Carlyle hesitated to ask more; but there was so much more to hear. Things that had happened of which he was not a part. Since breaking the team, Janofer and Skan had been to many places, with different crews. They had met once during their travels, at Andros II. Skan had tried to dissuade Janofer from rigging into Golen space; but she had wanted the excitement, had been feeling a little desperate, and had wanted to see if the stories were true. "Bernith is not a place you want to go," she said. "Or Golen space, either."
"Didn't you go to Denison's Outpost?" asked Carlyle.
She shook her head in puzzlement. "Why did you think that?"
Carlyle thought of a Thangol/cyborg he would have dearly loved to kill. He explained the story to Janofer. She nodded, unsurprised, when he mentioned Merck's name. "Pathological liar," she said.
When the stories had all been told, they looked at each other sadly and quizzically. Carlyle felt strange. "I guess maybe it was silly, then, bringing you back here," he said uncomfortably. "I had thought—"
"Not silly seeing each other, not by any shot," declared Skan.
"And," said Janofer, "we'd like to give it another try. Times keep changing, and maybe it will work again, even without poor Legroeder. What is there to lose? We can try a flight in the dreampool theater here."
"We have a ship available," Carlyle said slowly. "Not
Lady Brillig
, though. Some ship like her, called
Guinevere.
"
"Good, wonderful. But first I think we ought to try a session in the pool, just to be sure. Don't you, Skan?"
"It would be the best thing."
Carlyle realized suddenly how long it had been since he'd used a dreampool. Cephean and he never had used the one on
Spillix.
"Legroeder," whispered Janofer sadly. "Do you think there's
any
hope he'll come?"
Carlyle shook his head reluctantly. "I just hope he's still alive. We can wait awhile, though—in case." He decided to change the subject. "Anyway, I want you to meet Cephean soon. Maybe he'll join us in the dreampool."
Frowning to himself, he wondered how
that
would work out.
* * *
The next morning, though, he got a call from Alyaca Perone. Kloss had a cargo shipment to be carried in
Guinevere.
"He said that if you're ready to fly with a crew of at least three, he'll put in a priority request for you with the Guild. Otherwise, he'll have to let another crew take it. The shipment must go today." Her image smudged slightly on the videophone as she moved her head. They had a poor connection. She steadied and looked back at him. "Have your friends arrived?"
Carlyle missed a breath and said, "Yes. Yes, they arrived yesterday. I'll have to see whether they're ready to go out again on such short notice. What's the destination?"
"Hainur Eight."
That wasn't too bad, distance-wise. It was less than a lightyear away, the star system nearest to Chaening's World. A short distance through real space, however, did not necessarily mean an easy hop through the Flux.
"Round trip?"
"Yes."
"I'll have to check with Janofer and Skan," he said feverishly. "And Cephean." He was nervous as hell. Could they fly so soon? He wished that
anyone
had called him except Alyaca.
"It has to go today. Irwin wants you to have first chance, but if you can't make it he can't guarantee that you'll be able to take
Guinevere
later."
"I'll have to call you back," he said.
Immediately he called Janofer and Skan and outlined the situation to them. "I know we were going to go into the dreampool first, but this may be our only chance to get a ship like
Lady Brillig
, and that's kind of what I was hoping for."
Skan frowned, but he shrugged when Janofer allowed that she guessed it was all right with her. "But only because it's a short haul," Skan cautioned.
Carlyle called Alyaca right back. "It's all set. We'll be ready to go this afternoon." A thought occurred to him, and he added, "And we need a modified rigger-station installed for Cephean. Make it stern-rigger station. You can model it after the one on
Spillix.
Field four, bay fifty-eight." He clucked thoughtfully, blinking at Alyaca.
She nodded, but with what emotion he couldn't tell. "All right. If you can be aboard and secured by fourteen-oh-oh, we should have no problems."
Carlyle signed off and strode into Cephean's quarters. "Morning," he said.
"Ssssss?" Cephean was breakfasting on milk-melon with the help of the younger riffmar. Idi and Odi were sunning. The cynthian was in a sullen mood.
"Want to fly with us today?" asked Carlyle. "Janofer and Skan and I are taking this ship
Guinevere
on a short trip, to check ourselves out with each other. And if you want to come along—you know—I'd like to have you. You're welcome to come. You can meet them on the ship. If you don't want to do any actual flying, you don't have to. You can just come for the ride if you want."
Why did he suddenly feel so guilty? (He sensed
loneliness. Desolation.
)
"Sssssss. H-no," said Cephean, turning away, turning back to his food.
"Cephean," he said earnestly. "I want you along. This will be my first trip back with them, and you—you've sort of flown with them, in a way. They won't know you, but you'll sort of know them, so you'll have an advantage."
Cephean was mute.
"Please. I
want
you to keep flying with me."
Cephean slurped at the partially crushed melon. His eyes flashed as he licked his jaws; he seemed to be weighing Carlyle's words. "H-all righ-ss," he hissed.
* * *
Carlyle, Cephean, and the riffmar met Janofer and Skan in the departure area. Janofer greeted the cynthian with delight; Skan was gracious but stoical. Cephean himself said little, except, twice, "Hyiss-yiss." The riffmar huddled shyly in their cart, and Cephean watched them protectively.
The shuttle tube carried them out to
Guinevere
, and after they settled into their living quarters they gathered on the bridge. Carlyle was surprised at how closely the ship resembled
Lady Brillig
, but how many trivial differences there were, in decoration, in small bits of gear, to make her feel very different. He checked the special rigger-station for Cephean and asked the cynthian to sit for some adjustments. "Is Cephean planning to fly with us?" Skan asked. He sounded dubious.
"Probably he'll stay at the fringes," said Carlyle. "But he wants to work with us."
Janofer beamed. She was buoyant and friendly. But Carlyle thought that some of the original Janofer, some of the mystery, was missing.
As they took their stations, he wondered if he was the only one who felt awkward.
The tow's shadow fell across them as it descended to mate with
Guinevere.
They lifted smoothly, and soon they were in space, watching Chaening's World shrink against the void. The tow accelerated them for an hour, and then they were alone.
Guinevere
was speeding out of the Verjol system at a tangent to Chaening's World's orbit when the three riggers, with Cephean whistling softly in the background, extended their net into the misty realm of the Flux and pulled the ship along with them. Carlyle laughed out loud in the acoustical chamber of the net. The others seemed to breathe in time with his laugh, as they dropped into a deep, canyonlike valley.
This is good. But I do wish that Legroeder could be here with us,
he remarked.
The valley walls rose on both sides of the speeding rig. It was a mysterious and forested valley, glimmering in full sunlight. He expected someone to reply to his lament about Legroeder, but no one did.
After a time, Skan said,
Let's all stretch a little and see how we're doing.
Janofer responded at once, extending her reach down from the keel position and forward with glittery silver arms that quivered as they flew. Carlyle reached upward and forward, creating symmetry; and then, out of sheer exuberance, he reached even farther than Janofer and pointed the way like a long silver bowsprit. Skan, in the com-station, expanded his presence to form a torus-shaped halo encircling both Janofer and Carlyle.
This feels comfortable,
said Janofer hopefully.
Carlyle voiced agreement, but the truth was that he felt just a bit uncomfortable. He had grown used to the pilot-command position while flying with Cephean, and—
Cephean, are you there?
He heard an indistinct muttering, and the ship swayed slightly as though a tail had been switched. Cephean was there.
Gev, how does it feel to you?
asked Janofer.
Fine.
But he felt a certain sense of being out of place, out of time. He was being treated as quite an equal, though Skan retained the guiding role (which was fine, since Carlyle was not familiar with the route to Hainur Eight); but equality, he realized, was a new feeling to have in this crew. Before, he had been the apprentice, not quite fully qualified.
Skan? You?
Just fine, love. Gev, I think it would be best if you pulled in a little. Stormy weather ahead.
All right.
Carlyle eased back from his long reach and rode pointing cautiously into the wind. He saw no stormy weather ahead, himself, but perhaps Skan could see farther. He bounced lightly up and down in the nose of the rig, wishing that this ship were
Lady Brillig.
Where is the stormy weather?
Janofer queried.
I
don't see anything but clear skies, a clear golden path.
Straight ahead, love. This valley breaks out soon, and things will change. I want us to be ready.
I see that things will change. But I don't see a storm.
It was unusual, Carlyle thought, for Janofer to be so direct with criticism. But then, he had never really seen the two in disagreement. Peering far ahead, all he could see was the valley breaking open near the horizon, and beyond that golden-red clouds like a sunset (although the sun was still high overhead). He assumed that Skan was aware of something they hadn't seen yet.
They sped toward the end of the valley. Janofer asked Skan what it was that he saw. She was becoming concerned, because she still did not see an agreeing image; and so was Carlyle.
Out there where the earth falls away, and you see a light sky over storm clouds, and a darker area that looks like labyrinths. We have to go through the storm clouds and down into the labyrinths.
There was silence for a few moments, except for the wind.
Skan, I don't see any of that,
said Janofer worriedly.
Gev, how about you?
No, Skan. Sorry.
Sorry, my—
What I see is layered golden clouds over a fiery plain,
said Janofer, ignoring Skan's outburst.
You, Gev?
Carlyle focused hard.
Not sure. I see the clouds, but the rest is fuzzy. Feels like I could go either way. Or maybe neither.
Wonderful,
said Skan sarcastically.
Carlyle held his tongue, but he was upset. They could be in for problems ahead, and time was evaporating. They would reach the end of the valley soon; and he had never expected to find Janofer and Skan at odds this way. Had he been naive when he flew
Lady Brillig
, or had they purposely kept it from him? Or was it Legroeder's absence now, or the new ship? Or . . .
Get your image set, Gev. We don't have time to play,
Skan ordered sharply.
Carlyle was startled by Skan's tone. The com-rigger had never been the gentlest of people, but in the past he had always been careful to keep his anger out of the net.
I'm working, Skan.
Peering ahead, Carlyle suddenly saw Janofer's golden clouds over an inflamed plain. He started to speak, to confirm Janofer's image. But through that vision, as though it were a transparency, he saw something else: storm clouds, angry clouds, and beneath them smoking canyons, branching.
Both Janofer's and Skan's visions glowed before him. He hesitated. A decision had to be made. Which seemed the more real? Which seemed to hold the course to Hainur Eight, to their destination?
It was so hard to tell. Listening to Cephean mutter and hum in the stern—and trying to read his thoughts, hidden as they were behind a private cynthian demeanor—he realized that in fact
neither
image seemed right to him, or real.
But that could not be . . .
Gev, speak up,
said Skan.
Janofer, we'll have to go with mine if Gev can't decide.
Guinevere
flew on the wind, drawing closer to uncertainty.
Closer to danger.
Carlyle found himself dancing backward into the net—exploring, not the terrain ahead, but the terrain within the thoughts of his crewmates. The images were unclear—snatches, fragments, pinwheeling bits of mood, of illusion. He should not be doing this—using the net in flight as he would use the dreampool to explore the inner worlds of his friends—but he was doing it now instinctively, and he had to trust his instincts. It was quite possible that this ship was in trouble if there was conflict or, worse, if neither of the visions was true to a safe course to Hainur Eight.
Janofer's thoughts were the most accessible, and what he saw there gave him pause but not immediate worry. She was constructing images of her internal life, images of her relationships with others. She wanted to fly a glowing path through the clouds; she wanted desperately to fly it. Flickering in those golden clouds were love and friendship, and thoughts of Skan and Gev and dozens of other persons whose identities were a mystery. She wanted so badly to rig a course on that golden path because beneath it lay a plain of hellstone and the blaze of war. Beneath those clouds lay fear and failure—and the torn and smoking ruins of luckless ships and crews.
No wonder Janofer held the ship's bows high. But Skan was beginning to bear downward, hard, in the net.
Gev, are you helping or dropping out?
Skan's tone jolted him around to the com-rigger's thoughts. Time slowed for him as he delved through his friends' hearts; he knew there were moments yet in which to reach his decision. But the blackness of Skan's words, the growling impatience, opened a window through which he could peer. And he did peer, and what he saw jerked his breath away. Dark, smoldering anger—and beneath it the labyrinthine canyons of Skan's personal depression, bottomless, swallowing light and vision, death-seeking. Skan's depression, which all of his friends had known on occasion and dealt with, was something he had always avoided loosing in the net. But now it was into the depression that Skan, consciously or not, wanted to carry them.