The Crystal Variation (95 page)

The other woman bowed. “Gambler, if you will, Captain, or runner-with-luck.”

Rool Tiazan stirred; the woman’s cool gaze touched him.

“No need, Elder Brother,” she said. “We had known you were here and that others gather.”

Cantra looked between the two of them. “You’re counting this one as kin?” she asked the gambler.

“Soon enough, after we pass through that which comes.”

“If,” Rool Tiazan said, “we indeed emerge, which has not been Seen.”

The gambler laughed. “Tush, O Mighty Tiazan! We who are at the mercy of the lines and the matrices, and most likely to be bruised by those winds which bear you high—we sight low, and see—somewhat. On this side of the event which your cleverness has shaped, we see strife, death, loneliness—and soon. Very soon.”

“And after?” the
dramliza
persisted. “What do your small arts show you on the other side, Young Sister?”

The gambler smiled. “Why, strife, in some measure—but also life, and opportunity.”

Rool Tiazan bowed, and folded his hands.

The gambler looked back to Cantra. “Captain, the Solcintrans will renounce us, for we embody that which they most fear. Elsewhere, we have learned to remain hidden, for the groundlings say we are dangerous, and perversions; they call us
sheriekas
-spawn and they kill us out of hand.”

“And are you?” Cantra asked her, seeing dragons dancing at the back of her head, tasting mint along the edge of her tongue. “
Sheriekas
-spawn?”

“Captain, our talents are perhaps born of those forces which the
sheriekas
and the
dramliza
manipulate with such easy contempt—I have heard it argued thus. But we ourselves are human. Ask the Mighty Tiazan’s lady if this is not so.”

“She speaks sooth,” Rool Tiazan said, in that voice which was not his own. “They are what we shall become, formed in a far different forge.”

The gambler smiled, and leaned forward slightly, one hand out, fingers curled.

“Captain, I have with me healers, true-dreamers, seers, finders, hunch-makers, green-thumbs, teachers—treasure beyond counting for the days beyond. Grant us passage, and you may call upon us for any service, so long as Jela’s tree survives to bind us.”

The dragons in her head danced faster, and she’d swear she smelled salt on the air . . . She rubbed her eyes and looked to where the boy—the head of her clan’s subordinate line, and her co-pilot, she reminded herself forcefully—to where Tor An yos’Galan stood at watch, quiet and alert.

“Call it.”

He bowed.

“It is plain. The Founder did give his oath to work in the best interests of life, therefore we, his heirs, are bound by that same oath. And the tree, as we can see, is in favor of the petition.”

Pay your debts, baby . . .

Cantra nodded.

“I agree.” She turned back to the gambler. “You and yours’ll need to travel asleep, same as most of the passengers; and give up your weapons to the armory-master, to be returned when we find safe port.”

“Agreed,” the other woman answered, and behind her there was a visible relaxing ‘mong her mates.

“Right, then. Pilot yos’Galan here’ll escort you, first to the armory, then to the sleep-rooms. He’ll stand between you and hurt, if it’s offered, and you’ll accept his protection and his judgment.”

“Agreed,” the gambler answered once more, and bowed, as cocky and exuberant as if she was going for a stroll down the street.

“Pilot yos’Galan, lead on! We place ourselves wholly into your hands!”

Thirty-Three

THIRTY-THREE

Spiral Dance

Solcintra

DANCER
WOKE,
opened eyes and ears, and commenced to pull down data. The main-brain opened a window on the second screen, displaying a list of self-checks completed, and the nav-brain launched a preliminary query to the pilot for lift-times and destination strings.

The pilot—the pilot sat, eyes closed, in her chair, listening to the sounds of her ship. Sitting there, fingers hooked ‘round the arm rests so they wouldn’t shake so much—sitting there, she supposed she’d been a trial and a bother more often than a comfort and true comrade in the years they’d been together, with Garen, and then just each other. But the ship—the ship had never stinted in its care of her, not since the day Garen brought her aboard, out of her head with the pain of dying.

“Never stinted.” She repeated the thought, hearing the echo of her voice come comforting and right off the familiar walls.

Despite
Dancer
could’ve called out to the Enemy twelve dozen times or more and brought destruction and worse down on them—she’d never done that. And as Cantra knew, deep down and personal, it was those things you didn’t do, maybe more than those you did, that counted out a true comrade and friend.

A tickle at the back of her mind, and then a picture, forming slow and not so ept—and suddenly there was Jela, his face grimy and sweaty, back and shoulder muscles rigid with strain, as he struggled to lift and cut, the sending so clear she could swear she heard him breathing . . .

“That’s right,” she whispered. “You remember him just as long as you can. He’d want that, so he would.”

The comm sounded and she bent forward, her finger finding the right switch without a fumble.

“
Spiral Dance
.”

“Captain,” said the deep rumble that was Y. Vachik, uncharacteristically subdued. “We’re on the count, here.”

Right. They were all on the count, now, weren’t they?

“Keep ‘er ready, Pilot,” she said into the comm. “I’ll be there directly.”

She flicked the switch and opened her eyes, fingers already inputting lift and course. The nav-brain—she gave it leave to do anything it liked in the service of fulfilling those coordinates, and called up the wounded-pilot protocol. A flick of her finger set the timer—not giving herself a lot of room to tarry—and she was up out of the chair. Once the protocols engaged,
Dancer
was on her own, until the pilot took over again.

Or forever, whichever came first.

One more thing before she left—a touch of finger to fragile leaf, and a quick test to make sure the dirt-filled box gray-taped to the co-pilot’s board was firm.

From the barely sprouted pod came a hopeful vision of dragons, and the scent of sea air.

“You’ll do fine,” she told it, and cleared her throat. “Jela’d be proud.”

Then she was gone, running, as the timer counted down to lift-off.

* * *

TRUE TO HIS ORDERS,
Vachik had kept the shuttle ready. Cantra hit first chair hard, yanked the webbing tight and gave the shuttle its office, the whiles counting off at the back of her head, and with a quarter-eye on the aux screen—six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

Dancer
was up, rising hard through the busy air, and paying not the least attention to squawks from traffic control.

She was busy then, weaving a course through the mess and tangle, filling all of Solcintra’s air space. Everything that could hold air was up, and the sorts of pilots who might be sitting those boards didn’t bear thinking on . . .

“Fools and cretins!” Vachik spat, as she dodged them through a particularly tricksy knot-up, then pushed hard on the rockets.

Cantra stole a look at the aux screen—
Dancer
was deep in the worst of the mess . . .

“Message from
Springbane
, Captain,” Vachik said. “They give us . . . almost ample time. Your screen two.”

She looked and smiled grimly. “A challenge, would you say, Pilot?”

Vachik’s answering grin was a frightening thing to behold. “Indeed, Captain. Shall we school them?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

It was the board then, and the ship she was flying, and no time for sneak-looks at her life-that-was leaving her behind, nor even for the fading flickers of dragons, dancing on the shore of a sea long dead and dust.

“Long orbit on that ship, Captain,” Vachik said quietly some while later. “Looks good—and it’s well outside the crowd, now.”

She sighed. “Thank you,” she said and shot him a look. “Sure you won’t come with us?”

“To receive such an offer from such a captain,” he answered, formal and not at all Vachik-like, “is an honor which I will long recall. The commander, however, has given Jela’s Troop a special unit designation, and it is there I would serve.”

“Right,” she said, and gave him a nod. “Looks like we’re gonna beat
Springbane’s
time, Pilot. Best get your kit together.”

“I have everything I need, Captain, thank you.”

She nosed the shuttle in and Vachik was out of the chair as soon as the docking light went to blue.

“Captain.” He saluted and was gone.

She dumped out just as soon as the connect tube was clear, seconds ahead of the time
Springbane
had given her to dock, and extended a hand to kill the aux screen.

She found
Quick Passage
in her screens, did the math in her head and set the course.

At the far back of her head, dragons danced, insubstantial as hope.

Thirty-Four

THIRTY-FOUR

Quick Passage

Departing Solcintra

NOW, WHO’D’VE EXPECTED
we’d be leading a parade
? Cantra thought, scanning her screens and carefully not sighing.

In her head, the golden dragon glided easy on half-furled wings, beside her the jewel-colored dragonet which the tree had settled on as its version of her co-pilot. Behind them rose dragons of all color and description, old, young, halt and hale. Some few emulated the effortless grace shown by the leaders, others were already laboring hard. Beyond the general chaos loomed a long, disciplined line of black dragons, wings steady, eyes baleful, teeth at ready—Wellik’s rear-guard, that would be.

Back in real-time, the tower was crowded, not only because the pilots were presently enjoying the company of Liad dea’Syl, Lucky the cat, and Rool Tiazan, but with the sound of pilot voices.

Tor An played the local comm board like it was a musical instrument, pulling talk, catching chat large and small:

“
Quanta Plus
, have you even refribbed that thing in twenty years? But in case it helps, you’ve got to watch your starboard beacons, ‘cause they’re some out of synch!”

“Oughtn’t be doing that. We just had it shopped to your home field—that is if that’s I’ve got
Clary Bee
talking to me.”

“
Clary Bee’s
here, I’m to port, actually. That’s cousin Trisky talked about your synch, but it don’t look like his’re all that pretty, either. Port visuals fine, and signal strength right top.”

“Trisky, tell your field man he’ll owe me a day check if you see him.”

“Last I saw, he was mounting somebody a new deflector union. Ought to be out here somewhere . . .”

“
Chrono
, watch the drift, we got a crowd in a hurry comin’ from behind . . .”

“You got it, Mom. We’re set to spin to port and add some vee on a six count, if you’ll scoot . . .”

“Ain’t never seen so many holiday pilots in one place and if any of us get out of here without a hole in the hull . . .”

“Always an optimist, ain’t you, Bondy?”

“What’s that thing beside you, Rinder? Only got four beacons I can scan.”

“Uncle, that’s my guess.”

“Right. Well, Rinder, you’re safe on that side . . .”

“But low on company . . .”

Laughter from a bunch of ships on that, and the channels changed again.

The chatter seemed to soothe the boy, and, truth told, it eased her, too, knowing they weren’t traveling alone toward who-knew-what.

“Status report,” Tor An murmured. “All ship systems blue; passenger bays secure, systems blue; cargo pods show balance within tolerance, systems blue.”

“We’re ready to go,” Cantra answered. “If we knew when or where to.”

“No taste for mystery, Lady?” Rool Tiazan asked lightly from his lean against the back-up comm station.

“Not where my ship’s at risk, no,” she told him shortly, and spared him an over-the-shoulder glare. “Speaking of, you’ll be wanting to strap in. I won’t have you bouncing about this tower, if transition goes as hard as it’s like to, and putting the pilots at risk.”

He inclined his head ironically. “Your tender care for my well-being is noted and appreciated.”

“Appreciate it all you want, but
strap in
.”

“Translation wave!” Tor An snapped, and— “Another!”

Cantra reached to the board, ready to hold her steady—which was small-ship reactions. The tiny disruptions generated by those three transitions weren’t enough to jostle
Quick Passage
, even if they all hit at once.

“Wonder where they’re thinking on going . . .” she murmured, fingers simultaneously making the request of the tracking system.

“First was for The Bubble, looks like, second—”

“Incoming!” Tor An called.

“That didn’t take long,” someone sang across the bands. “What happened, forget your lunch?”

“The Bubble’s gone,” came the terse reply. “Ship won’t swallow the coords.”

She sent a glance down-board, that being the kind of news that might not set well with second chair. Besides his lips being pressed a little tighter than usual, he read calm and collected to her. Good boy.

“Incoming,” he said again—and this time the news was that Nolatine was gone.

“They should conserve energy,” Liad dea’Syl said quietly. “Our good friend Lucky has the right of it, I think. Rest now, for we shall surely need the fullness of our resources on the far side of the event.”

A quick glance showed the cat stretched out on his back across the old man’s lap, thoroughly asleep with his paws in the air. She grinned and turned back to her board. The dragon parade in her head was fading, as if the tree had decided to take the cat’s advice, too. Which was fine by her; she didn’t want to be distracted by pretty pictures during what was likely to come next.

“Number three must’ve got where they were going,” she said to her co-pilot.

“Else they were captured by the leading edge and unmade,” Rool Tiazan murmured, and Cantra sighed.