Nigel Findley - The Broken Sphere

Julia stood. "I'll bring a chart," she said, heading aft.

She was back quickly. With Djan helping, she spread it but on the table and pored over it for a minute. Teldin felt impatience growing within him, but he knew better than to hurry the copper-haired woman.

Finally she straightened up. "Garrash is in a crystal sphere called Vistaspace," she said, "over here." She tapped a dark circle near one side of the chart.

"And where's Nex?" Teldin asked.

"It's not shown on the chart, of course," she answered slowly, "but it's over here." She laid a finger on a region of the chart near the opposite edge.

Teldin felt his face fall. "How far's that?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Far." It was Djan who'd replied. He craned over the table for a better look. "We can pick up a couple of phlogiston , rivers-to Pathspace, for example, and from there to Prime-space. That'll save a lot of time over the direct route…" His voice trailed off.

"But… ?° the Cloakmaster prompted.

Djan looked up, meeting Teldin's gaze steadily. "But," he continued, "we're still talking about a total voyage of… "- he glanced questioningly at Julia, as if to confirm what he was about to say-"of thirty days, maybe thirty-five?" Julia nodded slowly in agreement.

"And that doesn't include moving around within Vista-space once we're there," the half-elf added. "The chart says it's a big sphere. We don't know how Garrash's orbital plane is aligned, or where the planet's going to be in relation to where we enter the crystal sphere. But actually getting to the planet's going to add another… well, call it thirty days to be safe. Total voyage time…"

"Sixty days or more," Teldin finished for him. His excitement over Djan's recognition of what he'd seen was gone, and depression threatened to wash over him again. "Two months. It's unlikely that the Spelljammer's going to be there in two months."

"I know." Djan laid a hand on the Cloakmaster's shoulder, gripped hard, "I understand. It's a slim chance, I suppose… "But a slim chance is better than none," Teldin elaborated, "that's what you're saying."

"Isn't it?" Julia asked quietly.

The Cloakmaster was silent for a few moments, lost in his own thoughts. Then he nodded. "Yes," he said. Then, again, more firmly, "Yes, it is." He turned to Djan and drew himself up to his full height. "First mate, pass word to the helmsman and navigator. Set course for Vistaspace and Garrash."

The half-elf snapped into a salute. "Aye, Captain."

One advantage of the long voyage was that the crew of the Boundless Possibilities had plenty of time to conduct the repairs the ship desperately needed. In an example of the foresight that Teldin had come to expect of his first mate, before the ship had lifted from Crescent, Djan had loaded much of the cargo hold with planking of the same kiln-dried hardwood that made up the squid ship's hull. Now, with two months of sailing ahead of them, the crew was kept busy-and out of trouble, Djan had pointed out-nailing the planking into place to repair the hull breaches caused by the magical attack and the crash-landing on Nex.

During the first couple of days in the Flow, the half-elf had gone over the ship from stem to stern, listing all the areas that needed attention. Although the crew members had groaned almost as one when they'd initially seen the first mate's task list posted in the mess, they now seemed designed to the work. In fact, Teldin mused, they seemed to relish it in a way. He thought he could understand why, he decided after some reflection. Probably the greatest danger to a crewman on a protracted voyage was boredom. With nothing to do but think, there was a real danger he'd drive himself to distraction.

And that, Teldin told himself firmly, is just what I'm doing. As captain, there was basically nothing for him to do, nothing but think.

Oh, he could talk to members of the crew. Beth-Abz's stores of life in a beholder tyrant ship were particularly fascinating-terrifying, in fact-giving him an insight into the strange race of eye tyrants he'd never expected to gain. But everyone except he had duties to attend to, and Teldin knew enough to realize that he couldn't expect his crew to neglect those duties just so that they could keep their captain company.

Even Djan and Julia had their tasks-mainly supervisory, monitoring the crew's repair work, but nonetheless vital for that. They both seemed to sense their friend's growing ennui, his discomfort, and they did what they could to help lessen it. When they'd finished their duties for the day, they'd often join Teldin in his cabin for a glass of sage-coarse-the Cloakmaster was drinking a fair bit of that again-and conversation. But they'd always tire before he did, worn out by their work about the ship. He'd see them start yawning, struggling to keep their eyes open. And then he'd "release" them, let them hit their bunks for some much-needed sleep.

And then he'd be alone again in his cabin, just him and the sagecoarse.

Like I am now, he told himself, twenty days into the voyage, with another forty-some to go. At the moment, it seemed like an eternity.

He'd pulled one of his cabin's chairs over to the starboard porthole, giving himself a panoramic view of the Flow surrounding the ship. A half-empty glass of sagecoarse sat on the corner of the table, within easy reach. Julia and Djan had just left, heading for their bunks. It was just after one bell in the night watch-past midnight, according to the groundling clock Teldin still preferred-but he wasn't ready for sleep yet. His thoughts were churning as though they had lives of their own. No matter how hard he tried to relax, he couldn't still them, or even ignore them. Even worse, he'd reached the point where his attempts to relax-and his anxiety over his failure-were actually fueling the tension he was trying to combat. A vicious circle, he told himself.

It would be different if Julia were still sharing his bunk, he thought, a little sadly. They'd slept together the first couple of nights after leaving Nex, and that had dissipated most of the Cloakmaster's stress.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He forced himself to be honest. What had actually happened had been that Julia had taken on his stress as her own. His edginess had spread to her. While he'd been able to sleep, he'd known from her drawn, haggard appearance in the mornings that she hadn't. When he'd asked what was wrong, she'd been unwilling to tell him, apparently out of some mistaken belief that she could shelter him from some unpleasant reality. It had taken some direct questions to extract the truth.

He was talking in his sleep, she'd told him-incessantly carrying on conversations with friends and colleagues long dead, sometimes yelling out orders to avoid events that had already happened. Even though he couldn't remember them in the morning, she'd convinced him that his sleep was tormented by almost continuous nightmares.

She'd toughed it out for almost a week-never complaining, always trying to be there for Teldin when he needed someone to talk to, or just to sit silently with him. He'd watched the toll it was taking on her, however, and that added to his stress. It hadn't taken him long to realize-and admit to himself-that it wasn't working out, that instead of diminishing his stress, the situation was guaranteeing that they were both suffering from crippling tension. When he'd quietly suggested that they sleep apart again, the copper-haired woman had tried to conceal her relief, but Teldin had seen it clearly. Over the next few days, he'd watched her return to normal as her anxiety had receded.

During the time that Julia had been sharing his cabin, however, she'd helped him reach some important insights into the sources of his own tension. Destiny, he told himself, that's what it all comes down to. Whose destiny do I follow? My own, or the one forced upon me by the cloak?