Mirror Space (Sentients of Orion) Page 4

  ‘My father did not make mistakes as far as he was concerned.’

  ‘Mistakes are the province of sons not fathers,’ Juno said. ‘We should alert the other yachts.’

  Trin nodded. ‘Everyone must be tied on.’

  ‘But what if the yacht breaks apart, as Juno says?’ asked Joe anxiously.

  ‘Better strapped to something that floats than not.’

  Juno nodded his agreement. ‘I will wave the warning cloth.’

  ‘When Djeserit comes, I will ask her to go to the other yachts and tell them.’

  ‘That would be best, Principe.’

  While Juno crawled along the crowded deck to the stern, Trin moved to the edge and let his legs trail in the water. If Djeserit was nearby she would come.

  And she did, surfacing like a beautiful, elegant sea creature, her hair streaming. She rested her arms against him, blew a spray of water from her neck gills and took a land breath. Her breathing adaptation between air and water was so perfect, thought Trin. An accident of birth that turned out to be flawless. Or perhaps her parents had been truly clever and had it geneered that way. They’d taken her to a hybrid clinic, so she’d told him.

  ‘Principe?’ she rasped. When she had been underwater for a while her vocal cords took time to stretch.

  ‘Can you see the eastern sky, Djes? We fear a windstorm.’

  She craned her head in the direction he pointed. ‘The sea is disturbed. I can feel the swell building.’

  ‘Juno thinks the winds could be strong enough to wreck our yachts. Go to the others and instruct them to tie themselves to the decks. Everyone must be secured.’

  She frowned with concern. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You must come aboard as well.’

  ‘I am safer below the waves, Principe. I can swim deeper.’

  ‘But what about the xoc? They will seek the depths too.’

  ‘We... I mean, they... don’t feed during the storm.’

  His heart lurched at her slip of inclusion. Every day she became more a part of the sea. Would he be able to win her back when they finally found a place to stop?

  ‘Principe?’ called Juno. ‘No more than an hour, I estimate.’

  Trin leaned down to kiss the top of Djeserit’s head. ‘Crux protect us all.’

  She gazed up at him with the smile that never failed to soothe him; a smile of belief and love. ‘Be safe, my Principe.’

  She pushed off the yacht and with a flip of her legs was gone.

  * * *

  It took less time than Juno Genarro had supposed for the wind to whip’ the waves. Djeserit had not returned, but Trin could see the women preparing, shuffling about their yacht until they lay close together, clinging to each other. Then the swell began to shift the yachts in different sequence so that he only glimpsed the others when his own peaked on each wave. Juno Genarro fixed their rudder and reduced the sail width, so that they drove straight up the face of the enormous waves. Trin’s fear began to abate with the regular rise and fall of the water and was replaced by exhilaration. The sea was more magnificent than anything he’d ever experienced. He listened to the shouts of the other men and wanted to join them, screaming into the face of the giant waves.

  But the storm had more than elation to give them; the wind strengthened, drawing the swell into impossibly high peaks and bottomless troughs, ripping away their flimsy spine bush covers and tossing them about the raft.

  Clouds scudded across the sky, giving them scant protection from the sun as they clung to each other, drenched and terrified.

  We will die. Trin knew it, as surely as his fingers ached from clenching the weed rope and his muscles cramped with the effort of staying aboard. Nothing could survive such seas.

  And yet, finally, the wind blew itself out and the waves gentled, and they were still afloat—desperate little barnacles clinging to their posts.

  When it was possible to speak and sit upright, Trin called for a head count. They’d lost one overboard to the storm: an ‘esque from the mines, a brawny fellow whose woman had died in the walk from the shaft to the Islands. Trin hadn’t known his proper name. The Garabinere just called him fratella.

  ‘Principe, the other yacht. It’s missing,’ shouted a hoarse Carabinere voice.

  All the men scrambled to look to the stern.

  The women. No! It was the second yacht of men. The ones who’d come from the mines. Cass Mulravey’s boat seemed intact and carrying its full load.

  Trin stared, dumbfounded. How could all those men have been lost, and yet the yacht with the women had survived?

  ‘We need cover,’ said Joe Scali. ‘Before the cloud breaks up.’

  ‘The spine bush is all gone. We have no other shade.’

  A wild shout echoed to them from the bow, and the men turned toward Juno Genarro who stood, staring ahead, as he had done since the moment they’d begun their journey. ‘There is our cover. On the island. The wind has given us wings.’

  The island lay just beyond a set of gentling breakers. It loomed large and thick with brown vegetation. Tears welled in Trin’s eyes, and he let them run, unchecked, down his face. Dios and Crux. We are saved. We are saved.

  The men got to their knees, or their feet, yelling in jubilation. Trin sat back down and let his legs trail in the water—his signal to Djes. Exhaustion and relief and sadness and elation combined into a strange and disembodied sensation. He felt as if he might float right across to the island of his own accord. Walk across water and lie beneath the lush bush.

  Something splashed his face. He wiped it away. But it splashed again and again. Drawn from his daze he blinked, expecting that perhaps Djes was splashing water at him. But the taste of the drops in his mouth was different; without salt. He blinked again, trying to fathom it.

  ‘Madre di Crux,’ cried Joe Scali in disbelief. ‘It is raining.’

  THALES

  A fever had beset Thales, leaving him shaky and sweating and with little appetite.

  ‘But you said you didn’t receive the bio-package. Perhaps it’s something else?’ said Bethany. ‘I should call the medic.’

  She sat close to him in an armchair in the luxurious cabin that Tekton the archiTect had procured for them, part of his promise to give them passage back to Akouedo system so that Thales could receive his antidote from Lasper Farr.

  Tekton resided in an adjoining cabin but had kept to himself other than entertaining Bethany to dinner last evening. She’d returned restless and a little irritable and it had stayed with her.

  ‘You’re a medic.’ He smiled weakly, but his comment only seemed to annoy her.

  ‘I’m a scientist, Thales, and not at all versed in pathologies. You must get help.’

  He shook his head firmly. ‘Too much explanation.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think the bacterium your brother gave me has broken down the barrier earlier than it should have. He is the only one who can help me.’

  ‘But you don’t know that.’

  Thales shrugged and rolled away from her. He did. He knew. Yet his HealthWatch was superior. Thales should be unable to get sick, unless he encountered something that could defeat the immune booster nanites in his system. And there was no naturally occurring disease that could do that.

  Bethany clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘You stubborn...’ She didn’t finish. A moment later he felt the bed move, as she sat on it and her hand stroked his arm. ‘Please, Thales. I-I am worried for you.’

  He sighed and rolled back to face her. ‘It’s only a few days until we shift.’

  She offered him a glass of water.

  He rose onto an elbow and sipped it gratefully. ‘How was your dinner?’

  ‘I’m not sure I trust him. He’s very clever and he wants something from Lasper.’

  Thales handed her back the glass. ‘So do we.’

  She sighed. ‘I’m not sure how things will go when we get to Edo. Lasper promised to help me find Jess but with the Baronessa gone—�
�

  ‘The mercenaries and your friend Rasterovich will find the Baronessa.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘I believe they will. But if the Extros have taken her, will she still be alive? Or at least, will she be the same?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re Post-Species. Crux knows what they might want to change about her.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Thales slowly, ‘that it depends upon why they took her in the first place.’

  Bethany nodded. ‘I’ve thought about it over and over. It must be something to do with her Innate Talent. What else could it be?’

  ‘She is a most decent and refined woman. Life has brought her misfortune.’

  Bethany fixed him with the piercing stare that reminded him so much of her brother. ‘You admire refined women?’

  ‘I-I am used to th-them,’ stammered Thales. ‘That is all. She reminds me of...’ He trailed off, suddenly aware that he had said too much. He had not spoken to Bethany of his wife, nor would he.

  ‘There is someone on Scolar?’ she asked. He didn’t answer.

  She placed the glass on the side table and stood up. ‘Of course there is. How could there not be?—a young man like you ... I suppose you intend to return to her.’

  Thales’s palms grew moist and the heat returned to his body. He wanted to tell Bethany how much her affection had meant to him but she became blurry before he could form the words.

  ‘Thales. Thales, I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean to...’ Her voice grew thick, and distant. And then it was gone.

  * * *

  It came back again—he wasn’t sure how long afterwards—sounding even more desperate. ‘Lasper? Is he...? Will he...?’

  ‘He’ll recover,’ replied her brother. ‘You said the bacterium wouldn’t affect him if he brought the DNA sample back in time.’

  ‘It shouldn’t have. I checked his Health Watch was current before we administered it but our latest blood screen analysis shows it’s an inferior version to the one he should have. He’s from Scolar. No one on Scolar gets substandard HealthWatch. It’s in their charter. Perhaps someone wanted to harm your friend.’’

  ‘Substandard? But that might as well be murder.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lasper Farr. ‘It seems fate has intervened. He is fortunate that he didn’t receive the DNA vaccine. His immune system would have been completely defeated. He’d be dead now.’

  ‘Then you would have killed him.’ Her voice sounded cold and angry.

  ‘Circumstance would have killed him. Coincidence. Events. The things beyond most people’s control.’

  Thales listened to their conversation, struggling to make sense of his whereabouts. Wasn’t he aboard The Last Aesthetic still? If not, then how long had he been unconscious?

  He rolled his head to one side and it pounded. His skin felt raw and hot as though he’d been dipped in boiling water. He tried to think. Lasper Farr. They must be on Edo. And his HealthWatch? Was Lasper Farr saying someone had tampered with it? Someone on Scolar?

  Sophos Mianos! Has my father-in-law tried to murder me?

  The possibility sent a shot of adrenalin skimming through Thales’s inflamed body. Mianos surely had the authority and the conniving. HealthWatch was administered at birth on Scolar and renewed at yearly intervals. Thales had attended his father-in-law’s clinic since his marriage to Rene; on Mianos’s recommendation. He had been quite pressing, Thales recalled, that he should do so. Perhaps good luck had kept him healthy until now. Good luck? He had had little of that.

  He opened his eyes.

  Bethany was leaning over him but looking at her brother, her face pinched with worry.

  He shifted his gaze to the end of the bed. Lasper Farr stood there, arms crossed, the expression in his grey eyes unreadable.

  ‘Beth?’ Thales croaked.

  Her glance fell to him. It was full of tenderness and something else he couldn’t quite identify. ‘Thank Crux,’ she whispered. ‘Thales, you’ve been terribly ill.’

  He groped for her hand. ‘I feel dreadful.’

  She nodded. ‘They had to transfuse you. You’ll be weak for a few weeks. But I’ll help you. Lasper says you’ll make a full recovery.’

  Thales licked his sore lips. They prickled as if the skin had been removed and his cheeks ached. ‘Why does everything hurt so? My face?’

  ‘The bacterium caused some necrosis.’ Her saw the look in her eyes again: a nervousness. ‘We’ve stopped it killing the tissue but there’s been some scarring.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In different places.’

  ‘On my face?’

  ‘Yes, Thales,’ she said huskily.

  ‘It can be reconstructed though. Anything can.’

  Bethany bit her lip, her eyes darting in an accusatory manner at her brother. ‘The bacteria have damaged the cell structure. You’ll need to have a prosthetic. Nanites won’t be able to repair all of it.’

  Thales let the information digest. In truth he felt so terrible it did not really mean anything.

  ‘The more you sleep, the quicker you’ll recover.’ He managed to move his head to nod. It was all he wanted to do anyway.

  TEKTON

  Edo entranced Tekton. Naturally he’d heard talk of the planet built solely of the larger cast-off items of billions of sentients but he had never expected for a moment that it might be beautiful. It was said the planet wasn’t solid but merely an accretion of rubbish held in place by the gravitational pull of an old space station. Because of that the outer layers were less compacted and inclined to move position. A kaleidoscope of reflective surfaces.

  Not only that, but he’d the good fortune to arrive on the final day of the month-long annual Trade Fest. Even more fortunate was the appalling physical deterioration of the young scholar Thales, which meant that Lasper Farr and his sister Bethany were immediately engaged in saving the young man’s life, leaving Tekton time to explore.

  One entire habitation chamber had been given over to the Fest. Tekton wandered amongst the stalls enjoying the sales talk and the inevitable boasting that went with displays of any kind. He also enjoyed the space and air in the chamber. Though The Last Aesthetic had been a most luxurious ship, space travel eventually became claustrophobic.

  He admired the cleanliness of the entire station and stopped at an information booth to watch the advertising film. How surprising to find that rubbish could be so creatively and sanitarily recycled.

  ‘Your first visit?’ asked the Lamin behind the counter in a high, girlish voice.

  Tekton gave a vague nod. He couldn’t bear the creatures: vain and arrogant and fastidious. Not that Tekton didn’t like things to be just so, but not in a Lamin armpit-picking, fingernail-clicking self-impressed way.

  ‘Well, I suggest you hurry and take a good look. The Fest closes tonight and I can’t say I won’t be relieved. Two months on my feet in these heels... The best work is up on the dais, so they say. A couple of things causing a real stir up there: a living glass sculpture that’s destined to shatter soon in a grand spectacular, and a fluid statue of a humanesque. I’ve heard it’s made of quixite but I haven’t been able to get away from here to have a look.’ It sniffed.

  Quixite! logic-mind and free-mind screeched at once.

  Tekton scanned the chamber, locating the dais with its colossal giant glass protrusion. Without a word of acknowledgement or thanks to the talkative Lamin, Tekton made a beeline for it.

  After a weapon search by a surly balol at the foot of the stairs, he was free to ascend and enjoy the sculptures.

  The glass pillar inhabited by an organism was so truly spectacular that Tekton’s free-mind overtook his logic-mind in a swell of creative satisfaction.

  So twisted. So strained. Such glorious refraction. And the organism. Tragic. Profound. Death in Freedom.

  It babbled for a while as Tekton drifted around the base of the column in a kind of meditative ecstasy.

  Perhaps he would procure a ticket to the gla
ss explosion. If it was timed, as the spruikers were insisting, to have twin suns shining on it, the experience would be unrepeatable.

  And expensive, interjected logic-mind sternly, desperate for a way to be heard. Without enough quixite from Araldis what will happen to our project? Without the project what will happen to our tyro placement on Belle- Monde? Without that—no fat stipend.

  Tekton jerked out of his trance and looked around. ‘Where is the quixite statue?’ he demanded of the closest spruiker.

  ‘Roight behoind yuu moitey,’ it carolled.

  Tekton turned and pushed his way into the gathered crowd. The statue stood twice his height; a fine male figure, naked and unmistakably humanesque. The thing that so fascinated the audience though was the statue’s genitals, which every few moments shifted in a carefully fluid but determined motion, from flaccid to erect.

  Subtle changes then occurred in the erection, the swelling of the bulb and the enlarging of the testes.

  Porn-art, concluded logic-mind.

  Yes, agreed free-mind, but the liquid play of the quixite makes it something far more intimate. A triumph of reality.

  Pah, said logic-mind. But it does pose the question who the model was and how many times the artist needed to study his arousal.

  Who indeed? Tekton wondered. And that thought gave him quite a rush of akula. He would be eager to meet the man.

  He glanced up at the face.

  Upon recognition, his mouth dropped open in astonishment. Good Sole! It’s me!

  But Tekton wasn’t the only one to recognise him. It began with three young female humanesques next to him who nudged and giggled and pointed; and spread through the crowd in a whisper, until more eyes were upon Tekton than the statue.

  For the first time that he could ever recall, Tekton was the centre of attention that he had not specifically manufactured. And he could not even think of a way to turn it to his advantage.

  He was, in fact, flabbergasted.

  In an instant the spruikers roaming the dais picked up the situation and boomed it out to anyone who would listen. ‘Fenr-oi-lia’s model. Fenr-oi-lia’s model. Come and soi-ee the man whose cock grows bigger than a soisage balloon.’