Chaos Space - Marianne de Pierres [62]
Insignia, how long until the OLOSS ship reaches us?
Exactly?
Approximately.
Less time than it takes you to dress.
‘They are too close now. We cannot avoid them boarding—you must hide it,’ said Mira decisively.
Rast reared up out of her seat and grabbed Mira’s arm. ‘No, we must run.’
‘We cannot run,’ Mira cried. ‘I have to tell them about Araldis.’
‘They won’t believe you—’
Mira stood impassively in Rast’s grasp and summoned her most imperious tone. ‘Hide it. And send Latourn to attend me at the egress scale.’
‘A-attend you!’ Catchut spluttered. ‘Why, y-you—’
But Rast cut him off with a decisive hand movement. ‘Play your game well, Baronessa. Your life depends on it.’
Mira took that warning back to her cabin where she hurriedly changed into a Pellegrini ceremonial robe. The bodice and skirt were too large for her thin body but the headdress fitted well enough. She bundled her hair behind the wimple and tucked away a couple of stray wisps. The mirror showed her strained eyes and faded skin colour. She turned sideways and stretched the fabric across her belly. There was no hint of her secret in this voluminous dress.
Insignia, contact the OLOSS ship and explain that they are welcome aboard but that one of the survivors has a quarantine-level illness. And—
Mira?
—Why did you not tell me that Rast had brought cryoprotectants on board?
I am not interested in the minor activities of your species.
You mean…only when it suits you.
There was a long pause before Insignia replied.
The OLOSS ship has requested that your delegate comes to their quarantine area.
Mira let out a relieved breath.
Latourn was waiting for Mira at the egress scale. His dark hair was slicked flat and he wore an ochre-coloured everyday fellalo over his grey garb. The robe was a little short but he looked well enough in it—as though he could be Latino.
Mira felt the force of his stare. ‘I do not need you to speak, merely to act as my attendant. Stay behind me,’ she said.
Latourn nodded, and smiled in a way that made her uneasy. There was no warmth in it, only a strange kind of hunger. It was a risk taking him to the meeting but preferable to the others.
She heard a dull thud.
‘That’s them,’ said Latourn, turning to face the rough, thickened flesh of the egress scale. ‘Lemme go first. Might be that someone’s nervous in there.’
Mira shook her head. She would let no one risk themself on her behalf. ‘No. Stay behind me,’ she repeated.
He shrugged and gave a mock bow. ‘Whatever m’lady wants.’
The docking connection is complete, Mira.
Let’s proceed.
The OLOSS ship’s entry chamber was as grey and functional as the corridors of Intel station. Mira was forced to sit on a bench close to Latourn as they were screened for contamination. Finally, a strong astringent scent filled their nostrils.
‘Anti-bac spray. It cakes your pores. Gives you a rash,’ Latourn muttered. Then he added, ‘Let me know if you need a hand to wash it off.’
A masked guard in an olive OLOSS uniform entered before Mira could react to Latourn’s suggestion. Two more joined him a moment later, carrying a chair and a fold-up table. When the table and chair had been set in front of Latourn and Mira, all three guards took up positions on either side of the door.
Latourn mimicked their action, settling himself against the wall opposite. Mira clasped her fingers together to keep them still and sat stiffly, waiting.
Finally, an affluently robed male with thin patrician futures and soft skin entered. Something in his manner reminded Mira of the Principe Franco: confidence born of authority. And not just authority, she sensed; self-belief as well.
He held out his hand in greeting. ‘Sophos Mianos, OLOSS designate on Scolar.’
Mira half rose from her seat and returned the soft-fingered touch. ‘I am Baronessa Mira Fedor of the Cipriano clan on Araldis.’
The man stumbled over her use of her title, she thought, but he quickly arranged his expression into sympathetic lines. ‘Now, Baronessa Fedor, tell me quickly