Read Star Rigger's Way for Free Online Page B

humiliation in offering help, and that's what I want you to do—offer me help.
    The boundary layer shimmered like a curtain, threatening to part, and Cephean pushed his face close to it to peer at Carlyle. Ssso? Whass-about hyor frenss hyou halways heff?
    You mean Janofer, Skan, and Legroeder? They're not here in person—they're different. I thought you knew. They're out of my memory and imagination—sort of like your quarm, I guess.
    Hyou heff no quarm! Scornfully. (Or perhaps enviously?)
    No. But we wish we had something like it, or something like what you saw between the others and me in the net. But wishful thinking is as close as we come. We're alone. The way you seem to wish you could be.
    Hyiss.
    We're condemned to it. Except for short times, when we're in the dreampool—and then it's scary, but we do it because it helps us work together in the rig. The way I want you and me to work.
    H-why hyor frenss noss helff?
    They were never there. That's my whole point. I was flying alone in the net—just me, with my memories. Perhaps I could do it again for a while, but never long enough to get us through the Flume.
    Whass iss Flume?
    Again? Here:
    The Flume. Breakup of the Reld Current, and the vicious spawning ground of new currents. The Flume varied in detail with each vision of the Flux, but in its most basic character remained the same. It was a place riggers passed at peril and with utmost attention to control. They were like ancient sonarmen—sounding their ocean depths carefully, guessing shrewdly at reflection layers, scattering layers, deep transmission layers. The only certainty was change, the intrinsic frailty of any given condition. Things happened fast: a vortex luring a ship into subtle pathways to unknown space; a waterspout lifting a ship whole and pinwheeling it lifeless back into the sea; white-water rapids smashing a ship and flinging the pieces to the heavens. Or: the ship dancing across the flux-eddies like a skipping-stone over water, the reins of the net allowing the rigger to guide it through the danger zones, to master the flow and bank into the chosen exiting current, and to send the ship high and fast toward its destination.
    H-we kann noss!
    Yes we can, Cephean. That's why we're here—to learn how. Are you ready for an experiment in cooperation?
    The cynthian drew back, sputtering. Whass?
    The setting changed abruptly. They stood together on a hillside meadow under a beaming sun. The meadow lay upland in a range of rugged hills; all around and down-land from it sprawled pockets and cushions of forest. Whass! Cephean was astonished and indignant, and his eyes flashed like copper buttons in his black velvet face. This, Carlyle perceived, was a bit like the tricks old Corneph used to pull. Well, too bad. This is your world, isn't it, Cephean? Syncleya?
    Hyiss. Suspiciously? Or angrily? Either way, Carlyle could sympathize. The dreampool drew from both of their minds; and probably Cephean did not realize that neither of them was wholly in control of the process.
    There was a sound of giggles, badly suppressed. The two riffmar poked their heads out of the grass, and sat up hiccuping.
    Another sound—a hissing chortle, from the top of the hill. It was Corneph, gazing down with delight; he was a somewhat smaller version of Cephean, with a brown and white streak down his black breast. (Carlyle sensed sudden malevolence— from Cephean.)
    Not far downslope from Corneph, Janofer sat serenely watching; and presumably Skan and Legroeder were somewhere about.
    That's the whole cast, Cephean. Carlyle turned, scuffling his feet in the turf; he breathed great lungfuls of the open air, and gazed about at the almost torturously green countryside. Will you show me around?
    Cephean spat and sputtered in perplexity, and finally pawed his nose, his tail lashing about behind his head. Hyiss, ss-all righ-ss. He sprang downhill on all fours, the riffmar hurrying at his heels, and vanished into the woods. Carlyle