Jael rose, along with at least half the riggers in the room. There was some crowding and jockeying for position at the half dozen ID readers, then she was in line. The woman ahead of her glanced back skeptically, but shrugged and said nothing. Frowning, Jael remained intentionally oblivious to any other glances, until her turn came to slide her ID bracelet into the reader niche. She drummed her fingers, waiting.
The screen blinked and displayed:
We're sorry. We cannot consider your application for any presently available position.
Jael stared at the words. For three months now, since her last flight, she had received nothing but rejections. It would have been one thing to lose out on positions if she'd been unqualified, but she was consistently being denied even the chance to prove herself.
"Hey, are you going to stand there all day?" complained a voice behind her. Turning, Jael focused her frown upon the voice's owner. "What'd you expect, anyway?" the complaining woman muttered sarcastically. "Why don't you try the other side? That's where you belong, isn't it?"
I don't know—what did I expect? Jael thought, turning away. Fair treatment? I don't know why. She returned to her seat with as much dignity as she could muster. A young man she recognized from rigger school kept looking in her direction; she did not return the gaze. But the anger kept bubbling back up. Why don't you try the other side? The thought made her tremble. The other side of the spaceport lobby was where the unregulated shippers hired riggers—riggers so untamable or unfit for society, or so desperate, that they would fly with virtually no legal protection, not even the minimal restrictions imposed on the registered shippers. It was there that her father had hired his crews. It was there that the family name had been turned from a name of pride to a name of derision. Never, she vowed.
But other words echoed in her mind, words she had heard someone mutter behind her back more than once: "Who the hell wants to hire a daughter of Willie LeBrae?" She hadn't responded to the comment; she never did. But that didn't stop it from hurting.
And that was the worst of it, really. Her fellow riggers, if anyone, ought to understand, ought to sympathize. Most of them knew the pain of rejection well enough. But it was as though they only knew how to cut deeper, how to make a wound hurt even more. There were those, of course, who just sat there, lost in their own worlds, neither harming nor helping. They barely stirred even to answer the calls; they were hardly going to rise to anyone's defense. And then there were her schoolmates—those whose trust she had gained anyway—but they were scattered like dust now, among the stars.
Jael was going to fly again, and join her friends out there; of that she was determined. Sooner or later they would have to give her a berth.
If she had to wait here forever.
* * *
The next few hours felt like forever. There was only one other call, and that for a single passenger-rated rigger, for which she was unqualified. She got up and went to the lunch counter and bought a cup of leek chowder, the only thing they sold that was any good; and she stood at the edge of the lounge, spooning chowder into her mouth, tasting the thick pasty sauce and the chunks of spud-vine and leek. By the time she'd scraped the little bowl clean and licked off the spoon, she'd decided that enough was enough for one day.
With a last tentative gaze over the lounge—as though one more call might come, as though waiting just a few moments more might make the difference—she trudged toward the door. And with a final dark glance across the lobby toward the unregulated area, she strode out into the late afternoon sun. A tremendous oppression seemed to lift from her shoulders as she left the spaceport building—not the weight of her unfulfilled dream, because that never lifted, but the weight of the enduring and the silent frustration. It was a burden she was willing to bear, because she had to for the sake of her dream; but it felt good to put it down for a while.
The road home to the multidorm wound up through the hills. It was a fine, crisp day—a good day for walking, for shouting at the wind, for sighing under the consoling caress of the sun.
"Jael!" The voice was behind her.
She paused and turned, blinking, only half-focusing. Her mind was still in the sky.
A figure was striding up the hill toward her. "Jael, how are you?" It was a dark-haired young man with striking silver eyebrows, waving a hand, trying to get her attention. "Ho, Jael! Are you in there? Anybody home?"
Slowly her inner concentration melted away. "Dap—hi!" she said, smiling slowly. "I didn't expect to see you. When did you get in?" Dap was her cousin, also a rigger—and one of the few people still based here on Gaston's Landing whose presence could bring a smile to her lips. Last she'd heard, he'd been out on a long flight.
"I just got in a few days ago," Dap said, falling in alongside her. "You walking up to the rigger hall?" He pointed up the road.
Jael nodded, resuming her stride. "A few days? I haven't seen you."
Dap shrugged. "I've been lying low since I got back. Wanted to be by myself for a while." As they walked together, he broke into a grin. "How have you been? It was really some flight, Jael. I didn't want to wreck the memory by coming in here right away and facing all that." He waved back toward the spaceport.
"That's great," Jael said softly, and felt a twinge of guilt. This was her cousin, and she wanted to share his excitement, but just now it was rather hard.
"You look a little down in the mouth there," Dap said. "What's the matter?"
"What isn't?" she growled, and instantly regretted her tone.
Dap chuckled. If anyone else had laughed, she would have wanted to murder him. With Dap, she was willing to forgive. "You think it's funny?" she said finally.
He nudged her with an elbow. "Naw. You know I don't think that. But are things really so bad?"
She shrugged and kept walking. "I can't get work. That's pretty bad, isn't it?"
"I know what you mean," Dap said. "But we all have trouble with that at some time or other. When you only have a few qualifying flights under your belt, it's tough to break in."
"It's not that. I've had two paying flights. It's not just breaking in."
Her cousin looked puzzled. "Then what—"
"It's that they won't give it to me. They don't want me. They're keeping me out."
Dap frowned. "You mean, because of your father's—?"
"Of course! What am I supposed to do? Change my name? Move to another planet? How can I do that if they won't let me fly?" She blinked back a tear, and had to steel herself to keep from crying. She couldn't help what people thought, but she didn't have to let herself be affected by it. And she didn't mean to wreck Dap's day too.
Dap grunted. They walked up the road, their feet crunching on the loose gravel. After a while, the movement began to dispel her gloom, and she asked, "So how was it? Your flight, I mean?"
A smile tugged suddenly at the corner of Dap's mouth. "Beautiful. Just beautiful." He turned suddenly. "Would you like to share it with me?"
She was startled. "What do you mean?"
"Dreamlink, Jael. There's a machine at my dad's friend's cottage. We could go there right now, and instead of my telling you about it . . ." Dap grinned and caught her hand. "It might lift you a little, Jael, to relive it with me. Taste it, feel it, smell it, see it. Jael, it was wonderful!"
Jael tensed with desire and fear. She felt Dap's hand release hers as she looked at him, looked into his intense, earnest eyes, dark under those silvery brows. "Well, I . . . I don't know,"
"Jael, have you ever been in the dreamlink? It's as close to rigging as you can come without being—"
"Yes, I know." She blinked her gaze away, embarrassed. "But it's awfully . . . personal, Dap, I mean, it's not like we're . . . I mean, we're cousins. We're not—" She'd heard how some riggers used the dreamlink during their off time. It made a very interesting enhancement for lovers. Or so she had been told.
"Hey—hey! Jael, it's not like that." Dap laughed gently and touched her arm, "Jael, don't worry—it's not sex
ual, if that's what you're thinking of." Now he looked embarrassed. "Or anything like that. I mean, sure it can be, but it doesn't have to be. It's just a way of sharing thoughts and memories and feelings and . . ." He hesitated, and shrugged.
She trembled, avoiding his eyes. This was Dap she was talking to, her cousin, her friend. What was she afraid of? Didn't she want the chance of feeling what he'd felt as he took wing between the stars? "I—" She felt her mind churning, her feelings turning over and over. Perhaps she should; at least it would give her a taste of what she'd been yearning for. At least it would be with a friend.
"Jael," he said, "well be looking right into one another, and our souls will link—"
"Okay," she sighed, interrupting him. She nodded and murmured huskily, "Okay, let's go."
Chapter 2
The Dreamlink
THEY DROVE in a groundcar from the rigger hall, gliding along the roadway. They passed around the far side of the hills, into a gorgeous pink sunset—with two of Gascon's Landing's three moons just hanging there, slim crescents shining in the reddish glowing sky. They drove to Dap's father's friend's cottage, where the dreamlink machine was located.
Jael felt a rush of nervousness as they got out to walk up a short path to the retreat. It was a real house, not a multi-dorm. Dap touched her arm, smiling reassuringly. The gesture helped her to overcome her doubts; she drew a breath and accompanied him to the front door. Dap fumbled in his pocket and fished out a slim metal wafer and slid it into a slot in the edge of the door. "The Donovons don't believe in ID bracelets—you have to use a key," he murmured. The door clicked and swung inward on hinges. Jael followed him in.
She peered around the front room as Dap secured the door. The house was small but elegantly designed, with a curving wooden staircase and soft-textured beige and white walls. Jael strolled around, touching the wall surfaces and banisters with a certain fascination. Perhaps it was a consequence of living in the rigger halls too long; it startled her to encounter luxury.
"Back here, Jael."
She followed Dap into a small sitting room, in the center of which was a silver-hemisphered device standing waist high. Dap passed his hand over the device, and it came on, producing a golden light. She'd never actually seen a dreamlink machine before, but she knew what it was: a specialized type of synaptic augmentor. It should be no big deal, compared to a rigger-net. As she approached it, she felt a soft inner glow pass through her. It seemed to match the light that the hemisphere produced. The feeling stayed with her as she crossed the room to where Dap was moving a pair of seats into the fringe of the glowing field. "We'll let it coalesce for a few minutes. Would you like something to drink?" he asked. "Some sparkly?"
Jael nodded. She sat and tried to relax while Dap disappeared into the kitchen; she smiled, drumming her fingers, and murmured thanks when he returned with two slender glasses of carbonated water. She inhaled a faint scent of juniper and lime; it tickled her nose and throat as she sipped it. Dap took the other seat and clinked glasses with her.
"What do we do now? What's going to happen?" she asked, thinking, this is your cousin, good old Dap—why are you worried?—he knows what he's doing.
Dap leaned forward and winked teasingly. She wondered if he was amused by her naivete, or perhaps being just the slightest bit flirtatious. She blushed and took another sip of sparkly. "You'll know what to do," Dap said. "If you can handle the net, you'll have no trouble with this." He settled back into his seat looking relaxed and eager, and Jael thought, I'm worrying about nothing after all. Nothing. The field was growing in intensity, very slowly, a pleasant glow surrounding her mind.
Dap began to talk, just idle conversation about this and that, riggers and family—his, fortunately, not hers (they were actually second cousins, and she knew his parents and sister only slightly)—and all the while, she felt the glow sinking deeper into her mind, warming her, almost a physical sensation that tingled at the edges of the iciness that lingered inside her. She shivered as Dap suddenly shifted tracks and described his last flight—a three star-system hop, fast and exciting—played in the net as skipping-stone islands across a broad, sun-spanked sea. His eyes sought hers as he spoke, laughing. "Jael, it was just the two of us, Deira and me. The owner was going to come, but canceled out at the last minute. No owner, just the two of us, captaining ourselves, and crafting this vision!"
As he spoke, Jael began to see a glimmer of the vision Dap had held during the flight—just a glimpse at the edge of her own vision, dancing like spots before her eyes as his memories were spun out in a tapestry of words and expression. His words tugged at her as he spoke of the intimacy he had experienced in the teamwork with Deira, as they'd piloted their star freighter through the Flux. "Jael, that was the best part about the trip," he said, his eyes still seeking hers, holding them just a little longer than she wished them held, his thoughts reaching out to hers. "But it was fleeting." And his voice turned a little wistful. "She's already gone out on another flight, this time on a long haul with three others. I miss her already." Did his voice catch, just a little? He kept talking. "But the experience . . ." And sparks of excitement seemed to radiate from his voice as he spoke again of the flight itself. "Imagine an absolutely clear, deep sea and an enormous, beautiful sky and a series of islands laid out like jewels on the sea . . ."
Something in Jael knotted up as he went on, causing her to choke silently. She tried to contain it; she didn't want to let her envy show. But as the warmth of the field worked its way slowly through the remaining iciness inside her, she felt certain feelings of resistance giving way, and she realized that there was no need to hide her feelings from her friend. That was what the dreamlink was all about—wasn't it?—tugging loose feelings, sharing them. As she looked at Dap, she felt a gentle release of something within, and she no longer only heard his words . . .
Dap's vision of space . . . the space he had flown . . . blossomed open directly in her mind. The glowing blue sea, and the space freighter leaping over and through that image of a sea like a magnificent dolphin, plunging through the clear waters and the air alike, plunging through—or rather, around—the light-years of normal-space distance as a dolphin plunged through the sea. And she glimpsed the woman Dap had rigged with, Deira, and his attraction and growing intimacy with her. She felt his exultation, the feeling of release and freedom that came from steering a ship through the Flux. She'd felt that herself, those few times she'd flown, but never with the kind of intimacy that Dap was showing her in this memory.
Jael shivered with envy, and with nervousness, because she sensed in Dap a sly querying interest toward her now. But he had assured her that his interest was only friendly, that he would never push her into anything she didn't want. She could trust him, she had to trust at least someone in this world, and what was she so afraid of, anyway?
Deira and I . . . we shared this vision, and more. Can you see, Jael? Can you feel it?
As she sensed Dap's thoughts, feelings stirred in her heart that she could no longer control. Yes, she felt it, and she did not want to know such envy, but she couldn't help it. Before she knew what was happening, thoughts and images began to gush up out of her own mind like water from a fountain. They spilled out into the image of space, into the dreamlink . . .
First came memories of her own training flights, dancing down the lanes of nearby space, among some of the cluster-mate stars of the sun of Gaston's Landing. It was sheer joy, like swimming for the first time, stroking and panting and dancing across the sea of stars. It was demanding to find the way and keep the vision steady—oh yes! But every light-year passed was a triumph, and she and Mara and Joizee-Bob (wherever they were now—how she missed them!) had threaded the passage so well on their last flight that they'd arrived ahead of schedule, wishing that they could turn around and fly it again. Such a release of feelings she had in the net! Such cooperation!
And those memories mingled with hopes of flights to come, flights that would vault the distances of much g
reater space, with new crewmates or maybe some of the old, flights that so far were nothing but hopes . . . hopes, and frustration, and pain . . .
She quickly tried to divert her thoughts from that, but the direction was inevitable; she could not control it. Before she could even catch her breath, she was showering Dap with other visions. Visions of the past . . .
Visions of pain.
Glimpses of her frightened half-brother Levin, steeling himself against the abuse of their uncaring father, so frightened that he was unable to reach out even to his sister, rejecting even her sympathy. Glimpses of Levin striding out of the house and out of sight down the road in dwindling daylight; of Jael herself gazing at her father's closed door, unable to gain his attention, suffering and wanting and needing . . . but her father was too busy with the machinations of his business, too busy with his consorts . . .
Jael, what is this? Dap whispered.
Images of Jael, years later, this year, arming herself with a self-esteem she didn't feel, and reporting to the rigger hall. But it wasn't like the rigger school, where she'd known classmates she liked and trusted, where at least some people hadn't known yet of her father. Instead, the images were of her rigging on the only two paying flights she'd gotten in the year since her graduation, before word of who she was had spread finally to the last corners of the shipping community. They were solitary flights, because she was fearful of seeking out companions, ashamed to let her fellow riggers know of her deep loneliness and need . . .
Jael, I had no idea! It . . . it doesn't have to be that way!
Dragon Space Page 2
