Star Rigger's Way (10 page)

The journey to Elacia V went as easily as the Guild navigational library had described it. Carlyle intuited a long glide-skate ride along rolling cyan hills under a rose sky,
Spillix
flattened and shrunk into a small board beneath his feet, racing along half a meter above the ground. The hills unrolled, rising and falling and curving, but always spilling in a generally downward direction toward the lowlands in which he knew lay Elacia V, curled about the estuary of a glistening sea.
So easy! Am I
riding on hope?
He didn't care; he was happy to be making homeward progress, and the future was his friend. There was no need to call Cephean into the net on this leg, and he left the cynthian to such privacy as there was on the small ship, joining him occasionally for a chat or a bit of play with the riffmar.

The trip took eight shipdays. Speeding into the Elacian system, home system of the old Elacian National Worlds, he was picked up quickly by a tow and carried around the sun to the fifth planet. After they landed, Carlyle immediately applied to the Elacian Spacing Authority for courier and/or precious cargo bound for Chaening's World. While waiting, he studied the Flux route to Chaening's World in the Guild library, talked with a rigger who knew the route, and then went to the seashore and lay in the sun. He persuaded Cephean to come along and purchased a large hoop-handled basket for carrying the riffmar and the riff-buds. But while Carlyle enjoyed the ocean and sun, Cephean mostly just sat and stared enigmatically off into space, the only sign that he was not frozen in a trance being the occasional flutter of his black great-cat ears.

Carlyle's timing was excellent. Three days after landing, he received departure clearance for Chaening's World with a small precious-grade cargo and several fat courier bundles, well over the minimum carryage required for the trip. They lifted at once, and half a day later
Spillix
and her crew entered the Flux bound for Jarvis on Chaening's World.

* * *

The flight from Elacia to the Aeregian Planets, of which Chaening's World was one, was much longer than the last leg—forty-three lightyears, normal-space. The topography was longer also, and more varied. Carlyle tried and found pleasing an image of fluctuating forest landscapes: they sailed birdlike through silvery woods interlaced with stuttering streams and ponds, blazing with sunlight by day and suffused with the glow of several moons by night; later, they drifted more slowly, a tufted airborne seed riding the breezes of a denser wood with undergrowth and blossoms of all colors; they crossed a violet marsh and later still followed a twisting river through meadow and forest. The scenery was natural for Cephean, as well; he flew with Carlyle and seemed to enjoy himself.

Life aboard
Spillix
was relaxed for the three weeks of the flight. Carlyle was content with his expectations for the future, and though Cephean did not seem content he at least answered when spoken to, usually, and made himself at home despite the cramped space. The ship had only a small commons/galley and two private cabins for living space. Cephean had his food from Garsoom's Haven stacked neatly in the galley, and he was eating it and no longer complaining or making vulgar noises. He even tried several of Carlyle's packaged synthetics, and he used the fertilizer solutions in both the riffmar beds and the riff-bud trays. The young ferns were doing quite well; they were now about a third the size of Idi and Odi, though they were still fragile and not yet walking. Cephean, despite his snorts at them, seemed pleased.

Later, they rigged through more exotic scenes: a flaming forest, a sunset blazing through silver-leafed, blue-barked trees. It was a mysterious wood, with slinking ground creatures and swift, shy animals of the air. Brooks darted and cascaded from hidden sources.
Spillix
became an air-eel gliding and snaking through the trees, never pausing.

Carlyle grew more excited toward the end, and Cephean more perplexed.
Whass, Caharleel? Fsthra-ange! H-why hyou sso ssthraange?

We're in Aeregian space now, Cephean. We'll be coming to Chaening's World soon.
If the image was strange and frenetic, that was because the Aeregian worlds occupied a crowded region of space, with many stars less than a lightyear apart, all congregated within the curled end of a thin, crimson nebula.

My home, Cephean. This image reflects my feelings.
Excitement, mystery, and hope against danger; it was not so much a reflection of his actual world of the past, as of his fantasies of the past. Memories as they might have been; of a past that might yet exist beneath reality's clouds. Visions of a world which orbited at the heart of this Flux image, visions of certain people.

Janofer, I'll be there soon. Skan? Legroeder? Have you kept my place for me?

Silence. They were not there, right now, to answer.

You haven't forgotten me? Not after helping me through with
Sedora!

Still, silence.

Caharleel. Hyor frenss noss here?

No, Cephean, they aren't here.
They never were, really. But they would be soon.

The forest became dreamy, with queer creatures peering out of hollows to watch the eel,
Spillix
, glide by. The sun grew bloodier and gloomier. Carlyle squinted and steered by instinct, and he laughed in a whisper at the evening animals in the treetops.

Ahead, the forest opened to a glinting terrain. Cephean, hanging way back in the net, whispered nervously,
Caharleel! Iss s-sea ssmell?

Yes.
The sea. Nothing symbolized Chaening's World to him quite so vividly as sunlight flashing over the coastline of the sea. They were very close now. Soon they would withdraw from the Flux; and they would be at the edge of the Verjol star system. By normal-space they would proceed to Verjol's fourth planet, Chaening's World.

Carlyle was riding a crest of expectancy. Salt smell filled the breaking forest, and sunset turned into sunrise. The light grew whiter and the distant glitter became patches of water. His pulse quickened as he applied real muscle to the net. The forest fell astern—and the ship flattened into a wide board beneath his feet. He shifted his weight back and forth, testing his control, and then he loosed all restraint and rode the fastest winds toward the approaching shore. At once he peered for a sign of people along the seashore, people who might be waiting for a particular rigger. He saw gulls, tiny boats bouncing on the waters, clouds high overhead, sun beaming onto sand and sea—and there, at the base of a sand cliff, people watching the sky.

He banked perilously and skimmed lower, along the cliff. The people waved. Janofer blew him a kiss, and Skan watched him with hands on his hips, grinning. Legroeder glanced up at him and immediately looked out to sea, but with a twinkle in his gaze.

Coming!
he cried.

They waved again, laughing, calling,
Gev—
! The rest was lost, but that didn't matter; Carlyle leaned into the board again, carried
Spillix
over the water, and climbed for a towering view of the sea. Sapphire, as far as he could see, all the way to the horizon where it met the sky. And the sun, flashing and splintering with abandon on the swells. And the shore, sand tumbling down from the edge of the forest.

Delirious, he flew higher, higher, the sky darkening and the land shrinking . . . he took
Spillix
ever higher in the Flux, circling and spiraling. The glow of sea and land beneath him faded, darkened . . . and he was surrounded by stars.

Normal-space.

Cephean wheezed nearby as the net fell dark. Carlyle tilted his rigger-couch forward and activated the normal-space controls. He turned the ship for a view of Chaening's World's sun, Verjol, a blazing disk against jeweled space. The sight of that sun made him dizzy with emotion. So many times he had doubted—now he was overwhelmed.

"Caharleel. Iss thiss h-where h-we gho?" Cephean was peering at him, not at the view.
(Anxiety.)

"This is it, Cephean. That's the planet. That's where my friends fly their ship from." He was so nervous it hurt. He had to get on with it before he burst with anticipation.

Chaening's World Spacing Authority responded after a short delay and told him that a tow ship was being dispatched.

Now it was just a matter of time.

* * *

When they came in under the power of the tow's Circadie space inductors, Carlyle sat like a fixture at the port. The Lacerta Ocean glowed deep to light blue along the coast; coming around on the leading edge of the planet was the continent of Aries, on the Lacerta coast of which was Jarvis. Scattered cloud cover made it impossible for him to spot the city, but he called Cephean to the view and pointed to where Jarvis must be underneath the clouds. "Yiss?" Cephean muttered. "Sso?"

"So that's where we're going!"

"H-we ffly h-another shiff f-from hhere?"

"Maybe. Maybe." He scowled and looked back out. The pilot was taking them through a powered, high-speed approach. The Aries continent disappeared behind them. "Look," he said, "I know you're not all that interested, but you might be surprised. You might like it down there. You might even like some of the people."

Cephean pawed his nose carefully.

Is he afraid of company, anything that might remind him of the quarm? Carlyle wondered. "Cephean, I think you should at least
try
to talk to people when we land this time. You can't just keep to yourself all the time. Will you try?"

The cynthian looked at him speculatively. The riffmar danced forward and retreated nervously. Cephean held his coppery eyes steady with Carlyle's. "Whass h-we do hon this fflaness, Caharleel?"

Carlyle thought carefully. Cephean wanted to know, really, what
he
would do on Chaening's World, and that was indeed a good question. If Carlyle rejoined Janofer, Legroeder, and Skan, it was not clear where Cephean might fit into the group. And if there was no place for him with Carlyle and his friends, what then? Could he find another ship, rig with another person? Live in the RiggerGuild Haven and become an alien curiosity? Carlyle's throat tightened as he considered the question. He couldn't be responsible for Cephean forever, could he?

What will
we
do on this planet? the cynthian had asked. Without Carlyle, Cephean would be friendless. And despite the cynthian's quest for solitude, he didn't truly want to be friendless. Did he?

Cephean was still waiting for an answer.

"Well, we'll check in, and if my friends are here now, you'll meet them, and—"

He was interrupted by a call from the tow pilot. "
Spillix,
we will be landing in twenty minutes."

"All right, tow. Fine," Carlyle answered. He turned back to Cephean. The riffmar were now on his shoulders, combing his fur. Cephean seemed to have forgotten his question. Carlyle was happy to try and forget it, too.

They were back over the Lacerta Ocean now. It grew beneath them, and the coastline drew nearer as well. Swells moved in long lines across the sea. And then they were over land, and the attitude of the ship changed, and they settled downward. Finally they touched down with a bump. The tow broke its connection and lifted, leaving
Spillix
motionless on the ground.

Chaening's World!

Carlyle looked out across the Jarvis spaceport. Most of the ships were fatter and taller than his, blocking the view. But above two freighters he saw a passenger liner lifting gently under the ungainly framework of a tow ship.

"Cephean," he said faintly—and stopped. It was hitting him. His heart turned inside out. He couldn't see the tower, the city, or much of the field, but that didn't matter. He was here. That was what mattered. He was
here.
Chaening's World. Jarvis.

The cynthian padded over to look at him curiously. Cephean was clearly puzzled, and no wonder. Carlyle was radiating a welter of human emotions, and even he did not understand all the kinds of hurt he felt. "Don't ask me to explain, Cephean. I can't. But maybe if you stick with me you'll get to understand." He glanced at the board where the communicator was winking, and then back out at the space field. "Got to check in."

The cynthian snorted and walked toward the exit. "H-we kheef h-our ssingss hon thiss shift?" he asked, turning at the doorway.

Carlyle paused at the board and looked back. "No . . . no, we'd better pack all our gear and take it with us. I'm not sure if we'll be coming back aboard again."

Cephean hissed and left to pack. The riffmar trooped along behind him.

Carlyle shrugged and turned back to the board. "Jarvis Control, this is
Spillix
rigger Gev Carlyle. Checking in with courier and precious cargo." He was busy for about five minutes, and then it was time to head into the spaceport center and the RiggerGuild.

* * *

The transport pod slipped along a clear tube running the length of the field. Scores of ships lined both sides of the tubeway. Cephean hissed and peered every which way out of the pod while they rode; Carlyle was untalkative, preoccupied by a feeling that his future was coming upon him rapidly. He remembered Holly Wellen's warning about hoping too much; but the worst that was likely, he felt sure, was that
Lady Brillig
might be out on a flight, and he would have to wait for her return. In that case he would relax, and perhaps travel. Maybe Cephean would be interested in touring.

The tube looped, giving them for a moment a view of the entire field, then they glided into the spaceport terminal. They were discharged into a lobby that was paneled with glass and cut stone, and dark woods from native forests. Two enormous grinbey plants climbed in intricate patterns from either side of the lobby, meeting in an intermeshing arch at the far side, over the entrance to the RiggerGuild section. They passed through the arch and on into the Haven.

The Guild Haven was carpeted with indoor moss, walled with soft-finished wood, filled with plants, and trimmed with curtains and psychotropic tapestries. The corridors were broken by frequent arches and alcoves and were busy without being crowded. Riggers wandered about in various forms of traditional dress: some in all-magenta tunics or full uniforms, some in capes or robes, others merely with a rigger shoulder belt or emblem. Most of them could have been recognized as riggers anyway. There was something in the gaze, the expression of dreamy intensity. A few required escort through the corridors, so lost were they in their visions. And some wore the special blue-edged belts which denoted the riggers of passenger ships—the fastest and most capable of all riggers, but not necessarily the most stable; these select individuals always flew with delicately chosen crews, under the direction of a Guild Captain, who was a com-rigger, a space captain, and a psychologist all in one.