Panglor

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "All right, you mother!" Panglor howled, bursting with energy. He locked his gaze onto the screen. "Whoooeeee!"

  The ochre surface mushroomed. Waves of devilish excitement washed over him and whirled in his heart.

  Panglor grinned at the ou-ralot and pictured a hole right in the center of that image, in the heart of the zone of strangeness. A hole they could streak through like a bull's-eye. A hole in the planet that wasn't solid—that wasn't a planet. The hole was a bit too small to see just now, but it was there all the same. Deerfield accelerated, plummeting, and Panglor smiled, comfortable in his seat. And thought of the ship dropping through the hole in space, twisting into foreshortening, streaking down the compressed taffy of space . . .

  . . . and suddenly remembered again the touch of Alo's fingers at his neck, softly kneading. And remembered her kiss, back on the world, and the press of certain parts of her body . . . the same body he'd seen . . . no, no, this wasn't right, these were subconscious thoughts washing up, not what he had to think of . . . he had to fly the ship, zero on shooting straight through the bull's-eye. But this was nicer, and nobody was reading his mind except LePiep in her own way, encouraging him, hooting softly. The thoughts . . . what was it he wanted to picture? . . . Alo? . . . no . . . yes . . . the soft parts of Alo, the woman qualities . . . it wasn't really helping, he knew, with that enormous red area mushrooming in his screen, opening; and the thing was he had an incredible hard-on at this moment, a bursting erection, thinking . . . of the woman in the girl, the firm small features in the woman he'd glimpsed . . . waves of LePiep's excitement reflected his own, agitated him further . . . the hormones were truly out of control now, rampant, and he focused on the image of the world closing around him, swallowing him, and all he could think of was that desire . . . and the world totally surrounding him and his ship . . . and there was a shift, a discontinuity, and a rift yawned in the planet, black with spangling stars; and the ship fired through the opening like lightning, and everything visual went milky, and Panglor ejaculated just before losing consciousness, his last thought an instant of embarrassment as LePiep hooted and a ghostly airfish winked at him and vanished.

  Chapter 13

  The first thing he felt was a wave of appreciative pleasure from the ou-ralot. The second was an abrupt draining of energy, and the third was dampness at his crotch.

  Alo's eyes were on him when he came out of the fog. He blinked, and had trouble focusing; but not so much trouble he couldn't see Alo's eyes twinkling. She had followed everything that had happened to the ship, to the planet—and to him. Flushing, he blinked hard and stared into the scoopscope—grimly feigning calmness. There was no sweat soaking his back, no wet spot at his crotch; no. But there were drifting white speckles in both eyefinders of the scoopscope. The main screens were blank, blue.

  They were in foreshortening.

  There was an incredible tension, like a vacuum, in his chest. He reached out to touch LePiep, still crooning happily on the console. "Jeeb!" he said, trembling, raising his voice without turning. "We're on our way! Don't know where, for sure, or when we'll get there—but we're on our way."

  "Wonderful," said Jeebering. He sounded pretty stoned. That might be embarrassing later; it wouldn't do to remind him of it. Ever.

  Panglor felt Alo's gaze on him. He glanced at Tiki. The Kili yodeled in his native tongue, then consulted his device and said, "Good job. Splendid. Did it work?"

  "Yop!" said Alo, cutting off Panglor's reply. "Pangly did it. Of course, whether he could have done it without me is debatable." Her voice sounded satisfied and faintly amused. Panglor knew that that may have been his imagination, but he damn well was not going to look at her face to find out.

  There wasn't a lot they could do on the bridge now. Only time would tell of their ultimate success or failure. Panglor ran through a complete check of the ship's systems and finally set the emergence warning alarm. "Jeeb, I think it'd be a good idea to keep the others off the bridge for a while," he said hesitantly. "Until you're sure they're okay."

  Jeebering nodded placidly. He seemed content to sit and survey the bridge. "You are relieved," he said.

  Panglor shrugged, scooped up LePiep, and gestured to Alo and Tiki. They left the bridge together. Tregs was coming out of the commons, just outside the bridge, and Panglor stopped him in the passageway. "Are there some empty cabins?" he asked.

  Tregs looked startled. His eyes filled with questions and a hint of hysteria, but outwardly he was relaxed; the tranquilizer was still working. He pursed his lips. "Cabins thirteen and fourteen. I don't think any others—"

  "Right," said Panglor. "Thirteen and fourteen." He started to move away.

  Tregs seized his arm. "What happened? Where are we?" The hysteria was finding a grip in him, after all.

  Panglor thought a moment. Let Jeeb tell them, he decided. He nodded. "Thanks. I think—"

  Jeebering's voice broke in, on the shipwide com. "All hands! This is the bridge—Jeebering in acting command." A long pause followed. Panglor nudged Alo and Tiki down the passageway, while Tregs listened to the com. "We are in foreshortening," said Jeebering's voice. "We are bound, we hope, for Dreznelles Three."

  Panglor ignored the rest of the address and searched for their quarters. They found cabins thirteen and fourteen at the end of the passageway, near the cargo bulkhead. Panglor hesitated. Which took precedence—giving a private room to the female or giving it to the guest alien? While he debated, Alo said, "Tiki ought to have his own room, so I'll stay with you—okay, Pangly?" She caught his eye soberly.

  Panglor nodded. He felt dizzy, with blood thundering in his temples. Without a word, he went into the second cabin, leaving Alo to show Tiki his room. He let LePiep down on the bunk. The cabin was small, with a single sleep bay, a tiny personal alcove—and—what was he thinking, sharing this with Alo? Unless—

  But how could he?

  And how could he take time to worry about this, when he had foreshortening to worry about? They could be on their way to limbo right now, all of them . . .

  But no. He didn't think they were.

  His mind was filled with strange and unfamiliar tensions. He was frightened of foreshortening, and he wasn't. The fear was lessened . . . or rechanneled . . . because he could not spring his mind loose from her: the girl, the woman, Alo. Alo. He'd thought he had rationalized her into the daughter, the sister he had never had. But other pathways kept opening, sparking new feelings: unsuspected affection, lust, embarrassment, and boiling among all of those, fear. Something in him resisted involvement with so sharp-witted and caustic a young woman, who could inflict more pain than any other woman he had ever known. The tension, the fear, the desire branched out, and reached down into his body somewhere near the sternum, and tugged sharply. The girl was intelligent and capable and commanded his respect. So why such a feeling wrecking his equilibrium and twisting his desire with pain? The physical desire, the emotional need, both existed in a swarm of electrons alive in his mind, caught in a bind of magnetic energies, threatening to collapse like a foreshortening field.

  Shaking his head, he tossed his duffel into the sleep bay beside LePiep. The ou-ralot padded along the edge of the sleep bay, trying to calm him with waves of reassurance, poking at him with her nose. His chest was so tight he could hardly breathe. He could faintly hear Alo, talking to Tiki in the next room. Deciding quickly, he stripped and stepped into the personal alcove and turned on the mistshower. A fine, vaporous spray billowed around him, soothing and cleansing him and gradually, after a fashion, relaxing him. He lingered—and finally, reluctantly, turned off the mist and turned on the dryer. He felt better.

  Alo was sitting in the sleep bay when Panglor came out, adjusting his clean jumpsuit. He avoided her gaze and looked around the cabin, poking at his duffel. Finally he glanced up. Alo stared at him with dark, grave eyes. He swallowed uncomfortably. LePiep was touching him with waves of anticipation. "Well—we did it. Everything went all right, I guess." He looked away.
>
  Alo set LePiep aside and stood up. "Pangly," she said. "Who were you thinking about?"

  His throat thickened. "What do you mean?"

  Sighing, she moved closer, facing him. She pressed her palms to his ribcage, then squeezed his sides, holding him. The pressure was familiar, warm, and terrifying. She gazed at his shoulder. Tension was in her eyes, too. "You know what I mean." She turned her gaze down for a moment—and he felt a stirring in his loins—then she met his eyes nervously. "Pangly—" she started, and he couldn't tell whether she was taunting or pleading. "When we went through . . . when you. Oh, Pangly!" There was anguish in her voice—and tears in her eyes. "Who were you thinking of?" she cried.

  Part of his breath went out with a hiss. The rest stuck in his throat. Nerve endings fired randomly through his body, making him twitch, and his vision clouded. "How—old—did you say—you were?" he grunted, past the huge obstruction in his throat.

  "Old enough!" she cried, muffling her face against his chest. She hugged him, pressing her breasts against his stomach; then she straightened and kissed him, making a quiet crying sound. He struggled to overcome the tension in his arms. His heart was pounding. LePiep purred quietly, somehow making it easier. Somewhere, in the branches and roots of his mind, he made a decision. He closed his arms around her head and neck and cradled her as she kissed him, and then his instincts awakened as his excitement eased past the tension. He ran his hands once over Alo, and then quickly lifted her into the sleep bay.

  Some time later, Alo gazed down at him and sighed happily, her eyes sparkling. "You still haven't told me who you were thinking about," she accused gently.

  "Did you tell me how old you are?" He closed his eyes, relaxing blissfully.

  "Told you, I don't know exactly," she said, settling down close to him, fingering the sweat on his chest. "Haven't even begun to figure in the relativistic effects."

  "Mmf. Can't recall who I was thinking of, either. We must have been traveling too fast." Very fast, he added silently. Fast enough to blow aside a lot of memories of failure. Where was the last woman he'd made love to? Veti IV? Good-bye, whatever your name was.

  Alo had no comeback. She was asleep, her cheek resting against his bare chest.

  * * *

  Panglor blinked his eyes open. Alo mumbled sleepily, her eyes closed. He rolled over and squinted to check the time; nearly ten hours had passed. LePiep tiptoed gingerly along the edge of the bunk and peered into his eyes, radiating soothing alertness. And contentment. Alo, Panglor thought, closing his eyes with a sigh. He blinked them open again, touched LePiep on the nose, and shook his head wryly. Who would have thought it?

  He rolled quietly out of the sleep bay, feeling drowsy but restless. He felt a curious sense of rightness as he studied Alo, still peacefully asleep, with a hint of a smile on her lips. Nodding to himself, he started dressing, while LePiep walked back and forth across the narrow bureau ledge, watching him. LePiep whistled, and a moment later he heard a mumbled, "Morning, Pangly." He turned. Alo sat up, blinking and tugging back her hair. She smiled crookedly and gestured for him to come closer.

  It took them a while, but eventually they went to the commons for breakfast, with Tiki. They ate in an uncomfortable, eerie silence—watched by several crewmen, who, with nervous gestures and eye movements, betrayed contradictory emotions of fear, resentment, and respect. Panglor had the uneasy feeling that the Deerfield crew didn't know what to make of them. But he thought it would be a good idea not to linger here. He and Alo finished their meal (Tiki had declined ship's food), and they left as they had entered, in silence.

  The bridge was quiet, and it was a moment before Panglor realized that Jeebering was present, on watch. "Things all right?" Panglor asked, approaching him.

  Jeebering turned slowly. "There have been no problems on the bridge, Pilot Balef. However, I am concerned about the crew, and I think it best that you keep apart from them, for the present. Therefore, you will stay on the bridge or in your cabins, and meals will be served to you there or here. Understood?"

  "Sure," Panglor said. It was probably just as well, if strangeness was still running strong on the ship. Lovemaking was one thing, but half-crazed shipmates was another. Suppose they didn't make it back, after all? Suppose he ended up in real limbo, with an honored Kili guest, a woman to love, and a ship full of madmen? He shivered and glanced back. "Jeeb? Is something else wrong?"

  Jeebering was scowling, and for a moment appeared not to have heard. Then he looked up. "I thought I saw Captain Drak."

  "What? When?"

  Jeebering shook his head. "In the zone. At the moment we dived through, in the very center. I saw the captain in the screen, and I believe I also saw one of the missing crewmen. Adams." Sighing, Jeebering rocked almost imperceptibly in his chair, his eyes clouded with thought. "They both seemed alive, and conscious—but I don't know what that means, or if I simply imagined that I saw them."

  Panglor silently took his seat, but swiveled back to face Jeebering. "Maybe you did see them. I was thinking earlier—they may have simply moved deeper into the discontinuity—into the heart of it, if there is such a place. Possibly a gate leading right out of our reality. They may be safe, at least after a fashion, wherever they are." At least I'd like to think so, he added silently.

  Jeebering pressed his lips together thoughtfully, and nodded.

  With Alo's help, Panglor began checking over the control consoles. When he next looked around, he was surprised to see Jeebering sound asleep in his chair. Good lord, Panglor thought, he must have been up on watch ever since we left. Shaking his head, Panglor turned back to the consoles, determined not to let Jeebering down—or the rest of the crew, either.

  Not that there was anything he could do now; it was all in the hands of fate. The instruments could provide no clue to the ship's condition with respect to the outside universe.

  "Will we—" asked Tiki, consulting his translator in mid-sentence "—arrive?"

  "Hope so," said Alo, eyeing Panglor.

  Panglor nodded.

  * * *

  Five shipdays passed. Panglor chafed at the passage of time—wondering, scrutinizing blank instruments, talking in subdued tones with Alo and Tiki. Crew tensions remained high, but Jeebering allowed a few of the better-adjusted men to return to their duties, though the bridge remained mostly off limits. Alo, Tiki, and Panglor spent most of their time on the bridge.

  Tregs brought them their meals. He had become more friendly toward them; he seemed awed because they had flown through a planet into foreshortening. During the sixth day, distributing breakfast trays, he asked, "Mr. Tiki, are you sure I couldn't bring you something?"

  Tiki declined graciously. "No—no—I am quite well." He had bundled up in a thick turtleneck robe, saying that he found the human ship uncomfortably cool.

  Tregs clearly was disappointed. As he turned to go, Alo said, "Hey, why don't you stay and eat with us?"

  "Well, I've already eaten," Tregs said apologetically. "But—if you wouldn't mind—" He looked at Panglor and at Jeebering. "I'd like to offer something to your ou-ralot. I was wondering if I could make friends with it—her." He shuffled his feet.

  "Sure," said Alo. Panglor nodded.

  Tregs set down the tray and lifted a small cover, exposing a portion of a muffin. "Where is she?" he asked anxiously. Panglor pointed. At the end of the console, in the corner, Panglor's duffel and several other bags were strategically piled. A tail stuck out on one side. Tregs approached cautiously. He knelt and called, "Ou-ralot. LePiep. Will you come out?" He held out the muffin.

  The tail pulled in. There was a faint scratching sound, then silence. Tregs looked around. Chuckling, Panglor called, "It's all right, Peep."

  There was another scratching sound. Tregs edged closer, peering. A snout appeared in a dark hole in the pile. Tregs held the food close. The mouth opened, took the muffin gingerly, and withdrew with it. There was a faint whistle, then silence.

  Tregs stood up, gesturing unce
rtainly. Panglor struggled to keep from laughing; but Tregs looked so discomfited that he finally chuckled, "It's all right. She likes—"

  A bell chimed. The emergence light winked in the view scanner.

  Panglor leaped to the binocular scoopscope. Adrenaline rushed in his veins. Peering, tuning the scope, he focused on a peculiar clustering of pointillist dots against a greenish-gray background. The configuration was unusual, but clearly suggested the beginning of a change in the foreshortening field. The dots shifted and arranged themselves into discrete, but unaligned, planes. Not normal. Was this the signature he'd always dreaded—the signature of a ship about to pop out into limbo?

  Alo poked at him urgently. He let her have a look. "What's this mean?" she said. He nudged her aside and looked again. The planes that the dots occupied shifted, twisted, and suddenly dissolved. The dots reappeared and clustered into curved surfaces. Unusual.

  Frightening.

  "What's happening?" Jeebering demanded, standing behind him.

  Panglor shivered. "Don't know for sure," he said, keeping his face to the scope. This was totally aberrant.

  A terrainlike contour fell into focus, milky against the background. The binocular element was working—two individual patterns, combined into one field by his eyes and his brain. "Wait—" he said.

  "What's happening?" Jeebering roared.

  "Pangly?"

  A chime sang, and a twisting, vaguely erotic sensation rushed through his body, and for a moment he was dizzy and could do nothing except cling to the scoopscope housing. Then he sat back and focused on the viewer.

  The first thing he saw was a vast starfield. The second thing, in the rearward screen, was a capture-field shrinking away behind them. The third thing was the spectral ID—Dreznelles 3—flashed up by the computer. And the fourth thing was Alo, hollering triumphantly in his face, clutching him; and LePiep, bounding bright-eyed at him, whistling; and Jeebering and Tregs roaring in astonishment. He grabbed Alo and LePiep and hugged them, and blinked and blinked at the wetness blurring his vision.