Eternity's End (Star Rigger)

Chapter 1
 
ESCAPE FROM CAPTIVITY
 
 
Renwald Legroeder's eyes darted frantically, scanning for traffic as he guided the scout craft away from the spacedocks. His heart pounded with fear. No general alarms yet, thank God; but how long could that last? The scout's flux reactor hummed, alive and ready. The rigger-net would spring to life at his command; but first he had to get clear of the outpost.
The raider outpost loomed like a threatening mountain cliff over his back as he powered the tiny ship away. The spacedocks were an enormous, malignant structure, blotting out most of the view of the Great Barrier Nebula that stretched across the emptiness of space behind him. He felt terribly alone.
He snapped on the intercom. "Maris--if you can hear me, we're away from the docks!" She couldn't answer, and probably couldn't hear. She was the only other person aboard--the only one with the guts to flee with him.
Guts--or insanity? Don't be distracted. Switch over now…
He lurched out of the pilot's seat and climbed into the rigger-station, yanking the secondary maneuvering controls into position over him. The scout crawled toward the departure area; he dared not go faster. Don't draw attention.
Had they been spotted yet?
Their only hope was stealth. Any of a dozen ships of the pirate fleet could destroy him at a moment's notice. Clear of the docking zone, he popped thrust toward the inner marker. Gently! He ached to punch full power…to sprint away…Keep it slow, keep to the traffic patterns, don't arouse suspicions…
About ten minutes had passed since their shootout with the guards at the maintenance docks. Only a miracle would get them away from here and out of pirate space alive.
Was Maris alive even now? He risked a glance, toggling a monitor to the first-aid compartment. Maris lay in the med-unit, eyes closed, arm flung across her chest. Neutraser burns ran down her neck and shoulder. Life signs flickered on the screen…urgent: shock: imminent neural failure …He'd started the suppression-field; there was nothing more he could do.
The com blasted, jolting him back: "SCOUT SIX-NINER-SEVEN. STATE YOUR CLEARANCE."
His breath caught as he jabbed down the volume. He stalled, keyed the mike, held it as Departure Control repeated its demand through the static. Every second took him a little farther out. If stealth didn't work, confusion might.
He drew a ragged breath. "Departure Control, Scout Six-Niner-Seven, emergency departure Bravo Eleven Alfa. No delay, please--answering an emergency call from sector--"
Something lit up behind him, and he choked off his words. A blaze of lights in the central docking region, and at least one large craft moving out. After him? He scanned hastily. Weapons arrays were coming to life at three key defense points.
"SCOUT SIX-NINER-SEVEN, TERMINATE YOUR VECTOR AT ONCE. WE HAVE NO EMERGENCY CLEARANCE ACTIVE. BRAKE TO DEAD STOP! PREPARE FOR INSPECTION! REPEAT--"
Legroeder cursed, shut his eyes for an instant, and hit the fusion thrusters.
The scout ship rocketed past the marker buoys, shot across traffic lanes, leaving a plasma trail in its wake. Scan ahead, behind…The weapons arrays on the station were opening fire now, a cluster of neutraser bursts glittering against the dark of space. He veered far out of the departure path, away from the direction they'd expect him to flee, and aimed for the guard field that flanked the channel, all energy and spatial distortions. A neutraser beam flashed over his screen.
Hold tight, Maris!
Another blaze of neutraser fire caught his port-side sensor, partially blinding him. He veered left, then down, and right. The ship tumbled as it hit the guard field. The hull shuddered, and he nearly lost control. Then he was through the field, into the Dead Man's Zone that enclosed the departure lanes.
Clouds of plasma swirled over the ship's prow. There was a reason for this place's name. The spatial distortions were nearly impossible to maneuver through. But if he could manage it, pursuit should be impossible.
A neutraser burst leaked through the field and spun weirdly around the ship. His viewscreen and console began to glow with St. Elmo's fire. He couldn't wait any longer. He slammed the maneuvering controls shut, drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes. At his silent command, the rigger-net billowed out into space, a shimmering sensory web. He caught some fragmentary words on the com: "--Going under in the Zone--must be crazy--!"
And then he reached out with his arms in the net like wings on a plane, and banked the ship down out of the fiery cauldron of normal-space and into the chaos of the Flux.
* * *
The star rigger's Flux: a higher-dimensional realm where reality and fantasy became strangely merged, where landscapes of the mind intersected with the real fabric of space, where space itself flowed and surged with movement--and where a rigger's skills could vault him across light-years, or send him spiraling to his death.
Legroeder was flying in a thunderstorm, wind shear and lightning buffeting and rocking him. His senses stretched through the net into the Flux, as though his head and torso were the bowsprit of the ship. His arms embraced the storm, mists of streaming air coiling through his fingers. He drew around him the only image he could think of: a stubbywinged airplane bouncing through cumulonimbus, stubbornly refusing to surrender.
The craft bucked violently. It was hard to keep a heading in the turbulence--but he had to, if he was going to get through the Dead Man's Zone and out the other side. The raiders had sown mines throughout the Zone, which was almost redundant; the place itself was a natural minefield. Everything was distorted here, normal-space and the Flux alike. A fragmentary remnant of some ancient violence of creation, it was a perfect place of concealment for the raider base. Only a maniac would try what Legroeder was trying now…
He fought back a rush of fear as he skidded through the wind shear. Why had he thought he could do this? It's impossible!
No sooner had he thought it than the turbulence grew worse. He realized why, and fought to control himself. His mere thoughts could reverberate disastrously into the Flux; he dared not allow panic or fear.
Stay calm!
He drew a long, slow breath and tried to refocus the image. Keep flying the ship. Whatever happens, we're away, better off than before.
What lay ahead? Mines. Treacherous shoals. Dead ships. But where? Change the image: make it transparent. Sooner imagined than done; the energies swirling before him were too powerful to easily remap. He blinked once to alter the contrast, and now he could make out distant flecks of darkness against the glowing whirlwinds of the storm. Shipwrecks? He couldn't tell.
WHOOM!
Something blazed off his port-side, a mine exploding. He veered hard, avoiding damage. His heart raced. The explosion had opened a path through the storm, a shadowy tunnel in the clouds. A way through? It wouldn't last long. He circled back, scanning for pursuit. Nothing: maybe they'd given him up for dead. Fly, now--fly! The currents were tricky; he had to scull with his arms to bring the ship back.
As he banked into the tunnel, the winds seemed favorable--but at once he sensed his mistake. A trap. He banked hard the other way, back into the current. It was too strong now--it was pulling him into the passage. He cursed and hit the fusion motors--dangerous in the Flux!--and continued thrusting until he'd veered past the opening. At that instant the passage twisted closed, then erupted with a belch of fire. The blast caught his wingtip and snapped him head over heels.
The storm clouds spun around him. By the time he pulled the ship out of the tumble, he'd lost his bearings...