Part 3 (1/2)

”That ... you've chosen well. That you'll be ... very careful.” He swallowed, then rumbled in his pocket.

”Here, I'd like to give you something.” He brought out a thin gold chain, with a small, luminous stone on it. ”This was from Deira, to me. She said it was to help me remember our time in the net together.

Well ...” he cleared his throat nervously - Jael had never seen him so fidgety before - ”I'd like you to have it as a keepsake. Sort of a good luck charm. And a way of saying, I hope it works out all right for you ... out there.” He held the chain out to her, his gaze wide and earnest.

She hesitated, then opened her palm and slowly closed it around the cool metal chain, the stone. For a moment, she almost forgave him for the other night, but the weight of her anger was too great, and her fear over what she was about to do too strong. She could find no words to say any of that, so instead she said, ”Okay. Thanks. And now, I really have to go.”

”Good trip, Jael.”She sighed and nodded. Then she turned and strode, then ran, up the hill toward the multidorm and her quarters.

She set her bag on the ground and looked up at the stars.h.i.+p. It was a modest-sized floater: silver-grey, shaped like a flared, flattened teardrop. It drooped like a guppy's belly in the middle and was festooned with a variety of protrusions for maneuvering units and flux-field and rigger-net projectors. The name Ca.s.sandra was painted in black just above the bulge of the flux-field reactors, but the letters were well worn by the elements of s.p.a.ce and atmosphere, as were the identifying numerals amids.h.i.+ps. It looked like a st.u.r.dy enough vessel, though one could hardly tell much by external appearances. Still, the service log had seemed acceptable, more carefully annotated than she had expected from an unregulated s.h.i.+pper; and the owner was flying with her, as captain, which provided some incentive for good maintenance. Perhaps her worries about substandard equipment, at least, were unjustified. The s.p.a.ceport service crew had just driven away as she had walked up. She would check over the rigger controls herself before departure.

Jael strode to the base of the s.h.i.+p where it nested in the docking cradles. The outer door of the entry lock was open, at the top of a short ramp. She stepped into the airlock and searched the door panel for the communication switch. ”Jael LeBrae. Request permission to come aboard.”

There was a short silence. Then a staticky voice answered, ”Come on up to the bridge, Jael. Top level.

Seal the lock when you come.”

She touched the appropriate switches and stepped into the s.h.i.+p. The outer hatch, then inner hatch, hissed closed. She glanced around at the power deck; the ladder up was in a pool of light, spilling down from deck two. She slung her bag strap over her shoulder and climbed. The next level was a second engineering deck. She located and climbed one more ladder, and stepped off into a tight, ring-shaped hallway. It took only a moment to figure out the layout. In the center of the ring was the commons area; several other doors around the outer circ.u.mference of the hall were living quarters. Around the circle to her right was the entrance to the bridge.

Mogurn emerged from the bridge and greeted her. ”Put your bag in the first cabin, then come join me on the bridge. We're checking out for flight.” He turned and disappeared again.

Jael pressed the entry plate on the next door beyond the bridge. When the door paled, she walked through it into the cabin. It was small and spare: a bunk, a fold-down chair, and a tiny lavatory. All perfectly standard, perfectly Spartan. She stepped back out into the hallway, opaqued the door, and hurried to the bridge.

It was dimly lit, but filled with illuminated displays, Mogurn was seated at the front, his back to her; he was inspecting a thicket of instruments, mostly normal-s.p.a.ce gear and remotes from the rigger-nets.

There were two Seiki-model rigger-stations, one flanking either side of the bridge: couches recessed into tight, horizontal alcoves. That was where she would do her flying. Two rigger-stations, one rigger. The second station was a backup, or possibly where a co-rigger would fly, if there were one. It was hard to tell at a glance; the variety in s.h.i.+p and rigger-station design was almost endless. Some setups were complex, like tall-masted s.h.i.+ps of the sea, requiring several riggers working in perfect harmony; others were compact and without frills, perfect for single riggers. She fleetingly wondered if Mogurn might be cutting corners, using only one rigger where two were optimal. Such a thing was not unheard of, especially among unreg - but never mind that, she thought. What sensible owner would endanger a valuable s.h.i.+p and cargo in order to save one rigger's salary?

”Go ahead and familiarize yourself with the setup,” Mogurn said, glancing up into a small mirror. ”I'll be through here in a few minutes.”Jael nodded and began looking over the instrumentation near the starboard rigger-station, which was marked as the primary station. She could inspect a station in her sleep if she had to, which was a good thing, because suddenly it was. .h.i.tting home that she was about to depart for deep s.p.a.ce with a man she scarcely knew, and whose credentials were marginal at best. She had flown solo before, yes, but never in such an unprotected fas.h.i.+on. Not that she was concerned for her own personal safety; there were implicit guarantees, even with men like Mogurn.

There had been a time when a female rigger might not have dared to board a s.h.i.+p like this, to be isolated with a man of unknown character for days or weeks at a rime. But over many decades of stars.h.i.+p rigging, the loss of too many s.h.i.+ps had proven one thing: the fragile balance of sensitivity, imagination, and control that enabled a rigger to steer through the Flux was easily destroyed. Whatever the treatment of unemployed riggers planetside, the well-being of a rigger in flight was considered sacrosanct. Even the unlicensed s.h.i.+ppers acknowledged that fact. Even Jael's own father had recognized it.

These rea.s.surances flickered through her mind as she ran through her checklist on the rigger-station. It was important to make herself ready for flight, as well as her station. The worries of the world, of the rigger halls and the s.p.a.ceports, had to be purged from her thoughts. The sooner her head was clear, the smoother and safer the flight would be.

”We're bound for Lexis on the first leg,” Mogurn remarked, without turning. ”Bypa.s.sing the mountain route, of course.”

”Ah,” Jael said, searching her memories for what she'd learned in training about that route. Oh, yes ...

”No point in getting into any trouble with ... unnecessary hazards ... on that mountain route, is there?”

Mogurn added.

”I guess not,” Jael murmured. There were legends about the route from decades of rigging, but perhaps no more than with any of a hundred other unusual regions, each replete with legends. What was it here?

Dragons, as she recalled. Nothing to worry her.

”No. No point in getting into trouble,” Mogurn said. He was still busy at the nose of the bridge, and for a few moments, neither of them spoke. Jael continued her checkout. Then he asked, ”You do know the route, don't you?”

Jael paused. She had never flown to Lexis, but she knew the essentials of the route, the library hypno-briefings on the various currents of the Flux. She said as much to Mogurn.

He turned in his seat and gazed at her. ”Well, I've been that way many times. So even if you're the rigger and I'm not, I trust you'll accept some guidance in the matter of navigation.”

She blinked. ”Of course,” she said, shrugging.

”Good.” Mogurn turned back to his panels. ”Just so you know. The mountains are dangerous. I'll expect you to keep me informed.”

As if she wouldn't do that anyway, she thought, checking the last of the instruments on the outside of the station. She leaned in to peer at the actual flight readouts. ”All right if I -”

”Go ahead. It's part of your checklist isn't it?”

”Yes.” She slid into the alcove, reclining on her back on the couch. Squirming into a comfortable position, she allowed the nape of her neck to touch the neural contacts in the neckrest, and she waited for the tingle which confirmed that she was in contact with the dormant net control. She focused her eyeson the instruments over her head and began bringing power to the control system. After a few moments, she closed her eyes and allowed the tingle of the system to spread into her limbs and into her mind.

She felt herself surrounded by darkness. She reached into the sensory net with imaginary hands and tested it, probing at its limits to see how it felt. The net was still confined within the s.p.a.cecraft hull - it would be extended fully only after they were in s.p.a.ce - but its form was sufficient for testing. She stretched the arms of her imagination against the darkness, and her inner eye sketched out lines of perspective against that darkness, lines that gave shape to the nons.p.a.ce surrounding her. As she explored the field with her mind, her physical body remained motionless on the couch. Once she was satisfied that the field was responding adequately to her thoughts, she withdrew from the net, withdrew back into her physical body.

She opened her eyes. The monitors overhead gave a reading of the field strengths she had used in this simple check, and the trial efficiencies of the field. She pursed her lips and nodded. It was well within acceptable limits.

There was a movement beside her, and she realized that Mogurn was standing beside the rigger-station.

He bent down and peered in. His eyes s.h.i.+fted back and forth, scrutinizing her. What was he doing - looking for flaws, for signs of weakness? His eyes, close up, looked bloodshot and rheumy. ”Everything okay?” he asked.

”Seems to be,” she said, running her fingers over the monitor faces. It made her uncomfortable to be stared at. There was no reason why he shouldn't observe her, of course; he had a right to know if his s.h.i.+p was in capable hands.

”Good. We'll be lifting soon. You have anything you need to do before I call for the tow?” Mogurn asked.

”May I have a minute in my cabin?”

Mogurn straighted up. ”Of course. I'll make the call now. It'll take them a few minutes to get to us, I imagine.”

As she slipped out of the rigger-station, he was leaning back in his command seat, watching her. She could not read his expression, but she was aware of his gaze on her back as she walked off the bridge.

In her cabin, she spent a few minutes stowing the contents of her duffel and poking around in the drawers and compartments. She paused to gaze at herself in the tiny wall mirror. Her face looked a little drawn, she thought, and her flyaway brown hair needed brus.h.i.+ng. But her hazel eyes were clear and determined; or at least, they seemed that way when she frowned at herself and thought,You're committed now. It doesn't matter whether you were smart or not. Just do the job and do it right, and it'll be okay in the end.She tried to smile. The expression looked foolish to her.

Enough. Time to make ready for s.p.a.ce.

”Jael, is your station set?” Mogurn asked, from the nose of the bridge.

”Set,” she answered, looking up at the monitors one more time. There was really nothing for her to do at this point but enjoy the ride and keep a watch on the systems for later.

”TowJuliette , this isCa.s.sandra . At your convenience,” Mogurn said.

She couldn't see him from where she lay in the rigger-station, but in the monitor, she could see the tow s.h.i.+p as it approached Mogurn's s.h.i.+p from overhead. It looked like a thin four-legged spider droppingdown on an invisible silk thread. Soon it blocked the overhead view as it settled atopCa.s.sandra and latched with a barely perceptible b.u.mp. Then Jael felt a vibration under her couch as the landing dock freed the s.h.i.+p. A moment later, a weight pressed lightly upon her as they lifted free of the ground and began to climb. In one monitor she could see the ground falling away; in another, she could see the globes at the ends of the spider's legs glowing red, then orange. Those were the Circadie s.p.a.ce inductors that would propel them into orbit and take them well away from the planetary ma.s.s of Gaston's Landing, far enough away to begin the rest of the voyage under their own power.

A few moments after liftoff, the s.h.i.+p's gravity fields came up on internal power, and the feeling of weight on her chest subsided. The monitors confirmed, however, that the true acceleration was increasing. The curvature of the planet became visible as the sky turned black, and Jael wished her homeworld a silent farewell.

Minutes later, the planet was visible as an enormous ball in s.p.a.ce, shrinking as they left their orbit behind.

Jael felt exhilaration rising in her breast as the s.h.i.+p and its tow accelerated across the emptiness of the planetary system, the stars brightly beckoning before them. It was a good feeling, a true rigger feeling, the almost primal joy of bursting the bonds of planetary life, of expanding outward, stretching, reaching. And as she watched it all happen in her monitors, she began to trace the Flux indicators, the signs that would tell her when it was safe to submerge the s.h.i.+p for the real journey. And she began to imagine the coming entry into the Flux, to prepare in her own mind for what was to come.