Star Rigger's Way (7 page)

The ship accelerated; the banks edged closer on both sides. Carlyle's arms ached fearsomely from the strain and the chill, and he was sure he couldn't hold on even a moment longer. He looked frantically to the sides for a place, any place, that he could moor the ship to rest and recover. But the thought was absurd—the banks were speeding death to the ship, lined with shallows and blurred, treacherous boulders. There was no choice but to keep moving, not that they could have stopped if they'd tried, and he
had
to hold on, to cling desperately to the channel as it swung from side to side. His gaze sped along the water ahead of the ship, seeking the darker ribbon of the channel, and the ship fishtailed as he steered. He cried to Cephean:
Tighter, tighter!—
and the cynthian leaned harder still into the stern.

The banks escalated abruptly to become two close sheer walls; and the water rocketed through the gorge. They could not guide; they could only cling and pray.
Sedora
thundered through black roiling water and silver foam and spray, dashed left and right amidst shining boulders, cleaved miraculously to the center of the current—and shot over the edge of the falls.

The ship sailed, floating—but it was dropping like a cannonball. Mist and spray surrounded them, and the landscape flashed dizzily as they fell (skirting how many lightyears, Carlyle wondered ludicrously). The ship was falling outside the main body of the waterfall, and they had a few moments of calm; they seemed to be falling slowly, drifting rather than tumbling, but the cataract basin was incredibly far below them and growing fast. Carlyle's mind raced; the impact would utterly destroy them if they did not hit with their strongest point forward.
Nose first!
he cried.
Be ready to bring the stern about!
They would have to come about instantly under their own power or be churned to destruction by the whirlpool.

The basin mushroomed. Carlyle steeled the net to its limit; he would lift the nose as Cephean kicked the stern . . .

Sedora
slammed into the basin like an ungodly pile-driver, an exploding jackhammer, and smashed his thoughts and teeth and steel neural arms, and blasted his soul into pinwheels of fire.

He wrenched before blacking, and Cephean kicked—and the ship screamed through its skeleton and skin, caught by torrential waters, and it foundered and twisted in the whirlpool and refused to yield either to control or to the thundering currents; and then it bent like a maddened porpoise, hung poised for a breathless moment, an enormous and powerfully coiled spring shaking in the vortex—and it rocketed shrieking out of the maelstrom and coasted straight, shivering and, unbelievably, intact.

Against a deadening weight, Carlyle forced himself to see again, and he was astonished to discover that the madness had passed. The thunder died away behind them and
Sedora
streaked straight along a sparkling smooth river, and the way ahead was open as far as he could see.

We cleared it!
he screamed.

Hyiss yiss yiss yiss yiss!
howled the cynthian, who was so joyous at finding himself alive that he cast open all his feelings for Carlyle to see. (
Anxiety! Terror! Wonder! Relief! Intoxication! Anticipation!
)
H-where we gho?

To the Banks, to Cunnilus Banks, you lunatic cat!
shouted Carlyle gleefully. He was astounded at the relief in his own heart.

But the relief lasted just moments, and then
Sedora
lurched and scooted sideways and dashed like a startled barracuda, and the two riggers jerked their attention back to the net. Their pathway led among scattered and shifting currents, where the aftermath of the Flume broke into upwellings and downwellings and dying threads of energy. They still had to locate a current that would take them upward to Cunnilus Banks and safety.

The effort was grueling and tedious, and allowed no time for rest. The way was ambiguous, and shifted constantly. There were no charts for this highway; there was only vision and intuition. Carlyle found a wisp of a streamer and clung to it, an image of jetting atmospherics. The streamer carried them from one track to another, and he prayed that he was choosing the right way. The net strained between them when their visions strayed from one another; and more than once Carlyle shouted in anger, and Cephean slewed the ship threateningly. Carlyle cursed him, and received a bitter, hissing reply. But neither could have managed alone. They pooled their strengths and their guesses; when one's vision blurred with fatigue, they steered by the eyes of the other.

The currents nagged them and often seemed to deceive them, but in the end
Sedora
hurtled coasting out of the winds, and Cunnilus Banks glittered before them like a starry, snowy fairyland in the night sky—warming and welcoming to the weary travelers.

* * *

Carlyle settled back in the net and took a long rest to watch the sparkling snowdrift of stars. After a time, he spoke.
Not a bad piece of flying—eh, Cephean?

H-you kidss h-me, whass, yiss, Caharleel? Hi needs broil-damn odomilk.

Ho, you weasel, I ought to teach you to drink ale. Or maybe a spot of whiskey, no?

H-no, yach! H-you ffoison h-me, yiss?

I'll bet it's something Corneph's never tried.

Ss-rue, fferhaffs, yiss.

It's settled, then.

Yorgh. Hey, whass?

Carlyle was as startled as the cynthian. Janofer, clear and beautiful in the net, was staring at the two with mock-beady eyes.
What's this, Gev? You two are starting to sound like old friends: vicious.

Never.

Don't be embarrassed. It's nice.

Yeh.
Enough's enough.
Cephean, you ready for that ale?

H-you kray-ssee
, the cynthian muttered, and he vanished from the net.

Carlyle faced Janofer again, more comfortable now that he was alone.
I'm coming back to join you. Think we might make it together in the net now, ourselves?

Janofer smiled sadly.
Perhaps, Gev, perhaps.
She blew him a kiss. But then she was gone.

Perhaps? That was no answer. He flexed the net, feeling rather hopeful nonetheless. At least he could dream again of the future. Soon he would be back on Chaening's World, waiting for
Lady Brillig
at the Jarvis Port field. And Cephean—well, he presumed the cynthian would want to go home.

Right now, though, he had to get
Sedora
aimed on her final heading. He set about leisurely sighting the ship's lateral position along Cunnilus Banks, and he took a fix.

He cursed silently—and his hopes darkened. They were much too far abeam to reach
Sedora
's cargo destination, Gammon's Annex. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He had scarcely considered the possibility of reaching port, but the wrong port. What would the shipowners say about that? Surely . . .

Hey, Skan?

The com-rigger appeared silently, and listened as he outlined the problem. Skan shook his head.
Gev, you can find more things to worry about. The Guild will handle it. You saved the ship, remember?

Oh, yes, the accident. He would report to the Guild and they would handle it. He hoped. But would he be able to get home?
All right, Skan.

Now go get drunk with the cat.
Waving jauntily, Skan vanished.

Carlyle considered. He wished he could be as sure of things as Skan. Well, he had to pick a port, and from here Garsoom's Haven was a likely choice (and what the hell, he could show Cephean a real koryf). He extended the net and brought
Sedora
's nose up and to the right, and pointed it carefully toward Garsoom's Haven. Then he set the stabilizers.

He pulled out of the net and rubbed his eyes. He was most definitely ready for an ale, whether the cynthian was joining him or not.

And the way ahead was clear. Whether it was the right way or not was another question altogether.

Not until they had arrived in the system of Garsoom's Haven did Carlyle begin thinking in concrete terms about his future. And even then his thoughts were none too clear.

They had left the shining mists of Cunnilus Banks, had left the Flux, had brought
Sedora
spiraling up out of the subjective sea to normal-space. The local Spacing Authority masered them immediately. "Welcome to Garsoom's Haven. Your arrival in our space was noted, and we have dispatched a tow ship to solar orbit 61 by 72 standard. Will you need any assistance beyond the ordinary?" The communication was too prompt to have been sent at lightspeed from the planet; the Spacing Authority either had Flux-modulation relay satellites scattered throughout the local solar system, or a network of manned dispatcher posts.

Carlyle looked out the viewport, where Garsoom's Haven's sun was a small, orange-yellow disk darkened by radiation filters. He could not yet see Garsoom's Haven itself. The sun was the nearest in a strand of jewels edged by a dim veil nebula.

"Rigger-ship?"

He jerked his thoughts back to the communicator. "Garsoom," he said. "
Sedora.
We need help. We've had a Flux-abscess accident, with crew casualties, and we seek emergency haven. Please advise the RiggerGuild"—he had almost forgotten to add that—"and stand by while we test our drive to see if we can make rendezvous." He glanced at Cephean. The cynthian watched impassively, eyes unblinking.

"Sedora!"
The voice was suddenly demanding.

"Yes, Garsoom."

"
Sedora
, this is Garsoom's Haven Spacing Authority. We have apprised the RiggerGuild of your accident situation and have dispatched a tow ship to intercept you in your present orbit. Do not, repeat do
not
engage your ship's engines except in emergency. RiggerGuild Code specifies that in the event of any rigger-ship suffering a Flux Space accident, any port shall provide assistance and safe transit for the rigger-ship and crew and passengers, from the point of first possible contact . . . "

Embarrassment flushed Carlyle. "Quite correct, Garsoom. Thank you. We will not engage engines."

" . . . assistance if necessary," continued Garsoom. "Do you require medical assistance, and do you have adequate life support?" The operator was speaking carefully, asking the questions required by the RiggerGuild Code.

Carlyle answered, "We have life support, and there are no injuries among the living. Garsoom." He glanced at Cephean. "Part of our Code. The port has to do everything it can to help us. Otherwise it's in violation of our RiggerGuild." As if he cares, Carlyle thought. Whatever's on his mind, he's hardly said a word in two days.

"Hh-why?" Cephean said suddenly, lifting his eyes.

Startled, Carlyle shrugged. "Well," he said, "the accident might have damaged our space engines so we don't risk using them if we don't have to."

(He sensed
disapproval
.) "Yiss. Hh-why?" Cephean asked, whiskers twitching furiously.

"Well," Carlyle said, "it's because we're protected by the Guild. They enforce the regulations."

"Ssso. Hh-why?"

"Because if they didn't, people would take advantage of us." He didn't want to say that it was because riggers were . . . different. "We're the only ones who can fly starships, so they give us special protection."

"Hh-why h-only hyou ffly?"

"Cephean," he said with a flare of temper, "we're not like other people!"

The cynthian hissed and started pacing around the deck, muttering. Then he sat again and looked off in another direction. The riffmar hunched nearby.

Carlyle had to think about preparing for rendezvous with the tow. They were halfway across the solar system from Garsoom's Haven, but they were probably being sent the fastest tow ship available. So he should get busy making sure that the ship really was still space-secure.

Cephean was watching him with an unreadable expression. (But he sensed
scorn
.) Does he see this as another rescue—cause for "demise"? Carlyle wondered. Hope he's recovered from his suicidal urge.

The cynthian blinked and looked away.

Carlyle had been trying to understand his mood since the Flume. Cephean had been cooperative, but in a withdrawn sort of way. Does he regret having lived, is he anxious about landing on a human world, with slim chance of returning home? Cephean had refused to talk about it, and his "leaks" of emotion were more confusing than clarifying. He's young for a cynthian, Carlyle thought. Maybe he's plain scared.

The cynthian gazed at him darkly.

Carlyle gave up. "Cephean, I have to go check some of the systems down on the second level—below our quarters. Will you stay here? If you hear someone calling
'Sedora'
on the communicator, call me down below." He pushed several switches and pointed to the intercom. "If I don't answer, that means this intercom isn't working, and you'll have to come get me. All right?"

Cephean swayed from side to side. His tail flipped once.

"All right?"

(Carlyle sensed
annoyance
.) "Hyiss," said Cephean finally.

* * *

He had been in the life-systems room for less than an hour, reassuring himself that all the systems were in fact working, when he heard his name. "Caharleel." He looked up. "Caharleel." The sound came from the intercom.

"Yes, Cephean."

"Iss khall."

What? "Is the tow calling?"

"Hyiss. Iss khall."

"I'm coming right up." He closed the inspection panel.

"Iss khall," the cynthian repeated.

* * *

The tow flew out to them on a high-energy Krans trajectory. When it appeared, it grew with astonishing speed and slid across the starfield to intercept
Sedora.
It was nothing but a flying I-beam with Circadie space inductors at either end, a crew blister in the center, and attachment locks on either side of center. The pilot called them on direct beam. "
Sedora
, are you ready to be taken in tow?"

"Go ahead,
Fitztaylor.
"