Star Rigger's Way Read Online Free

consciousness. Recollections filtered into place. He had awakened on the bridge, exhausted—years ago, it seemed—had stumbled to his cabin and bunk. He had slept—how long?—a full shipday. Jesus. There had been memories, dreams—the quarm , whatever that was. He had picked up more from Cephean than he had realized.
    And flying, earlier—lord, flying as four people, he must have been trying to kill himself. Small wonder he had slept solidly for a day.
    Rousing himself, he went to the commons. Hunger soon made him feel awake, and he ate ravenously, a meal of sea-tarns and warmloaf. Scarcely another thought went through his mind until he had finished. Afterwards, he fixed a mug of hermit brew and sat and collected himself, knowing that he ought to be looking for Cephean.
    But he was rather comfortable, basking in the ochre morning glow of the commons, and instead of getting up right away, he put his feet up and thought. As he sipped the brew, memory-faces rejoined him. Skan led the conference, shaking his head: "No flow, Gev. You've got to bring that cat right into the rigging—wring him out, make him work."
    "Thanks, Skan. Care to help?"
    Skan, smiling broadly: "I have, Gev."
    Janofer, flowing and concerned: "Perhaps you should think of using the dreampool, Gev. Or, if you must, go the whole way alone."
    The dreampool—assisted intimacy. Not for nothing had he kept it out of his mind. It terrified him, even with another human. "Just like the old days? That's not much help, Jan. That's how you've always spoken to me."
    "I've tried, Gev—you know that. But there was always something that wouldn't connect between us."
    "How many times did you try? Twice? Three times?"
    "Which nearly broke me. It wouldn't work, Gev—it just wouldn't."
    "Hm."
    "You're coming up on the Flume, Gev. Don't be thinking about us. We'll help when we can, but if you depend on us you'll burn yourself out."
    Skan: "The cat—you have to get the cat working with you or you'll never make it."
    "He seemed to be trying, last time. But God knows what he was doing. He acts suicidal."
    Legroeder, from somewhere, looked up and nodded, but distractedly, as if his real thoughts were elsewhere. Janofer, whispering, drew close and brushed him with a kiss, and then withdrew, her voice a fading note on the air. He was alone again.
    He drained his mug and left the commons, thinking to find Cephean and—what? Okay, it was time to act like a commander and start kicking ass.
    Right.
    But Cephean was not in his quarters. Carlyle stood in the corridor under one of the humming, brushed-bronze stabilizer arches. Fretful, and feeling a little silly, he considered where to look next. Well, what might Cephean have been doing while he slept away the last day? Unsupervised, almost anything.
    The bridge was deserted. Likewise the communications coop. He went back down the ramp, worried now, and began a systematic search: dreampool theater and exercise room, then the lower deck and utility storage, lifecontrol, airlock, and conversion room. In the central part of the deck was the prep room leading to the fluxfield chamber. Lots of bad memories there. He checked without entering the chamber; the suits were all in place, and the monitors were steady, indicating that the pile shields had not been breached.
    No Cephean.
    That left only the cargo holds, accessible from the next lower deck; the primary holds were grouped in a broad oval around the bulk of the flux-chamber. Carlyle actually was not even certain what Sedora carried, but it was likely to be costly merchandise. Not that it mattered much, at this point; nevertheless, he hurried below.
    The corridor was eerily silent, and he found himself moving stealthily, peering through each sealed cargo port like a thief. He came to number three port and cursed. "Damn you, Cephean!" The port was retracted, and a tattered bit of something lay on the deck: a broken riffmar leaf. Carlyle stepped quietly inside. The hold was gloomy, and