H’zzarrelik, however, was well to the galactic south of where that attack had occurred. The Narseil hoped to attract the attention of a different band of pirates, by seeming to have lost their way along the edge of Golen Space. They had, for a time, kept H’zzarrelik on a flight path such as an ordinary liner might have taken; but a few days ago, seven days into the journey, they had slipped off into the borderland, where ships losing their way might blunder. And where, presumably, raiders might lurk. They hardly needed to pretend. One mistaken twist in a current could easily send them off course. It had taken no great effort for Legroeder to imagine them actually lost.
A couple of days after their passage into the edge of Golen Space, they had entered a region that seemed particularly murky and mysterious. The undersea imagery was a natural, almost inevitable, choice. The submarine image had given way to a sleek forcefield that flowed back from the lead rigger, and up and over Legroeder’s head, so that he could sit in a cross-legged yoga pose, facing the oncoming stream. It was purely an illusion—his real body was reclining, motionless, in the clamshell rigger-station—but it felt as real as flesh to him. His main job, just now, was to be alert for features that the Narseil, with their alien perceptions, might miss.
They continued gliding through the olive-oil-green seafloor structure, the ship stretched out behind them in a sinuous ribbon of silver. It seemed to Legroeder that the foreboding eeriness emanated not just from the surroundings, but also from Ker’sell, in the keel station. Ker’sell was the one Narseil rigger who seemed suspicious of Legroeder, and seemed drawn in general to darkly moody images—a trait with which Legroeder, ironically, could empathize. Legroeder couldn’t do anything about Ker’sell’s moods, so he concentrated on smoothing out their movement as they glided down channels and corridors and tunnels, like ghostly miners pursuing memories in a flooded coal mine, or archaeologists pursuing the past.
Twice now he’d thought he had heard sounds in the passageway, sounds not from their own ship. In all likelihood the Narseil’s explanation was correct: he was probably hearing disturbances of their own passage, altered and reflected as echoes in the net. Still, he felt a nagging unease, wondering if something might be out there, shadowing them. If so, it was concealing itself well.
H’zzarrelik slowed and, rocking slightly, slipped around a corner in the tunnel. Another drop lay ahead; the tunnel had been descending in a long series of steps, each drop affording only limited visibility ahead. Do we have any idea where this will end? Legroeder asked.
Not really, said Palagren, his head turning from side to side as he scanned the edges of the tunnel. I’ve never been able to hold such a structured image so long before. I’d guess that the hard-edged form will end of its own accord before much longer. It must be associated with a dense nebula or some such thing.
The ship slipped downward over a sharper step, then another. Pinga-ping. There was another faint sound—like a distant, clanging buoy. The current seemed to be speeding up. Legroeder felt a sudden chill of fear, as he imagined a submarine shadowing them through this labyrinth, torpedoes ready to fire.
Don’t let your imagination run away with you, he cautioned himself. Still… Was that our own echo I just heard?
Voco answered from the stern, I heard it, too. I think it was our own, yes.
And I think, said Palagren, that I see the end of this tunnel.
Legroeder peered ahead, past the Narseil, where he glimpsed a shifting of light. Yes, now he could see the labyrinth opening. What’s that up ahead? he murmured. Before anyone could answer, the ship picked up speed and shot out of the tunnel like a bird out of a chute.
The undersea image evaporated, and the ship sprouted long, slender wings as it flew into a cloud-filled sky. Legroeder could feel the craftsmanship of Palagren and the others at work on the image, but really they were just refining what was here: a skyscape of great, sculpted clouds, and currents slipping among them like dancing breezes. The clouds looked like top-heavy savanna trees leaning with the wind; sunlight glowed on their tops, and great caverns of open air yawned in their shadows, where complex and convoluted Flux currents wound among the cloud bases.
While the Narseil riggers conferred on a direction, Legroeder stretched his arms out in the net and felt the wind whisper through his fingers. He rocked the wings a bit. Off to the left, and a little behind, he glimpsed a flicker of lightning among the clouds.
What is it, Legroeder? Anything wrong? asked Palagren.
I guess not—just a flash of something back there. Just some weather, probably.
The other riggers seemed puzzled.
Didn’t you see it?
No, I didn’t—began Palagren, but was interrupted by a distant rumble of thunder. The sound seemed to echo among the clouds for a few moments, then faded away.
You may be right about the weather, Voco said from the stern. I see a thunderhead moving off to the port side. We’d better keep a watch on it.
Palagren began a wide turn away from it. Wait, Legroeder said. Do you mind if I do this for a moment? he asked, nudging them back toward the left.
I sense a difficult passage in that direction, Palagren said cautiously.
I just want to check something, Legroeder said, banking the ship a little more sharply. He thought he saw something dark among the shadows under the clouds; something darker than the shadows… I’m not sure… hold on a sec’…
What is it?
Legroeder thought he heard a faint booming sound. Maybe it was just a reverberation of thunder, but he felt a little shiver of apprehension; he wasn’t sure why. But the view had changed now and he saw nothing. Shrugging, he returned the ship to the right bank that Palagren had initiated, and gave control back to the Narseil.
He remained unsatisfied, though. Closing his eyes, he searched back in his memory, analyzing the sound and feel of the thunder. His stirring of apprehension turned into genuine fear as some connection clicked into place, some pattern in the sound. Opening his eyes, he said softly, Don’t be alarmed, but we need to change the image and see if we can get a clearer view under those clouds. He hesitated. Palagren, I think you should inform the captain and the commander.
The ship became rounded, a domed flying saucer, with all-around visibility. The clouds began to change in color and density as they shifted the image through different combinations of filters. Inform them of what? Palagren asked.
To ready their defenses.
He felt Palagren’s surprise, then heard the soft mutter of the Narseil passing his words on to Ho’Sung and Fre’geel. And the captain’s voice: What exactly have you seen, riggers?