Transformation Space (7 page)

Rast nodded. ‘Let’s move then. Keep low.’

Dropping down behind the last line of dunes, they skirted the breadth of the landing port until the sand became the rocky
underlay of the mountain.

A faint hot breeze prickled against Jo-Jo’s sweat-drenched skin. The relief wouldn’t last long. One ray of direct sunlight,
and every drop of moisture in his body would evaporate in the blink of an eye.

‘Rest, Capo?’ pleaded Catchut.

Randall glanced to the horizon. ‘Not unless you wanna change your mind about dyin’ out here.’

Jo-Jo glanced up. About a hundred metres of climb to the building, and only precious minutes before sunrise. He reached for
Catchut’s arm again and hooked it around his neck. Randall did the same on the other side.

Between them, they clawed their way up the already burning red rock. Their time trapped in the
Medium
had atrophied their muscles, and Jo-Jo struggled to make headway, each movement the result of willpower, nothing else.

One more step.

One more step.

One more.

One.

By the time his hand touched the base of the catoplasma wall, Catchut was moaning with distress, and even Randall didn’t have
the energy to tell him to shut up. She pointed to the far side. ‘Should – be – stairs.’

The two of them crawled along to the edge, dragging Catchut behind them. To Jo-Jo’s relief, stairs jutted from the side.

As Leah burst above the horizon, they crawled up the stairs, clinging to the shade of the building overhang.

Randall made the top first, turning around to pull
Catchut up behind her. The injured mercenary rolled into the doorway. By the time Jo-Jo joined them, Randall had popped the
door seal and dragged Catchut inside.

Jo-Jo resealed the door after them and fell back onto the floor, alongside the others. The cool wash of air was like a fever
breaking, allowing him to sweat. The environmentals were still working.
Thank fucking Crux!

But after a few desperate lungfuls of cooler air, Jo-Jo gagged. The place stank of death.

None of them spoke, though Catchut retched as well.

Jo-Jo rolled away from the other two and fell into an immediate exhausted sleep. Cramps woke him at some stage and then he
fell back to sleep, dreaming that his legs were trapped in the hardening Extro gel. He started awake again, thrashing.

A sharp kick to his thigh stopped him. He scrubbed his face and coughed out watery vomit.

‘Get up. I’ve found some food,’ said Randall. ‘You been out for hours.’

She was standing an arm’s length away, leaning on the railing of a stairwell. Closer to him, Catchut was sitting up, eating
something that looked like dry dough and drinking from a bucket.

‘Hope you don’ mind,’ Randall drawled sarcastically, nodding at the bucket. ‘They’re a bit short on cups.’

Jo-Jo took the container from Catchut and gulped down some tepid liquid. ‘Cheers.’

Catchut broke off some stale dough and gave it to him.

While Jo-Jo ground a piece between his teeth, he marvelled again at Randall’s resilience. Hair caked with
dirt and clothes ragged with filth, her lean face still looked alive and determined.

‘Most stuff’s intact here,’ she said. ‘Even a place to wash. Haven’t found an AiV yet, but a coupla days holed up here should
give us some recovery time. Might even be able to listen in to the ’casts if we can get the comms working.’ She glanced at
the ceiling. ‘That’s if anything’s goin’ on up there that we can follow.’

‘Can’t believe we’re still fuckin’ alive, Capo,’ said Catchut, weakly. ‘Any chance we could find some boots somewhere?’ His
feet were blistered and bleeding from the rock climb.

‘Sure thing. Plenty of bodies. Could have you dressed like an aristo, Cat. What you say?’

‘Never said no to a dead man’s clothes, Capo. He got no use for them.’

Randall gave a screwy grin. ‘Life’s been kind to us, fellas. We’d ended up in here a few weeks ago, we’d be spewing our guts
up at the stink.’ She sniffed the foul air. ‘They’re mostly dried out – just a little bit of dead left now. Rest is dust.’

Jo-Jo wondered if Randall had ever felt any reverence for the dead, or whether that part got lobotomised along the way. ‘You
think the Saqr are likely to come up here? There was plenty of ’em down at the port.’

‘Can’t see no sign that they’ve been back here since the first attack. They’ve eaten and left. We just need to keep real quiet
until we work out what to do.’

Jo-Jo nodded. With stiff shaky movements, he got to his feet. First things first: he needed to take a piss, real bad. ‘Where
can I wash?’

‘Up the stairs, next floor, other end. Few bags of bones along the way.’

Jo-Jo followed her directions to the bathroom, stepping over several robed bodies showing signs of mummification. Randall
was right – a few weeks ago the stench would have been unbearable. As it was, Jo-Jo still wanted to heave up his newly ingested
stale dough.

He relieved himself, sparing a moment to wonder whether being suspended in Extro goo had any lasting repercussions for his
body. So far everything seemed to be working as usual, although he hadn’t had a crap since leaving
Insignia
, and that couldn’t be a good thing. The
Medium
had nourished them during travel, but how well, and with what consequences, he couldn’t tell.

He stripped off his clothes and activated the water flow in the handbasin. Then he washed as much of himself as he could fit
under the spray. Not bothering to dry, he took clothing from one of the bodies outside in the corridor, and was tying the
waist cord on the robe when Randall and Catchut joined him.

‘A pretty fit, if it was made for a scarecrow,’ said Randall.

Jo-Jo stepped back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His face was so gaunt underneath his beard that he barely recognised
himself.

They were all bone-thin, and paler than a living person should be. He stuck his chin out. ‘You could do with change of clothes
yourself. I’m gonna look around.’

‘Just make sure you don’t set off any alarms. Don’t want something pinging down the port to the Saqr.’

He nodded. ‘Where will you be?’

‘We’ll get cleaned up and meet you in the kitchen on the third floor. There’s some dried food left in the cupboards.’

Jo-Jo searched the first two levels before fatigue ambushed him again. The lifts weren’t working, and he took care not to
turn on any lights. That meant stumbling into overturned furniture, and having to feel his way through offices. The absence
of bodies other than the ones in the corridor outside the bathroom made him curious. Had everyone evacuated before the Saqr
came?

He made his way to the third-floor kitchen and found Randall cooking up a pot of pasta.

Jo-Jo stared at her with mild surprise. ‘You can cook?’

‘As needs,’ she said tersely, ‘and don’t get used to it. I’m powerful hungry; feels like I haven’t eaten in a year.’

Jo-Jo was feeling the same. Now that he’d moved around a bit, hunger gnawed like a bitch.

Randall strained the pasta and dumped it onto three disposable plates. ‘One thing you can say about these Latinos: they know
how to stock a storeroom with food. Every building has a dining hall. Guess there’s no running out for quick food in this
stinkin’ climate.’

Jo-Jo sat himself down at the table next to Catchut. Randall had bandaged and braced his ankle, and they both looked cleaner.

‘No dead down below, other than the ones near the piss room,’ said Jo-Jo.

Randall forked some steaming farfalle into her mouth and took a moment to savour the taste before she answered. She gestured
up with her thumb. ‘Go
look in the meeting room up there.’ Then she added, ‘Might wanna let your food go down first.’

Jo-Jo wasn’t sure if she was serious, or just provoking him. Either way, he’d finish his exploration after he’d eaten.

Between them, they ate the entire pot and drank another bucket of water. Meal finished, Catchut stretched out on the floor
and fell straight asleep.

Randall, though, got down on her hands and knees to search the bottom shelves of the cupboards. ‘Gotta be some … Knew it!’
She slid out two big flasks. ‘The other good thing about Latinos. Araldisian red.’ She unscrewed the plug and drank deeply.
Her satisfied glugging made Jo-Jo’s mouth water. How long since he’d had a drink?

She belched, plugged the flask and threw it to him. ‘A few hours ago I figured never to taste this again.’ Her bloodshot eyes
sparkled as she watched Jo-Jo twist the cap off. ‘Been in plenny of tight spots over the years, but never come so close to
losin’ it as I did in that Extro ship.’

Jo-Jo took a swallow and nodded. ‘Weird stuff, all right.’

‘I said I’d never forget the fact you got me out of there, and I won’t.’ She opened the other flask and sucked in some more.
‘Can’t think of a much worse place to die than in that goo. Even the vac’d be better. You did all right in there, Rasterovich.’
She tapped her temple.

Jo-Jo shrugged, not wanting her to make something out of it. ‘More to do with how the Entity fucked my head over back when
I discovered it than anything else. Made it easier for me than for you to think.’

They sat in silence for a while, drinking.

‘You think she’s still alive?’ Randall asked him.

‘Mira?’

‘No, the fuckin’ Extro queen.’

She was baiting him, but he laughed. It felt good to be alive. ‘Yeah. I do. Might just be wishful,’ he said truthfully, ‘but
she’s a survivor.’

‘Like us?’

‘No. She’s smarter than that.’

They both laughed this time.

Then Randall’s expression sobered. ‘I shouldn’t have left her alone on Rho Junction,’ she said. ‘Thought she’d be OK. We were
so damn close to the ship. Didn’t expect anything to happen. Bethany was with her too. Beth’s got smarts.’

‘No. You shouldn’t have,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘And I won’t fuckin’ forget it till we find her alive.’ It was the first time the mercenary
had admitted guilt at Mira Fedor’s kidnapping.

Randall stared at him. ‘Figured as much. I don’t give a fuck about your forgiveness, though.’

Jo-Jo didn’t like the direction of the conversation, so he hauled himself to his feet, then bent down and rubbed his shins.
‘Gonna find somewhere to sleep. I’ll finish looking around in the daylight.’

Randall nodded. ‘Thinkin’ the same way. Don’t change the shade settings on the windows, and stay away from them once it’s
light. Might be that the Extros in that big ol’ flying drum were happy to get rid of us, but the Saqr might fancy a bit of
fresh brain juice.’

‘Hear you,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Where da ya think we’ll find a flyer?’

‘There’re buildings all over the mountain. If we go out at night, we should be able to cover most of them. Could be, we get
lucky and find one that hasn’t been damaged.’

‘Or?’

‘Could be, we spend the rest of our days eating pasta, right here. Until it runs out.’

‘I think we’re gonna get lucky,’ said Jo-Jo with a certainty he didn’t feel.

‘Sure,’ said Randall. ‘And OLOSS is gonna fly right in here and take Araldis back. Mira Fedor will be with them. She and I’ll
fly off into the black together and get rich.’

Jo-Jo gave her his best scowl. He didn’t like that scenario much better than the first.

‘Your placenta is breaking down. We must take the baby from you soon, or it will starve.’

Mira felt vulnerable lying on her back, covered by a translucent membrane and under the scrutiny of an array of sensors. The
clinician – Dolin, he introduced himself as – was like all the others who had come to examine the odd Latino woman carrying
a child of indeterminate biology: curious but nursing a hint of faint repulsion beneath his spill-resistant research whites.

Rene Mianos had been true to her word, arranging for Mira’s transfer to the Mount Clement facility as soon as the biozoon
docked. It had come at a price, though. Thales Berniere had been escorted off the ship, straight to the Sophos, by red-robed
police. The Consilience soldier, Fariss O’Dea, on the other hand, had easily disarmed her would-be captors and simply disappeared.

Mira wondered if Fariss and Thales had worked out a plan for this eventuality, or whether the soldier had simply decided to
cut her losses and leave. Either way, Mira went to Mount Clement alone.

As she and Thales had been escorted away from the egress scale – Mira on a hospital float and Thales in restraints – she had
seen a fine-looking, slim woman standing in the background of the down-lift area. She’d
wanted to tell Thales his wife was there, but the Scolar authorities had allowed them no time to speak or say goodbye.

‘Will my baby survive?’ she asked Dolin.

‘We’re unsure, Baronessa. We’re not a neonatal facility as such, though our cellular accelerator may be just what you need.
If you agree to its use, then we should be able to mature your infant’s development enough for it to survive. You should know,
however, that to date we have only used it on test clones.’

‘What could happen to my baby?’

‘The accelerator has been seen to trigger Werner syndrome in a small percentage of recipients.’

‘What is that?’

‘Werner syndrome causes accelerated aging. The process goes … too far, if you like to look at it that way.’

Mira closed her eyes as he continued to speak.

‘The good news is that despite its short gestation the baby in your womb appears unusually well-formed for its biological
age. It should only need a short exposure time. More worryingly, our scans show that the baby has some unusual physical characteristics.
You say the father was humanesque?’

Mira had been over this so many times in the past few hours that her tongue refused to cooperate again. She stared at the
clinician in frustration. They’d all wanted endless details from her but were prepared to give only generalisations in return.

Dolin saw her expression and relented. ‘Do you consent?’

‘What will happen without it?’

‘We predict the baby will only survive a few minutes. Its lungs are too immature, as are some of its other organs.’