Legroeder frowned, following it with his eye. All very clever, he thought. But would it work? It wasn’t as if they’d be able to keep this stuff hidden from the pirates for long. “Interesting,” he said finally. “But Cantha—isn’t this overkill, for a stealth mission? I mean—maybe we can blow a pirate ship out of the sky with all of this, but that’s not what we want to do, is it?”
“Indeed not,” said Cantha. “If all goes well, most of this weaponry will never be used. We hope that stealth will be our greatest weapon. But pretending to be vulnerable carries obvious risks. Hence our preparations for defeating the enemy right here on our own decks, if necessary.”
“But what about these supposed contacts in the raider underground? What if they meet us, looking for a parlay?”
Cantha looked uncomfortable. “We were hoping for a confirmation message from the underground, some indication that a nonhostile contact could be made. Unfortunately, it never came. Therefore we must assume—” Cantha spread his hands wide, in the Narseil equivalent of a shrug.
“In other words, we really don’t know what the hell we’re doing.”
“That is an exaggeration,” Cantha said.
Legroeder grunted. “So, look—have you got anything to show me that isn’t a hidden weapon?”
“Indeed, I—” Cantha paused and raised a finger. “Listen.”
To what? The tessa’chron?
An instant later there came a call on the intercom: “Rigger Legroeder, please make your presence felt on the bridge.”
Cantha seemed to straighten a little. “Yes, indeed. I will show you the way to the bridge. If I am not mistaken, they are planning to put you in the net before much longer.”
“That’s more like it.”
The Narseil bridge was large, with rigger-stations in a row, and nearby, a post for the captain, who apparently always stood while on duty. Captain Ho’Sung, the ship’s master, was present along with Fre’geel, the mission commander. Ho’Sung’s job was the safety of the ship and crew; Fre’geel’s was the success of the mission. How the two commanders reconciled their responsibilities and authority was a mystery to Legroeder, but it didn’t seem to trouble the Narseil.
The captain nodded a greeting. “Welcome.”
Legroeder acknowledged and looked around eagerly. A glance at the viewscreens told him that the ship was still in normal-space, probably still navigating out of the region of the Narseil naval base. The stars were visible in a thin, wide band that stretched across the front of the bridge. The view of the stars was moving in a slow, continual scan up and down. For the Narseil, with their tessa’chron view, it no doubt worked just fine. It gave Legroeder a headache.
“Rigger Legroeder,” said Ho’Sung, “We will be entering the Flux shortly. I thought you might like to observe.”
Legroeder felt a twinge of excitement in his fingertips. He had not been in a real net in the real Flux since his escape from the pirates, which seemed a very long time ago. “Where would you like me to stand?”
Ho’Sung made a burring sound. “Stand, indeed? I would like you in rigger-station number four, over there.” He gestured with both hands, the sleeves of his robe billowing like a priest’s.
Legroeder felt an involuntary smile spread across his face. He hurried to climb into the clamshell rigger-station. He sank back, watched the shell close over him, and sighed with pleasure as his senses flowed out into the living matrix of the net.
The Narseil riggers greeted him with quiet salutations. Welcome, said Palagren. First time lucky, we always say. You may take the top position.
Legroeder moved into the spot at the top center of the net, where he felt like a rifleman atop an ancient horse-drawn stagecoach, in classic holos. After he’d settled in a bit, that image gave way to a feeling of being top lookout in the bubble of a fishing sub, as the three Narseil riggers crafted a starting image for the voyage: a misty, copper-green sea beneath them, with long, smooth waves rolling in toward their bow. The rigger-crew was preparing to dive.
Will you let me stay in my bubble here for a while, or am I expected to sprout gills to keep up with you fish people? Legroeder felt better than he had in a long time. The net was a powerful euphoric drug.
For our poor, nonaquatic human friend? Palagren answered. Of course we will allow you your hull filled with air. Perhaps we can even tow it on our backs. Are you ready, crew?
Voco at the stern and Ker’sell on the keel echoed their assent. The captain, his voice whispering from the outside com, said, Riggers, you may take to the Flux.
The Narseil riggers responded with a hiss of approval. An emerald light welled up from the sea below. Legroeder felt a familiar rush of adrenaline, and a less familiar tingling from his implants, as the three Narseil took the ship down. The watery mists of the Flux closed over their heads, and Legroeder put out his hands, sighing with pleasure at the movement of the current through his fingers.
The sea and the mist were at once real and imagined; everything around him was a blend of mind and reality—his imagination, and the Narseil’s imagination, and the actual multidimensional energy-flows that would carry them across the light-years. He knew that the images would change many times in the coming days, as they passed out of the realm of the Narseil and the Centrist Worlds, and made their way toward the no man’s land of Golen Space. He knew that his skills would be tested, and his courage, and that of the Narseil, as well.
But for now, Legroeder was content simply to be sailing on the streams of space, even if they were making their way toward danger, even if they were heading back toward the seas of mist where none but pirates ruled.
PART TWO
Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.
Prologue
Pirate Patroclass="underline" Freem’n Deutsch
Riggers, take her down.
The voice of the raider captain crackled through the net with cold authority. The lead rigger obeyed with a tilt of his head and a flash of input from Augment Foxtrot. The acknowledgment of his two flank riggers came silently through the net, augment to augment, and with a swift coordinated kick they sent the raider ship Flechette down into the Flux like a spinning bullet.
The start of the patrol began as it always did—with a sideways dance through the maze of Flux currents that isolated raider Outpost Ivan from those who might come spying.
Lead rigger Freem’n Deutsch had been on more pirate patrols than he could count, but still he began each patrol with an almost inexpressible dread. He felt it as keenly now as he had from the very first, when he had been forced to fly missions as a captive of the raider colony. It was a dread compounded of rage and fear, of a desire not to attack the innocent, and—perhaps if he looked deeply enough—also of a secret delight in the fear and smoke and mayhem that usually followed. The dread was always there. But having been offered the choice of flying for the pirates or dying at their hands, Deutsch had learned to approach his duties with a certain resignation—managing his emotions with the assistance of the augments, and keeping them isolated from the other riggers in the net.