Jael blinked, momentarily baffled. Weapon? Then she remembered - when she'd hit Mogurn with the wrench, something had dropped out of his hand as he'd gone down. She nodded, biting her lip. "I see.

Yes."

Commander Gordache looked back at his notes. "It was a narcotic gun, actually, loaded with a rather nasty coercive. You're lucky to have avoided it, I'd say."

Jael's vision darkened as she remembered the struggle. She felt her hands, her fingertips twitching as they began to re-fight the battle with Mogurn. A coercive. To make me docile for the rape? d.a.m.n him forever ...

Gordache looked at her oddly. "However, there is something else here, based on our interview yesterday. There is a notation from the mind-probe operator - you knew you were under mind-probe, didn't you? - to the effect that you appeared to be concealing something in the matter of your disagreement with Captain Mogurn over the navigational decisions,"

Jael exhaled slowly, fearfully."There is no indication of falsehood in your testimony, just that there's something you weren't saying."

Gordache's eyebrow went up. "Would you like to tell me what that was?"

Jael closed her eyes, feeling her heart thump. How could she tell him? Would this policeman believe that she'd been befriended by a dragon in the Flux? It would sound preposterous. On the other hand, the legends of dragons were no secret, even if no one believed in them. "It's ... hard to explain," she muttered.

"Why is that, Ms. LeBrae?"

She took a deep breath, and expelled it forcefully. "Dragons," she said, raising her eyes to meet Gordache's. "We argued over dragons along the route."

The policeman scratched behind one ear. "Dragons?"

"You know the stories, don't you? Everyone does. You know, talk of dragons along the mountain route in that direction, and of riggers dueling with them and all."

"I've heard the stories, yes."

"Well - " Jael took another breath " - the mountain route seemed better to me, as I was rigging, and so I went that way, and ..."

"And what?"

She glanced for an instant at the female officer, who seemed to be listening with the blankest expression possible. "And, well ... we encountered dragons."

Gordache's expression narrowed. "You mean that you encountered manifestations in the Flux which seemed, to you, to be images of dragons?"

Jael hesitated. Was it worth arguing to the police that the dragons were real, that they were living creatures? Would the police believe her? Would they care? Did it matter? They weren't riggers. She sighed and nodded slowly. Let him call them manifestations. It was simpler that way.

"I see." Gordache frowned. "And was there dueling?"

Jael shrugged noncommittally.

"Well, did these dragon images endanger your ship, or the safety of your pa.s.sage?"

"For a time, there was some ... uncertainty."

"And then?"

Jael cleared her throat. "In the end, no. There was no danger to the ship."

"So you dealt with the images without mishap," Gordache said. Jael nodded. "But what was Captain Mogurn's reaction to this?"

"He was angry. Very angry." Her face grew hot. "And that's when he tried to force me - to take the - pallisp."

"Yes. Your statement on that is clear enough." Gordache's eyebrows formed a furrow in his forehead.

He looked at the woman officer for a moment, then sighed. "Well, there's nothing more we need to askyou right now, I guess. Do you understand what the situation is?"

Jael hesitated. "Not really. Will I be allowed to leave? Will my contract be settled?"

Gordache shook his head. "Not quite yet, I'm afraid. You'll have to stay here at the port until the investigation is complete. But it does look as though you ought to be cleared of charges. Your contract might take a little longer to settle."

Jael nodded slowly, keeping her face impa.s.sive.

"You don't seem especially overjoyed."

She sighed. "It's ... been a hard trip. I was sort of hoping that it would all be over."

"Of course. Understandably so." Gordache looked back down at his report. "Well, I think we can let you move over to the riggers' halls. But you must remain within the port area, and keep yourself available for questioning. Fair enough?"

Jael drew herself up straighter in her chair. "What about collecting my pay? I can't very well get it from ... Captain Mogurn, now. I guess."

"That would be difficult," Gordache agreed. "Actually, you have put your finger on a particular difficulty."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that the disposition of the ship and its cargo could take some time. We have to determine the ownership of the vessel. Eventually, the legal portion of the cargo could be sold, and you - along with the tow company - would be compensated from the proceeds. But until then, I'm afraid there's just no way for you to be paid - even a.s.suming that your contract is ruled valid."

"Ruled valid?" Jael looked from one officer to the other in panic. "What's to be ruled? We had a contract. Even if he went crazy and tried to - " Her voice choked off. "Even if he went crazy," she said carefully, "we still had a contract."

"Of course. From your point of view. But there are legal problems in executing an interrupted contract.

Even when the cause of the breach is the death of one party, or - " he shrugged " - alleged felony. It will take time."

"Time?Time? And what am I supposed to do? I don't have any money!"

He gestured helplessly. "I understand your difficulty. Unfortunately, the law is the law. But it might be that we can make some arrangement for credit to be extended to you at the rigger quarters. Annie, can you look into that for her?"

The woman officer nodded.

"That's it?" Jael asked in disbelief. "That's all you're going to do?"

Gordache rose. "That's all we can do. I'm sorry. Annie, if you could take her now and a.s.sist in the arrangements...."

In her new quarters, in the cheapest private room available in the local rigger hall, Jael lay on her bunk in a state of nervous exhaustion and called to Highwing.Friend of Highwing! I am a friend of Highwing!

In her thoughts, she cried out again and again. But there was no answer, and of course there could be none. Highwing's realm was light-years from here, and who knew when, if ever, she would fly that wayagain.

Nevertheless, I am a friend of Highwing, she thought, closing her eyes. Perhaps he can't reach me; perhaps he can't help. But if there were a way, he would. I know that. I must remember that.

I must believe it.

In truth, it was becoming harder now to summon, at will, the memory of the dragon, harder to bring his image clearly to mind. The experience was already losing some of its immediacy; it seemed worlds away, like a vivid dream, receding and fading against the curtain of pa.s.sing time. Had she erred in not telling the police more about Highwing? It seemed clear that she would not have been taken seriously. Even she, before this flight, would not have believed it. And yet ... it was a story that she needed to tellsomeone - to share the truth, the reality, the vision - if only to make it clearer and more tangible to herself. I won't lose you, Highwing! she vowed.

Reaching into her pocket, she drew out the chain that Dap had given her on the day of her departure.

She'd found it in her duffel, where she'd dropped it when she'd packed and then forgotten about it. She held it up to the light and peered at the pastel rays diffusing through the stone pendant. She wondered at Dap's thought in giving it to her, wondered where Dap was now. Flying, perhaps. Or was he still on Gaston's Landing, trying to conquer his own fears, trying to bolster his inner confidence and resolve to match his outward display?Dap, I'm sorry ... that I didn't know. That I didn't accept your apology.

That you're almost as frightened as I am . She coiled the chain around her finger, and let it unwind to dangle again. There was no way to tell him, no way to make it up to him, unless he happened this way, or they met again in some other rigger port. But what were the chances of that?

She had to face the fact that she was alone now, more alone than ever before. If she was to have any companionship here, she would have to find it herself.

You must seek friends in your own world,Highwing had said.

But what did Highwing know of human society, of rigger society?

What doI know of it?

She awoke with a scream caught in her throat, unable to get air. There had been hands around her throat, trying to squeeze the life from her, hands that were torn from her by a light that her eyes could not see, a light that could not exist.

She gasped, trying to push the memory away. She rose up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes, rea.s.sured by the dull yellowish glow of the room light; rea.s.sured by the solidity of the bunk. She sank back, trembling.

How much longer? she thought with despair. How much longer would she keep reliving the horror?

Finally she rose and went into the shower - a real water shower, not a swirl-mist - and she stood with steaming water pouring onto her head and running down her neck and shoulders, and she finally felt her tension release enough to let her tears flow and mix with the shower water, until the fear was washed away at last.

Fifteen.

Environment Alpha.

In the morning Jael was surprised to discover that she had slept through the night without awakeningagain. She stood in the center of her room, stretching and bending until she felt limber; then she dressed in her last clean change of clothes and ventured out.

The rigger halls were situated at the edge of the s.p.a.ceport complex. They were divided into sections for male and female humans, couples, and nonhumans, but the sections all joined in the bas.e.m.e.nt level where the dining and entertainment facilities were located. The dining hall was uncrowded. She overheard, standing in line for breakfast, that traffic in the port was slow this time of year, due to seasonal fluctuations in agricultural exports. She was a little dismayed to learn that, as she'd thought of Lexis as a busy trading port compared to the backwater of Gaston's Landing. It was discouraging to think that work might be scarce here, as well. Of course, she was here to stay until the police were through with her, anyway. And she wasn't sure how ready she was to take to the Flux with the memory of Mogurn so vivid in her mind.

Eating among the other riggers, she felt self-conscious, wondering if anyone had yet heard of the circ.u.mstances of her arrival ... wondering if people were talking behind her back. If so, they were doing it discreetly. She tried not to imagine what they might be saying.

Breakfast was a sort of fried bread made from the folded leaves of a native plant, with a side dish ofhili, a local fruit. A sign was posted warning of possible allergic reactions to the fruit. Great, she thought. She eyed a small orangish red segment and broke its skin carefully with one tine of her fork. Frowning, she brought the fork to her mouth and took a single drop of juice onto her tongue. It had a faintly limy, sour-sweet taste. A moment later, the roof of her mouth began to itch. Cursing, she drank some tea. That only made the itching worse. She sucked and scratched at the roof of her mouth with her tongue; then her eyes began to tear up. As she got up in hopes of finding a gla.s.s of water to drink, the itching suddenly stopped.

Sighing, she sat again and dabbed her eyes dry, glancing around self-consciously to see if anyone else was having the same trouble. Apparently, no one was. She pushed the fruit away, wiped her fork, and cautiously finished her bread dish, which was filling, if a bit greasy. She drained her cup of tea, dumped her tray, and went out for a walk.

There were a couple of lounges and a library in the bas.e.m.e.nt level, all depressingly similar to their counterparts on Gaston's Landing. Somehow she'd hoped for something more exotic. She walked upstairs to the first floor and ventured outside - into an icy blast of wind. She jumped back inside, shivering and hugging herself. The air outside had been shirtsleeve temperature yesterday!

Shaking off the chill, she found a first-floor sitting room with windows that overlooked the s.p.a.ceport. She paced from window to window, peering out at the snow-covered mountains and wondering why it was so cold here, near the Lexis equator. It seemed a strange climate; she wondered if there were unusual atmospheric patterns or ocean currents on this world. She thought of how much there was to learn of all the individual worlds she might visit in a lifetime of rigging. She wondered if she would have time to get to know this world at all - or if she would ever get to leave it.

The mountains looked like dragon country. She shivered, thinking of Highwing. Was it possible that anyone here, where the source of the "myth" was close to home, actually believed in dragons? Or were they relegated to the status of notations on ancient seafaring charts:HERE BE DRAGONS! She wished she could ask around, among the riggers in the port."Excuse me, but have you ever seen dragons on the mountain approach - real dragons, I mean?" No, that wouldn't do. But possibly the library would offer some answers.

She went back downstairs to the library and found herself a nav-source terminal. Keying in a query for the galactic-southern approach to Lexis, she found a description not greatly different from the one she'dstudied back on Gaston's Landing: Flux imagery tending toward mountain landscapes. Occasional anecdotal references to encounters with dragon-like images probably indicates more about a.s.sociational patterns in the referent riggers' imaginations than about actual features in the Flux. Pattern-cues may exist in the Flux currents to trigger such images. For this reason, many shippers prefer to avoid that portion of the route identified with mountain imagery. However, folktales of riggers dueling with actual creatures in the Flux are no more than that: folktales. No evidence exists to confirm such reports.

It went on for a while about other navigational features. At the end of the entry, she found a cross-reference sidebar.

Dragonlike images: For further detail on the phenomenon of dragons as perceived living features in the Flux, key to entry: FLUX: ILLUSIONS: EXTANT LIFE: DRAGONS.

Jael frowned, then touched the reference. What she found was a discussion of dragons, whales, ghost ships, and other manifestations of imagination in the Flux which riggers, at one time or another, had attributed to objectively real ent.i.ties. The conclusion was firm: Scientific data does not support the a.s.sertion that anything - except a rigger's thoughts, projected through a sensory net - can live in the Flux. Beliefs to the contrary probably derive from tales gathered during the confusing times of transition betweenforeshorteningstar travel and starship rigging. During that period, stories abounded of visions and "curious folk"

emerging from the spatial discontinuities that provided the first window into the Flux continuum. (See FLUX: DISCOVERY OF: PANGLOR BALEF.) However, historical evidence fails to support such reports.

Jael blanked the screen and sat back. There was nothing unexpected in what she'd just read. But the experience of real riggers mattered more to her than anything written in the library. In any case, the question remained: How could she share her experience with someone who might listen? Maybe she couldn't, and shouldn't. She certainly had enough troubles already without drawing that kind of attention to herself. Maybe the best thing to do was just to forget about it for a while.

She thought of Highwing, and a deep ache arose in her heart. Forget that? Forget Highwing and what he had shown her? She couldn't, even if she wanted to - not with the painful, knotted memories he had begun unraveling in her mind. Too much was churning inside her to pretend it hadn't happened. And yet, even so, the memory of her encounter with Highwing was starting to, not exactly fade, but to lose some of its power. She was terrified at the thought of losing that memory; she was determined to keep it strong.

Finally, restless and unsatisfied, she left the library. At least there were people in the lounges, and activity.

Though she didn't really feel like talking to anyone, there was a certain comfort in the presence of other human beings, none of whom were being actively hostile to her. There was a certain pleasure in knowing that she had no prior history here; her father's name was much less likely to be known, or if it was known, it was probably remembered as just one more marginal, unregistered shipper among many.

Lexis, presumably, had its own roster of most-unfavored shippers. There was no guarantee, of course - riggers traveled to many worlds - but at least she no longer automatically bore the curse of being her father's daughter in a place where her father was hated.

She sighed bitterly, thinking of him, and of what Highwing seemed to have wanted her to do - to let go.

To forgive. But it was her father who was responsible for the discrimination she'd suffered back onGaston's Landing. Was it possible that some of that had existed only in her mind? Had she a.s.sumed that people wouldn't like her before they had a chance to decide for themselves? Possibly. But she remembered, too, the jobs for which the stewards had pa.s.sed her over. That hadn't just been in her mind.

Taking a seat in the darkest of the lounges, she tried to think it through. Her hands began to tremble, and she realized, as she sat in the darkness, that she was nervous because there was something else she wanted right now, and it had nothing to do with her home planet, or her father. And it had nothing to do with dragons. That something was the pallisp ...

...which you are not going to think about anymore!

Not think about it? Not think about the incredible warmth, the soothing energy, the rush of sensory pleasure, the ... STOP IT! That was about as likely as not thinking about Mogurn again: his hands on her throat, the coiling mists of the Flux tearing him away ...

Shuddering, she rose and began pacing. There had to be some way to stop the endless thought. She paced out in the hallway, heedless of the occasional puzzled glance; and she paced back into the lounge and frowned over the various holotronic and psychetronic diversions. She'd never paid too much attention to this stuff even on Gaston's Landing. She paced from I/O station to I/O station, squinting at the consoles. Some consisted merely of a headset and a few controls, and some were full-screen displays for gaming and educational resources. She watched one incredibly tall, willowy, young man with the whitest skin she had ever seen, poring over a game board. For a moment she considered speaking to him to ask what he was doing; but when he looked up at her, she blushed at the sight of his eyes, which were masked like a racc.o.o.n's, but with large purple stars. She turned away.

In the gloomiest corner of the room (Why did so many riggers like dark rooms? she wondered), there was an I/O mounted on a reclining chair. She slipped into the chair and pulled the I/O closer for a look. It was labeledEnvironment Alpha and consisted of a blinded helmet with temple-contacts and a simple handheld squeeze control. As she fiddled with the devices, she noticed someone watching her from several seats away. It was the same young man - or rather, if she had guessed correctly, Clendornan - whom she had seen in the dining hall yesterday. She recognized the almost wedge-shaped head, flat on top, and the angular brow turned toward her in the gloom. His presence, watching her, was unsettling.

You will find others, she remembered Highwing saying. That seemed a very long time ago now.

The Clendornan's eyes shifted, seemed to sparkle almost luminously, as though he were sensing her attention and returning it. She flushed with embarra.s.sment. She glanced down at the I/O with its controls and helmet. Impulsively she placed the helmet over her head and adjusted its contacts against her temples. She took a deep breath and squeezed the hand control.

Her external vision was gone, but against the blackness she saw a glimmer of blue radiance, which warmed and became an enveloping mauve. She felt a gentle sense, not exactly a sound, of lapping waves. Even in her present state, she found it soothing, calming. As her mind relaxed, something became visible in the distance, slowly drawing into focus. Shapes. Words. She somehow realized that she needed to breathe slowly, to deepen her state of relaxation, to bring them into focus. As she did so, they became clear, floating in holo-s.p.a.ce before her, a series of French-curved solids which framed the three-dimensional words: ENVIRONMENTS ALPHA.

1. BURNISHED MESAS2. MOUNTAIN VISTAS.

3. TROPICAL RAINFOREST.

4. GLACIER BAY.

A moment later, a line of instructions appeared: TO EXPERIENCE AN ENVIRONMENT, FOCUS ON ITS NAME AND SQUEEZE.

SQUEEZE AGAIN TO EXIT.