronessa. I don’t fancy your exploding eyeballs being the last thing I ever see. But, one way the other, it will be, if you don’t make a good deal with your ship.’
* * *
Rast kept away from Mira en route to Scolar after that, other than to check regularly on their progress. Catchut found a library of entertainment sims in one of Insignia’s many cabin spaces and the mercenaries spent their evenings drunk in one another’s company.
Mira spent her time in the biozoon’s buccal, enduring her early-pregnancy nausea. Although she avoided total vein-sink, she let the Primo vein sucker adhere gently to her skin, massaging her body. The connection allowed the biozoon to help subdue her illness—mainly with distraction.
Insignia projected her own external views upon Mira’s retina. Without the benefit of full immersion, Insignia’s version of space appeared as a translucent corduroy tapestry, ridged and furrowed, and impregnated with fiery pinpricks of light. Some of those lights passed in a blurred instant while others seemed to burn for ever. And all the while the biozoon rose and sank with the gigantic waves of the solar winds, leaving Mira hollow with awe.
‘I had no idea it would be like this,’ she said. ‘No idea.’
But even her witness to the biozoon’s marvellous abilities couldn’t lighten her inner misery. And the misery made her angry. How could she allow Trin Pellegrini’s act of violence to defeat her when so many Cipriano women had suffered as she had? They had not died inside from it. They had not been rendered impotent with resentment. They had accepted and moved through it.
Yet while the memory of hard male fingers on her body remained, Mira was caught on a pendulum of emotions.
She wondered how Cass was faring. And if it was Djeserit or she who was caring for Vito? Did he have enough to eat? Had Trin Pellegrini eluded the Saqr and led the survivors to the islands?
Insignia, is there any news of Araldis?
Constant reiteration, Mira Fedor, is a trait of the inferior mind. I would have told you had there been news.
When can you farcast to Scolar?
I have explained this already as well. My farcast relay is not functioning at optimum length. It will be possible after the next shift—perhaps.
Mira rolled unhappily onto her side in Primo vein. The biozoon could be so intractable when it chose. She must find a way to get closer to it.
What had you expected when you came to Araldis with my grandfather? She focused on the steady, unhurried rhythm of its biologies as she waited for an answer.
Learning. Although we were a nomadic race, our vanzoons knew that we must keep a reproductive core separate, to ensure the longevity of our species. I was born into this Core Mass. When it was my turn to be allowed to rove I dipped into our collective store of memories. That area of the galaxy is little known to us.
But you must have realised that our clan were destined to be planetbound?
It was my understanding that my Innate and I would be permitted to rove when the new world was settled. But the Latinos proved unreliable. When your father died, I lost my emissary to your Principe.
Mira wanted to speak more of her father but she sensed their conversation would be better served in another direction. You enjoy wandering?
<
br /> ‘Wander’ suggests lack of purpose and I have a deep purpose. We call our roving rafa.
Mira liked the sound of rafa. ‘And what is your purpose when you... rafa?’
I don’t share my purpose! it said in an offended tone.
Embarrassment further warmed Mira’s skin. The biozoon reactions were so difficult to predict. I apologise for my ignorance. It can make me seem... impertinent.
Yes.
The vein temperature cooled abruptly and uncomfortable sensations prickled her skin.
Insignia?
The vein remoulded itself, forcing Mira into an upright position. The biozoon was forcing her out.
Reluctantly, she left the buccal to return to her cabin but Rast intercepted her in the high stratum. The mercenary was staggering, drunk or stoned.
‘Haven’t seen much of you lately, Baronessa. How are our contract negotiations coming along?’
Mira flattened herself against the stratum wall to avoid touching her. ‘They are... progressing,’ she lied.
‘Progressing, huh? Well, we’re getting bored and, let me tell you, that ain’t a good thing.’ Rast suddenly swayed across and leaned her body against Mira’s. She dropped her head to Mira’s neck, brushing her lips against the bare skin.
‘No!’ Mira cried out and pushed her away, running a couple of steps before Rast caught up with her.
‘Whoa there!’
Mira wrenched her wrist free, shaking, and unable to calm herself. ‘You have no right to—’
‘Fuck it, woman, what’s your problem?’ Rast held her hands up in a placatory gesture. She glanced up and down the stratum, embarrassed.
Mira didn’t answer; she fled to her cabin. When she reached it, she struck the pucker with her fist as if it were Rast. When it retracted she ran inside and fell onto the bed.
Mira? Insignia’s thought was filled with concern. Changes in your physiology show distress.
I am... I do... not want the mercenary’s attention. It is important that she understands this. Mira climbed off the bed to enter the washspace. I wish to wash my face.
Chaos Space (Sentients of Orion) Page 4
