Dragon Rigger (13 page)

Jael touched his sleeve gently. "What did it do?"

"It—it talked to them. Didn't like what they were doing. Said they shouldn't mess with beings from outside the . . . realm. Because of that prophecy. The one I told you—the one you know. Except that no one believes me."

"I do."

He coughed and nodded, his chest rattling. "Anyway, that seemed to scare them somehow—spooked 'em good. So they let me go. Told me never to come dueling again, or the next time they
would
kill me. And I didn't—never went there again. Quit rigging pretty soon after that, too." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "
Damn
those dragons. But I just can't . . . It was such a
beautiful
place, it . . . haunts me. And the iff, the iffling—it looked like—a flame, or an angel, or something. It was just . . . wonderful . . . like some kind of miracle."

Jael nodded. "I know," she said huskily, remembering the shimmering being that had appeared, urging her to go to Highwing's aid. It had spoken to her one last time—after she had saved Highwing from burning to death in a sun, only to see him die in the Flux—reassuring her that she had not failed. A shiver went up her spine. She knew that her dragon-friend had died well, and she felt that his spirit lived on even now in some way she didn't understand; and yet she could not stop mourning his death.

"You met them, the ifflings," Kan-Kon said.

Jael nodded and took a breath, and told him the whole story—how she had met the dragon, and instead of dueling him, had given him her name. And how, in the end, he had befriended her and taken her to secret places and shown her things about herself that she had never known. And how she had returned later, with her new rigger-friend Ar and their parrot, Ed, only to find the realm a changed place, and Highwing a condemned dragon for what he had done. Kan-Kon sat silent and astounded beside her, as she described how she had saved Highwing from exile, then lost him again, gaining in the process the friendship of his sons.

"I guess," she said, "a lot was changing in the realm. I don't know
that
much about those prophecies, but it seemed as if they were starting to come true. All those beautiful places, wrecked by this . . .
Tar-skel.
" Her voice trembled with that name, the name of the one who had killed Highwing. "And when we left, there was going to be a terrible war—between those who were like Highwing and those who served . . . that other one. I've . . . been dreaming about it lately. At night, I mean."

Kan-Kon opened his mouth. He seemed to be staring at the trees across from the bench. The light from the farmsat made his forehead glisten beneath the strands of sweaty hair.

Jael peered up through the treetops at the dazzling satellite that turned this port city's night into twilight. Fifty kilometers to the west was the farm sector that was being lit almost as bright as day. "I hate those things," she muttered. "Why can't they let night be night? That's how the world's supposed to be. I don't see why they have to go and not let any of us have night here, just so they can grow a little more feed."

Kan-Kon squinted. "Their all-night tribarley makes good ale," he said.

Jael frowned back at him—seeing him again for the pitiful mess of a human being that he was. "Is that what made you . . . drink like this? You couldn't forget the dragons, so you just—"

He interrupted her with a fit of coughing. "Don't you—"
cough
"—don't you go—"
cough
"—lecturin' me about drinkin', young lady!" He sounded more drunk than ever before. "You try leavin' a dead shipmate in th' Flux, then losin' your whole damn career!"
Cough
. "You jus' try it an' see how good
your
life is!"

Jael sat back, suddenly ashamed of herself. Who was she to judge? "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Was he a good friend, your shipmate?" Kan-Kon grunted. "What was his name?"

Kan-Kon grunted again. "Hoddy."

"Hoddy," Jael repeated.

Kan-Kon nodded, "I sometimes wonder if he really . . . could still be alive there. Somewhere. I know it's crazy, but I can't help it."

Jael stared at him, then shrugged helplessly.

Kan-Kon sighed. "You were the one, then," he murmured.

"What?"

"The
One
. You were the one the prophecy talked about." Kan-Kon's gaze suddenly seemed very sober, probing her face. "You were, weren't you?"

Jael stared at him, unable to answer.

He pushed his cheek out with his tongue, nodding slowly. "That's all right. You don't have to say it. It's plain obvious. You and that dragon and everything you just told me." He sat back, crossing his arms. "Well, I'll be damned. I'll be
damned.
"

They sat without talking for a while. The crowd was dispersing noisily from the Green Tap, where chance had brought Jael and the ex-rigger together. Finally Jael murmured that it was time for her to return to her quarters. Kan-Kon raised his hand in farewell. "Where do you stay?" she asked.

Kan-Kon shrugged. "Here and there. Around."

She frowned. "Well, where can I find you?"

He grinned, showing teeth. "Why, right here," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "At the Tap. If you don't see me, just ask!"

Jael tried not to let her wince show. She tried to smile as she said, "Good night, then. I'll look for you here. Take care, Kan-Kon."

"Likewise, little lady." The former rigger gave a showy wave and walked away, stumbling only a little, in the opposite direction.

Jael breathed deeply and hurried through the late, eternal twilight back to the rigger dorms.

For the iffling-children, the knowledge of their purpose emerged gradually, filtering up through their consciousness like deep memories in time, memories far older than their own being. As they stretched out their undersenses to search the world that curved away before them, they knew, with an instinctive certainty, who it was they were searching for and what they were to say. They were to find the One, a human named Jael, and they were to call her to return with them. Their purpose in life, and the totality of their being, were dedicated to that task. If anything came between it and them, their own existence was secondary.

As they swept downward into the misty atmosphere of their destination, they noted other beings bobbing and darting in space just like them, moving as they moved, perhaps even following in their wake. But the iffling-children gave no thought to whether the beings might be friend or foe; the distinction never occurred to them. They focused all of their thought upon the faint but brightening glow before them, the underglow that stood out from all the spirit-presences on this world, the glow of the one called Jael. As they drew closer, the urgency of their mission buzzed ever louder in their souls, drowning out all else.

Dropping across space-time toward Jael, they were nearly close enough to call out. And that was when the beings that so resembled them abruptly reappeared, speeding into their paths like blazing sparks of fire. They had no time to think.

—
Veer away!
—

—
But they are like us
—

—
No!
—

The new beings swerved and flew at the iffling-children with a flaming fury that sent the ifflings reeling in shock and confusion.

What was happening?

—
Flee!
—

—
Find safety!
—

They flashed outward in retreat, circling to reunite. But one of them was slow—and it was taken from behind by something that swooped and hissed and collided with the iffling with a blaze of orange fire. As the two separated, the iffling-child cried out, once, then flickered and vanished into darkness. The others called out:

—
Come back!
—

—
Do not
—

—
leave us!
—

But it was gone. Stunned, the ifflings fled from their attackers, from the ones that looked like ifflings but were not. There were only four true-ifflings now. Bewildered, they flickered with sorrow and fear and mourning. They peered back at their goal, blocked from them by the cluster of false-ones.

—
Killers!
—

—
Killers!
—

—
Killers!
—

—
Do not let them close
—

—
Keep sight of the One
—

As they watched from afar, the false-ifflings seemed to forget them, turning instead to spiral inward toward the glow of the human, Jael. They too were seeking the One, then! And they were calling out to her now, calling in voices that made the true-children tremble with fear as they listened—not quite able to distinguish the words of their adversaries, but hearing in the undertexture of the voices the untruth that was in them.

The ifflings cried ahead to the human, their undervoices wailing. They tried to call to her from a safe distance, but they were too far away, and the false-ones had begun circling the One possessively. The human's glow pulsed, as if she felt the false-ones' presence with her undersense, but only dimly, perhaps not consciously. If she heard or recognized the true-ifflings' cry, she didn't answer. They had to do something—but what? One of them was gone, and their goal had been taken from them.The need was clear.

—
We must
—

—
Cannot retreat
—

—
Our duty
—

—
Our lives
—

They must risk everything to reach her, to fulfill their purpose. They must challenge the false-ones, silence their lies . . . perhaps even deny them life altogether.
Kill
them.
The iffling-children barely knew how to grasp the thought of killing. But they had just witnessed the extinguishing of one of their own, and it appeared that the same thing might have to happen to the false-ifflings.

The false-ones glowed hot and combative between them and the one called Jael. They surrounded Jael, their light and energy turned in toward her, their voices whispering lies and betrayal: "
Windrush . . . traitor to your work
 . . .
to your deeds . . . .
" The true-ones did not understand all of the words they heard, but they felt their rage grow. The enemies were a daunting force, but the ifflings were not to be deterred.

They spun about one another, gathering energy and determination, until their presence burned even hotter and whiter than the flames of the false-ones. They drew themselves together—and dove straight toward Jael.

* * *

Jael woke up rubbing her eyes. The soft amber light of the clock told her that it was the middle of the night. She heard a quiet snoring sound. It was Ed the parrot, asleep in the holographic stondai plant in the center of a tiny rainforest holo in the corner of the room. The whole display had been turned down for the night, and glowed just brightly enough to be visible.

What had awakened her? It was the damn nightmares. Dreams of dragons, dreams of pain and need. But why now, after so much time? It felt almost as if a voice were calling to her. She had dreamed often of the dragons since leaving their realm, and it had taken her a long time to accept that it was just her subconscious looking for excuses to return. But lately, a new and somehow different sort of dream had been tormenting her.

She blinked in the darkness, remembering the man she had met just hours ago at the bar. That conversation might explain tonight's dreams. But it didn't explain the past week of them: dreams of strange beings dancing in the air, calling out to her, dreams filled with whispers of heartbreaking betrayal, and helpless need.

The details of tonight's nightmare were already vanishing into the murk of forgetfulness. But she knew it had been more vivid, more violent than any before it—as if there were some kind of life-and-death struggle going on around her, and yet not around her at all. It was extremely disturbing. Worse, it had felt real to her in a way that no ordinary dream ever did.

She lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling, glowing faintly in the light of the holotrees. A dream, real? She knew better than to dismiss the possibility.

Some would have said that she plied her trade in a dreamland—and in a sense that was true. The Flux that carried rigger-ships among the stars was a realm in which real topographies were mapped and given form by the imagination of the rigger-pilot. It was dream and reality, woven inseparably into one. But it was different from the dream of sleep; the rigger-dream had real form, and the power to physically transport its bearer, and the power to kill.

The nightmare from which she had just awakened had felt more like a stirring of the Flux than a construct of the subconscious. It had felt like something with the power of reality. But . . . she was not in the Flux. She was in a dorm room. Without the rigger-net of the starship, there was no way for the dream-images of the Flux to become real.

So it was just a bad dream, after all.

She stared up into the gloom of the dorm room that for the past eleven weeks had been her home. She listened to Ed's soft breathing and thought that in a way, Ed was just a dream, too; and yet, in another way, he was real as her hand in front of her face.

If only she had someone else to talk to about it! If only Ar were here! But Ar wouldn't be back for another week at best, if his flight stayed on schedule. She almost wished she hadn't remained here on Cargeeling while he'd accompanied another rigger to Benree, Vela Oasis, and back. But Ar had been restless to fly, and their employer, Mariella Flaire, had required someone she could trust to make the trip. Jael had wanted some time off—from flying, and even from Ar. In two years they had logged thousands of hours together in the net; and while it had been vastly rewarding, and she prized their friendship, they'd reached a point of needing a vacation from each other. But now she missed him terribly.

Of course, if she hadn't stayed behind, she would never have met that strange and interesting man Kan-Kon. She was burning to tell Ar about him.

She sighed deeply, desiring sleep most of all. She gazed past the foot of her bed at the faintly glowing stondai, the holographic parrot perched motionless in one of its lower branches. The bird's breathing was soothing, and Jael thought that what she ought to do was follow Ed's example. She nodded to herself and closed her eyes.