Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

Legroeder squinted, trying to visualize the elusive layer in which Impris might be trapped. Cantha’s lines zigzagged to the south and radially out on the galactic meridian—converging in one region before spreading out again in other directions. “What’s that area of convergence?” he asked—uneasily, because he thought he knew the answer. “Is that the Sargasso?”

“Indeed,” said Cantha, with a tone of satisfaction that gave Legroeder a shiver. The Narseil’s gaze pierced him for a moment, then shifted suddenly to Captain Glenswarg. “I believe, if we wish to catch up with Impris , the place to do it is in the Sargasso.”

Legroeder’s heart sank.

“That is,” Cantha continued, over the muttering of the Kyber crewmen, “if we don’t merely want to catch sight of her, but want to actually find her and rendezvous with her.” Cantha looked around the room, the display shining on his vertical amphibian eyes, to see if he’d gotten everyone’s attention.

Legroeder closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the protests of the others. The Sargasso: a dead zone, where the currents of the Flux dwindled to a stop. Who knew why? And who knew how many ships were stranded there right now—not in the strange, ghostly immortality of Impris , but just stranded in the motionless Flux, dying like animals caught in quicksand. If they went in with Phoenix , looking for Impris , what were their chances of coming out again?

Not good, he thought.

Except that Cantha was suggesting it. And he trusted Cantha’s opinion as much as he trusted his own rigging.

“I think, Narseil Cantha,” said the captain in a tight, flat voice, “that you have a great deal of explaining to do. Are you seriously recommending that we take this ship into the Sargasso?”

“Yes, Captain,” Cantha said. He pointed to the place where the green tracings converged, and altered the focus slowly to a higher level of the Flux, and then back down. The map changed in texture and color as he shifted the display. Cantha’s pointer-beam traced green paths through the layers. “Here is what I want you to see. I don’t know which of these paths Impris has followed—perhaps none of them precisely. But the important thing is that they come together, and rise very close to the level of the normal Flux —here in the Sargasso.” He peered through the display at the captain. “That’s the key. If we want to reach Impris , we have to break through into the level where she’s trapped. And the Sargasso is the only place I see to do it.”

“You’re out of your mind,” muttered a Kyber crewman. “Why the hell are we listening to this?” said another.

Christ Almighty, Legroeder thought, gazing into Cantha’s eyes. He felt despair.

“It could be a very dangerous course to take,” Deutsch rumbled, breaking through the grumbling.

“Yes,” said Glenswarg, commanding silence with an arch of his bristly eyebrows. “It sounds extremely dangerous.” He paused, allowing Cantha to continue.

“That is true,” Cantha said. “And that is why we need to talk about the underflux. And about the spatial flaws I believe may underlie it.”

“ What spatial flaws?” growled a Kyber rigger.

Cantha placed his hands together, forefingers pointing into the holo. “The Flux, generally speaking, displays a fairly smooth progression of dimensionality as we move through descending layers. But, from layer to layer, we may encounter differing currents of movement—yes?” He glanced sharply at Derrek, the Kyber navigator, who shrugged.

“As you go deeper and deeper, you may reach a point where the movement slows too much; and if you’re using standard rigging techniques, you lose the ability to maneuver. Or, you simply come to a halt—like getting stuck in silt at the bottom of a river.”

“Like in the Sargasso,” Deutsch said.

“Almost.” Cantha raised a finger. “There’s a crucial difference. The Sargasso is a place where currents seem to lose their energy—but there it happens in the normal levels of the Flux, which is what makes it such a hazard. But why do the currents lose energy? Is it just a cancellation effect of converging currents? Or is it something more?”

Palagren’s neck-sail stiffened. “Cantha, are you sure you should tell them—?”

“Why not?” Cantha asked. “We’ve demanded that they share their knowledge with us.”

Palagren’s mouth tightened. “But this information—”

“Is essential to finding Impris . How else can we do it?”

Palagren’s eyes seemed filled with uncertainty; but finally he gestured acquiescence.

“So what’s the explanation?” Legroeder prompted.

Cantha hissed softly. “The Narseil Rigging Institute believes there are flaws— fractures , if you will—in the structure of spacetime in the Sargasso. We believe that currents may be leaking out of the normal layers of the Flux into a deeper substrate… into the underflux.” He gestured to Legroeder. “You’ve read the Fandrang Report. It talked about regions of high ‘EQ.’ We don’t use that terminology anymore—but this may be a related phenomenon.”

“These fractures—are you talking about openings that go all the way down into the Deep Flux?” Glenswarg asked, looking troubled.

“Possibly,” Cantha said. “We don’t know how deep they might go. In the Narseil understanding of the Deep Flux, there are layers far down in the underflux—” the holo shifted to a deeper level, and many of the star systems still visible as ghostly images seemed to draw closer together “—where extremely long routes in normal-space are shortened and compacted, but at the cost of becoming far more unpredictable.” The threads marking starship routes became blurred and wavering. “Too unpredictable, in our view, for safe travel.”

Cantha walked around the display, pointing here and there. “We can only guess at the details. But we have identified places where subsurface cusps or folds in the Flux may occur. Places where movement along hidden boundaries can result in abrupt transitions.” The display flickered with topographic shifts and folds as his pointer beam moved along the indistinct route-threads. “It may happen so abruptly that an unsuspecting crew might not know how to make the transition back.”

Legroeder blinked. “And you think this is what happened to Impris? ”

Cantha steepled his long-fingered hands together. “Quite likely. I also believe this is how she can be found .”

Glenswarg cleared his throat. “And that’s why you’re asking me to risk this ship in the Sargasso?”

“It is a risk,” Cantha agreed. “But if these flaws exist, as we believe, in the Sargasso, then they could provide openings where we could break through into the underlying layers.”

Glenswarg waved his arm through the holo. “But Impris isn’t there. As far as we know, she’s up here.” He pointed to what was now the far corner of the display, at the point marking their present destination.

“Indeed,” Palagren said, stirring. “She was last seen up there. But that doesn’t mean we can reach her from there. Legroeder—when you encountered Impris seven years ago, did you have any sense that you could have physically reached her?”

“You mean, if we hadn’t been attacked?” Legroeder shook his head. “I don’t think so. We saw it, heard her riggers in the net… and then it faded, just as the attacking ship—” He shuddered, and allowed the inner hands of the implants to close off that memory for him.

“Exactly. It’s there, but it’s insubstantial… and then in a matter of seconds, it’s gone again. Cantha, can you show the folds more clearly?” As the display changed to highlight the features, Palagren traced with his hand along the irregularities in the Flux. “We suspect that Impris may have become trapped somehow inside one of these folds in the underflux. Trapped in a parallel channel—seemingly close to us, and yet isolated.” Palagren glanced around. “She does seem to move very quickly from one location to another.”