Dark Space (Sentients of Orion) Page 17

  ‘Saqr? But they are water creatures,’ protested Trin.

  ‘Then these have adapted. Or have been adapted.’

  ‘Mira?’ He sounded far less imperious now, far less sure. ‘How can you be sure?’

  Her only response was an intensification of the hollow fear in her stomach. Instinctively she began to back away but before she could urge the others to do the same the Saqr lunged at Trin.

  Djeserit anticipated its action and threw herself in front of him. A foreclaw slashed through her robe and blood fountained from her leg. She screamed, arching her body.

  Next to her the korm erupted into more screeches, enraged by her friend’s injury. It went down onto its small forearms: haunches high, crest stiff, it launched itself at the Saqr.

  With unexpectedly quick movements, the Saqr tried to slash the korm’s flesh with its claws, while the korm countered with its slashing hind limbs. They traded attacks but the korm was weak from hunger and in a few short moments it tired of sparring. The Saqr caught the korm’s forearm and pinned it to the viuzza with several claws. From its mouth lobes thin, needle-like stylets protruded. It pierced the korm’s skin.

  The korm screeched again, this time in agony.

  Mira stood transfixed by the hideous scene. How could she not have realised? How could she not have understood what Jancz had hidden in the biozoon?

  ‘There is a pistol,’ she cried, suddenly.

  ‘Give it to me,’ Trin shouted.

  But even in that moment she hesitated to trust him. He snatched the bag from her and fumbled for the weapon but when he pressed the discharge the pulse was weak and the beam glanced off the creature’s thick carapace.

  Thin rivulets of fluid streamed from the korm’s arm wound and the Saqr’s mouth lobes worked hard, sucking greedily through its stylets.

  Trin crouched over Djeserit, tearing at the lining from his fellalo to bind her wound. ‘Go,’ he shouted at those around them.

  Mira’s legs still refused move.

  The Saqr tightened its grip on the korm as a cacophonous baying resonated along the viuzza. In a blur of shadows a pack of cane, drawn to the smell of blood, attacked the Saqr from all sides. It withdrew its stylets from the korm to counter them. Blood spurted from its mouth lobes and sprayed the cane. They became frantic, leaping, howling, and buffeting their horns against its hide.

  The Saqr reared onto its hind claws and began to fight in earnest, clawing and screaming until it chased the cane away into the night.

  No one moved.

  Slowly the korm righted itself and sank, exhausted, into a roosting position. Its wounds leaked a clear fluid, the sight of which broke Mira’s state of trance. Uncertain of what what else to do, she took water to it.

  It gulped some down and chittered softly at her.

  Mira then took the water bladder to Djeserit. Trin had bound up the tear in her leg with his royal ensign and hovered over her with concern. ‘Is there probiotic in that pack?’ he demanded.

  ‘No. There is no medicine,’ said Mira.

  ‘I cannot walk on it,’ said Djeserit. Her face was contorted, her eyes disappearing behind the folds of her lids.

  Trin touched her face tenderly. ‘Then I will carry you.’

  The action stopped Mira’s heart. His concern. His touch. Why had she not realised before? That night of the explosion at Villa Fedor, his presence in the lodge... but Djeserit is only a ‘bina. Surely even you, Trinder...

  Vito began to cry in her arms. Mira rocked him. The Pagoin infant had not uttered a sound throughout the fight, as if he had already learned when to be silent.

  Trin lifted Djeserit in his arms. ‘We are close to Carabinere headquarters. We must keep moving before the sun comes.’

  He was right. It was all they could do—Mira knew. She slipped the water bladder over Djeserit’s shoulder. ‘Keep drinking. You have lost precious fluid.’

  Djeserit nodded weakly. She clung to Trin’s neck, her head sagging against his shoulder.

  Mira’s stomach clenched. Djeserit was a juvenile alien on a world that despised her kind and Trin Pellegrini was a privileged humanesque used to the finer things. What use, what attraction could he possibly have for her?

  Trin walked on, leaving Mira standing with her thoughts. She hastened to the korm and urged it to its feet. If they lost sight of Trin, Mira knew that he would not stop for them.

  * * *

  ‘Behind those casas.’ Trin staggered now under Djeserit’s weight.

  Mira looked up at the brilliant night sky. Tiesha and Semantic spilled their combined light across Loisa for a few precious minutes before Tiesha set. What Mira had thought were merely shadows of walls became tight huddles of ‘esques, banded together for comfort and safety. Dawn was not far away now but its light would be harsh and unforgiving. They had to hurry.

  By the time they turned along the viuzza to the Carabinere compound the sky was brightening to purple. A crowd awaited them: mamas with strained, desperate looks on their faces clutching their ‘bini, and angry men with weapons.

  Vito fretted at the noise and Mira jiggled him against her shoulder. His weight made her arm ache but she did not dare to sit.

  A scuffle broke out as they tried to move closer to the compound’s fence.

  ‘There have guards at the gate entry,’ said Trin.

  ‘How will we get near them?’ asked Mira. ‘Everyone is here for help.’

  Trin stared into the crowd. ‘Use the ‘bino,’ he said.

  Before she realised what he was doing, he snatched Vito from her arms and forced his way into the throng. Carrying both the ‘bino and Djeserit, he bellowed to be let through. People made way for him, affected by his commanding tone and the young ragazza in his arms with a royal ensign as her bandage.

  The korm whistled and chirped and lurched after Djeserit, leaving Mira alone. Again, people parted automatically for the large, bloodied ginko. If she didn’t follow quickly...

  She stopped. Trin had the ‘bino and Djeserit, and the korm would follow. He would take them somewhere safe. Would it be so unforgivable if she lost them in the crowds?

  If she were alone then she could find her way to Insignia and leave Araldis for ever. Without Faja here she need never come back.

  The escape fantasy lifted the weight of Mira’s misery.

  She felt heady, a ludicrous sensation amid the heat and dust and panic—but an irresistible one. She began to edge her way out of the crowd but a woman grasped her arm, stopping her.

  The woman had a ‘bino in her arms and an older one clinging to her legs. ‘I need food for my children. They’re starving. Please. I’ll do anything.’ She wore only light robes and her crimson face was coloured almost black by the sun. Her expression was exhausted but stubborn. Something about her reminded Mira of Loris.

  Without realising what she was doing, Mira reached into her bag and brought out the last of the pane. The woman took it with shaking hands, nodding her thanks, and broke off bits—some for the ragazzo, tiny bits for the ‘bino.

  ‘Eat it slow, mind,’ she barked at the toddler.

  The child ignored her, gobbling it, spilling precious crumbs on the ground. He fell on them, licking up dirt. His mother dragged him up by his arm, cuffing him lightly. The child wailed.

  How unacquainted with hunger we are, thought Mira. A stab of pain that had nothing to do with starvation pierced her belly. There was no escape for her. She was trapped here with the rest, waiting. Faja had died here. Vito, the korm and Djeserit were her last connection with her sorella—she could not abandon them in the way that Trin Pellegrini had abandoned her. No.

  She turned back and searched the crowd for the korm’s unmistakable shape but she was too late. There was no sight of them at all.

  Trin

  Trin forced his way through the crowd to press against the fence. The sun had only just risen but already the wire was too hot to touch. ‘Seb Malocchi!’

  The guard saw him and stepped closer, gripping h
is rifle with gloved hands. ‘Pellegrini! You have a Principe’s timing. The last of us are leaving soon.’

  ‘Let me in the gate.’

  He shook his head. ‘Too risky. Go to the office and call the Capitano.’ He nodded at the ‘bino and Djeserit in Trin’s arms. ‘There will be room for you, Don Trinder, but...’ He left the rest unsaid.

  Trin’s heart contracted. He couldn’t leave Djeserit behind. He didn’t have time to examine his reasons for thinking so—but from the moment he had seen her alive after the bomb blast at Villa Fedor he had wanted to protect her. He knew that if he lived, then so she must. But would Montforte allow her to be evacuated with them? And Djeserit would want the korm to come with them. And what would he do with the ‘bino? He should have left it with Mira. Mira Fedor would find her own way. The eccentric Baronessa had the heart of a survivor.

  ‘Where is the Baronessa Mira?’ said Djeserit in panic. She struggled to look over Trin’s shoulder, nearly overbalancing them both.

  ‘Keep still,’ Trin ordered. His arms had begun to grow numb with the strain of carrying her light body. Pain stabbed the muscles across his shoulders. He lowered his mouth to her ear. ‘The Baronessa is close by. But I must get you away from the sunlight. In the Carabinere office there will be spare suits.’

  She fell back against him, exhausted. The skin on her cheeks had erupted in ugly bubbles of fluid and the movement of her neck gills was sluggish. If she stopped land-breathing he doubted that he would be able to revive her.

  Gripped by urgency, Trin pressed back through the crowd and along the viuzza. The redcrete outside the office was deserted. He placed his finger in the authenticator and carried Djeserit and the ‘bino inside. The korm followed them, making odd noises. She leaked blood still from the puncture wounds on her arm, as though the blood refused to clot.

  ‘Quiet!’ Trin made a stern face, stifling a desire to shout at her. He’d seen what the korm could do, even injured and exhausted.

  She chittered, unhappy about something.

  He placed Djeserit onto a chair and laid the infant on his desk. Its arms flailed in fear of abandonment but it didn’t cry.

  Trin shortcasted to the Carabinere. ‘It’s Trin Pellegrini.’

  Christian answered from the compound. ‘Where have you been, Pellegrini? Your negligence has cost us... I will personally discipline you for desertion.’

  ‘Not desertion, Capitano—Nathaniel was on duty,’ Trin countered.

  ‘Later I will find the truth of this but now we are evacuating. We have been recalled to Pell.’

  ‘Si. I have been down at the compound gate. Seb Malocchi told me to go to the office.’

  Christian made an impatient noise. ‘Come to the inner gate of the service yard. I will let you through.’

  Relief was like a first mouthful of wine: Trin had feared that Christian would refuse him. He raced into his tiny room and collected his few belongings into a valise, then ran back to Christian’s office and removed the medkit. Thumbing through it he found the coagulants used for stemming blood flow in wounds. There had been more of them yesterday, he was sure.

  Rummaging in the kitchenette he found a tray of leftover dried carpaccio—Nathaniel’s meal, perhaps—which he pressed into Djeserit’s hand. She took two slices and gave the rest to the korm.

  While they devoured the food, Trin pasted analgesic from the medkit on her leg around the wound. ‘We have a chance to leave here now. We must take it or perish. You need proper medical attention and the ‘bino needs food,’ he said.

  Vito began to mewl at the smell of the meat. Djeserit reached for him and let him suck the taste from her finger. He screwed up his tiny face and coughed; a heartbreaking look of disappointment.

  Tears leaked from Djeserit’s eyes and she brushed them a way with unsteady bloodstained fingers. ‘Where is the Baronessa?’ she asked. ‘Why hasn’t she come?’

  ‘Mira Fedor has others who will help her,’ Trin reassured her. ‘Now you must put this on.’ He held out a spare Carabinere fellalo.

  As Djeserit repeated his words to the korm, Trin showed her how to wrap the cloth and thread the fluid tube. The korm listened to her intently, her crest inflating and flattening as if she was agitated or unsure. But when Trin lifted both Djeserit and the ‘bino into his arms and headed out through the coldlock she followed.

  Christian opened the connecting inner gate. ‘Pellegrini—what in Crux’s name—’

  ‘Please?’ Trin held out the ‘bino.

  Christian took the ‘bino with bare, trembling hands. His face was sweating and his pupils had contracted to tiny pinpricks of darkness.

  ‘Trade visitors. Th-they were staying at the Villa Cabuto,’ Trin lied. ‘Jus Malocchi ‘casted to say they were in trouble. That’s where I went. Their aide is dead and the female is injured.’

  ‘What of the Cabutos?’ Christian looked unconvinced by the story.

  Trin shook his head. ‘Gone, Capitano.’

  ‘Cazzone.’

  Around them the remaining Carabinere loaded rifles and supplies into the AiVs. A vehicle lifted off through the open roof as they entered, leaving only three.

  ‘You. In that one,’ Christian told Trin. ‘We’ll go now before they break through the fence.’

  Trin experienced a pang of guilt about Mira. Would she survive? ‘Can we take more of them?’

  Christian’s eyes glittered. ‘And who might that be? Would you like to pick them? I am sure they will be delighted to wait in an orderly manner while you decide who will come with us. Idiota!’ He slapped Trin across the face. ‘A war has started, Pellegrini. Not just here but all over Araldis. Malocchi wants us back at Centrale as per the code. If you weren’t the Principe’s son I would leave you here for desertion. But you are our heir—Crux help us.’ He spoke the last words softly.

  Trin bore the blow and the insults without retaliating. He would remember, though. Always. ‘What about the familia?’

  ‘They have left already.’

  Trin thought of the empty villas they had passed. Indeed the familia had left—without a care for who they left behind.

  Christian began issuing final evacuation orders.

  Trin carried Djeserit to an AiV on the launch pad and lowered her into the last empty passenger seat. She cried out with pain and gripped his fingers, not wanting to be parted from him. Trin saw the fear in her eyes. He wanted to snatch her up again and reassure her but Carabinere in the other seats watched them with grim, suspicious stares. Instead he passed the office medkit to the closest one. ‘There are some coagulants left in there. Take what you need.’

  ‘Get in the co-pilot’s seat, Pellegrini.’ The pilot began priming the AiV. ‘The rest will fly with the Capitano and—’ A roar from outside drowned his words. A volley of shots was loosed outside and two Carabinere ran into the workshop. One of them was Seb Malocchi. ‘They’re through,’ he shouted.

  Trin climbed aboard and the pilot sent their craft upward. Only Christian, the korm and the ‘bino were left on the pad. Christian put the ‘bino down on the platform near his feet. The korm was crouched low on its hind legs; its fur flattened with the blast from the AiV jets, showing patches of blue skin.

  Christian calmly sealed his hood and climbed into the AiV.

  ‘No!’ Trin shouted at the pilot. ‘He is leaving them.’

  The korm jumped at the AiV and was knocked sideways as it lifted off. She fell heavily and lay still.

  ‘Capitano!’ Trin thumped his fists against the window. Behind him Djeserit cried out in another language. Trin lunged for the controls but hands grabbed him from behind, pinning him back against his seat. A cord whipped around his neck and another around his chest. He flailed against the restraints as the workshop flooded with ‘esques. Then the AiV banked left and away.

  SOLE

  little creature/ fixed fixed

  time concealed!

  break limits/how to?

  burden burden/force change

  play game


  MIRA

  Mira pushed her way back into the milling crowd, her heart thumping. Where is he? What will he do with them? She asked anyone who would listen about a ‘bino and a ragazza with an injured alien and an aristo. One man spoke to her—maybe he’d seen a korm near where the guards were posted—and asked if she had any food?

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No food.’

  Over and over.

  Pressing blindly through the crush, Mira found herself pushed against the fence. She shuffled along, pleading to be let past. Most wouldn’t shift from their position. She squeezed around people where she could. Someone spat at her velum. The wetness slid down to her sleeve. A few days ago such an incident would have appalled her but now she didn’t care—she could see the gate.

  But the crush got worse. So did the heat, and the resentment from people she didn’t know. Can’t breathe. Something pressed into her thigh. She glanced down, slightly dizzy, and saw the heavy lock. She tugged at it, calling to the guard on the other side. ‘Trin Pellegrini. Have you seen him?’

  The guard ignored her.

  Mira shouted again—barely a whisper above the noise of the crowd—rattling and kicking the gate now with the last of her energy.

  The guard scanned the sea of faces, his face unrecognisable under his hood.

  She yelled until her breath came in quick, hard gasps. Hear me! Please hear me!

  The guard took a step towards her, staring through the mesh, recognising her fellala as familia.

  ‘Trinder Pellegrini. The young Principe. He had a ‘bino and an injured child. Did you let him through?’

  The guard stiffened, gloves tight on his rifle. He began to walk away.

  ‘I want the ‘bino back!’ Mira screamed after him. ‘He’s got my ‘bino!’ Tears ran down her face. She clung to the wire, spent, only dimly aware of the crush and the noise.

  Around her a chant started up. ‘PELLEGRINI! WE WANT FOOD!’