Panglor

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "Just wondered. You insulted my ship, and I wanted to know whether I'd be killing a minor if I squashed you flat."

  Alo snorted. "One of us has to fly Deerfield, Pangly, and that'd be me. Now, you can either leave the Cur here and do it with me, or you can leave me with all those men, half of whom are psychotic, and bring your precious ship back yourself."

  Panglor thought hard. Obviously he couldn't send her with the Deerfield crew, and he didn't want to leave her alone with the Cur, either. But to abandon the Cur would practically be a betrayal. That ship and he had been through a lot together. But she was right; they would all have to go in Deerfield. Curling his lip, he said, "Witch. I wouldn't leave you with those men—it wouldn't be human. To them, I mean."

  Alo lunged, knocking him back flat, and was on him in a second. "Witch, eh?" she howled, sitting on his stomach. "Witch, is it?" She started thumping his chest. "I'll beat you to a pulp!" Panglor chuckled and grabbed her arms and rolled her sideways, making her struggle to stay on top. Alo fought back, grinning, her breasts visible down the front of his oversized shirt; and suddenly Panglor was getting a terrific erection, which he knew she noticed at once, because she started twitching her rear. That flustered him; he hadn't meant to get quite so serious. He held her arms tightly, giggling, trying to make her stop, and that only increased his arousal. LePiep swooped down out of the tree, whistling with excitement. The sound made him lightheaded.

  Alo shimmered and vanished. His hands closed on emptiness.

  The world went dim, and he felt himself falling, LePiep clutching at his right arm. The world turned about him in a blur, like the rushing of the wind, like the wheeling of the stars, like the vast rotation of the galaxies. Turning . . . falling through an incredible tunnel . . .

  Damn! he cried silently. Not now—no!

  —and he became aware of voices, human and inhuman, screams and whistles and clicks and brrrring rasps, and he squinted and thought he saw a layering in the world as it passed around him, a kind of wide latticework, glistening strands crossing and crisscrossing all around, with dark emptiness below him, as though Alo's analogy of a hole in the fabric of space had come to life around him. Well, he thought dazedly, spinning. Is this how it ends?

  He seemed to be falling down through the hole in the lattice, but slowly now; he could gather his wits without rushing or panicking. And he could accept.

  His arousal of moments ago—threatening unstoppered emotions—had that dumped him into this free space?

  . . . falling . . .

  LePiep comforted him by huddling alertly in his arms. His arousal was gone now, that was for sure. Perhaps the world would turn solid around him again, beneath him. But he still heard voices . . .

  . . . turning in the lattice, dropping . . .

  The ou-ralot perked her head up, radiating recognition, concern. "Hyoop," she said quietly, straining her neck to see something in the distance.

  "What, Peep, what is it?" Panglor muttered, and his own voice echoed around him in a vast reverberation. All he could see were shadows against the gloom, and the pale gleam of lattice strands, and . . . as though through a window, the figure of a man, a human being, a Deerfield crewman. He strained to focus. It was Turret. Was he one of the men who had disappeared?

  Panglor took a breath to shout, and then realized that Turret had already seen them and was in fact struggling to move toward them. LePiep mewled—and Turret moved more frantically. He looked so small, almost lost in the vast lattice, a tiny man swimming through nonexistent waters to reach them, a pathetic creature moving against elements he could not possibly understand.

  The ou-ralot purred, hardly disturbed at all by the transformations around them, by the disappearance of Alo, of the landscape. Take a hint, Panglor thought; she knows. And without urgency he decided that really what he wanted was to move closer to Turret, and perhaps give him aid. Even as he made the decision, he realized that he was already closer; he was falling or drifting in the curious streams of this existence.

  Turret calmed visibly as they closed upon him, as LePiep's chirping encouragement washed over both of them. Turret's eyes were blinking erratically, twitching; but that, too, subsided as Panglor reached out and seized him by the arm. "My God—" Turret gasped. "I thought we were both—but are we—?"

  "No, we're not," Panglor said, his head pounding but his self-assurance intact.

  "Purrrl," said LePiep, as though to confirm Panglor's sentiments.

  Light suddenly flooded the world, and it tilted queerly as the latticework vanished, and the ground became solid beneath them. Panglor heard Alo shout: "Pangly!" and then he stumbled and fell to the grass beside Turret. He was just picking himself up when Alo collided with him, seizing him in a bearhug, and they tumbled to the ground again with LePiep scrambling out of the way.

  "Pangly!" Alo cried, wiping away tears. "You were gone! What happened? You disappeared, just like the others! Where did he come from?" She sat back and looked at Turret, perplexed. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes.

  "I'll explain later," Panglor said weakly, urging them both to their feet. "I think we were closer to the center of the discontinuity, and I think things are starting to fall apart here, and I think we'd better get to the ship and be ready to take off."

  Turret took a deep breath. "We're back. He—brought me—back."

  "Hrrrrl," said LePiep warningly.

  "Yah. Let's get to the ship," Panglor said. Alo took his arm and kept a cautious eye on Turret as they walked back.

  The Deerfield crew was in chaos, but most of them were inside the ship. Jeebering and Tregs stood near the open port, apparently trying to make a count of those who had returned and boarded and those who had vanished like ghosts. "Sir, they're gone for good, I fear," Tregs was saying, as they walked up.

  Jeebering socked a fist into his open hand in frustration. He nodded unhappily to Panglor, Alo, and Turret. "Four men gone," he said. Then he noticed Turret. "Wait. Aren't you one of them?" He turned back and forth. "Wasn't Turret one of the men missing? Where were you?"

  Turret shuddered.

  Panglor shoved him gently toward the port. "I found him, Jeeb. He was in trouble. Now look—we're all getting shaky here—"

  Jeebering interrupted him. "Captain Drak. You haven't seen him, have you?"

  "Uh—no," Panglor stammered, losing his train of thought. He clucked somberly; damn it all, the captain was still missing. "Jeeb," he said, "Jeeb, I've—we've—been thinking about this, about the best way of taking off." He hesitated, chewing his lip, knowing that it sounded terrible—as though he were suggesting that they go ahead and leave the captain and the others behind. But actually, he was suggesting it. What else could they do?

  "Jeeb, it looks as though we'll all have to go in your ship, if you don't mind. And Alo and I should do the piloting, I think—you know, just to make sure."

  "What?" Tregs said, glowering.

  Jeebering looked skeptical. "You and Miss—Miss—?"

  "Castley. Right. Jeeb—not meaning any disrespect, but you know, we did this once already—"

  "You and Miss Castley."

  Panglor nodded, swallowing. He explained what had just happened in his rescue of Turret, emphasizing the need for the proper state of mind, and the kind of intuitive control that seemed necessary to influence events in the discontinuity. Jeebering listened, and smoothed a tic at the corner of his mouth. "Just as well," he answered. "My men are all damn near crazy, anyway. Not one of them's competent to fly, that's for sure." Panglor eyed him, and he added, "Very well, then, Balef—you are First Pilot of Deerfield until further notice, and you can make use of such assistants as you choose." He paused broodingly. "We'll have to go without the captain. It's what he would have ordered—for the crew's safety."

  Panglor's breath caught, but he nodded. "If we don't go soon . . . How are your food supplies?"

  "Adequate. Right?" Jeebering turned to Tregs for confirmation. "We're missing five people. Four? I don't know. We'll leav
e some supplies for them, in case they're still alive."

  Panglor grunted sympathetically. "Sure. They might show up yet." Clearly it was possible; but if the men failed to return, it did not necessarily mean they were dead. They might, perhaps, have moved farther into the discontinuity or even out of this universe altogether . . . perhaps still living, still aware. Tiki had traveled to other discontinuities and returned. But how many others had returned? Waiting here would only serve to put more men at risk. "Well," Panglor said, "we'd better go pack some gear from our ship." His voice trembled, filled with a sudden flush of nervousness that he had not meant to let out of its cage. He cleared his throat and hummed.

  Jeebering nodded and turned away.

  With Alo, Panglor hurried back to The Fighting Cur. He went through all the ship's compartments, packing items into his duffel. Alo, meanwhile, gathered food supplies to bring along. She waited impatiently as he tarried in the control room, blinking as he took a last look around. Then they went out through the airlock and he turned and squinted at the ship, tears misting his eyes. Stupid; it's just a ship. Used to hate the thing. Alo poked him, her eyes glinting with sympathy. He nodded. Right. He saluted the ship, and then turned and walked straight away from it.

  The sky had darkened to a muddy orange, and the sun was a dancing yellow ring with a black center. It felt as if a storm were brewing. "Where's Tiki?" Panglor muttered, looking around. He hadn't seen the Kili in some time.

  "He was with some men over by the lake," Alo said.

  They went and looked, but no one was by the lake.

  One Deerfield crewman stood at the port; everyone else was in the ship. "Is Tiki inside?" Panglor asked. The man blinked dreamily. "Tiki," Panglor repeated. "The Kili. The alien."

  "Oh, him," the man said. "I don't think so."

  Alo's eyes filled with anxiety. "We have to find him, Pangly."

  Jeebering's voice echoed through the port. "Set, there. Pilot? Let's make ready for space."

  "One minute, Jeeb," Panglor shouted back. "We have to find Tiki." He moved away from the ship with Alo and began calling. "Tiki! Tiki!" LePiep twittered nervously as they looked in all directions. Jeebering shouted for them to hurry. "TIKI!" Panglor called desperately.

  "Pangly, he's not coming." Alo was on the verge of tears.

  "Damn it, Tiki!" he bellowed. Where could the Kili have gone?

  The storm in the sky broke. Torrents of sparkling rain swept across the meadow toward them, like a shower of liquid jewels. Panglor's heart sank. "Better get inside, I guess," he said dismally. "Before anything more happens. I guess we should take off." He chewed his lip, drawing blood. LePiep huddled miserably against his neck. Despair washed over him.

  Alo turned to protest—and then screamed happily. She pointed. There, in the heart of the "rainstorm," was Tiki—dancing and leaping, appearing and disappearing, and waving. "What's he doing?" cried Panglor. "He's waving to us. Isn't he coming?"

  Alo pointed again. "The airfish! He's dancing with the airfish!" Panglor squinted. She was right. The Kili was capering madly, blinking in and out of existence, dancing around several large airfish that moved lazily toward the ship. LePiep perked up and watched the strange dance, which lasted about a minute. Then Tiki vanished—and popped into the air beside the ship. He bowed, side to side, to Alo and Panglor. The ou-ralot hooted. But Panglor and Alo smiled uncertainly. Had the Kili decided not to come with them after all?

  Tiki turned, eyes crossed, and spoke to the airfish. "Good-bye!" he said. The storm and the airfish retreated, leaving behind a pink sky. His eyes still crossed, Tiki turned back to this human friends. "I'm ready now. I had to tell my friends that I might not be back."

  "You'll be back sometime, I'll bet," Panglor said, through a thick throat. He didn't know why he had said that, but he was touched by Tiki's display of affection for the creatures of Dementia.

  "Perhaps so. I brought my most important objects." Tiki held up a tiny satchel. "May we go, then?"

  "Hyolp," said LePiep.

  * * *

  Liftoff in Deerfield differed from their previous experience only in the degree of confusion. The bridge was a madhouse until Panglor appealed to Jeebering to clear the room—and to have tranquilizers administered to all of the crewmen. There was no telling what effect their crazed minds would have on the liftoff. Panglor felt better once the men had been quieted.

  When he and Alo and Tiki were set, and relaxed, and thoughtful, he switched on the ship's main power. "Look okay?" he asked, watching the indicators flicker meaninglessly. LePiep peered over the top of the console, watching him intently.

  "Sure," said Alo. The control layout of Deerfield was considerably more sophisticated than the Cur's, though it was nothing they couldn't handle. Of course, none of the indicators could be trusted as long as they were in Dementia's field of influence.

  Panglor half closed his eyes. He had to be ready to hit the drivers for power when the ship returned to space. But for the moment, his object was to create the proper mind-set for leaving the zone. "All right, kiddo," he said softly. "Peep, ready for a ride?" He focused wryly on an image of the spaceship sitting in the meadow, and thought of the meadow disappearing, leaving only the empty vacuum of space. LePiep warbled contentedly. That was too easy. He went through it again, deepening the image and sharpening the focus; he gazed through half-closed eyes at Alo, hoping that she was formulating similar images. Deerfield: gleaming undamaged ship full of cargo and men. Powerful under the flaming yellow sun and clay sky, as strong-willed as airfish floating happily, riding the updrafts and currents that moved beneath the tricksy veils of the discontinuity. Deerfield, beside The Fighting Cur, shimmering like a ghost and then no longer there but somewhere else—the meadow gone, the sheer emptiness of space where the meadow used to be, and to one side the huge curved surface of the planetary ball, orange and brown in the light of the distant sun, D1. His thoughts blurred, and there was a thrill in his gut of dreamy déjà-vu, and a shiver streaked up his spine . . .

  . . . and he blinked, shaking free of the wrench at his thoughts, and he focused on the multiview scanner. LePiep hooted and another rush went up his spine. They were in space. "Get me something on that orbit," he said to Alo. He began checking his own instrumentation, but he couldn't expect accuracy yet. The ball of the planet was growing visibly. Under the ou-ralot's eye, he checked the ship's attitude and hit the drivers, then made adjustments. There was no sensation of acceleration at all. The ship had excellent grav-control, much better than the Cur's.

  "Here you go, sir, Captain sir," Alo said cheerfully, transmitting data to his screen. "Give it to her hard, or we'll be right back where we started."

  "Right," Panglor said, adjusting the thrust vector.

  Alo said, "We're starting to get some consistency here. I think we're moving out of the zone. Orbit's firmed up."

  "What's happening?" Jeebering asked.

  Panglor looked up in surprise. He had forgotten that Jeebering was on the bridge. "We're out," he said. "Doing fine. Heading up for a high orbit now." Jeebering smiled, and Panglor realized that Jeebering had tranquilized himself, as well as his crew. That was good. He hoped there was plenty of the stuff left for the dive back down.

  For half a day, they drove steadily outward from Dementia.

  Twelve hours and seventeen minutes after the start of the outward climb, Panglor turned the ship and reversed the direction of thrust—first breaking the speed of their climb, then beginning their dive, slowly, then faster, at steadily mounting speed dropping straight toward the silent ball and the stars behind it.

  Precision was something of a problem in terms of their insertion trajectory for D3. They really didn't know what the characteristics of Dementia's "collapsing-field" would be, assuming it worked at all. Panglor figured to fly by the seat of his pants in the final insertion, and trust the quirky effects of Dementia to pull them on line.

  Alo, tonguing her teeth thoughtfully, watched the planet growing in the screen
and said, "This has to be the funniest stunt I've ever tried. If it doesn't work, there won't even be two molecules of us stuck together anymore."

  "Brilllicka," said Tiki. He had remained silent throughout the maneuvers, though he had watched everything with shining eyes. Now he fiddled for a moment with a small, dumbbell-shaped object he had brought from his ship, and he said, "Good show. When hit?" His eyes danced.

  Panglor arched his eyebrows. Apparently the object was a translating computer. "Hit?" he said. "You had to say hit? We go through in about three hours." He tapped his teeth, glanced over the board again, and nodded.

  "Hloops!" cheered LePiep, scrabbling around behind the couches. She radiated a great wave of confidence.

  * * *

  The three hours passed quickly enough. They ate, but stayed clear of the ship's commons, because the crewmen were beginning to act strangely as the tranquilizers wore off. Panglor suggested that Jeebering give the entire crew another stiff jolt. Jeebering took a look in the commons and the corridors and gave the order. He took another dose himself, and sat reigning benignly from the command seat on the bridge.

  Alo massaged Panglor's neck muscles as he made final course adjustments. The sight of Dementia was now awesome and frightening in the screen, an enormous reddish-orange globe filling a quarter of the sky. The globe swelled with each passing moment. "Why are you doing that?" Panglor asked, gradually becoming aware of Alo's fingers moving pleasantly at the top of his spine.

  "Dunno," she said. She went to her own station, touching LePiep behind the ears on the way and winking at Tiki.

  Panglor grunted and remembered the sensation of the fingers, now absent. It had been nice. He finished the final adjustments and sat back. "Ready," he said, pressing his lips together. The planet was growing very fast, as Deerfield drove downward, and the instruments were beginning to show aberrations. Tiki stared intently at the screen, Jeebering stared contentedly at nothing, and Alo caught Panglor's eyes, then looked at the screen. LePiep whistled excitedly.