Star Rigger's Way (8 page)

Cephean watched the proceedings, his ears fluttering every few seconds, as though something were bothering him.

The tow blocked the viewport as it approached, then drifted down and to the side. It still covered about one-third of the view when it locked, with a bump, to
Sedora
's forward section. "Are you ready to relinquish control,
Sedora
?" the pilot asked.

Carlyle started to acknowledge in the affirmative but paused when he heard a low hiss from Cephean. The cynthian's eyes were dim and half lidded. (
Disapproval,
he sensed clearly.) He flushed angrily. "Yes, ready," he said.

"Are you in any immediate danger?" the pilot asked. He sounded bored but amiable.

"No immediate danger," Carlyle said, burning from Cephean's stare.
"Fitztaylor,"
he added, "we'd like to get in as soon as possible. It's been a rough ride."

"Do our best," the pilot assured him.

Far to each side of
Sedora
's nose, the Circadie space inductors glowed golden, then white; and the joined ships began to change velocity and drop across the solar system toward Garsoom's Haven.

* * *

After touchdown, when the tow ship detached and vanished back into the sky, they went out through the exit lock and into a transfer pod, their personal baggage piled high on a robot porter. The pod carried them toward the spaceport terminal, performing decontamination procedures as it moved. Meanwhile Carlyle spoke by videophone with the RiggerGuild counsel. On his advice, Carlyle authorized release of
Sedora
's log for inspection by the Guild and the Spacing Authority.

When the transfer pod slid into its bay at the terminal, the RiggerGuild counsel was there to meet them. "Rigger Carlyle, I'm Holly Wellen," the man said, shaking hands delicately and rather gravely. He was a tall, firm-featured man, probably in his late nineties; his hair was just turning gray, and his eyes were fatherly and full of concern.

Carlyle introduced the cynthian and riffmar to Wellen. He explained that Cephean could understand most spoken words telepathically, and could manage a fair reproduction of human speech. Wellen suggested that they go set up quarters in the Guild Haven. They crossed the lobby and got on a moving walkway that ran the length of the terminal. Wellen pointed out the bay windows as they moved.

The city of Plateau edged the spaceport in a giant crescent, in the middle of a range of rugged and dark-forested mountains. Nearly all of the encircling mountains rose higher than the plateau. Over the edge, in the valley, was the lower half of the city, Deephaven; a part of it could be seen climbing up an opposing mountain. Farther off in that direction, in the misty valleys beyond the settled region, lay the wilds—and deep in the wilds lived the koryfs of Garsoom's Haven.

Plateau was the largest city on this "stable frontier" planet, a world still untamed and sparsely settled—but sufficiently developed to provide for its own survival, some industry, and its own spacing capabilities. Like any planet, however, it depended upon the RiggerGuild to keep the rigger-ships coming and going with interstellar commerce.

Past the end of the walkway, they entered the privacy of the Rigger Haven and were shown to their adjoining rooms. The robot porter left their belongings neatly stacked in the rooms. Then Wellen said he would call them later, and they were left to rest and become settled.

* * *

They never did have the chance to go looking for a live koryf; the hearings into the
Sedora
accident began almost immediately. In the early sessions, the legal framework was established and the ship's log reviewed, along with autopsy reports on the dead crewmen. Carlyle sat in a small room in the Guild quarter with a counselor named Dial Jade, and together they watched a holo projection of the other participants: Holly Wellen, representing Carlyle and the RiggerGuild; Jon Pierce, a deputy administrator of the Garsoom's Haven Spacing Authority; Jules Tong, appointed by the Spacing Authority to represent the ship's owner
in absentia;
and various other experts and consultants. Carlyle was free to switch out of the session anytime he chose, but right now he wanted to listen.

Deputy Administrator Pierce greeted him. "Welcome, Rigger Carlyle, and thank you for joining us voluntarily. We will be reviewing the log cubes from
Sedora
, and at the appropriate time we'll ask you for your opinions and evaluation. Our first purpose will be to determine whether or not failure existed on the part of the ship's owner and maintenance staff—or, in other words, to determine whether or not the lives of your crewmates might have been saved."

Wellen spoke to Carlyle on a private channel from the hearing room. "Don't let him worry you, Gev. They're really just here to decide what to do with the ship and whether the Guild should file sanctions against the owner. I've heard the records myself, and there's no question about your own actions being commendable. And I have to say that I saw no indication of negligence on the owner's part. Nevertheless, they'll go over the whole accident at least five more times to settle the claims between the Spacing Authority and the owner. Unless you think otherwise, I don't see that the Guild should make any claim beyond an award for you and Cephean, and a settlement on behalf of the deceased."

Carlyle relaxed a little, but he was going to be nervous until it was over and the incident was behind him. He glanced at Dial Jade, beside him. She whispered reassuringly, "This is just a lot of formality. If they seem a bit stiff to you, it's just that they always act carefully when there's any chance of a problem with the Guild."

"Will I be able to get a ship out of here when it's all over?"

She nodded. "Don't worry."

"What about Cephean? I think he might want to go home, but he hasn't told me."

"It would be good if you could talk that over with him," she said. "But he'll be taken care of as a rigger guest. It's possible the Spacing Authority will ask you to bring him to the hearings to be a liaison between human and cynthian worlds."

"I don't know if he'd go along with that. He doesn't even talk to
me
much anymore."

"If he doesn't want to, then that will be that," said Dial. She touched a switch to restore voice contact with the hearing room.

* * *

In the early parts of the hearing, he mostly listened. Later he spoke to the group on possible uncharted hazards along the Flux route which
Sedora
had followed, but he was unable to make a definitive statement. Since he was out of the net at the time of the accident, he simply did not know whether the Flux abscess had been an external feature of the Flux or an aberration in his crewmates' vision.

Between sessions, he saw Cephean and explained what had transpired. The cynthian blinked his eyes and said, "Hyiss? Ssso?" and turned back to his riff-bud cultures, from which he was growing a handful of tiny ferns.

"Well," said Carlyle, "they're probably going to reward us for bringing in the ship, by setting us up with some arrangement to fly wherever we want to go." He paused. "Cephean?"

The cynthian looked around. "Sssss?"

"Do you want to go home? To Syncleya?"

Cephean muttered darkly and turned away again.

"Do you want to speak to the panel? They've never met a cynthian before, and they'd like to talk with you." No answer.
"Cephean?"

The cynthian looked around slowly. "Hhh-no," he said.

"Well, what do you want to do?" said Carlyle. He was trying to be patient, but why was Cephean so sullen? Because he was alone on a human planet? "Do you want to keep flying with me, then?"

"Hhh-no," hissed Cephean.

Carlyle felt relief, but also guilt. Had Cephean said no because he felt unwanted? Did he
want
to feel wanted?

"Cephean—" he said. He wanted to say something soothing—or probing. "Are you all right? I mean, being away from your own people, being here with us, is that . . . hard?" He felt angry with himself for fumbling so, for being so awkward.

Cephean sat, staring at him with his copper-and-obsidian eyes. The riffmar were stirring about in the clutter behind Cephean, and one of them traipsed forward, dragging a syrup stalk. The stalk was wilted, but Cephean took it in his jaws and chewed it slowly.

Carlyle walked to the back of the room and peered into Cephean's wood-crate cache of food. "Hell," he said, "you're almost out of food." The Guild room steward had offered them provisions, but Cephean had refused; he probably was afraid of human food. But if his own supply was drying up, he might be suffering physically. Who knew what a cynthian's nutritional needs were? "Cephean, you're running out of food!"

Cephean's eyes dimmed with despair.

"Well, look. We can fix that; we can get you food. I know you don't trust our food, but if we do some shopping, we can probably come up with something like . . . odomilk . . . or your syrup stalk and whatever else you have. Do you want to go out with me and see what we can find?"

The cynthian blinked nervously. He inhaled and exhaled with a hiss, then fell silent. He started chewing his stalk again.

Carlyle looked around the room. The place was a mess, and despite good ventilation, it smelled. The cynthian did not use the human toilet but kept his wastes, rather sloppily at present, in a box which fed into the riffmar nutrient tray and the riff-bud culture tank. The floor was covered with little clots of black hair, and there were a few broken riffmar leaves lying about, suggesting that Cephean might have taken a few swipes at Idi and Odi. Obviously he was depressed, and possibly he was again becoming suicidal.

"Cephean," Carlyle said gently, "why don't we have this place cleaned up, and go out and see if we can find some food you'll like. All right?"

Again there was silence. Cephean seemed immobilized by fear. Is that it? Carlyle wondered. Fear? I can understand that—any rigger can. Some of us never go out into the outside world at all.

He reached out sympathetically to touch the cynthian—and stopped. How would that kind of gesture be taken by a cynthian? His hand trembled, and he felt ridiculous holding it out. Then he thought, go ahead—he's just a big, smart telepathic cat.

(
Irritation
, he sensed.)

Finally he reached all the way and touched Cephean's forehead and pushed his fingers into the long, black fur between the cynthian's ears. Cephean's eyes widened, and his copper irises dilated to bright, skinny rings of fire around black pupils. (Carlyle felt ripples of . . . what? . . .
consolation . . . affection . . . condescension
? He couldn't be sure.)

"We have to help each other out, Cephean. We'll just go out in the city to some food shops. No koryfs. No trouble. All right?" He was tempted to suggest that they work out their problems together in the RiggerGuild dreampool, but he quashed that thought immediately: He patted Cephean's smooth, muscular shoulder. "All right?"

Cephean bared his teeth and worked his tongue around inside his mouth. Finally he dipped his head. "H-all righ-ss. Yiss."

Carlyle sighed gratefully. His heart was pounding. "Do you want to bring Idi and Odi?"

Cephean tossed his head in the direction of the riffmar, mulling. "H-no. Thake khair hriff-ffudss," he hissed.

Carlyle peered at the two riffmar. They were fidgeting near the riff-bud cultures, taking care of the new "baby riffmar." Apparently they could manage without supervision. "Okay," he said.

They left by the main spaceport exit. Carlyle wore a magenta rigger tunic, which provided him with a measure of physical security but also made him feel self-conscious—wearing his rank, and implicitly demanding privilege. Cephean padded alongside, sniffing and staring about. He hissed in approval at the sight of ships arrayed on the spaceport field; but once they were in the general traffic, he began to mutter. Carlyle tried not to imagine that he was walking with a long-haired, panther-sized housecat.

The weather was sunny but cool, and Carlyle puffed up his windbreaker for greater insulation. They got on a shuttle which carried them two kilometers or so into the first shopping district of Plateau, where they got off and began prowling. There were no open markets with products visible from the street; here there were only small, closed-in shops. Carlyle went into the first one alone, since Cephean refused to cross the threshold. The store sold only synthetics, anyway, so he went back out. "Don't think so." he said. Cephean snuffled and hissed, and padded on.

The next shop looked more promising. "Hyou ssee," said Cephean indifferently, when Carlyle gestured toward the door. Again, Carlyle went to look.

The place was darker, cooler, and full of odors. He went back out. "Cephean, they have fresh-grown fruit and vegetables," he said. "Why don't you come in with me? There may be some things you'll like here."

Cephean sniffed.

"There are hardly any people in here now. It'll be all right."

Finally the cynthian followed him in. The air held dozens of smells, and Cephean sniffed and snorted suspiciously. "Come on toward the back," said Carlyle. The shopkeeper, at the rear, noticed them suddenly and came forward disapprovingly. "My friend is a sentient and a cynthian," Carlyle blurted defensively, trying to forestall any comment. He would have added that they were both under Rigger protection, but the shopkeeper had already noticed Carlyle's tunic and waved an unenthusiastic acknowledgment.

Carlyle looked over several open counters of produce and picked out a milk-bearing melon. He held it up for Cephean's examination. "How about this?" The cynthian's eyes glinted suspiciously. "Hmm." He put the melon back and picked up a yellow fruit. "How about this?" Cephean sniffed it, then took it in his jaws and bit deeply. "Yach!" he cried, spitting it out with a spray of saliva. "Whass sss iss?"

Carlyle picked it up from the floor where it had rolled and put it back in the bin where he had gotten it. He shrugged.

It occurred to him then that the thing to do was to have a whole assortment of foods sent to the spaceport and analyzed, and have a sample of Cephean's food analyzed, and see what came closest to matching. But they might as well try a few more items here. He showed Cephean the melon again, but the cynthian refused another trial bite. They went down the line, Carlyle holding each item for Cephean's inspection and the cynthian sniffing with disinterest. The floor creaked quietly as they moved, shuffling, toward the back. Finally Carlyle went to the counter and said, "I'd like two of everything, sent to us at the RiggerGuild Haven." The keeper looked at him skeptically but filled out the order and had Carlyle thumbprint it.