Fersonne eased to a graceful stop. Behind her were three bays or hangars with closed doors. She touched a stud, and all three doors rose. The cargo sleds were just as pictured on the screen, except smaller than I expected, only about four meters long and two high. Each was inside its own enclosure, tethered to heavy bolt anchors from six points. The tether lines didn't seem that strong-looking, but who knew what kind of nanite reinforcing they had?
Fersonne pulled a square box from a strap pouch at one end of the leftmost sled. The box was attached by an electroessence cable to the sled. 'Here is the control box. Same as on the small sled. You seen that?'
'I didn't even know there was a small sled.'
'Use that for moving stuff around the station, but it's self-powered. Could really rip things up if it got out of hand.'
For a moment I had to think, and run through what I knew but really hadn't assimilated once more before it became clear. The big cargo sleds only ran on the cargo corridor and were held by the energy fields that bounded the corridor. The little sled was self-contained, with far less mass but with no external restraint. I blinked and looked down at the box in Fersonne's hand.
The sled controls looked simple enough - four arrow-shaped studs surrounding a circular stud. Outside the arrow studs were two square studs - one glowing green, one red.
'The power switch is under the toggle cover.'
I hadn't even noticed the shielded cover in the corner. I nodded.
'Center button is the stop button.' Fersonne smiled. 'Only works if the sled's within range of the guiderails. Use the others to move the sled. Green is up; red is down. Others mean direction.'
'If I push up and the side arrow ... ?'
'Don't. Only want to move in one direction at a time.'
I nodded.
'We'll untether it first. Don't want to pull out the anchors.'
Another example of the demon outlook. The sled had enough power to rip out the anchors, but they wouldn't use the materials or effort to reinforce the hangar. They expected the users to be careful. When the maintenance officer could recommend someone's exile, they could expect care.
I followed Fersonne's lead and undid the tethers on the left side, then returned to stand beside her while she eased the sled out of its bay and into the corridor. Once it was well away from the others, she handed me the control box. 'Remember, it keeps going in whatever direction you move it. The controls are supposed to feed back so it doesn't, but don't trust them all the way.'
Trust? What could one trust? How much? I took the control box, wondering if I'd ever be able to trust Rykashan society's rules as much as I once had trusted the way of Dzin to make my way in Hybra.
27
Those who reward vain attempts encourage such and discourage true accomplishment.
Sanselle glanced across the narrow canteen table at me. Her green eyes seemed overlarge in the pinched face, and her short, sandy hair was strawlike. 'Fersonne says you could have been a needle jockey. That true?'
I finished the last mouthful of Dorchan mushroom pasta before answering. 'I had a chance. I do not know if I would have been successful.'
'You'd 'a been.' She took a swig of a dark brown beer from the squeeze bottle. 'When you're not around, Gerbriik says you're worth two of most lugs. So how'd you get here?'
How had I? It had seemed so simple. Was it? I could feel myself somewhere else, somewhere with red arcs of flame, golden-red flames in a niellen night...
'Tyndel? You all right? Your eyes ...' I shook myself. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean ...'
'We all got pasts. You want to talk, I'll listen. You don't, that's fine.'
'Things ... I'm still not sure.'
'Whatever.' Sanselle laughed easily. You being here makes things easier for us. Nathum - fellow before you - he broke two SARMs and jammed a sled. Tried hard, he did, but trying's not doing.'
Simple as they were, those last words echoed in my thoughts. Trying's not doing ... Trying's not doing ... 'How did he jam a sled?'
Sanselle shrugged. 'Somehow got it crossways going into its bay, then tilted it. Mite-damned job to unwedge it. Ended up taking out some panels and one of the guiderails.'
That explained why Fersonne had suggested I not attempt multidirectional commands with the big cargo sled controls.
'Ready for the orgnopaks?' asked Sanselle.
'Ready as I'll ever be.' Carting replacement materials paks for all the food replicators from the storeroom to each mess wasn't nearly so onerous as cleaning the between-decks spaces, but it was nearly as tedious and time-consuming.
Theoretically, the replicators could have been built able to shift molecules of any structure, but the side effect was that such full-range replicators took a great deal more electroessence and generated far more heat, and heat dispersion was more of a problem on orbit stations than heat retention. So the maintenance crews replaced the materials paks with new ones containing trace elements, hydrogen, nitrogen, and carbon, as well as other elemental forms necessary for food synthesis. The paks weren't labeled with the actual contents - just with the class of replicator they fitted.
I loosened the sticktites and let myself drift toward the disposal slot below the replicator. It wasn't a disposal slot, since the waste material was shifted by nanites into a separate waste-orgnopak and reused as it could be. After shoving in my plate and cup, I turned in midair to follow Sanselle.
'Fersonne says the small sled is acting up.' She lifted her eyebrows.
That didn't surprise me, either. Little in my ambit had, not even OE Station, not since the comfortable world of Dzin had vanished when the Shraddans I'd trusted and justified in my teachings had killed Foerga and sent me running.
Was I still running? I tried not to shiver at that thought as I followed Sanselle.
28
The shape of a container is not the nature of that which is contained.
I pushed the SARM canister around the gently curving corner that followed the arc of the station's hull. Ahead was a mist, fulgurant and full. I tried to slow the heavy SARM, but I couldn't halt it before it plunged through the mist, its inertia dragging me through the curtain of pinlights. Each tiny light seared, cutting like a white-hot needle.
Beyond the sparkling curtain I stood amid a black nothingness. The orbit station corridor had vanished. Arcs of golden-red fire webbed a sky blacker than any I had ever seen, a heaven whose stars shimmered so brightly that I had to slit my eyes.
The fire arcs sprayed out from a pinwheel that sputtered before me, except it was a star twirling ever so slowly in the darkness. A face slowly swam from the center of the spinning and sputtering fire into the center of that light. Short black hair framed a thin face, and out of that face shone deep blue eyes.
Then the light brightened even more. I had to close my eyes against the glare, and I found myself unable to breathe, unable to move, with fire coursing through my closed eyes, hot winds desiccating the skin of my face.
I lurched up in the sleeping net, still squinting. I found myself coated in sweat and shivering. My face was burning, my body chill.
I could not swallow, so dry was my throat. After opening one side of the sleeping net and slipping out, I floated to where I could reach the squeeze bottle. The coolish water helped - some.