Transformation Space - Marianne de Pierres [78]
Jo-Jo stared at the eerie sight of Saqr crawling all over Extro ship. ‘Can we get closer?’
Randall was obligingly conversational for once. ‘I’m figurin’ they already know we’re here. If we keep on movin’, chances are they’ll be too caught up in what they’re doin’ to come chasin’ us. We go in close, who knows? They might just blow us out of the sky.’
She was probably right. Their curiosity wasn’t worth the risk of attracting attention. Yet something itched at Jo-Jo. Something important was happening there. He knew it.
Randall reset their direction, and within a short time Medium had faded into the distance and the dark.
Sunrise came a few hours later, a gradual lightening then a blinding raw incision of light into the scorching world. The cabin windows automatically dimmed, and the AiV’s environmentals struggled to keep them cool. Despite wearing the fellalo he’d stripped from the dead Latino, Jo-Jo was hot. The flowing robe with the interior webbing of cooling nanites felt like a shroud.
They discussed the water situation and agreed how best to stretch out their supply.
‘They reckon these robes can recycle your piss into something palatable, if you need it,’ Randall remarked.
‘Got none to spare,’ said Jo-Jo. ‘Haven’t pissed since we left.’
She shrugged and stared out across the endless red desert.
By the time they saw the first glint of water, Jo-Jo’s tongue felt twice its normal size. None of them had spoken for several hours.
Randall tapped the map, changing direction.
‘What you doin’?’
‘We left an AiV on the Principe’s island. It’s how we got to the biozoon. Mebbe the fuel cell’s got some life in it.’
Jo-Jo nodded and blinked away the stinging sweat that ran from his hair into his eyes. The AiV turned on a northerly bearing and followed the coast. The islands beyond were dots of grey relief in a brilliant stretch of ocean. Somehow, it soothed Jo-Jo to see so much water.
‘Most of them are nuthin’ more than spits of sand,’ said Randall, nodding towards the islands.
‘You think they made it this far, Capo?’ asked Catchut.
The mercenary’s ankle injury from being stuck in the Extro goo was festering. Jo-Jo could smell it. Hopefully, Catchut’s HealthWatch was enough to overcome the infection. He seemed lucid enough, and without fever.
‘Here? Yes. But how they’d get over to the islands?’ Randall shrugged. ‘Maybe the palazzo’ll give us some ideas.’
On the back of that statement, she sent the AiV into a descent. Ahead of them and to the left Jo-Jo saw an island marked with wide-arched buildings, incongruous on the scantly vegetated tract of sand.
‘They like things to look like home,’ commented Randall, as if reading his mind. ‘You been to Latino Crux?’
Jo-Jo nodded. ‘Once. The women were too quiet for my liking.’
Randall laughed and gave him a sideways glance. ‘Funny how things work out, huh?’ She stopped short of saying, funny that you fell for one of them anyway, but the implication was loud and clear.
Jo-Jo bit back a retort. Things had been amicable enough between them on the flight, and he didn’t need to fan any flames. He craned forward over the dashboard. ‘Any life signs?’
‘Don’t seem so,’ said Randall. ‘If there were, they’re gone now. I’ll land as close to the hangar as I can.’
In descent, Jo-Jo got a clear view of the extent of the Pellegrini holiday chalet, a main building with numerous outhouses connected by covered walkways. The largest of the outhouses had a partially open roof. He took this to be the hangar Randall had mentioned. Wide sand beaches were segmented by empty jetties, and paths wound through the low brush. On the beach closest to the chalet sat another AiV, partially covered in sand.
‘It’s still there,’ said Randall with relief. ‘There’s a half-arsed infirmary in the chalet. Or there was. Lat used it.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Catchut,