Chapter 5
Captain Mogurn
"YOU'RE ON your own, Cassandra. Have a good flight."
"We are clear, Juliette. Thank you."
Jael was aware of Mogurn's voice on the communicator; and she was aware of the tow's space inductors changing color as it altered course and broke away; and she was aware of the tow dwindling and disappearing into the night, just as the planet had. But mostly she was aware of the dormant field tingling around her as she prepared for Mogurn's okay. Her mind was filled with an expectation of images, of landscapes.
"Jael, are you ready?" came Mogurn's voice directly in her ear-com.
"On your signal."
"Are you familiarized with the course?"
She frowned at the monitor where she'd been reviewing the navigational library information. "As clear as I can be without actually taking us in there."
There was a movement nearby, and she realized that Mogurn had walked back to peer directly down into her rigger-station. She shifted her eyes in his direction, but only for a moment. It was more important to keep an even keel mentally than to respond directly to his presence. She sensed Mogurn returning to his seat at the front. "Very well," she heard. "Set course for Lexis. At your discretion, rigger."
Her eyes closed and she felt her own lips tracing a smile. The sensory net sprang to life around her, filled her with energy. She relaxed as her bodily senses darkened. Her inner senses threaded their way into the net and reached outward into space. Altering the shape of the net with unspoken commands, she sank her fingernails into the fabric of space itself, and without fanfare, drew the spaceship into the realm that would carry it to the stars. It was the energy of the flux-pile that did the work, of course, but she guided the flow of the energy. Silently, swiftly, like a swimmer upending herself and stroking downward into the depths of a sea, she left behind the cold emptiness of normal-space, and swam down through the shifting multidimensional layers of space-time, down into the currents of the Flux. And she towed the starship along behind her.
What she saw next was a synthesis of her own intuition and the reality of the spacetime topography that she had just entered. She and the starship were floating in a sea of turquoise mist, translucent and cool. It was an undersea color, but the mist was airy and swirling, and it shifted like cirriform clouds touched by a high jetstream. Jael extended her arms like wings—strong limbs that were at once imaginary and real—and she stroked the mists as they passed her by, until she began to sense the wind direction and currents. She stretched her wings a bit wider and felt them bite into the current, and she executed a slow bank to her left and caught sight of what looked like a lemon-lime sunset in the distance. That, she knew instantly and intuitively, was where she wanted to go.
That knowledge was all she needed. She caught the wind, and she and the starship took flight upon the streams of space.
* * *
Jael, how are you doing in there? Mogurn's voice reached her through the net, through the ghostly presence of the com-signal.
I feel good. It's going well. She had been flying for a couple of hours already. The mists had given way to a clear tangerine sky. Smudges of charcoal cloudiness in the sky indicated distant presences, perhaps the analogs of stars or nebulas in the adjoining regions of normal-space. She had turned the starship into an image of a broad-winged airplane, and she was steering a course well clear of all such disturbances.
It's time you came out for a while. I don't want you getting fatigued. Are you in a clear stretch? Can you leave the net?
Jael considered. Pretty clear. I guess so. She felt reluctant to leave it behind. But she knew that his instructions were probably wise. It would not do to push too far, especially since the flight was just beginning. Still . . .
Do so, then. Set your stabilizers. Mogurn's voice was calm but unequivocal.
Doing so now, she sighed. It took only a moment to adjust the net's stabilizers. Like a sea-anchor, they would keep the ship drifting quietly and safely during her absence. She pulled her imaginary arms back to her sides and withdrew from the net.
With a blink, she focused on the monitors overhead. Her physical senses returned to her gradually, as she became aware of light entering her eyes and the weight of her body pressing down on the couch. She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Only after she felt that she had really returned to her body did she climb out of the rigger-station.
The bridge seemed like a small chamber of arcane technology after the free open spaces of the net. Mogurn rose from his seat at the nose and turned to face her. "The readings look smooth and stable. That tells me that you are flying skillfully," he said. "But we must not overdo it. Besides, I have something for you now—a sort of reward for work well done." He smiled broadly.
A reward for work well done? she thought. Work well done was its own reward. Then she remembered his promise, back at the spaceport. Something about a learning method.
"But perhaps you'd like to eat first," Mogurn said. He pursed his lips. "Yes. We will eat first. And then you will experience . . . the pallisp. You will enjoy it, I think. And as for what it will do for your rigging ability . . ." He shrugged, and his smile widened.
Pallisp? She opened her mouth to ask, "What is . . ."
But Mogurn wasn't listening. He gestured toward the exit and followed her off the bridge and to the commons in the center of the ship's circle. "What would you like, Jael?" he asked, gesturing toward the auto-food panels. "Are you hungry? How about . . . oh, some nicely crisped carrot-fish?" Before Jael could answer, he nodded, to himself and touched several buttons. The smell of frying fish filled the commons.
Jael shrugged. Fish was all right with her, she supposed. While Mogurn fussed with the settings, she sat at the round table in the center of the room and watched. He drew a glass of what looked like a straw-colored ale and turned. "This is nonalcoholic. Would you like some, Jael?"
"Yes, please," she said, wondering if any other response would have made any difference.
Mogurn drew a second glass and placed it in front of her. A minute later, the food panel whispered open, and he pulled out two steaming dinner plates. "Here we are. I think you'll like this."
Jael waited until Mogurn had taken a bite from his own plate before she tentatively lifted a fork and tried a bite of the fish. It looked more like crisped cheese; it tasted like a flavorless vegetable with a breadlike texture. But, she thought, it was no worse than what they served at the rigger halls. And it was food.
Mogurn ate quickly and without conversation. He hummed softly to himself, reaching up occasionally to stroke the back of his neck. When he looked in Jael's direction, he didn't seem to see her; it was as though he were looking at something beyond her, beyond the walls of the room. That was all right; she was happy enough to be silent with her own thoughts. Mogurn, hardly to her surprise, seemed a rather self-absorbed person. She doubted that he would be very good company even if he spoke.
She was only halfway through her meal when Mogurn rose, leaving his dishes and utensils on the table. He pointed to a black panel and said, "The dirty things go in there. When you're finished tidying up, come to my cabin. It's the second door after yours." In response to her surprised expression, he added, "Don't be long, please." And then he turned, his robe swirling, and left the commons.
Jael stared after him and scowled at what was left of her dinner, which now seemed unappetizing. She started to formulate a reply—that she was employed as a rigger, not as a housekeeper—but cut the thought short. It would do no good to be angry about it. She had to live with Mogurn for the rest of the trip, and she hadn't expected him to be perfect. Perhaps she ought to count her blessings and enjoy the aspect of the flight which was her reason for being here—the rigging, the dreamlike freedom of the net. The thought calmed her enough to take a few more bites, before she decided that she was no longer hungry. She drank some of the ale, then carried everything from the table to the disposal panel. A soft whine told her that the process
ing unit had accepted her offering and was tidying up.
She stood, looking around the room, wishing that she could simply return to the net and continue flying. But she remembered Mogurn's instructions. Don't be long. Very well, then. She would go to the captain's cabin, and she would see what this "pallisp" business was all about.
The corridor was virtually silent, only the whisper of the air circulator breaking the stillness. She found Mogurn's cabin door—the ship was so small that it was only a few steps to any compartment—and stood before it for several moments, thinking. Then she pressed the signal plate. The door paled and she stepped into Mogurn's cabin.
It was larger than hers, and expensively appointed. A crystal tapestry adorned one wall; it gleamed and twinkled before her eyes, fragments of colored light dancing within it. Beneath the tapestry was a bench-seat. Across the room from the door, Mogurn sat in a velour-covered chair, smoking. He did not look directly at her, but she sensed nevertheless that he was watching her. He exhaled a plume of sharp-scented smoke and waved his long, tubular smoking pipe. "You have come, Jael. Sit." He gestured toward the bench-seat.
Jael obeyed. She looked at him uneasily. For a moment, he made no move to shift from his apparently comfortable position; then he turned his head to gaze at her. "Have you found the course clear and easy to visualize, so far?" he asked.
She inclined her head slightly. "So far."
"And have you sighted the mountains along the route?"
She shook her head. "No mountains yet. I sense some change coming in the landscape. But it's too far away to tell what they are."
"Yes, well . . ." he drew a breath of smoke and exhaled. The smoke eddied up around the ceiling before it was drawn away, gradually, by the ventilators. "That would be the mountains, I expect. You may not see them as mountains, precisely, but that is how it has most often been described to me."
She nodded. She was familiar with the navigational charts. There ought to be no problem.
"You will find danger in those mountains," Mogurn warned, and for a moment his eyes glinted with some unspoken tension. "The way around them to Lexis is longer. But it is safer, and therefore to be preferred."
"Yes," she answered. "As we spoke of before."
Mogurn smiled. "Quite so. As I spoke of before." He glanced at his pipe and set it aside. "And now." He rose and stood before her, and in his hand was a small gleaming cylinder with a dull grey sphere attached to one end. His eyes searched hers briefly. "You've gotten us off to a good start on this trip, Jael. So I especially want you to enjoy this first experience with the pallisp." He glanced down at the instrument in his hand.
She followed his glance with suspicion. Drawing back a little, she pressed her lips together. "What is that?"
"This is the pallisp, Jael." He tilted his head. "It will not harm you." He rubbed at a tic in the corner of his left eye.
"Maybe not," she said doubtfully. "But I don't want to just use it without knowing what it is. You said it was a learning device, a learning method."
"Yes, Jael. Precisely. It is a synaptic enhancement device, specially designed for riggers. It triggers relaxation reflexes in the mind. You should find it restful, and pleasurable. Isn't that all right?" Mogurn peered at her wonderingly, and perhaps impatiently.
Jael shrugged. "I guess so. But what's that have to do with learning?"
Mogurn pursed his lips. "A fair question. The relaxation is only the outward sensation. If you're like most individuals who use it, it will gradually sharpen those very sensitivities that serve you so well in the net. Over time, this pallisp will make you a better rigger, Jael."
She wondered fleetingly why, if it was so good, she had never heard of the pallisp before. It was possible, of course, that a device common on another world simply had not been introduced to Gaston's Landing, which if truth be told was little more than a backwater colony. But if that was the case . . .
She had no more time to think about it, because Mogurn was extending the pallisp toward her right shoulder. She felt a small wave of pleasurable radiation from it, and pulled away. "Wait!" she protested.
"What is it now?" he demanded.
She struggled to put words to her fear. "Are you sure this isn't . . . harmful?"
Mogurn sighed as he shook his head. "I told you. No."
Jael frowned. She wanted to trust him, but . . .
"This is to make you a better rigger, Jael. That's in both of our interests, isn't it? Now, may we begin? Bend your head down and pull your hair away from the back of your neck."
Taking a deep breath, she did as she was told. Mogurn stood close to her and touched the ball of the pallisp to the back of her neck. She shivered with a sensation of warmth, though the touch of the ball was cool. The ball came to rest against the hollow at the base of her skull. The warmth blossomed, flowed first into her brain, then outward into her body, into her limbs. A glow seemed to appear inside her mind, a glow of friendliness and comfort.
It was like the dreamlink, but far better. The golden light that swelled into her awareness was like nothing she had ever felt, but it was like a feeling she had often imagined—a feeling not only of warmth, but of companionship and love—all of the feelings of love that she had ever dreamed of but never felt in reality, emerging from that light and spilling through her in a caressing stream. Unlike the dreamlink, this did not ask her to open herself, did not invite vulnerability. Unlike the dreamlink, this was purest pleasure and fulfillment. It was like floating in a warm, pulsing amniotic sea. It was like being safe again in the womb. . . .
Chapter 6
The Pallisp
SHE SHIVERED as the warmth ebbed away. Don't stop! she wanted to cry. But it was already disappearing; the glow was fading. She felt as though she had just been to Heaven, and she wanted to go back! Blinking, she wondered how long the feeling had lasted; it seemed only moments, but it was like a dream fleeing, intangible. She might have been under the pallisp for hours.
"Are you awake, Jael?"
Drawing a breath, she raised her head and focused. Mogurn was standing in front of her, nodding in apparent satisfaction. He slipped the silver-and-grey pallisp into a pocket inside his vesta. "Um," Jael muttered, suppressing an urge to reach out and seize the pallisp from him. Whatever that instrument was, it was wonderful. Wonderful!
"I told you it would be interesting, Jael. Would you agree with me?"
Slowly, drawing her awareness back in, centering herself, she nodded. Interesting, she thought. Indeed it was.
"Would you like more?"
She peered up into his face and could not read what she saw there. His eyes seemed to focus on her with a greater intensity, a greater curiosity, than she remembered. "I . . ." She faltered without finishing her answer.
"This will become a regular reward for you, for work well done." Mogurn returned to his chair and rested his head back, observing her as she stretched, coming back to full alertness.
"What does it do?" she asked, choosing to let her puzzlement show, rather than her desire for more. "It must stimulate—somehow, I guess—the pleasure center of the brain?" She sounded like an idiot, she knew. But it was not an idiotic question.
"Something like that, Jael. The important thing is that it will help you to release your own greater potential when it comes to flying." He lifted a bushy, half-grey eyebrow. "It's not dangerous, if you're still worried about that. I told you that before." He pursed his lips and let out a deep sigh. "And now, I require your help. Would you come here, please?"
Jael rose unsteadily and approached.
Mogurn shifted restfully. "I'm going to ask you to help me with my own synaptic augmentor. My reward for work well done." His thumb and forefinger stroked away a smile that had come to his lips. His gaze sharpened. "But first you must have your instructions. While I am under the augmentor, you may sleep—after first double-checking our position. You are not to fly, however, unless extraordinary conditions demand it. I will tell you when your next shift begins. U
ntil then you will maintain stability in the Flux, and no more. Is that clear?"
Jael nodded uneasily. She acknowledged, but did not understand his unusual request. Ordinarily, a rigger would determine her own flight routine. Still, she didn't suppose it mattered. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the blissful warmth of the pallisp, and she sighed softly. Opening her eyes she saw, hanging from the padded arm of Mogurn's chair, a small holotronic unit with what looked like a headpiece attached to a thin fiber-op cable.
Mogurn's eyes followed hers, and he nodded. Reaching for the headpiece, he said, "I must ask you to help me adjust this." He donned the headpiece, showing her how to adjust the slender contact arms to the proper points on his temples and the back of his neck. "Yes. Now, you must set the controls on the unit. Two hours at intensity four. You must observe the power fluctuation for a moment to make the adjustment. Do you see it?"
When she had followed his instructions, she stepped back warily. Mogurn no longer seemed to notice her presence. He sighed deeply, his eyelids fluttered, and a broad smile came over his features and grew to a grin. His eyes did not close, but appeared to focus on nothing at all. "Are you . . . is that all right?" But Jael realized, when he did not answer, that there would be no answer—not, at least, until the unit switched itself off, two hours from now. And what was Mogurn experiencing under the influence of the synaptic augmentor? Was it like the pallisp? She backed away a few steps and watched him. His hands began to twitch, as though he were in a deep dream-state; they began to take on a life of their own, making squeezing and stroking motions. Jael began to feel embarrassed.
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