Eternity's End

by Jeffrey Carver

  The storm clouds spun around him. By the time he pulled the ship out of the tumble, he'd lost his bearings completely. He felt a rising panic.

  And then he heard a voice softly, distantly, in his mind. You must keep your center... stay calm. Legroeder, you'll find the way through. Aren't you the one who showed me, after all?

  His heart stopped as he recognized the voice-from-memory, his old shipmate Gev Carlyle, as clear as if Gev were right here looking over his shoulder. Keep your center... stay calm... how often had he said those things as the younger Carlyle had fought to master his instincts and fears?

  Keep your center...

  The storm clouds tossed the little vessel like a wood chip on a pounding sea. He again breathed deeply and focused inward, and then from his center focused outward—and as he did so, the clouds shimmered to transparency, just for an instant. He drew another breath. Center and clarify... illuminate...

  For a moment, he felt the almost tangible presence of his old friend. The feeling was so powerful, it drove the fear back a little more, and the storm clouds grew pale. Through the twists and turns of the moving currents, he began to glimpse a path: a fold in the Flux, and a current slipping through...

  * * *

  The escape had happened so fast Legroeder had scarcely had time to think. For seven years since his capture, he'd looked for a chance to make a break. But the guard was too tight, the fortress impregnable and light-years from anywhere. No one had ever escaped alive; that was what they said. Everyone said it; everyone believed it. A few had tried: they were dead now, or being tortured, in solitary.

  And yet... even as he'd piloted their raider ships for them, preying on innocent shipping in the wilds of Golen Space, even as he'd worked for the bloody pirates, to stay alive, he'd never stopped watching, planning, ready to bolt if the opportunity ever arose.

  He never dared talk about it with the other prisoners. But he'd sensed that Maris was of like mind. He'd had a rough time among the pirates, but she'd had it worse. At least he hadn't been raped and abused, in addition to being forced into labor. She was a tough woman and an angry one. He'd thought often of Maris as a friend he'd not really gotten to know.

  When the chance finally came, he had just seconds to make up his mind. They were coming off a ship-maintenance detail in the outer docks—Jolly, Lumo, Maris, and Legroeder—when a Flux capacitor in the main docking room blew, spewing a jet of blazing plasma across the room. Two of the guards, caught in the discharge, went sprawling. Several other workers helped the injured out of the compartment, leaving two guards with four conscripts. Through the haze and confusion of the leaking plasma, Legroeder spotted a fallen handgun lying under a console. He glanced at Maris, who stiffened as she saw it, too.

  Legroeder thought furiously. The remaining guards were occupied by the plasma leak, and behind Legroeder and the other prisoners, just down a short corridor, a small ship was docked, its airlock doors open. His crew had just finished checking it over; it was ready to fly.

  Maris's eyes met his; they both shifted to the far side of the compartment, where the guards were shouting, trying to cut off the plasma discharge. Maris gave a shrug that seemed to ask a question. Legroeder nodded. He looked at Jolly and Lumo, standing to one side watching the plasma jet. Neither was likely to be of help. When he glanced back, Maris was moving toward the gun.

  One of the guards finally noticed. "Hey, what are you doing?" he shouted, unslinging his neutraser rifle. The plasma plume partially obscured his view, but it wouldn't block his shot.

  Legroeder barked a warning.

  Maris came up with the gun.

  A crackle of neutraser fire: Maris cried out and spun around, wounded. But not too wounded to fire back: from a crouch, she fired three times. A shriek of pain told Legroeder that she'd hit one of the guards. She dropped the gun, staggering.

  Legroeder snatched it up and caught her by the arm. The second guard was coming around the end of the dying plasma jet. Legroeder aimed and squeezed. There was a flash: the guard staggered back. Jolly and Lumo were flattened against the wall, dumbfounded. "Come with us?" Legroeder yelled.

  Jolly shook his head. Lumo was frozen with fear.

  Legroeder squeezed several bursts into the guards' com panel. "Then don't try to stop us!"

  Jolly nodded, terrified.

  "Let's go," Legroeder grunted, straining to support Maris with his shoulder.

  " 'Kay," she gasped. "Let's go." Her face was taut with pain, but she was already struggling toward the airlock.

  It took about five minutes for him to get them both onto the scout, seal the airlock, secure Maris in the med-unit, and get to the bridge to power up.

  A lifetime.

  * * *

  The scout ship dashed out of the Dead Man's Zone like a fish through a broken net. Legroeder steered furiously, searching for currents leading away from the raider outpost. They were past one danger, but hardly in the clear.

  BAROOOOOM!

  The ship shuddered violently.

  He kept flying as he scanned for the source of the explosion. The crimson and orange clouds of the Flux billowed past like foaming surf over the prow of a submarine. But he needed to stay fast and maneuverable. He reshaped the image to one of a jet fighter, fast and sleek, streaking through the misty clouds. He veered left and up, then right and down, trying to make them a difficult target if anyone was aiming. They were back in the main channel, on much the same course a raider ship might take in leaving the area. If the raiders were still pursuing...

  BAROOOOOM!

  Light flashed in the clouds to the left, and Legroeder banked hard away. Three raider ships burst out of the clouds in pursuit. Hell's furnace! he thought. They'd been waiting to see if he made it through the Dead Man's Zone. He was damn sure he'd surprised them.

  He barreled over into a steep dive, pulling away, but only momentarily. They'd never get out by the main route—which left just one other way.

  Maris! he shouted into the intercom. We're going out through the Chimney. If you can hear me, hold tight!

  Ignoring the lurch in his stomach, he pitched his dive past the vertical, undercutting his own flight path, then rolled the ship upright for a view of the raiders that were coming around in pursuit. They were not quite as desperate as he was, or as crazy, and they took a wider turn. They were firing, but accomplishing nothing but lighting up the clouds. Legroeder rolled inverted again to search the clouds below, and finally spotted a region of shadow that marked the opening of the Chimney, a passage so narrow and hazardous it was known as the Fool's Refuge. He stretched himself into the longest, fastest fighter plane he could imagine, and aimed straight down into the murky darkness of the Chimney.

  Pounding waves of energy suddenly assailed the net. TURN BACK! TURN BACK! OR YOU WILL DIE!... DIE!... DIE! The raiders were broadcasting into the Flux.

  It was the booming of a steel kettle drum, projected so as to come right up out of the Chimney, reverberating through the very fabric of the Flux and booming into the rigger-net as though he were inside the drum. Legroeder knew the source of the thunderous noise, knew it well—he'd used it himself, against others—and yet, even knowing that it was only a trick to inspire fear, he couldn't help being shaken. He was doing something insane.

  WILL DIE... WILL DIE... WILL DIE...

  There was no escaping the echoes. He could only try to ignore them. Try not to be afraid.

  A deep, dark fissure was opening in the clouds below. That was where he had to go—and if he had any doubts, they were erased by bright flashes of light behind him—neutrasers and flux torpedoes. He took a sharp breath and spun down into the fissure. Into the Chimney. From this moment on, the pursuers would be the least of his worries. If they were stupid enough to follow, maybe they would all die together...

  DIE... DIE... DIE...

  Suddenly he was in darkness—midnight in the Chimney. Glints of light flickered in the cloud walls ahead. Deadly Flux-abscess, or other terrible ways to die.<
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  He glanced back. Damn. They were still coming after him. No time to worry; he was dropping at tremendous speed through a shaft of raging turbulence. He fought vertigo as the cloud walls flashed abruptly light / dark / light / dark, until he could scarcely focus on them at all.

  Something flashed past him from above, a coruscating veil of light that turned and rose back up toward him like a vast fishnet of energy seeking to ensnare him. He grunted and narrowed the rigger-net to a needle and arrowed straight down. The fishnet veil billowed up and around him again with a twinkle and a whump. The ship bucked but kept moving—until a blast of secondary turbulence hit him.

  With a shriek, the ship lurched out of control and careened sideways toward the deadly Chimney wall.

  Chapter 2

  Inquest

  The RiggerGuild hearing room was dead silent.

  Its domed ceiling was coated with a multi-optic laminate that made it glitter like stars against darkness. Legroeder let his gaze wander along the ceiling, and for an instant the stars were transformed into the luminous features of the Flux.

  Skidding toward the Chimney wall, pulsing with light: pockets of quantum chaos, where images could distort without warning. The ship plummeted through, and suddenly the landscape was strobing with stark reversals of light and contour. Behind him was the sparkle of weapons fire. Before his heart could beat twice, a spread of flux-torpedoes exploded, triggering a cascade of distortions that sent his ship spinning...

  The holograms of the three panelists sat at the curved table at the front of the room. Legroeder sat with his young, Guild-appointed counsel, a Mr. Kalm-Lieu, facing the panel from a smaller curved table at the center of the room. Despite the expansive design, the room was designed to keep the inquest panel and its subjects rigidly separated. Only Legroeder and Kalm-Lieu were physically present.

  From the front bench, the holo of the RiggerGuild inquest chairwoman was speaking. Her voice seemed hollow, devoid of inflection. Legroeder couldn't remember her name, had never met her in person. "Rigger Legroeder, please remember that there are no charges being considered in this hearing. Our purpose is not to determine guilt or innocence, but rather to determine if you should be represented in this matter by the Guild of Riggers. We hope you understand the distinction."

  Legroeder shrugged in disbelief, staring up at the dome...

  The pocket of Flux-abscess turned itself inside out with the torpedo blast, hurling him into a sudden opening that he felt rather than saw, a breach caused by the blast. Steering by an intuition that seemed almost supernatural in its accuracy, he threaded his way through... and by the time he caught his breath he was coasting free in the open Flux, well away from the Chimney, away from the raider outpost, and apparently free of pursuit.

  Spying a current leading away from that place, he rode it for a long time, until he could decide on a destination world. The choice in the end was made for him; there was only one major world within his reach that was free of pirate influence: Faber Eridani, well beyond the borders of Golen Space. Not an easy flight in a small ship; but if he wanted to be free, really free, he had no choice but to risk the distance. Checking frequently on Maris, still in near-stasis in the suppression-field, he rigged their ship toward a new life and new hope for both of them. Toward the protection of the Centrist Worlds and the RiggerGuild, their own people...

  Legroeder trembled with anger. He avoided looking at the inquest panelists. To have escaped from the raiders and gotten Maris to a hospital here, only to be put on trial for collaborating with pirates in his own capture? It was impossible! Who would have believed it?

  "Counsel, may we take that as a yes?" asked the voice of the inquest chair.

  Kalm-Lieu glanced uneasily at Legroeder. "Yes, Ma'am."

  "In that case, Rigger Legroeder, we will put the question to you again. Please describe your actions, seven years ago, leading up to the taking of Ciudad de los Angeles by the Golen Space pirates."

  Legroeder felt as if he were standing outside of his own skin, watching himself—a small, olive-skinned man with gloomy eyes, trying to comprehend the trap he was caught in. He sighed and rubbed his temples, forcing himself to suppress that image.

  "Let me understand," he said slowly. "I've just escaped from forced servitude with interstellar pirates, and I've come to you for sanctuary and offered to tell you everything I know about the pirates' operations. But all you care about is what happened when my ship was attacked seven years ago—and whether you can pin something on me for it?"

  "Not at all, Rigger Legroeder. But we must have the facts before us."

  "Including facts about the ghost ship? About Impris?"

  The voice of the court inclined her virtual head. "You may describe your capture in whatever way you feel is appropriate. Now, if you please..."

  Legroeder closed his eyes, summoning the events of seven years before. The beginning of the nightmare...

  * * *

  The Ciudad de los Angeles was a passenger/cargo liner, a good ship carrying a modest but respectable manifest of fifty-two passengers and twenty-four crewmembers, including the rigging complement of seven. Legroeder was among the more seasoned of the riggers, three of whom were stationed in the net at any given time. Legroeder's specialty was the stern-rigger station, the anchor; he was to be the maintainer of good grounding and common sense, especially if the lead and keel riggers became carried away with the imagery of the Flux. He was known as a rigger with a dark outlook, but solid reliability.

  Ciudad de los Angeles was en route to Varinorum Prime—a little close to the edge of Golen Space, but on a route considered fairly safe from pirate attack. It was Legroeder who first sighted the other ship in the Flux, flickering into view off to the portside of the L.A. It appeared to be on a course parallel to theirs. The sighting of any other ship in the Flux was such a rare event that the image was branded on his memory: the ship long and pale and silver, like a whale gliding slowly through the mists of the Flux. He didn't just see it, but heard it: the soft hooting of a distress signal so thin and distant as to be nearly inaudible.

  Take a look off to the left, and tell me if you see what I see, he said, alerting his rigger-mates to the sighting. He strained to get a better reading on the distress signal. He couldn't quite make it out, or decipher where the ship was going; it seemed to be passing through a layer of the Flux that was separated from the L.A. by a slight phase shift, though he couldn't quite discern a boundary layer.

  I see it, too, said Jakus Bark from the keel-rigger position. Is that a distress signal? We'd better call the captain. Bridge—Captain Hyutu—?

  When Captain Hyutu checked in, he reported that he could just make it out in the bridge monitors. By now, the distress beacon had become more audible. The codes didn't match anything in the L.A.'s computer, but soon they could hear voices calling across the gulf: "This is Impris... Impris calling... please respond... we need assistance... this is Impris, out of Faber Eridani..."

  Legroeder and the rest of the crew were stunned.

  Impris.

  The legendary Flying Dutchman, the ghost ship of the stars? Impossible! Officially, Impris was nothing more than a legend—a ship that vanished into the Flux during a routine voyage, well over a hundred years ago. Impris was hardly the first, nor the last, ship to vanish during a voyage, especially in time of war. What made her the stuff of legend was the recurring rumor of ghostly sightings—not just by one ship or two, but by generations of riggers. None of the sightings was clear enough to constitute proof of her continued existence, but the number of alleged sightings was enough to keep the legend alive.

  It was as though Impris had faded into the Flux, never to reemerge into normal-space; and yet neither had she perished. So the tale in star riggers' bars grew: that she was like the Flying Dutchman of old, the legendary haunted seagoing ship whose captain and crew were doomed to sail through eternity, lost and immortal and without hope.

  Myth, said the Spacing Authority's archives.
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br />   Real, said the riggers in the bars.

  In the Flux it could be hard to tell the difference.

  Not this time, though. Legroeder saw the ship moving through the mists of the Flux, and his crewmates saw it, too. Captain Hyutu of the L.A. was no rigger, but he was an experienced captain who could read the signs in the monitors as well as any. When he heard the distress call, he gave the order to the riggers: Make slow headway toward that ship. See if you can bring us alongside. An announcement echoed throughout the L.A. They were preparing to render assistance to a vessel in distress.

  The L.A. closed the gap between the ships.

  And that was when the Flux began to light up, the misty atmospheres around the L.A. suddenly flashing like a psychedelic light show. What the hell—? muttered Legroeder.

  And then the sounds... DROOM! DROOM! DROOM!... like booming kettle drums, drowning out the distress call. Legroeder's heart pounded as Impris turned toward the L.A., and for a few seconds he thought the sounds were coming from Impris herself.

  Are they turning to dock? called Jakus, from the keel.

  They're on a collision course! cried the lead rigger. Hard to starboard! Captain, sound collision!

  Legroeder's stomach was in knots as he struggled, in a Flux that had suddenly become turbulent and slippery, to bring the stern around. Captain Hyutu intoned, Steady as she goes! Steady, now! The riggers obeyed, Legroeder holding his breath. And then Legroeder saw what Hyutu must have seen in the monitors: the other ship was shimmering and becoming insubstantial. As she closed with the L.A., turning, the front of her net cut across the portside bow of the L.A.'s.