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.
Chapter 5: Garsoom's Haven
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?"
Cephea
n 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."
Cephean watched the proceedings, his ears fluttering every few seconds, as though something were bothering him.
The tow blocked the viewport as it approached, then drifted down and to the side. It still covered about one-third of the view when it locked, with a bump, to Sedora's forward section. "Are you ready to relinquish control, Sedora?" the pilot asked.
Carlyle started to acknowledge in the affirmative but paused when he heard a low hiss from Cephean. The cynthian's eyes were dim and half lidded. (Disapproval, he sensed clearly.) He flushed angrily. "Yes, ready," he said.
"Are you in any immediate danger?" the pilot asked. He sounded bored but amiable.
"No immediate danger," Carlyle said, burning from Cephean's stare. "Fitztaylor," he added, "we'd like to get in as soon as possible. It's been a rough ride."
"Do our best," the pilot assured him.
Far to each side of Sedora's nose, the Circadie space inductors glowed golden, then white; and the joined ships began to change velocity and drop across the solar system toward Garsoom's Haven.
* * *
After touchdown, when the tow ship detached and vanished back into the sky, they went out through the exit lock and into a transfer pod, their personal baggage piled high on a robot porter. The pod carried them toward the spaceport terminal, performing decontamination procedures as it moved. Meanwhile Carlyle spoke by videophone with the RiggerGuild counsel. On his advice, Carlyle authorized release of Sedora's log for inspection by the Guild and the Spacing Authority.
When the transfer pod slid into its bay at the terminal, the RiggerGuild counsel was there to meet them. "Rigger Carlyle, I'm Holly Wellen," the man said, shaking hands delicately and rather gravely. He was a tall, firm-featured man, probably in his late nineties; his hair was just turning gray, and his eyes were fatherly and full of concern.
Carlyle introduced the cynthian and riffmar to Wellen. He explained that Cephean could understand most spoken words telepathically, and could manage a fair reproduction of human speech. Wellen suggested that they go set up quarters in the Guild Haven. They crossed the lobby and got on a moving walkway that ran the length of the terminal. Wellen pointed out the bay windows as they moved.
The city of Plateau edged the spaceport in a giant crescent, in the middle of a range of rugged and dark-forested mountains. Nearly all of the encircling mountains rose higher than the plateau. Over the edge, in the valley, was the lower half of the city, Deephaven; a part of it could be seen climbing up an opposing mountain. Farther off in that direction, in the misty valleys beyond the settled region, lay the wilds—and deep in the wilds lived the koryfs of Garsoom's Haven.
Plateau was the largest city on this "stable frontier" planet, a world still untamed and sparsely settled—but sufficiently developed to provide for its own survival, some industry, and its own spacing capabilities. Like any planet, however, it depended upon the RiggerGuild to keep the rigger-ships coming and going with interstellar commerce.
Past the end of the walkway, they entered the privacy of the Rigger Haven and were shown to their adjoining rooms. The robot porter left their belongings neatly stacked in the rooms. Then Wellen said he would call them later, and they were left to rest and become settled.
* * *
They never did have the chance to go looking for a live koryf; the hearings into the Sedora accident began almost immediately. In the early sessions, the legal framework was established and the ship's log reviewed, along with autopsy reports on the dead crewmen. Carlyle sat in a small room in the Guild quarter with a counselor named Dial Jade, and together they watched a holo projection of the other participants: Holly Wellen, representing Carlyle and the RiggerGuild; Jon Pierce, a deputy administrator of the Garsoom's Haven Spacing Authority; Jules Tong, appointed by the Spacing Authority to represent the ship's owner in absentia; and various other experts and consultants. Carlyle was free to switch out of the session anytime he chose, but right now he wanted to listen.
Deputy Administrator Pierce greeted him. "Welcome, Rigger Carlyle, and thank you for joining us voluntarily. We will be reviewing the log cubes from Sedora, and at the appropriate time we'll ask you for your opinions and evaluation. Our first purpose will be to determine whether or not failure existed on the part of the ship's owner and maintenance staff—or, in other words, to determine whether or not the lives of your crewmates might have been saved."
Wellen spoke to Carlyle on a private channel from the hearing room. "Don't let him worry you, Gev. They're really just here to decide what to do with the ship and whether the Guild should file sanctions against the owner. I've heard the records myself, and there's no question about your own actions being commendable. And I have to say that I saw no indication of negligence on the owner's part. Nevertheless, they'll go over the whole accident at least five more times to settle the claims between the Spacing Authority and the owner. Unless you think otherwise, I don't see that the Guild should make any claim beyond an award for you and Cephean, and a settlement on behalf of the deceased."
Carlyle relaxed a little, but he was going to be nervous until it was over and the incident was behind him. He glanced at Dial Jade, beside him. She whispered reassuringly, "This is just a lot of formality. If they seem a bit stiff to you, it's just that they always act carefully when there's any chance of a problem with the Guild."
"Will I be able to get a ship out of here when it's all over?"
She nodded. "Don't worry."
"What about Cephean? I think he might want to go home, but he hasn't told me."
"It would be good if you could talk that over with him," she said. "But he'll be taken care of as a rigger guest. It's possible the Spacing Authority will ask you to bring him to the hearings to be a liaison between human and cynthian worlds."
"I don't know if he'd go along with that. He doesn't even talk to me much anymore."
"If he doesn't want to, then that will be that," said Dial. She touched a switch to restore voice contact with the hearing room.
* * *
In the early parts of the hearing, he mostly listened. Later he spoke to the group on possible uncharted hazards along the Flux route which Sedora had followed, but he was unable to make a definitive statement. Since he was out of the net at the time of the accident, he simply did not know whether the Flux abscess had been an external feature of the Flux or an aberration in his crewmates' vision.
Between sessions, he saw Cephean and explained what had transpired. The cynthian blinked his eyes and said, "Hyiss? Ssso?" and turned back to his riff-bud cultures, from which he was growing a handful of tiny ferns.
"Well," said Carlyle, "they're probably going to reward us for bringing in the ship, by setting us up with some arrangement to fly wherever we want to go." He paused. "Cephean?"
The cynthian looked around. "Sssss?"
"Do you want to go home? To Syncleya?"
Cephean muttered darkly and turned away again.<
br />
"Do you want to speak to the panel? They've never met a cynthian before, and they'd like to talk with you." No answer. "Cephean?"
Star Rigger's Way Page 6
