ANTARES FLOATED. THERE was a distant flame around her, the energy of the transporter. Why the suspension—or was this a much longer transit than she was used to? She felt little fluctuations, like bumps on a train track, as though she were passing through boundary layers or changes of phase. Was this a more complex transition than usual? In her moments of reflection, what came to her was a prior transport experience, which had also felt odd like this. It was her very first—when an exceedingly strange light beam had shone into her prison cell on Thespi Prime, all swirling light and spinning energy. Without the slightest explanation, that beam had melted her out of her own world, body and soul, away from her imprisonment and impending death at the hands of the Thespi authorities.
That had been her first experience with the star-spanner beam—and with the cryptic, incomprehensible actions of the Shipworld masters. It was during that dizzying passage that the knowing-stones had made themselves permanent jewels in the hollow of her throat. John knows where his stones came from. But I have no idea about mine.
Was Napoleon still here with her? I don’t want to get separated again.
***
Antares and Napoleon came out of the flame and hung suspended in the air. The sheen of a force-field bubble enveloped them, and Antares could see figures moving on the outside of the bubble. One approached and peered in at them; it was a tall, red-skinned biped, with a white-haired crest on its head. It seemed agitated. Perhaps their appearance had surprised it. “Who are you? What are you doing in a freight transporter? Is someone expecting you?” It spoke in AllWorld, a language that Antares had encountered in only a few sectors of Shipworld. Was this one of those sectors? Or was the language just a coincidence?
She answered through the field, “We are friends of Ik the Hraachee’an and his friend. We urgently need to find them. Have they come this way?”
The being looked startled at that.
Her words had been on target, then. Whoever had programmed their transport had known where to find Ik. “Can you let us out of here? Do you know Ik? It’s urgent that we speak with him!”
“Guh,” said the being, and started to back away, muttering something to the others about “calling authority.”
“Wait!” Antares cried.
Napoleon tapped nervously. “I believe they are discussing what to do with us. I hope they don’t send us back.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t,” Antares began, and then stopped herself. Of course they might. “Is there anything you can do to make sure that doesn’t happen?”
Napoleon muttered something she didn’t catch and raised his metal hands toward the force-field. “I believe so,” he said, as he touched the bubble with the tip of his first finger. Something flickered at that spot, and the bubble disappeared.
Antares crouched for a sudden drop. But they sank smoothly to the floor, and then were standing free and clear. The involuntary greeting party looked stunned. Antares caught a wave of reflected fear from them and reached out wordlessly to see if she could head it off. “Apologies for our sudden entrance. We arrived here by a rather circuitous path. My norg is Napoleon, and my name is Antares. Please—we have urgent need to speak to Ik the Hraachee’an.”
Besides the white-crested biped, there were two saurian-looking reptiles, with squat haunches and tapered tails, of a race she had met before but could not name. They wore tight-fitting white uniforms that looked medical to Antares.
“You must remain where you are!” one of them hissed. “The safety locks are compromised. You must not leave this area without clearance.” The other dipped its head in what Antares sensed to be agreement.
Antares gazed at them for a moment, and then repeated her request. “Please—do you know this person?”
That sent them into a paroxysm of fluttering and hissing; so much for calm.
Beside her, Napoleon was ticking and whirring. “I wonder, Lady Antares, if we might do better to just look for Ik on our own. These good beings do not appear likely to—”
Before he could finish speaking, the white-crested fellow squawked and pointed down the corridor. Around a corner came a floating cargo pallet, tilting perilously as it made the turn at a surprising speed. Riding it was a squat, flat-headed Rentatt, a species Antares had encountered only a few times and associated with officiousness and bad temper. The pallet and its driver whined to a stop in front of them all.
The Rentatt made a grumbling sound, and waved short arms with splayed fingers. It seemed to be gesturing to the others rather than to Antares and Napoleon. When they quieted down at last, the Rentatt announced, its voice more growl than tone, “There has been a change in protocol! Approved at the top! These two guests are to be escorted to the ghoststream launch center.”
That brought howls of dismay from the saurians.
The Rentatt grumbled them into silence. “Those are our instructions.” He turned to Antares and Napoleon and said, “If you please, may I offer you a ride? It is not fancy. But then, you arrived in a freight transporter, so perhaps you won’t mind.” He gestured to the floating pallet and lowered it to the deck.
Antares looked at it doubtfully, but Napoleon stepped with confidence onto the pallet, locked himself into a secure position with a handhold, and said, “Lady Antares, you may hang onto me. I am sure you will be safe.”
“Very well.” Antares climbed on behind Napoleon and put an arm around his midsection. Without another word from the Rentatt, the pallet rose a foot off the floor, glided past the befuddled saurians, and accelerated down the corridor.
And she finally had a chance to wonder: Had Amaduse intervened for them here, as well?
***
The ride didn’t take long. After a mile or so, turning left and right and left, they were waved through a set of guarded doors, and the pallet glided to a stop. In front of them were more wide, clear doors opening into a cavernous, brightly lit room. Their driver turned his flat-topped head to speak to them, the folds of his neck twisting and flexing. “This is where you’re to report,” he growled, and then twisted back to glare in the direction of the door.
Antares thanked him and stepped off with Napoleon. Before she could ask whether they were supposed to simply go in, the Rentatt grunted, backed up and turned the pallet, and drove off with it. Antares shrugged and started forward.
The doors shimmered open, and several individuals appeared from nowhere to greet them. Antares didn’t know what they were, except that they were bipeds, were dressed in light gray uniform pant-suits, and also spoke AllWorld. “Lady of Thespi?” said the first. “And inorg Napoleon?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously. Napoleon remained silent.
“We were not expecting you, particularly by that mode of transport,” said the second, coming alongside. “Most people don’t transport across open space in a freight transporter. Most unusual. But now that you are here”—the being gestured with outstretched hands toward the doors and the room beyond—“welcome to the Galactic Core Mission launch center.”
“We thought perhaps,” said the third, “that you might like to be present while we greet the returning exploration party.”
Exploration party? Antares wondered, and also, We traveled across open space? How much open space? What she said was, “I imagine we would.” Were Ik and his friend going to be inside this room?
Her escorts gestured, and together they passed through the doors.
What was inside looked like a spacecraft hangar, although Antares saw no spacecraft. But hadn’t their escort just called this a launch center? The place was lit with bright overheads, and it was filled with a lot of machinery, including some overhead cranes. For such a big place, though, it was surprisingly quiet. Was it the quiet of inactivity? Or of anticipation?
As they walked closer, she discovered that the place was actually bustling with people and subdued activity. She saw a sinuous, metallic being with a face like a copper disk. Flitting in the air overhead were several of the shadow-people. And now, in the very center of the space, she saw something that looked like a cockpit on the end of an enormous shaft or fuselage bulging with magnets and coils. It reminded Antares of a star-spanner, though heaven knew star-spanners came in a large variety of forms. The one that brought her to Shipworld looked not at all like the one that had launched her, with John and Ik and Li-Jared and the norgs, halfway across the galaxy. But what was this thing really? It didn’t look like it was intended to fly.
Before she could ask, though, Antares saw something moving. The cockpit hatch was sliding open.