Dragons in the Stars

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  The mountains looked like dragon country. She shivered, thinking of Highwing. Was it possible that anyone here, where the source of the "myth" was close to home, actually believed in dragons? Or were they relegated to the status of notations on ancient seafaring charts: HERE BE DRAGONS! She wished she could ask around, among the riggers in the port. "Excuse me, but have you ever seen dragons on the mountain approach—real dragons, I mean?" No, that wouldn't do. But possibly the library would offer some answers.

  She went back downstairs to the library and found herself a nav-source terminal. Keying in a query for the galactic-southern approach to Lexis, she found a description not greatly different from the one she'd studied back on Gaston's Landing:

  Flux imagery tending toward mountain landscapes. Occasional anecdotal references to encounters with dragon-like images probably indicates more about associational patterns in the referent riggers' imaginations than about actual features in the Flux. Pattern-cues may exist in the Flux currents to trigger such images. For this reason, many shippers prefer to avoid that portion of the route identified with mountain imagery. However, folktales of riggers dueling with actual creatures in the Flux are no more than that: folktales. No evidence exists to confirm such reports.

  It went on for a while about other navigational features. At the end of the entry, she found a cross-reference sidebar.

  Dragonlike images: For further detail on the phenomenon of dragons as perceived living features in the Flux, key to entry: FLUX: ILLUSIONS: EXTANT LIFE: DRAGONS.

  Jael frowned, then touched the reference. What she found was a discussion of dragons, whales, ghost ships, and other manifestations of imagination in the Flux which riggers, at one time or another, had attributed to objectively real entities. The conclusion was firm:

  Scientific data does not support the assertion that anything—except a rigger's thoughts, projected through a sensory net—can live in the Flux. Beliefs to the contrary probably derive from tales gathered during the confusing times of transition between foreshortening star travel and starship rigging. During that period, stories abounded of visions and "curious folk" emerging from the spatial discontinuities that provided the first window into the Flux continuum. (See FLUX: DISCOVERY OF: PANGLOR BALEF.) However, historical evidence fails to support such reports.

  Jael blanked the screen and sat back. There was nothing unexpected in what she'd just read. But the experience of real riggers mattered more to her than anything written in the library. In any case, the question remained: How could she share her experience with someone who might listen? Maybe she couldn't, and shouldn't. She certainly had enough troubles already without drawing that kind of attention to herself. Maybe the best thing to do was just to forget about it for a while.

  She thought of Highwing, and a deep ache arose in her heart. Forget that? Forget Highwing and what he had shown her? She couldn't, even if she wanted to—not with the painful, knotted memories he had begun unraveling in her mind. Too much was churning inside her to pretend it hadn't happened. And yet, even so, the memory of her encounter with Highwing was starting to, not exactly fade, but to lose some of its power. She was terrified at the thought of losing that memory; she was determined to keep it strong.

  Finally, restless and unsatisfied, she left the library. At least there were people in the lounges, and activity. Though she didn't really feel like talking to anyone, there was a certain comfort in the presence of other human beings, none of whom were being actively hostile to her. There was a certain pleasure in knowing that she had no prior history here; her father's name was much less likely to be known, or if it was known, it was probably remembered as just one more marginal, unregistered shipper among many. Lexis, presumably, had its own roster of most-unfavored shippers. There was no guarantee, of course—riggers traveled to many worlds—but at least she no longer automatically bore the curse of being her father's daughter in a place where her father was hated.

  She sighed bitterly, thinking of him, and of what Highwing seemed to have wanted her to do—to let go. To forgive. But it was her father who was responsible for the discrimination she'd suffered back on Gaston's Landing. Was it possible that some of that had existed only in her mind? Had she assumed that people wouldn't like her before they had a chance to decide for themselves? Possibly. But she remembered, too, the jobs for which the stewards had passed her over. That hadn't just been in her mind.

  Taking a seat in the darkest of the lounges, she tried to think it through. Her hands began to tremble, and she realized, as she sat in the darkness, that she was nervous because there was something else she wanted right now, and it had nothing to do with her home planet, or her father. And it had nothing to do with dragons. That something was the pallisp . . .

  . . . which you are not going to think about anymore!

  Not think about it? Not think about the incredible warmth, the soothing energy, the rush of sensory pleasure, the . . . STOP IT! That was about as likely as not thinking about Mogurn again: his hands on her throat, the coiling mists of the Flux tearing him away . . .

  Shuddering, she rose and began pacing. There had to be some way to stop the endless thought. She paced out in the hallway, heedless of the occasional puzzled glance; and she paced back into the lounge and frowned over the various holotronic and psychetronic diversions. She'd never paid too much attention to this stuff even on Gaston's Landing. She paced from I/O station to I/O station, squinting at the consoles. Some consisted merely of a headset and a few controls, and some were full-screen displays for gaming and educational resources. She watched one incredibly tall, willowy, young man with the whitest skin she had ever seen, poring over a game board. For a moment she considered speaking to him to ask what he was doing; but when he looked up at her, she blushed at the sight of his eyes, which were masked like a raccoon's, but with large purple stars. She turned away.

  In the gloomiest corner of the room (Why did so many riggers like dark rooms? she wondered), there was an I/O mounted on a reclining chair. She slipped into the chair and pulled the I/O closer for a look. It was labeled Environment Alpha and consisted of a blinded helmet with temple-contacts and a simple handheld squeeze control. As she fiddled with the devices, she noticed someone watching her from several seats away. It was the same young man—or rather, if she had guessed correctly, Clendornan—whom she had seen in the dining hall yesterday. She recognized the almost wedge-shaped head, flat on top, and the angular brow turned toward her in the gloom. His presence, watching her, was unsettling.

  You will find others, she remembered Highwing saying. That seemed a very long time ago now.

  The Clendornan's eyes shifted, seemed to sparkle almost luminously, as though he were sensing her attention and returning it. She flushed with embarrassment. She glanced down at the I/O with its controls and helmet. Impulsively she placed the helmet over her head and adjusted its contacts against her temples. She took a deep breath and squeezed the hand control.

  Her external vision was gone, but against the blackness she saw a glimmer of blue radiance, which warmed and became an enveloping mauve. She felt a gentle sense, not exactly a sound, of lapping waves. Even in her present state, she found it soothing, calming. As her mind relaxed, something became visible in the distance, slowly drawing into focus. Shapes. Words. She somehow realized that she needed to breathe slowly, to deepen her state of relaxation, to bring them into focus. As she did so, they became clear, floating in holo-space before her, a series of French-curved solids which framed the three-dimensional words:

  ENVIRONMENTS ALPHA

  1. BURNISHED MESAS

  2. MOUNTAIN VISTAS

  3. TROPICAL RAINFOREST

  4. GLACIER BAY

  A moment later, a line of instructions appeared:

  TO EXPERIENCE AN ENVIRONMENT, FOCUS ON ITS NAME AND SQUEEZE. SQUEEZE AGAIN TO EXIT.

  Ah. But what was her mood? She wanted stimulation as well as comfort. Perhaps the rainforest: greenery and creatures. She focused on selection 3 and squeez
ed the controller.

  The menu image faded, leaving a cyan afterglow. She waited. Then she realized that she was hearing something. Or feeling it. It was the sound, or the sensation anyway, of falling rain, gently drumming rain. There was no wetness, but a softly rhythmic concussion surrounding her, as though rain were beating on a roof while she sat snugly inside, listening.

  Almost, she could imagine a tropical forest outside, soaking up the rain . . .

  Soft and shadowy shapes were beginning to emerge from the blue-green glow. As though a fine mist were clearing around her, she began to see first the outlines, then the full forms of trees and shrubs. The mist disappeared altogether. She was standing in a place of shelter, looking out at a riot of greenery, the lush fullness of a rainforest, completely surrounding her. The gentle drumming of rain continued a little longer; then even that subsided and a glow of sunshine swelled down from the sky to take its place. The invisible shelter seemed to open and set her free, and a breeze full of chlorophyll and earth caressed her face.

  She wondered if she could walk here. As the thought crossed her mind, she found herself gliding across the tiny clearing, floating like a spirit. As she passed a tree, she saw rainwater streaming off the ends of its broad green leaves. Perched on the upper part of a large leaf was a small orange-toed, red-eyed, iridescent-green froglike creature. It watched her without moving, except for its throat fluttering in and out. Overhead, a group of birds screeched and flapped their multihued wings against the sky. Jael squinted at them for a moment, then moved on. In front of her, two large blue-and-white-checked butterflies pirouetted around each other in midair. She reached out to touch them. They giggled in tinkling voices, then fluttered away. Jael chuckled.

  She thought she heard another chuckle, then sensed a movement, in a nearby tree. She turned. A large bird with blazing scarlet and green wings, an enormous golden beak, and bright emerald eyes tilted its head to peer at her. It followed her movement as she approached, then hopped to a lower branch and squawked a welcoming cry. She extended a hand, knuckles up, and the bird gently mouthed her fingers with its open beak. "Aren't you a pretty thing?" she said, thinking that there was something familiar about this bird. It took a moment to make the connection. It reminded her of a bird she had often seen as a child, in a petting zoo near her home. It had been a favorite animal of hers, in a happier time.

  "Awwk—yawss," answered the bird brightly.

  Startled, Jael cried, "Oh, you talk, do you?"

  "Tawwk—tawwk," the bird croaked, winking.

  "Ho." Jael grinned and tickled its throat, pleased to be able to touch it. Its throat feathers were silky smooth. "Do you have a name?"

  The bird winked again. "No name! Nope—awwk!"

  Jael studied the bird, tilting her head one way and then the other. The bird mimicked her movements. "I wish I had something to give you, but—" Jael opened her empty hands "—sorry."

  "Rawwk! Pocket-t-t—pocket-t-t!"

  "What?" Jael reached into her right-hand coat pocket (since when was she wearing a coat?) and felt her hand close on something. She drew it out. It was a cluster of bright purple berries on a stem. "Why, what's this?"

  "B-b-berries!" shrieked the bird. It cocked its head back and gave an open-beaked cry: "Scraw-w-w!" It edged along the branch, closer to Jael. "B-b-berries?" it asked, eyeing her hopefully.

  "Would you like these?" Jael asked, holding the cluster up for inspection. The berries looked ripe and full.

  "P-pleeez!"

  Jael smiled and held them out toward the bird. "Here you go."

  The creature bent forward and, with surprising delicacy, nibbled a berry loose from the bunch. Jael glimpsed the berry rolling onto its tongue; its beak clacked once, and the berry was gone. "Whaww!" the bird exclaimed joyously, then bent for another.

  "Take all you want," Jael offered. She needn't have spoken. Once the creature had started, it made short work of the bunch. Jael tossed the bare stem away and held her hand out again. The bird rubbed against her knuckles, wiping berry juice off its beak. "I'm afraid that's all I have," she said consolingly.

  "Arrk—plenty—thankew pleez!" The bird perked its head up suddenly and looked around. "Whooz that?"

  Jael turned. "What do you mean?"

  "Sorry," she heard, from behind one of the trees. Someone stepped out, raising his hands in apology. It was the Clendornan she had seen in the lounge. "I don't mean to intrude," he called.

  Jael stared at him. "Excuse me, but—what are you doing here?"

  "Well, I . . ." He approached cautiously. "We chose the same environment, it looks like. And—" he looked at the ground, then up again "—the system put me in here with you."

  "Is it supposed to do that?" Jael asked, squinting.

  The Clendornan tilted his head, turning his silver-blue skinned face; the movement reminded her of the bird's. "That's a little hard to say, actually. It's supposed to be able to tell if both parties want privacy or not." He made a noise reminiscent of throat clearing, except that it overlapped with his next words. "Do you object to my being here? I'll gladly leave. I've no wish to intrude." He made a sighing sound. "It is very peaceful here, isn't it?" His mouth formed into a zigzag shape; she wondered if that was supposed to be a smile.

  Jael felt a scowl coming on—and remembered Highwing's parting advice. She was aware of tension growing in the back of her neck. She had wanted to be alone, she'd thought. And yet, now, she didn't quite want to send him away. She could always leave herself, she supposed, if it got to bother her. She resisted the frown and shrugged. "It's okay. I don't mind."

  "Thanks." As the Clendornan glanced around, Jael tried to get a better look at his eyes. They seemed clear and oddly luminous. "My name is Ar," he said, not quite facing her. "What's yours?"

  Her breath caught, as she remembered another time when names had been exchanged. She had been the one to speak first. "I—that is, Jael," she stammered. "Jael LeBrae." She froze with embarrassment, then said, "I'm sorry . . . you said your name was—"

  "Ar." His mouth zigzagged again. "That's A-r, usually, though it actually just means the letter R, which is short for Rarberticandornan, which is my legal Clendornan name. Most people don't even try, they just call me Ar."

  "Ar, then." Jael nodded tentatively. "I'd introduce you to my friend here—" she gestured at the bird, which had been quietly hopping about while they'd talked "—except that he doesn't seem to have a—"

  "Jayl!" the bird shrieked. It cocked its head, peering at her with a wide-eyed expression. "Jayl!"

  "That's right," she answered, then glanced back at Ar. "He's very friendly, but he says he doesn't have a—"

  "Arr! Arr!"

  "Right. Ar." Jael squinted at the bird, wondering suddenly if it were having fun at her expense. "You said you don't have a name, right?"

  "No name! No—AWWK!" The bird fluttered its bright wings as Ar shook a finger in its direction. Suddenly it screamed, "Name Ed! Name Ed!"

  Jael's mouth opened slightly. "Oh! I see."

  "Thank you, Ed. Honesty is a more appropriate quality," said Ar, coming to stand alongside Jael. He frowned up at the bird, then muttered in an aside, "He's quite an exuberant bird, Ed is."

  "I can see that. You two know each other, then?" Jael tried not to show her disappointment. She had rather liked the notion that this bird was her own personal discovery.

  Ar turned to face her directly, giving her a first clear look at his eyes. She was stunned speechless. Deepset in his almost triangular face, they looked like clear crystal orbs, shining with a pale inner light. He seemed to have no irises, whites, or pupils. But as she gazed, half-aware of her rudeness, she realized that his retinas—or whatever took the place of retinas—were visible. They looked like tiny purplish puffs of steel wool, or glitter, nested at the backs of his eyes. She was suddenly aware of his amusement, and she blushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

  "Don't mention it. Everyone does it." Ar's lips straightened, then crinkled. "Actua
lly, I'm considered to have quite lovely eyes on my own world."

  She couldn't tell if he was being serious or teasing. "Oh. Yes, well I . . ." And she realized that she had no idea what they had been talking about, before she'd glimpsed his eyes.

  Ar turned toward the bird. "I'm sorry if I sounded as though I have some special intimacy with Ed, here. I've only met him twice before, and I've been in this environment quite a few times." He extended a long-fingered hand toward the bird. Ed prodded at his finger with his golden beak.

  "He doesn't show up every time, then?"

  Ar rocked his head from side to side. "No, I think the environment senses when he might be good medicine for whoever has come in." He was silent a moment. "After all, this is a generated environment. Even though it doesn't feel that way."