The Dream Voyagers

by T. Davis Bunn

  The flight deck was split into two segments. The lower half was one unbroken mass of instrumentation and switches and flickering lights and complex read-out systems. Each chair spun on its own free axis and had a series of banked instruments that slid up alongside each arm or glided on transparent wings up and over the chair’s head. Rick found himself aware that each seat was called a station, and that each station had a name—Captain, Watch Commander, Communications Specialist, Pilot, Helmsman, Weapons, Assistant Watch Officer, Power Technician, and so on around the room.

  But the growing sense of unbidden knowledge could not take away from what stretched out above him.

  The other half of the chamber was a solid sheet of unbroken horizon. Rick knew that in truth it was a great series of interconnected screens joined to ultra-precise cameras set in the ship’s nose. But this did not affect his awe for a second.

  The ship was inbound for a planet that was already so close the blackness of space was limited to an encircling border. To his left, a small orbiting moon was spinning up and away behind them. The sun was just cresting the planet’s upper horizon, crowning the hazy atmosphere with a broad sweep of flame. Directly before him, a brilliant blue sky was flecked with swatches of white cloud.

  “Might as well switch on his seat,” the captain instructed. “Give him the full effect.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  For a third time, shock punched the breath from his body. Rick felt as well as saw a golden ribbon race out from the ship, connecting it to a pulsating beacon located down below the clouds. It was the ITN, he knew without knowing how—the interplanetary transport network. In shipboard slang, the ITN was called a lightway. Ships transversing the inner Hegemony locked into the appropriate target-route and rode on semi-automatic the entire way.

  Yet his awareness of these facts was buffeted by the other effect which was now coursing through his mind and body. The seat was now connected to him, and through this coupling came a sensation unlike anything he had ever known.

  Power.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning found Consuela standing on the highest of the seven balconies that looked out over the vast spaceport arena. She felt she could spend days watching the scene. Behind her, the field itself was visible through thick shielded windows, but for the moment she was content to ignore the ships’ comings and goings. There was simply too much else to take in.

  Directly in front of her rose an unbroken wall of polarized glass eight stories high and two hundred yards wide. Through it she watched hovercraft descend, deposit passengers and personnel, and silently depart. Beyond the unloading bay stretched a vast surface filled with personal vehicles the likes of which she had never even imagined. Part wheelless car and part glider, their stubby wings retracted as the carriers slowed and settled to earth.

  Seven stories below her stretched the bustling port’s colorful panorama. Wander had been correct—the floor’s directional lights did look like a multicolored spider web. Consuela watched as people entered, stated their business to the information column, and then haughtily ignored the pulsating ribbons of light. From her lofty position she could stare with abandon at their obvious wealth and station. Highborn passengers wore beautiful clothes and bored expressions, as though determined not to be impressed by anything they saw. Every few moments the entire structure hummed with the power of departing spaceships. Consuela was the only person who paid the slightest notice.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Consuela turned to confront a slender boy who eyed her with disdain. The boy went on, “Watching the animals go through their paces, are we?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she replied honestly.

  The boy’s air of superiority strengthened. “Yes, we hear all sorts of ghastly tales about primitive outworld societies. How did you survive?”

  “I kept my spear sharpened at all times,” Consuela replied calmly. Maybe it wasn’t so different here after all.

  An angry glint surfaced. “Pilot Grimson has chosen me to be his errand boy. He wishes to see you in the Tower.”

  “Where—”

  The boy raised one haughty eyebrow. “Don’t tell me an exceptional sensitive like yourself can’t even find the Tower. Tsk, tsk. How shameful.”

  “I’ve just arrived,” she replied, her cheeks burning.

  “Yes, so I heard.” He turned around and sauntered off, tossing a parting remark over his shoulder. “I suggest you just reach out with all these powers of yours and find it for yourself.”

  ****

  She was still hot when she found the pilot waiting impatiently at the Tower entrance. “What took you so long?”

  “A little snit of a scout who couldn’t be bothered to show me where to go,” she replied angrily.

  “Ah,” Pilot Grimson said, nodding his understanding. “Only to be expected.”

  “Maybe to you.”

  “Put yourself in his position,” he said, for some reason showing her patience. “Child of a good family, given every opportunity to develop what sensitivity he has, only to arrive and discover that an outworlder, who is not even required to go through the horrors of culling, shows a sensitivity he shall never know.”

  “It still doesn’t excuse his bad manners,” Consuela retorted.

  “No, in a perfect world, it would not. But as we must deal with what we have, I suggest we move onward. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Still a little shaken, but better.”

  “Very well.” He slipped back into his mantle of frosty control. “All scouts are required to stand training watches. For most it is a period of observing and learning and trying to hone their abilities through mind games. Scout Wander has shown a remarkable level of skill, however, and today will begin actual Tower Watch. As you have shown Talent potential, I want you to stand to his schedule.”

  “Fine with me,” Consuela said, and could not suppress her grin of pleasure.

  Grimson’s eyes narrowed. “I also suggest you learn from Wander the correct manner in which to deport yourself with your superiors.”

  Still rankled by the scout’s snipes, Consuela found that the pilot’s lofty attitude struck a spark to dry tinder. “Wander is afraid of you.”

  He had clearly not expected that. “And you are not?”

  “Wander lives for space. It’s all he’s ever wanted to do.” Consuela forced herself to meet the pilot’s probing gaze. “He’s terrified that a downcheck from you would hold him back.”

  “Remarkable how close you have become in such a short period,” Grimson murmured.

  Consuela felt her face go red, but stood her ground. “Maybe what he really needs from you is a compliment and a kind word.”

  The pilot studied her thoughtfully. “A scout who on her third day presumes herself ready to advise a pilot . . . Let us hope your Talent is sufficient to excuse such behavior. Come along.”

  She followed him through the great bronze portal. Immediately her mind was beset with a hundred buzzing voices. She entered a circular room perhaps fifty paces across, where several dozen people staffed complex consoles rising in curved rows. The globe’s entire upper surface was transparent, granting an uninterrupted view of the fields and the ships and the spaceport roof.

  His headset already in place, Wander stood at nervous attention on the right-hand dais, a broad elevated platform that looked down and out over the Tower activities. A young woman in robes of royal blue sat beside him, operating a half-moon console of bewildering complexity. Two additional chairs with smaller consoles stood behind her, unmanned.

  Pilot Grimson started for the side stairs, but was immediately halted by a graying man with a dark brown uniform and a very irritated manner. “Just a moment, if you please, Pilot.”

  “Can it wait?” Grimson asked testily.

  “No, it cannot.” The man stepped directly in front of him. “As watch commandant, I formally protest this action.”

  “Your protest is noted.
Now if you will please step aside—”

  “I insist that my protest and your response be formally logged,” the man persisted.

  Grimson gave an exasperated sigh. “Very well, Commandant. Lead on.” To Consuela he said, “Wait here, Scout.”

  As the pilot moved off, Consuela tried to give Wander a reassuring smile, but the noise in her head was as persistent as a dentist’s drill.

  The watch commandant stepped to a solitary console set on the central dais, separated by a valley of stairs from Wander’s platform. He touched a switch and said, “Tower Log official entry. Watch Commandant Loklin speaking. I wish to officially protest granting the Scout Wander full watch status. Having only completed two months of the training program, the scout is not qualified for such responsibilities. I believe this places the activity of the entire port in serious jeopardy.”

  Consuela saw Wander’s jaw drop open. She wanted to rush to him and share in the moment even though she was not sure exactly what it meant, but she was held captive by the infernal buzzing voices.

  Meeting the commandant’s angry gaze, Grimson replied, “Senior Pilot Grimson responding. I hereby officially override the commandant’s objection and assign the Scout Wander to full watch.”

  The commandant viciously punched the switch and snapped, “You are making a grave error, Pilot.”

  “And you are in for a very big surprise,” the pilot responded.

  “I hope so,” the commandant said, glaring at Wander. “For all our sakes, I very much hope so.”

  Grimson came back around the curving walk, and as he drew close he noticed Consuela’s distress. “What is the matter?”

  “Voices,” she said. “They won’t stop.”

  A blaze of triumph lit the pilot’s features. “Voices?”

  “In my head,” she replied, struggling not to wince. “It hurts.”

  “Follow me.” He turned and walked up the side stairs to where Wander stood by the platform’s polished railing. He extracted a small apparatus from his belt pouch, picked up a headset, and attached it just above the temple pad. He fitted it to Consuela’s forehead, then stepped back. “How is that?”

  “A little better,” she said, so relieved that the painful buzzing was diminishing she even smiled at the frosty old man.

  “But still there?”

  “Yes.”

  For some reason, her response increased the pilot’s triumph. He took her hand, guided it up to the little box, said, “There is a dial recessed into the surface. Feel the edge? Good. Now turn the dial until the sound disappears.”

  Consuela spun the little dial, and as the buzzing voices faded into silence, she let out a grateful sigh. “They’re gone.”

  “Excellent.” Pilot Grimson pointed to Wander’s headset. “This is the one you have altered?”

  “Yes, Pilot.”

  “Take it off.”

  Still bemused, Wander did as he was ordered. Shaking his head, the pilot inspected the headset. Then he set it down, picked up a different set, extracted a second apparatus from his pouch, and fitted it on. He handed it over and said, “Try this. Use the dial as I instructed.”

  To Consuela’s surprise, Wander gave a blissful smile. “Amazing.”

  “You heard them too?” she asked him.

  “All the time,” he replied. “Until now.”

  “How could you stand it?”

  “It was hard. Very hard.”

  “Enough,” the pilot ordered. He pointed to the communication console and said to Wander, “You must adjust the amplification so that all directed signals are clearly audible. I assume this is what you have been doing all along?”

  “Yes, Pilot.”

  “Very well.” He raised his voice so that it carried through the Tower. “Scout Wander, you are now assigned full watch duty.”

  From his central station, the commandant released an angry snort. Grimson turned so that he watched the back of the commandant’s head as he continued, “You have for the past two weeks been acting under the direct guidance of a senior communicator who has done nothing but monitor your activities.”

  Slowly the commandant swiveled his chair about and looked at Wander in surprise. Grimson went on, “You have performed faultlessly. I expect you to continue doing so. The safety of this port is now in your hands.”

  “Yes, Pilot,” Wander managed. His look of ecstasy was almost painful to Consuela.

  The pilot nodded and walked back down the side stairs. At the portal he turned and addressed the Tower as a whole, “For the sake of harmony within the new trainee-scout squadron, I ask you all to say nothing of this development.”

  The Tower remained frozen, all attention focused on Wander, until a voice called, “Incoming.”

  The Tower sprang back to life. All but the watch commandant, who kept his gaze fastened on the scout.

  Wander turned and nervously said, “I relieve you, Communicator.”

  “Eleven Hegemony ships,” the communicator droned, “all in proper ascendance-descendance, channels two, seven, four. Three starships approaching transcendence, note the channels.”

  “Noted,” Wander said, his eyes luminous.

  The woman stood. “There are fourteen listed departures for the next hour. All on schedule, plus-or-minus the acceptable limits.”

  “Noted,” Wander repeated.

  “Very well.” She keyed the console and stated, “Specialist Communicator Evana logging out.”

  “Scout Wander logging on,” he said, his voice strengthening.

  The auburn-haired woman inspected Consuela, gave them both a minuscule nod, and said, “Good luck.”

  His hands already busy on the controls, Wander motioned Consuela into the seat to the right and behind his own. She sat and watched as he reached over her console, pointed to the central pulsing dial, and said, “Amplifier. Raise it to where you can comfortably hear me and the incoming messages.” Hastily he hit three keys, said, “I have locked your channel onto mine. Just sit and watch. It will all begin to make sense in time.”

  Commandant Loklin gave her a hostile inspection, then dismissed them with a shake of his head and swung back around. Consuela felt other gazes on them from about the room but was determined not to respond. Very slowly she swung the amplifier dial until voices became audible in her head. But this time they were single voices, and held to a comfortable level.

  And Wander’s was one of them.

  “Starship Excelsior, this is Hegemony Port. You are scheduled for transition in six minutes and counting.”

  “Port, this is Excelsior,” came the droning reply. “Six-minute mark noted.”

  Wander thumbed a switch on his chair’s arm and said more quietly, “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no need to talk out loud. Just move your lips. It helps shape the words. I know this is all very confusing, but there is no other way to learn.”

  She found herself thrilling to the intimacy of this contact. “Congratulations.”

  He angled his chair her way just long enough to show his grateful smile. “This is a dream come true.”

  “I know.”

  “Just a minute.” He ran through a series of switches, and with each she heard a different voice. Wander did not speak until keying the final switch, when he droned, “Watch notes quarter-hour sweep, all in order and on schedule.”

  He then keyed his chair and said, “When you see me hit this switch, we can talk. Otherwise you need to just watch and listen.”

  “I understand.”

  “Most of watch is oversight. Sensitives are the only ones capable of interstellar communication, unless a drone is sent through null-space carrying something too confidential for the normal relay. Normal communication bands are held to the speed of light. You’ve probably heard this before.”

  “None of it,” she confessed.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll come soon. Sensitives are assigned watch duty to check a ship’s transition and confirm that everythin
g is in order.” He paused as a vast beehive of burnished metal lowered itself onto a brilliant platform of fire. “Hegemony vessel. They travel along lightways, or ITN target-routes. Lightways traverse Hegemony planetary systems and punch through n-space on short patterns in constant use. For all other routes, a pilot is responsible for ship’s transition.”

  Things became increasingly busy then, and Wander had scarce moments to speak with her. She did not mind. Consuela was happy to sit and watch the harried bustling take on a tight sense of order. Wander monitored all incoming and outgoing vessels, communicated with all ports either receiving or dispatching ships. Tracking codes were accepted by other staff, who barked back landing and takeoff instructions, which were passed on by Wander. The watch commandant said little, but his eyes missed nothing. Each time he glanced her way, Consuela felt his searing frustration scorch her where she sat.

  In a quiet moment, she asked, “Why do they look at us like that?”

  Wander did not need to ask what she meant. “Nobody much likes a pilot.”

  “But why?”

  “Passengers call us the ship magicians. When you go out in public in your robes, you’ll be addressed as ‘wizard’. People say we speak with ghosts and control dark forces. The staff have other names for us. Freakos, pointy heads, amp junkies—those you’ll hear a lot.”

  “That’s a lot of nonsense.”

  “Get used to it,” he replied. “There’s nothing else you can do. I hear it’s the same shipboard. Captains don’t like sharing power and having to rely on us for the transitions. I heard one say the Hegemony would be better off finding another way to chart their vessels, one that fits to the proper scheme of things.”

  In the far lower corner, opposite the main tower entrance, a second set of doors opened into the staff compound. Every time a flight landed, Wander explained, a formal transfer was made to the ground crew who occupied the bottom two rows of consoles. They assigned the ship to a free terminal, directed refueling and mechanics and cleanup and staffing and the myriad of tasks that prepared the ship for its next departure. An officer entered the lower door after each landing, saluted the crewperson staffing the first console, and handed over the ship’s documents. They were distributed, inspected, stamped, coded, and returned.