MIRA

 

‘What do you advise?’ Mira asked Wanton.

The Aves had divided into small groups and flown in different directions. One group appeared to be gliding towards the mamelon in widening, shifting circles.

‘As Mira-fedor climbed, Wanton observed crevices.’

‘Caves?’

‘Not large enough to be caves, but depressions. Wanton suggests that Mira-fedor takes cover in one of them.’

Mira peered down at the swirling water. It had steadied. ‘I’ll carry you in my clothes again so that I can have both hands free,’ said Mira.

‘It would be more sensible for Mira-fedor to reinstate Wanton’s position on her neck.’

‘No.’ Mira spoke firmly, holding the Extro at eye level. ‘Even if you do not wish me harm, it is possible they will reach me through you.’

‘That is a reasonable evaluation,’ Wanton agreed.

This time she slipped the Extro into the seam of her sleeve and began to climb downwards in a slow, careful spiral. Fatigue made her clumsy and slow.

There was not a lot of exposed rock left and no crevices that she could see.

She peered back out at the pillow surface of the Hue. The Aves grew larger as they closed on the mamelon; three times her size, at least, and distinct enough for her to see the tubular array along the length of their wings.

‘What are those things on their wings?’

‘Wanton cannot see, but would expect that they are weapons.’ Wanton’s projected voice was muffled.

‘Guns?’

‘No.’

Mira began to pick over the rock with renewed urgency, this time tugging at anything that looked loose. Over on the far side of the mamelon, a boulder shifted as she stood on it. Climbing above it, she placed her feet on the top and began to bear down. Using a rocking rhythm she attempted to dislodge it.

It came free without warning, and crashed down into the water below. Caught by the momentum, she slid after it, scraping her side as she clung to the edge of the hole it had left. But the soil came loose in her fingers and she banged into the slippery rock below as she scrabbled to stay out of the water. Her belly bumped cruelly into sharp protrusions.

This time she didn’t have the strength left to pull herself higher and she hung there helpless.

Insignia, she cried.

I am close, dear one. Be stro—

But a noise above her filled her mind; a drone that sent a vibration through the rock itself. Water sucked at her clothes, weighing her down. She slipped down into it but as her head was about to dip below the frothing water, something gripped her captive’s robe and pulled her back. For a moment her heart lifted.

Insignia?

Coming. I’m coming.

Then she felt the pain of a cruel grip and an Ave towed her into the sky, retracting its legs as it lifted her high above the mamelon.

She glimpsed the water racing along its course beneath her; and then the strange twisting concourses and quilted top of the Hue.

The Ave pulled her close into its belly; so close that she felt the slippery touch of its skin and the wet warmth of its body. The claws that held her were crawling with small insects that jumped onto her and ran inside her robe. She feared slipping as it swung in a sharp sloping turn back towards the place it had entered the Bare World.

Sharp squeals punctuated the flight towards the open button-top in the Hue. The other Aves gathered at its wing tips, all calling out in the same high-pitched noises, until the sound itself left her almost unconscious.

‘Mira-fedor! Mira-fedor! What is happening?’ Wanton’s voice sounded tiny and so distant that she barely registered it.

Mira lifted her sleeve to her mouth and licked dry lips. ‘The Ave is taking us back.’

‘No, Mira-fedor. We must not—’

She dropped her arm away from her ear so that she couldn’t hear the Extro.

‘Nothing,’ she mouthed at the muddy water below. ‘Nothing I can do.’

Hopelessness overwhelmed her. Not even the defiant kicks from the child in her belly gave her strength. She hung, helpless, in the Ave’s grasp and closed her eyes as the wind stung her, the squeals struck through her core, and she became numb with the futility of her situation and the exhaustion of a body pushed beyond its endurance.

Whatever it is, let it be quick, she thought.

Mira?

Insignia’s voice was stronger in her mind, but even that failed to stir her.

I am here. Do not be frightened, dear one.

Mira didn’t answer the biozoon. She was beyond fear now. Beyond feelings. She didn’t hear the explosion that punctured the faux sky, or feel the Ave dive towards the roof of the Hue in terror.

She was spared the sight of the biozoon scalding the skin from the creatures that had hunted her down, just as her mind protected itself from her fall to the strange quilted surface when the Ave’s claw opened involuntarily with pain; and best of all she did not see the dreadful, dreadful rage that Insignia loosed upon the surviving creature, ripping it apart with the spine of its hardened underbelly, and crushing the flickering life force beneath it when it set down on the Hue near its fallen Innate.

 

* * *

 

‘Mira-fedor! Mira-fedor!’

Insistent, tinny shouting roused her, but she couldn’t see, as if her eyes were cloaked with dark patches. She managed to roll her head but any more seemed impossible.

‘A biozoon, Mira-fedor.’ Wanton sounded excited, she thought distantly.

Dearest, you must come to me so I can help you.

Insignia’s voice crept into her limbs but still she couldn’t move them. The baby in her stomach felt heavy and lifeless.

Mira. You must come to me. My sensors tell me our baby is dying.

Our baby. She found herself echoing the biozoon’s words in her mind.

And with that echo, a frisson of concern grew; concern that brought with it a tiny surge of energy and will. Insignia would heal her baby.

She tried to awaken her other senses. She blinked repeatedly to clear the darkness. From the vague outline it seemed as though the biozoon had berthed on her right side. She would need to crawl there. But crawling required the movement of useless limbs so she began to rock from side to side until momentum took her over in one complete roll.

She waited awhile, summoning the energy to repeat the manoeuvre. Wanton called encouragement to her, though she could barely understand its speech.

The child remained inactive.

Change direction, Mira, Insignia instructed. I am closer to your feet.

Sluggishly, she inched her chest forward towards her belly until it would bend no more. Then she worked her legs backward away from her head.

Her breaths came slow and hard, as if her heart could barely pump the necessary blood to keep her lungs functioning.

She rested for a time before trying again.

Rock, rock, rock, became her mantra, followed by the painful exertion of tipping over: pain without energy.

After a handful of rolls she felt the hard, sharp edge of something against her face. Her fingers moved compulsively at the contact.

Once more. Roll onto the lip, instructed Insignia.

But that meant a small measure of elevation that Mira couldn’t manage. She drifted from consciousness but was brought back by a series of vicious stings to her hand.

Roll.

She jerked reflexively against it, enough to raise her shoulders onto the lip of biozoon skin.

It curled around her, lifting and sliding her up and then inside. Mira fell onto the spongy familiar surface of Insignia’s flesh and heard the muted sound of the egress scale sealing. A moment later she had the vague sense of being surrounded by softness.

I have encased you in a tubercle, Mira. I will attempt to heal you.

Nothing then.

For a long, long blissful while.

 

* * *

 

Mira avoided consciousness. Every time her thoughts tried to form into something cogent she deliberately broke them apart and sought the safety and comfort of nothing.

You must wake, Mira.

She ignored the voice. She did not need to wake. Ever.

The voice spoke to her sporadically, telling her things about the baby, or details of her own progress, but she did not care to hear them.

It seemed that it stopped for a time, and she welcomed the silent oblivion back. But it returned eventually with gentle persistence.

Mira, your brain activity suggests that you can hear me. Decisions need to be made.

Mira pulled the darkness over herself like a blanket. No. No more decisions. No more survival. Just the dark and the quiet.

Innate, please!

Mira stirred a little. Insignia had displayed anger and frustration before—but the biozoon had never begged. What is it ?

The Post-Species are pursuing us and I am not sure of your wishes.

I wish to be left alone.

That is not acceptable within our agreement.

Then end it. End our agreement.

Equally unacceptable. You have pledged freely. Your child is part of our contract and your carelessness nearly killed it.

My carelessness! Mira opened her eyes in a rush of anger. She lay in a cabin, on a bed. Drab silk folds hung across the fleshy ceiling and she could see through to the wash cubicle and a fresh fellala laid out on the dressing rack. Her cabin. How did I get here?

I am able to use a form of peristalsis to move things around internally. It is tiring but useful.

Mira tried to sit up, but her muscles refused her demand. She felt a sluggish kick in her abdomen and she pressed on the spot. My baby...

Our child is alive, but weak. As you are. You should know that there have been some changes to its metabolism.

What changes?

The child’s brain patterns are altered, and its endocrine and vascular systems are running at an accelerated rate.

I have compared the brain activity to those of my previous Innates, and there are no similarities.

You are saying that my child is not humanesque?

Not entirely.

Mira suddenly found it difficult to breathe and her heart contracted. Impossible.

That particular concept is most naive. Very little is impossible. You have brought a Post-Species entity into me. Perhaps your experiences amongst them have caused the alteration to the child.

Wanton. I-I had forgotten. Where is it?

The Post-Species sentient is located inside your clothing.

Mira lifted her hands from her belly and felt along her tattered sleeve. The hard, elliptical lump was still there. She fished inside and retrieved the Extro. The casing was intact and shiny, as though new.

‘Wanton?’

‘Mira-fedor?’ Wanton’s voice sounded faint and distant.

‘I can barely hear you.’

‘Preservation—constituents—are—degraded. Must—minimise—output.’

‘What has happened to my child?’

The Extro did not reply.

Mira lifted it before her face and shook it. ‘Tell me what has happened to my child or I’ll tell the biozoon to expel you into the vacuum.’

‘Vacuum—cannot—harm—me, Mira-fedor.’

Despite its conviction, Mira detected fear. ‘It may not harm you but you will be alone for a long, long while,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe for eternity. You are used to symbiosis, Wanton. Loneliness must frighten even your kind,’ she said.

‘I will—if I...’ The Extra’s voice faded off.

Mira shook it again. ‘What is it? What do you need?’

‘Mycose—levels—dimin...’ It fell silent.

Mira stared at the casing in despair. Insignia.?

The Post-Species appears to be in difficulty? Insignia sounded suspicious.

What would it need mycose for?

I am not comprehensively informed on Post-Species. However, its request for mycose suggests that there is a difficulty with its preserving process.

Do you have mycose?

Perhaps.

Mira began to move her limbs, stretching each one cautiously to test its functionality. She then tried to sit up again.

This time she succeeded. She tucked the pillow-rest behind her back and leaned into it. Her gown, though muddy and ripped, was dry at least; cuts and scrapes from climbing the mamelon peppered her feet.

She sighed, knowing what was to come. What do you want from me?

There will be no more discussion about broken contracts, said Insignia firmly. I comprehend that humanesques are intemperate and unreliable, but we are not. Integrity is vital to us.

At another time, Mira would have argued that integrity was as subjective as art or literature, but now she did not have the energy to argue with Insignia. I am sick... in my heart. Do you understand that? Beyond integrity.

Dramatics. My previous Innates had considerable inner strength. Perhaps it is a difference between your reproductive roles.

Mira couldn’t tell if Insignia was baiting her by suggesting she was not as mentally strong as her male ancestors—the biozoon didn’t understand the humanesques’ dual-sex evolution. Insignia’s species’ reproductive process was more elaborate and involved the participation of several of its kind. Yet the ‘zoon’s comment still stung her.

Mira had travelled so far from the patriarchy of Araldis and with each world, each struggle, she’d shed the beliefs that she’d been born into. Her innate sense of equality had lain dormant on Araldis until her life had been threatened by Principe Franco. Now, her sense of entitlement grew with every passing moment.

She took a slow and deep breath to compose her thoughts. I will not break my contract.

As soon as she thought those words a gentle, soothing sensation burst over her. Welcome home, dear one, said Insignia. I believe you will find mycose in the mercenary captain’s cabin.

Rast Randall?

Yes.

Where is Rast? The others? You said you left them somewhere.

It is best if I show you from Primo. Do you have the strength to get there?

Did Insignia emphasise ‘strength’? Or did Mira imagine it?

No matter. She slid her feet off the bed and placed them tenderly on the floor. She needed to wash.