Days passed, as they flew within distant view of the Great Barrier Nebula, a ghostly green wall that stretched for many light-years along the edge of Golen Space. They were passing to the galactic north of the region known as the Sargasso, where Robert McGinnis had once been shipwrecked. Legroeder fervently hoped that they would have no need to fly any closer to the Sargasso than they were now.
He might as well have wished for a moon.
When Cantha called the riggers together for a look at his latest mapping displays, they were joined by the Kyber crew and captain. As everyone gathered around the floating holo of nearby space, Cantha raised a wand and shone a thin pointer of light into the display. “What I’ve been trying to establish is a track of where Impris has been seen, and ultimately where we might expect to see her—or better yet, have a chance of breaking through to reach her.”
“Explain,” said the captain, the light of the holo playing over his frowning face.
Cantha moved the pointer-beam through the glowing display. “The ships that are out there shadowing Impris apparently pick up only intermittent ghost traces—so at best, even with the extra information you obtained, we have only bits and pieces of her course.”
“So what’s the good news?” said Glenswarg.
“I’ve been making new projections, based not just on Impris sightings, but on what we think we know of the structure of the underflux.” Cantha caused the holo to rotate in mid-air, then pointed out their current destination, not far from the Akeides Nebula. “Here’s where the most recent intelligence places Impris, based on KM/C’s movements.” He touched a handheld controller, and something changed in the display: previously unfocused details came into focus, as though they were peering deeper into a multidimensional display. “Now, observe these green lines.” He traced a series of spidery threads, through the newly focused region. “These are routes that I believe Impris could have followed in recent months.” He peered through the display at the others. “These are not paths through the known Flux, but projections into the underflux—possibly into the lowest layers, what you call the Deep Flux. These are projections only. It is a poorly mapped region, to say the least.”
Legroeder squinted, trying to visualize the elusive layer in which Impris might be trapped. Cantha’s lines zigzagged to the south and radially out on the galactic meridian—converging in one region before spreading out again in other directions. “What’s that area of convergence?” he asked—uneasily, because he thought he knew the answer. “Is that the Sargasso?”
“Indeed,” said Cantha, with a tone of satisfaction that gave Legroeder a shiver. The Narseil’s gaze pierced him for a moment, then shifted suddenly to Captain Glenswarg. “I believe, if we wish to catch up with Impris, the place to do it is in the Sargasso.”
Legroeder’s heart sank.
“That is,” Cantha continued, over the muttering of the Kyber crewmen, “if we don’t merely want to catch sight of her, but want to actually find her and rendezvous with her.” Cantha looked around the room, the display shining on his vertical amphibian eyes, to see if he’d gotten everyone’s attention.
Legroeder closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the protests of the others. The Sargasso: a dead zone, where the currents of the Flux dwindled to a stop. Who knew why? And who knew how many ships were stranded there right now—not in the strange, ghostly immortality of Impris, but just stranded in the motionless Flux, dying like animals caught in quicksand. If they went in with Phoenix, looking for Impris, what were their chances of coming out again?
Not good, he thought.
Except that Cantha was suggesting it. And he trusted Cantha’s opinion as much as he trusted his own rigging.
“I think, Narseil Cantha,” said the captain in a tight, flat voice, “that you have a great deal of explaining to do. Are you seriously recommending that we take this ship into the Sargasso?”
“Yes, Captain,” Cantha said. He pointed to the place where the green tracings converged, and altered the focus slowly to a higher level of the Flux, and then back down. The map changed in texture and color as he shifted the display. Cantha’s pointer-beam traced green paths through the layers. “Here is what I want you to see. I don’t know which of these paths Impris has followed—perhaps none of them precisely. But the important thing is that they come together, and rise very close to the level of the normal Flux—here in the Sargasso.” He peered through the display at the captain. “That’s the key. If we want to reach Impris, we have to break through into the level where she’s trapped. And the Sargasso is the only place I see to do it.”
“You’re out of your mind,” muttered a Kyber crewman. “Why the hell are we listening to this?” said another.
Christ Almighty, Legroeder thought, gazing into Cantha’s eyes. He felt despair.
“It could be a very dangerous course to take,” Deutsch rumbled, breaking through the grumbling.
“Yes,” said Glenswarg, commanding silence with an arch of his bristly eyebrows. “It sounds extremely dangerous.” He paused, allowing Cantha to continue.
“That is true,” Cantha said. “And that is why we need to talk about the underflux. And about the spatial flaws I believe may underlie it.”
“What spatial flaws?” growled a Kyber rigger.
Cantha placed his hands together, forefingers pointing into the holo. “The Flux, generally speaking, displays a fairly smooth progression of dimensionality as we move through descending layers. But, from layer to layer, we may encounter differing currents of movement—yes?” He glanced sharply at Derrek, the Kyber navigator, who shrugged.
“As you go deeper and deeper, you may reach a point where the movement slows too much; and if you’re using standard rigging techniques, you lose the ability to maneuver. Or, you simply come to a halt—like getting stuck in silt at the bottom of a river.”
“Like in the Sargasso,” Deutsch said.
“Almost.” Cantha raised a finger. “There’s a crucial difference. The Sargasso is a place where currents seem to lose their energy—but there it happens in the normal levels of the Flux, which is what makes it such a hazard. But why do the currents lose energy? Is it just a cancellation effect of converging currents? Or is it something more?”
Palagren’s neck-sail stiffened. “Cantha, are you sure you should tell them—?”
“Why not?” Cantha asked. “We’ve demanded that they share their knowledge with us.”
Palagren’s mouth tightened. “But this information—”
“Is essential to finding Impris. How else can we do it?”
Palagren’s eyes seemed filled with uncertainty; but finally he gestured acquiescence.
“So what’s the explanation?” Legroeder prompted.
Cantha hissed softly. “The Narseil Rigging Institute believes there are flaws—fractures, if you will—in the structure of spacetime in the Sargasso. We believe that currents may be leaking out of the normal layers of the Flux into a deeper substrate… into the underflux.” He gestured to Legroeder. “You’ve read the Fandrang Report. It talked about regions of high ‘EQ.’ We don’t use that terminology anymore—but this may be a related phenomenon.”