Crystal Heat

day 41

When much of the stiffness from the blackout had worn off, she reached for one of the spider minds, looked through the compound eyes at the bug it was sucking, dry. And sighed. So what if she could play with bugs? Where did that get her? Her melancholy lightened briefly as she visioned roaches dancing over the sensor board, but that was not practical…

A flood of sudden thoughts overloaded the still laboring pathways of her awareness and for a moment all she knew was chaos.

When she could think again, she picked out the idea that sparked the deluge, shaped it into a small neat statement and contemplated it. If my mindride talent escaped the lock, maybe other talents are also available to me.

The translator was useless, but her ability to mind-move small objects close to her (close being within reach of her arms) seemed to offer interesting possibilities. Digby didn’t know about that one. At least, she didn’t think he knew. So maybe he hadn’t programmed the Backhoe’s kephalos to counter it.

First I see if I can move something, then I figure out how to use it.

When the square lit, Shadith saw it from the corner of her eye and in her relief felt her focus diffusing. In the screen in front of her, the first number of Wolff’s destination code was a bright amber glyph.

Mind on your business, Shadow.

Amazing how hard it was to deal with tension when she couldn’t vent it through the body. She regained control and began entering the other elements of the new destination code, working by hope and estimation; there were several of the sensor squares that she couldn’t see, because her head was turned the wrong way. As she went on, though, the figures before her were the right ones and her confidence grew.

She fmished and would have held her breath if she’d had any control over that.

The numbers vanished, were replaced by COURSE CHANGE DENIED.

Wolff’s out. I could try University. Hm. I don’t think so. Spotchalls. That’s the best chance…

She visualized the sensor board, worked out the moves and entered Spotchall’s code.

Once again the numbers vanished. Once again she saw COURSE CHANGE DENIED.

One more. Hm. Why not Pillory? He wouldn’t expect me to go there.

She finished, screamed, a silent scream of frustration and anger. COURSE CHANGE DENIED.

Because she was so fatigued by this time that she could barely string two thoughts together, she rested for a few hours after the last DENIAL, letting her favorite songs flow through her mind, the imagined sound and the play of the words distracting her from the fear that threatened to swamp the tiny area that she’d managed to pull away from the mindlock.

Her body was planted in the pilot’s chair and she couldn’t move it; all she did was sit for hours and hours until she could feel muscle tone oozing away. That made her angrier than anything else. It was just so stupid. Digby could at least have programmed her body to exercise itself on this trip. It was going to last two months; by the time she got to where she was going, she’d have bedsores on her behind.

She’d recognized parts of the code, so she knew the place the ship was traveling toward and the time it would take to get there. Swardheld had a commission out that way while she was playing songmistress for Aslan on Beluchad. He came to see her when he dropped his cargo at the Cliostara citystate on University. He was vocally annoyed with Proctor Haldron for sending him out there with only the sketchiest of warnings.

“So offhand, you’d think he was saying it’s an old gouty hound but you’d better be careful of its temper. Hah! Some temper; a pair of Dragonships chased us halfway back to the Arm. He didn’t mention that was disputed territory. He’d have had to give me danger pay if that’d come up, the miserable skint.” He wrote out the string for her. “There it is, Shadow. If your titchy boss wants to send you out that way, decline with thanks and be firm about it. Taking chances may add spice to life, but out there, trouble’s not chance but certainty.”

Dmgonships. Big and black. At once sinuous and angular. Named by a free trader with more imagination than sense-an eternally optimistic little Cousin pooting about the edge of Civilization in an ancient singleship held together by spit and prayer.

No one knew what the entities in those ships looked like, but there was no question of their belligerence; they chased away or blew to ash anyone who crossed into what they considered their space.

Her destination was definitely in Swarda’s disputed territory. She thought about calling up what the kephalos knew about the place, but decided that wasn’t such a great idea. At least, not until she’d found some way to get word out… get the word out, now there was an idea…