Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

“So,” said Cantha, “we can look for Impris up here—” he rotated the image and highlighted their present destination “—under the nose of KM/C, where we won’t be able to reach her anyway. Or we can try to enter that fold down here—” he rotated it again, highlighting the Sargasso region “—where the pathways converge and there may be openings that will let us reach her from within the fold . Where, I might add, Kilo-Mike/Carlotta will see much less of what we’re doing.”

“Carlotta will love that when she finds out,” whispered a Kyber rigger.

He was silenced by a look from Glenswarg. The captain’s eyebrows looked like two caterpillars trying to merge. He scowled into the display. “It’s an interesting idea. But it’ll be dangerous as hell, won’t it?”

Cantha shrugged. “The Kyber are known for their courage, yes?”

Glenswarg’s scowl darkened even further. “These paths in the folds—are they fast moving?”

Cantha cleared his throat with a rumble. “If they are Deep Flux, they may be very fast. Or short. So if you’re asking, could we hope to make our way to her quickly once we’re in the fold—”

“Not just that,” said Glenswarg. “Are we going to be able to find our way out again?”

The Narseil hesitated.

“ Impris couldn’t find her way out. What makes you think we’re different?”

The blood pounding in Legroeder’s ears competed with Palagren’s answer. “ Impris probably didn’t know why she was trapped. We will. We’re going to have to look for a way in. Which means we’ll be noting exactly where and how we enter. That’ll make us better equipped to find our way out again.” Palagren turned to Legroeder, then the captain. “With your permission, we would perform some retuning of the rigger-net—to take maximum advantage of our versatility. Human, Kyber, Narseil. All together. That’s another advantage we have that Impris didn’t.”

Glenswarg rubbed his chin. “And assuming we make it out of this fold of yours, what about getting out of the Sargasso itself—once we’re back in the normal Flux?”

“The Sargasso has extremely slow and tricky movement,” said Palagren. “Not no movement. If we plan ahead and map with care, we should be able to manage. I won’t deceive you, though. There’s a degree of risk.”

“ High risk, if you ask me,” said Navigator Derrek, leaning into the holo and craning his neck as though trying to extract more information from it.

Glenswarg turned to stare at Legroeder, who was responsible for the rigging decisions. Legroeder took a deep breath. “It has to be the Sargasso?” he asked the Narseil.

First Cantha, then Palagren nodded. “It’s the only place we see an opening,” Cantha said, unfolding his fingers in a humanlike palm-up gesture. “If we want to find Impris , that’s where we have to go.

Legroeder closed his eyes, asking the implants if they had any wisdom. They didn’t. He gazed at Glenswarg and sighed. “I’m afraid I must recommend, Captain, that we take this ship to the Sargasso.”

Glenswarg’s gaze bored into him, as though waiting to see if he would change his mind. When Legroeder held his gaze, the captain grunted and turned to his exec. “Prepare a message to the escort ships. And tell the bridge crew, we’re changing course.”

It was hard to be sure precisely when they entered the Sargasso, but soon enough the signs became unmistakable. The net softened around them like sails gone limp, as the currents of space slowed to a crawl. Legroeder gazed out at a tenuous skyscape of ocher clouds, and felt the image changing of its own accord to a vision of water. The mists flattened to become the foggy surface of a still sea, with a half-shrouded sun burning overhead.

Nothing moved. Even the water lapping at the side of the ship sounded like something caught in a time warp, the chuckling slap of listless waves drawn out into a croaking sound, like the monotonous drone of some primordial, throaty-voiced creature.

The riggers scanned in all directions. Legroeder half expected to see the cluttered flotsam of drifting ships; instead, what he saw was a profound and oppressive emptiness. It seemed to permeate not just the outward scene, but the mood inside the net, as well. All four riggers were silent, as though a single word might destroy the fragile magic that held it all together.

The Narseil had spent hours working with the Kyber crew, carefully retuning the flux reactor, adjusting the sensitivity of the net in painstaking increments. Palagren and Cantha were trying to make the net more responsive to emotional fluctuations among the riggers. That was easy; what was hard was to do it without losing the usual buffers against mood shifts. The other riggers, especially the Kyber who flew the alternate shifts, felt uneasy about the changes—and even Ker’sell seemed uncertain—but Legroeder and the captain had allowed Palagren and Cantha to try. They were convinced that, by heightening their sensitivity to fainter stirrings of the Flux, they could improve their maneuverability in the Sargasso. And Legroeder was very much in favor of being able to maneuver out of the Sargasso.

Right now, he couldn’t see much except the stillness. He found himself thinking of Com’peer, the Narseil surgeon, quoting from the book of Psalms. How had one of them gone? He leads me beside the still waters … Yes, Legroeder thought. Still waters, indeed.

An unfamiliar inner voice offered a comment:

// The quote refers to “safe” waters, actually. Are these waters safe? //

(I doubt that,) Legroeder muttered. (Who are you? Do I know you?)

// I am an analytical subroutine. My exegetical database includes many of the known galaxy’s religions. //

(Oh. Well, what do you analyze about this place?)

// Difficult to know… // said the implant.

(Yah.)

// But I am working on it. //

As are we all, Legroeder thought. But perhaps the implant was right about one thing: it would be very helpful to keep in mind an image of these waters as safe—particularly since the net was far more sensitive now to fear or anxiety. But they were also looking for evidence of any opening in the underflux, any opening through which a ship might pass into a hidden fold—a ship such as Impris . Or Phoenix . Legroeder wondered where their escort ships were by now. They had been unable to make contact; and though Phoenix had transmitted their intentions, they had no way of knowing if the escort had received the message.

Legroeder watched his crew watching the Flux. While commanding the rigger crew, Legroeder occupied his customary stern position, with Palagren at the bow and Ker’sell at top gun. Deutsch, at the keel, seemed intent on something. Freem’n. What are you picking up?

Deutsch didn’t answer at once. He seemed to be processing through his augments. Finally: Nothing that I can describe clearly. For a moment, I thought I’d sensed some ghost traces… I don’t know of what. Like shadows. Maybe echoes from the underflux. Not clear. Deutsch fell back into silence, but he seemed more emotionally connected to the imagery than usual.

Legroeder, for his part, felt a strange, listless foreboding, as if he were floating under a tropical sun, awaiting the arrival of some vaguely defined enemy. So far, though, he’d seen nothing; he found it hard even to focus on the features of the Flux. The ship was drifting sideways, very slowly. The only visible features on the sea were the fog banks, and if you watched them carefully you could see that they too were shifting with dreamy slowness, as if stirred by convection currents rising from the still surface of the water.