Chapter 1
Gaston's Landing
JAEL PAUSED at the edge of the spaceport lobby, heart pounding. She was late for the afternoon spacing call, and she could see from where she stood that today her name would go to the bottom of a very long list. The spaceport was crowded, noisy, clotted with people competing for space, for time, for service—shippers, stewards, unrated crew, normal-space pilots, riggers. Loud voices echoed across the room, voices of the stewards calling riggers for possible assignment. The calls seemed to float over the lounge area where the riggers congregated—riggers for hire, too many of them—all hoping that the stewards would come to them, match them with ship masters, ask them to fly.
Jael drew a breath, and almost turned away, but forced herself to remain. She was ready—more than ready—for an assignment. She had the schooling and the space-trial credentials, and she looked presentable: a slender, dark-haired young woman, not beautiful maybe, but neatly groomed, in a tunic suit, grey edged with scarlet. Did she have the stomach for the disappointment that was almost sure to come? She surveyed the lobby, considering. Her eyes widened as she glimpsed a young rigger of her acquaintance, Toni Gilen, threading her way across the lobby toward a steward. Jael shook her head and strode in. Toni was one of the shyest riggers Jael knew; if Toni could be assertive, surely Jael could be.
She felt no particular hope; she felt only the need that drew her here. It was the same feeling that drove all riggers: the almost irresistible need to shape, to explore, to live the fantastic realities of a realm that nonriggers could never touch or master, but could only dream of. And she sensed the ubiquitous conflicting emotion, almost palpable in the air. It was fear: fear of failure, fear of the shippers whom the riggers hoped to serve. She felt the need and fear combine like a thrill in her gut, her groin, her spine; but beneath it all, somewhere, remained the hope that today might be the day she would contract to fly.
She walked past the waiting area, toward the registry window, her feet moving quickly on the tile floor.
"Hi there, Jaelie!" she heard, and despite herself, she turned. A hawk-nosed young man was laughing from within the railing that set off the rigger lounge. "Gonna show us how to cheat the odds today?" Jael opened her mouth to reply, but the young man was already strutting away, grinning.
Burning with anger, Jael stalked on. Riggers, she thought bitterly. They were such misfits, most of them. Self-centered, insecure, social incompetents. Walking raw nerves, in a world none of them was suited for. Was she like them? She hoped not. And yet, these were the people who navigated spaceships through the slippery mists of the Flux; it was their unique gifts of vision that made travel among the stars possible. Jael was proud to be a rigger. But she was not always proud of the company she had to keep.
She approached the registration window nervously. She was always aware of her youth and her relative inexperience, but among the spaceport officials and shipowners, she felt even tinier and more vulnerable than she really was. A raggedly bearded unrated crewman brushed by her and winked, grinning lewdly. She ignored the gesture, or tried to. She hated this place and those who worked here, always ready to prey on the weak and the uncertain. But if she wanted to return to space, she had to do it from here. And more than anything in the world, she wanted to return to space. To the net. To the vision. To the freedom.
A young man was ahead of her at the registration window, talking in a croak, a rasping whisper. Jael waited, fidgeting, until he left and it was her turn at the window. A middle-aged woman with bluish hair spoke without looking up. "ID?"
Jael touched her bracelet to the dull-surfaced eye of the reader. "Jael LeBrae."
"Didn't ask your name, honey. It's right here in front of me." The woman turned, touched something on her console. "Jael LeBrae," she said, reading the output. "Available for single Class Three or multiple Class Five. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
The woman looked up, pursing her lips. "You the daughter of Willie LeBrae?" Her eyes bored into Jael's.
"Yes." The familiar tightness took hold in her throat. Was the woman going to ask about her father? She didn't want to talk about it, about him.
"I see. Well, nothing right now. Do you want to wait?"
Jael hesitated, struggling not to resent the indifference in the woman's voice. "Are you expecting anything?" she asked finally.
The woman looked at her in surprise. "Why, how would I know, honey? We hear about them when they come in. If you want to wait, you can wait. Is that what you want to do?"
Jael stared at her without answering. Could she stand it? It was the one way, the only way. "Yes," she whispered.
"Fine. Now, make way for others, won't you?"
Jael walked away from the window and joined the other riggers in the lounge. As she glanced back, she saw that there was no one in line behind her.
Though All the Mountains Lie Between Page 7