Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

Cantha seemed to straighten a little. “Yes, indeed. I will show you the way to the bridge. If I am not mistaken, they are planning to put you in the net before much longer.”

“That’s more like it.”

The Narseil bridge was large, with rigger-stations in a row, and nearby, a post for the captain, who apparently always stood while on duty. Captain Ho’Sung, the ship’s master, was present along with Fre’geel, the mission commander. Ho’Sung’s job was the safety of the ship and crew; Fre’geel’s was the success of the mission. How the two commanders reconciled their responsibilities and authority was a mystery to Legroeder, but it didn’t seem to trouble the Narseil.

The captain nodded a greeting. “Welcome.”

Legroeder acknowledged and looked around eagerly. A glance at the viewscreens told him that the ship was still in normal-space, probably still navigating out of the region of the Narseil naval base. The stars were visible in a thin, wide band that stretched across the front of the bridge. The view of the stars was moving in a slow, continual scan up and down. For the Narseil, with their tessa’chron view, it no doubt worked just fine. It gave Legroeder a headache.

“Rigger Legroeder,” said Ho’Sung, “We will be entering the Flux shortly. I thought you might like to observe.”

Legroeder felt a twinge of excitement in his fingertips. He had not been in a real net in the real Flux since his escape from the pirates, which seemed a very long time ago. “Where would you like me to stand?”

Ho’Sung made a burring sound. “Stand, indeed? I would like you in rigger-station number four, over there.” He gestured with both hands, the sleeves of his robe billowing like a priest’s.

Legroeder felt an involuntary smile spread across his face. He hurried to climb into the clamshell rigger-station. He sank back, watched the shell close over him, and sighed with pleasure as his senses flowed out into the living matrix of the net.

The Narseil riggers greeted him with quiet salutations. Welcome, said Palagren. First time lucky, we always say. You may take the top position .

Legroeder moved into the spot at the top center of the net, where he felt like a rifleman atop an ancient horse-drawn stagecoach, in classic holos. After he’d settled in a bit, that image gave way to a feeling of being top lookout in the bubble of a fishing sub, as the three Narseil riggers crafted a starting image for the voyage: a misty, copper-green sea beneath them, with long, smooth waves rolling in toward their bow. The rigger-crew was preparing to dive.

Will you let me stay in my bubble here for a while, or am I expected to sprout gills to keep up with you fish people? Legroeder felt better than he had in a long time. The net was a powerful euphoric drug.

For our poor, nonaquatic human friend? Palagren answered. Of course we will allow you your hull filled with air. Perhaps we can even tow it on our backs. Are you ready, crew?

Voco at the stern and Ker’sell on the keel echoed their assent. The captain, his voice whispering from the outside com, said, Riggers, you may take to the Flux .

The Narseil riggers responded with a hiss of approval. An emerald light welled up from the sea below. Legroeder felt a familiar rush of adrenaline, and a less familiar tingling from his implants, as the three Narseil took the ship down. The watery mists of the Flux closed over their heads, and Legroeder put out his hands, sighing with pleasure at the movement of the current through his fingers.

The sea and the mist were at once real and imagined; everything around him was a blend of mind and reality—his imagination, and the Narseil’s imagination, and the actual multidimensional energy-flows that would carry them across the light-years. He knew that the images would change many times in the coming days, as they passed out of the realm of the Narseil and the Centrist Worlds, and made their way toward the no man’s land of Golen Space. He knew that his skills would be tested, and his courage, and that of the Narseil, as well.

But for now, Legroeder was content simply to be sailing on the streams of space, even if they were making their way toward danger, even if they were heading back toward the seas of mist where none but pirates ruled.

Riggers, take her down.

The voice of the raider captain crackled through the net with cold authority. The lead rigger obeyed with a tilt of his head and a flash of input from Augment Foxtrot. The acknowledgment of his two flank riggers came silently through the net, augment to augment, and with a swift coordinated kick they sent the raider ship Flechette down into the Flux like a spinning bullet.

The start of the patrol began as it always did—with a sideways dance through the maze of Flux currents that isolated raider Outpost Ivan from those who might come spying.

Lead rigger Freem’n Deutsch had been on more pirate patrols than he could count, but still he began each patrol with an almost inexpressible dread. He felt it as keenly now as he had from the very first, when he had been forced to fly missions as a captive of the raider colony. It was a dread compounded of rage and fear, of a desire not to attack the innocent, and—perhaps if he looked deeply enough—also of a secret delight in the fear and smoke and mayhem that usually followed. The dread was always there. But having been offered the choice of flying for the pirates or dying at their hands, Deutsch had learned to approach his duties with a certain resignation—managing his emotions with the assistance of the augments, and keeping them isolated from the other riggers in the net.

It would all change, once they were genuinely on the prowl. But for now, there was only the dread, like a weight in his belly—and the discipline to keep it concealed.

Though far from the largest or most powerful raider in the fleet, Flechette was a formidable threat to any ship. She bristled with flux torpedoes, beam weapons, and flux-distortion antennas to deceive and confuse any enemy. She carried a boarding party of twenty-four pirate commandos, of varying degrees of biohumanity. Her captain, Te’Gunderlach, was himself more cyborg than human, and was known for never retreating once a battle was joined—a trait that made him a fearsome warrior. Deutsch sometimes imagined that it might also make for a disastrous failure if one day Flechette met her match.

Today Deutsch flew with, if anything, a greater-than-usual sense of unease. A premonition? He couldn’t say. He’d felt a premonition of trouble on the day, nine years ago, when his Elacian freighter was attacked by pirates—and by the end of that day, his life had changed forever. But he’d also felt his share of premonitions that had come to nothing.

Lead rigger, we seem to be going a little fast here. Is there anything I should know before we hit the chute?

Deutsch brought himself back to the present, carefully concealing his surprise at the speed with which the ship was moving toward the exit point, where they would leave the clouds that kept the fortress concealed in the Flux. He sent a signal to the other riggers to reduce speed, then answered the captain with a breezy, No difficulty, sir. We are simply eager for the hunt .

Very well, said Te’Gunderlach. That is good. I feel that this will be a fruitful voyage .