by Timothy Zahn
And then, without warning, they were gone, their images again frozen briefly on the tunnel walls before they faded into the black.
What the hell had that been all about? he wondered, keeping an eye on the last image until it was gone. He looked back, making sure a second bunch wasn’t sneaking up on him, then turned forward again.
And felt his mind freeze. The big white dot, the image of Bashan’s sun, was no longer visible.
He cursed himself, belatedly realizing what had happened. Flailing his arms was supposed to indicate to Chandra how he wanted the Pathfinder to change course. Apparently, she’d misinterpreted his attempts to drive off the stargulls as instructions and changed the ship’s vector accordingly.
Why hadn’t she just asked him? He could still hear, after all. Why hadn’t she asked him if that was what he meant before she shifted course?
Maybe she had. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely remembered hearing a voice while the stargulls had been swooping around him. But he’d been too distracted to focus on what she was saying.
But that wasn’t the immediate problem. If Bashan wasn’t even visible, they were probably far enough off the proper vector to miss the solar system entirely.
Think, idiot, think! If he could remember how he’d flailed his arms, then flap them the opposite way, he should be able to bring the ship far enough back to at least have Bashan in the tunnel again. Once he could see the star, he’d be able to fine-tune them back onto course.
All right. He’d first tried to drive off the stargulls swinging by his head. After that, the ones at his right side—no; his left side—then the hotshot that had suddenly stopped and come straight back at him. Hoping desperately he was remembering it all correctly, he ran through the impromptu ballet in reverse.
For a moment, nothing. Then, the view down the tunnel slowly began to shift. Skoda waited…
There it was: Bashan’s star. The tunnel continued to shift, then came to a halt with the star just off dead center. Another cautious gesture, and the Pathfinder was back on track.
And to Skoda’s amazement, he felt a trickle of actual excitement. McDerry had pulled it off. He really had. If he could do this same thing on a longer flight, then they might indeed be able to kiss the Meerians goodbye.
And there wasn’t a thing the Meerians could do about it.
#
“Dr. Walker McDerry?” the tall blond man in the Security uniform asked as McDerry led the way out of the Pathfinder’s boarding tube onto Bashan Station.
A human cop, on a human station, the way it was supposed to be. But standing a few meters behind him was a Meerian. A Meerian, moreover, who seemed unusually interested in the newcomers.
Skoda had seen enough of the aliens over the years that he’d largely stopped noticing them. But there was something about this one that invited closer examination. A bit shorter than Skoda, thin but wiry in the typical Meerian way, he had the usual two arms and two legs and ugly wall-eyed face. His temple tendrils were combed smoothly back, and he was dressed in the usual tunic and skin-tight leggings and boots.
But where the usual Meerian tunic was brown, gray, or dark blue, this one was a patterned and quilted red, and topped by the gem-studded collaret of a high-ranking official. His eyes were the most striking aspect, eyes that showed an intensity Skoda had never seen before in any of the species.
And those burning eyes were focused directly on McDerry and his little group.
“I’m Dr. McDerry, yes,” McDerry said calmly, flicking a glance at the Meerian and then looking back at the cop. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” the cop said. “We’ve received a request that you and your party be held pending further investigation.”
McDerry’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “An investigation concerning what?”
“I’m not entirely certain, sir,” the cop conceded. “The complaint indicates a problem with your ship’s registration. We’re still awaiting clarification.”
“I can’t imagine what the problem could be,” McDerry said. “Our records should be on file here.”
“They are, and they’re being looked at,” the cop said. “But it turns out they’re several weeks old.”
“Odd, but not a problem,” McDerry said. “My own documentation is fully up-to-date. I can go get them from the ship.”
He started to turn back to the tunnel, paused as the cop put a restraining hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, sir, but the order indicates you and your party are to be held and your ship marked off-limits to all personnel.”
“And how am I supposed to prove my registration without our papers?”
“Clearly, you cannot,” the Meerian said, stepping up to join the group. “Thank you, Offijcer. Ij wijll take the matter from here.”
“Will you, now,” the cop said, eyeing the alien suspiciously. “Under what authority, Your Grace, if may I ask?”
“You may,” the Meerian said. “Ijt was the Meerijan government who fijled the complaijnt you hold ijn your hand.”
The cop frowned at the papers. “Your government?”
“Ijndeed,” the Meerian said. “We have questijons concernijng the owner of thijs shijp. That owner does not appear to exijst.”
“That’s ridiculous,” McDerry said. But there was a new hint of caution in his voice. “If you’ll allow me to get the papers, Officer, they clearly show the owner to be John Michael Smith of the United Kingdom on Earth.”
“A man who does not exijst,” the Meerian repeated. “We have ijnvestijgated thijs Mr. Smijth. Hijs records are most suspect.”
“I’m sure I can clear this up,” McDerry said. “Just let me get the Pathfinder’s papers.”
“Ij belijeve the order requijres ijmmedijate sequesterijng.”
“Maybe,” the cop said. “Fortunately for Dr. McDerry, off-station orders and requests are subject to local interpretation. As I see it, the faster we can clear this up, the better.” He gestured. “Go ahead and get your documents, Doctor. The rest of us will wait here.”
“Thank you,” McDerry said, and disappeared back down the boarding tube.
“Be advijsed that Ij ijntend to fijle a formal protest,” the Meerian warned.
“You’re welcome to do so,” the cop said, his civil tone cracking a bit around the edges. “Like I said, we get final interpretation on these things.”
The Meerian didn’t answer. He looked at Skoda, then at Chandra, then back at Skoda.
He was still staring at Skoda when McDerry returned, the ship’s data carte and hardcopies in hand. The cop took the hardcopies, and the silence continued as he read through them.
Finally, he looked up. “I frankly don’t see a problem,” he said. “Unfortunately, I only have so much leeway. I’m afraid I’m still going to have to lock up all of you while they straighten this out.”
“What of the navijgators?” the Meerian asked.
The cop frowned. “What navigators?”
“These,” His Grace said, pointing at Skoda and Chandra. “Ij do not belijeve they are lijsted ijn the sequester order, and we have need of them.”
“The order specifies all of Dr. McDerry’s party.”
“Navijgators are employed by the Meerijan Confederatijon,” the Meerian said. “They are by statute not ijncluded ijn such orders.”
“So you’re navigators?” the cop asked, shifting his frown to Skoda. “Both of you?”
“I used to be,” Chandra said. “Not anymore.”
“And Mr. Detroit never was,” McDerry said.
“And yet you travel the stars?” His Grace asked archly. “Wijth no navijgator?”
“We had one,” McDerry said. “He’s currently in treatment. We’re doing short hops until we can hire someone new.”
“Ij see,” His Grace said, looking again at Skoda before turning back to Chandra. “As Ij saijd, we have use of you. And ijn the process, perhaps you can also help your companijons. Ijf you wijll navijgate one trijp for us, Ij belijeve my g
overnment would be able to quijckly resolve thijs complaijnt.”
“Really,” the cop said, his eyes narrowing. “Just like that, it all goes away? Makes it sound very much like it was a false complaint to begin with.”
“Not at all,” the Meerian countered. “Ij merely saijd we could quijckly resolve ijt.” He gestured to Chandra. “We have a shijp that must leave wijthin the next two hours. Ijt is vijtal that ijt leaves on schedule, and there are no navijgators currently able to guijde ijt. Ijf you wijll take ijt, Ij am certain the complaijnt can be resolved and Dr. McDerry’s party wijll be free to leave ijn peace.”
“When would she be back?” McDerry put in before Chandra could answer. “We’re not leaving without her.”
“There ijs a return shijp already scheduled that can brijng her back,” the Meerian said. “The travel ijs not harsh, nor the journey overly stressful. Ijt would be a case of counter-matchijng favors.”
“She’d be back within twenty-four hours?”
“She would be back wijthijn fijfteen.”
McDerry looked at Elaine, got a small and helpless-looking shrug. He nodded reluctantly and turned to Chandra. “It’s your decision, Chandra. What do you want to do?”
Chandra looked at the Meerian, then closed her eyes tiredly. “All right,” she said, so quietly that Skoda could barely hear her. “I’ll do it.”
“And you?” His Grace asked, turning to Skoda. “There ijs a second shijp that also requijres a navijgator.”
Skoda squeezed down on his back teeth. This already had all the flavor of a setup and trap, and he was damned if he would just walk into it. The Meerians must have heard rumors about McDerry’s experiment—possibly leaked by someone close to this mysterious Smith character—and wanted it stopped. Either that, or someone else was trying the same experiment, wanted to beat McDerry to the punch, and had enlisted the Meerians to create a convenient roadblock.
Either way, McDerry had already said Nathan Detroit wasn’t a navigator. It was a story he preferred to stick with anyway. “Like the doc said, I’m not a navigator,” he told the Meerian. “Sorry I can’t help.”
For a long moment he thought His Grace was going to argue the point. But he merely inclined his head. “Of course,” he said. “Ij had forgotten. Sijnce you are not a navijgator and unable to assijst, you wijll need to be sequestered wijth the others. Offijcer?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” the cop growled. “You can take the navigator to her ship. The rest of you, the holding cells are this way.”
#
There were only four holding cells in the detention center the cop took them to. The three McDerrys were ushered into one of them. Skoda got a cell all to himself.
Which was fine with him. The others could discuss the situation or grouse about it if they wanted to. All he wanted to do was sleep.
Only he couldn’t. Every time he managed to drift off, he was awakened by images and nameless fears.
He was used to nightmares. Those came with nearly every trip these days. But this was something new. Something darker and somehow more urgent.
He’d been jolted out of sleep for the fourth time, and had rolled over to try to fall back under, when he broke his usual nightmare rule and opened his eyes.
And found himself staring at a stargull hovering no more than a meter away from him.
Out in the tunnel, the things had just looked like vague white birds. Here, up close, they were a nightmare blend of hawk, swan, and pterodactyl. The creature’s mouth opened, showing a set of snake-like fangs—
“Yowp!” Skoda gasped, jerking his arms and legs hard enough to nearly shove him backward off the bed. “What the hell—?”
“Ijs there a problem?” a voice came from somewhere in the ceiling. “Mr. Detroijt? Ijs somethijng wrong?”
Skoda stared at the ceiling, the sudden shock of seeing a stargull up close—and not in a hyperspace tunnel—momentarily shoved into the background.
Was that the Meerian? And if so, what the hell was he doing peeking into a human station’s holding cells?
More importantly, why was he butting in now? He hadn’t bothered to speak during any of Skoda’s earlier nightmares or cold-sweat awakenings, but only when Skoda spotted and reacted to the stargull.
A stargull that supposedly only long-time navigators could see. A stargull that everyone, including the Meerians, dismissed as figments of navigators’ imaginations.
“Mr. Detroijt?” His Grace prompted.
“It’s okay,” Skoda called back. “Just another nightmare.”
There was a pause from the other end. The stargull, for its part, was still hovering a meter from his face. Just waiting.
“Ij see,” His Grace said. “Do you need assijstance?”
“No, I’m okay,” Skoda said, his brain racing. His Grace was trying to trap him into revealing who he really was. That had to be it. He was trying to prove Skoda was indeed a navigator. If he could then prove Skoda had faked his own death in order to break his indenture…
Then what? So they’d convict him of fraud and maybe put him in a cell somewhere to live in silence and loneliness until he died? That wasn’t a lot different than the end all navigators faced anyway.
There was the click of a lock at the door. Frowning, Skoda rolled over to look…
To see His Grace step into the cell.
“You are dijstressed,” the Meerian said. “Are you seeijng thijngs?”
“What makes you think that?” Skoda countered, a chill running up his back. He’d told His Grace that it had just been a bad dream, yet the Meerian had jumped to the right conclusion without any evidence at all.
Or did he have evidence? Could the Meerians see stargulls? Casually, Skoda let his eyes drift around the room, wondering if the stargull was still around.
It was. It was hovering in one corner near the floor.
Out of the corner of his eye Skoda saw the Meerian follow his gaze. Just for the hell of it, Skoda shifted his gaze to one of the other corners, looking first at the floor and then raising his eyes slowly to the ceiling as if watching the rise of an invisible helium balloon. Again, the Meerian copied his movements.
So he couldn’t see the stargull. Yet somehow he’d deduced that Skoda could?
“Ijt ijs obvijous,” His Grace said. “Ij can see from your eyes that there ijs somethijng here. Can you descrijbe ijt?”
“I don’t know.” The stargull had moved, leaving its corner and floating to the door. It headed a meter toward Skoda, then backed up to the door again, then moved back toward Skoda.
“Ijf you can see ijt, surely you can descrijbe ijt.”
“Wait a second,” Skoda said. The stargull had gone back to the door and was hovering there. Hinting that it wanted Skoda to follow it? “It’s leaving,” he told the Meerian, putting some urgency into his voice and shifting his gaze as if the stargull had already gone through the hatch. “If we hurry, maybe we can catch it.”
It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how pathetically stupid they were. Even in the most ridiculous action dramas no one was dumb enough to fall for such a lame trick.
Apparently the Meerians didn’t watch action dramas. “Let us follow and see where ijt goes,” His Grace said, retracing his steps to the door. He stopped in the doorway, oblivious to the stargull still holding position above him. “Ijs ijt gone?”
“Yes,” Skoda said, sitting up and pulling on his shoes.
“Then come. Quijkly.”
Skoda finished with his shoes and joined the Meerian at the door. “Ijs ijt stijll ijn sijght?” His Grace asked.
Skoda peered out the door, making a show of craning his neck as he looked down the empty corridor. A lone human cop was standing guard, eyeing Skoda and His Grace suspiciously. One hand was hovering near his holstered weapon, the other was tapping the wrist restraints attached to the other side of his belt.
And now that Skoda looked like he was leaving, the stargull finally floated out through the wall
and took up position a meter down the corridor. “Yes, I can still see it,” Skoda assured the Meerian.
“Follow ijt,” His Grace ordered.
“Hold on,” the cop said, pulling the restraints free. “I need to put these on him.”
“No,” the Meerian said, waving him back.
“I have orders, Your Grace,” the cop said firmly.
“Ij now countermand those orders,” His Grace said, just as firmly. “Return to your post. The prijsoner and Ij travel alone.”
The guard glared at Skoda, but nodded. “Fine. You want him, you got him. But you’re responsible for him. Got that?”
“Yes,” His Grace said softly. “Mr. Detroijt, do you see ijt?”
The stargull was still waiting. “Yes,” Skoda said.
“Wherever ijt leads, follow.”
For the first fifty meters the stargull traced out a path through Bashan Station’s public areas. Then, without warning, it took a right-hand turn and disappeared though an unmarked hatch.
“It went through here,” Skoda said. He tried the handle. “It’s locked.”
“Stand asijde.” The Meerian stepped forward and waved what appeared to be a standard writing stylus near the lock. There was a soft click. “Go,” he ordered, returning the stylus to his pocket.
“Right,” Skoda said, eyeing the stylus as he pulled open the now unlocked door. He’d heard of Meerian universal keys, but never seen one in action.
Only this was a human station, with human-style locks. Just how universal were the keys, anyway?
The stargull was waiting for them in the middle of the service corridor that stretched out beyond the doorway. As Skoda stepped through the opening it began moving away down the passageway. Skoda followed, keeping a wary eye on the pipes and cable conduits running along the walls and low ceiling. The Meerian stayed close behind him.
They’d taken three turns—two right and one left—and Skoda was starting to make another left when His Grace suddenly caught Skoda’s upper arm. “To the left?” he asked, his voice odd. “Not to the rijght?”
