But he felt he could not refuse. While he saw his physical presence as contributing little more than deadweight, it might add a sense of urgency to those doing the actual research. He had never been to Treth, of course. Being a human-occupied world, it might hold some things of interest, some things worth seeing, even if its surviving records did not contain the location of old Earth.
“Of course I’ll come along.” His apparent enthusiasm belied an unspoken uncertainty. “Does Treth have oceans? Water oceans?”
Yah’thom ventured the Myssari equivalent of a smile. “Yes, as I recall, it most certainly does.”
That was enough to reassure Ruslan concerning his decision, if not fill him with conviction. “I’ll be ready to go whenever you can mount the visit. Assuming I’m still alive.”
Bac’cul did not smile. “That is all you have to do, Ruslan. That is all you have to work at. Not dying.” A three-fingered hand gestured at the figure seated beside the human. “Kel’les will endeavor to assist you in achieving that end. Or rather, non-end.”
Noting the suggestion of apprehension on his handler’s sharp-edged, triangular face, Ruslan struggled not to smile. “So we will go to Treth and try to find a hint as to the location of Earth, and meanwhile Kel’les here will attempt to keep me breathing long enough to complete the journey.” He covered his mouth with his right hand and coughed into it.
Then he added, “I think s’he has the more difficult job.”
3
The snapweft pilot was already deep in dream down in the center of the twilldizzy. From the beginning of his acclimatization to Myssari culture, Ruslan had always had the most trouble learning scientific terms. His general ignorance of physics of any kind only rendered comprehension that much more difficult. Trying to understand a nonhuman version only tied his thoughts in knots. So he asked for explanations, freely accepted the results, and translated them into terms that made a vague sort of sense. To him, anyway. Since there were no human physicists around to correct or contradict him, his improvisation served his needs quite well.
It was all magic anyway, this business of traveling between the stars. Certainly his own species had been quite efficient at it, though the last starship to visit Seraboth had come and gone two or three hundred years before he was born. Whether humans had utilized a system similar to that employed by the Myssari he had no way of knowing. When queried, Kel’les could only convolute his nine fingers and surmise that it must have been the same or very much so, because all known space-traversing species used a variant of it.
Once aboard the orbiting starship, Ruslan had a few moments before it would be time for him and the other passengers to enter stasis. He used them to query Cor’rin. Bac’cul was nearby, chatting with another traveler. Among the trio assigned to monitor and study his life, only Yah’thom remained behind. Smitten with assorted infirmities of old age, the crusty senior scientist felt that his presence would slow the group’s progress. They had not yet departed Myssar orbit and already Ruslan missed the elder’s insightful personality. He even missed the scientist’s sarcasm, perhaps because so little of it was ever directed his way.
“I have two questions,” he said to Cor’rin. “One involves the means and nature by which interstellar travel is accomplished. The other is about sex.”
The scientist replied without hesitation. Now, as on previous occasions, he was struck by the bright metallic violet of her eyes. The insouciance of her response emphasized how at ease she was with his queries.
“An odd coupling, one might say, though both involve thrust. I am expert in neither.”
“Your best take, then.” Around them, other passengers besides Bac’cul and Kel’les were seeing to final preparations. Since his minder was taking care of necessary details Ruslan did not understand anyway, he had time for casual conversation. “Firstly, as near as I can tell, you, Bac’cul, and Kel’les are of similar age and maturity. Together you could constitute a reproductive trio, a potential procreational triumvirate. Aren’t you concerned that working together away from the supervisorial strictures of Myssarian society could result in a romantic entanglement that might interfere with your work?”
“You really have learned a great deal about our society.” The dimmer illumination in the access chamber had caused her eyes to darken from violet to purple. “Bac’cul is already mated elsewhere. I am not, nor is Kel’les, but I can assure you our scientific interests easily outweigh and would dominate any thoughts that might incline to the physical.”
Ruslan nodded his understanding. “I was just curious. From what little I know and what lots I read, my kind were different. Second then, can you give me a better idea how this ship and its ilk actually work?” He gestured at their tubular surroundings. The curved floor underfoot posed no problems for its tripodal designers and builders, but he had to be more careful where he stepped.
“It is hardly a specialty of mine.” Though she was plainly keen to enter her own travel pod, she was too courteous to arbitrarily dismiss his question. Listening closely, he did his best to assign meaning to her response.
“As I understand it, the cosmos is not uniform. There are lapses, holes, walls, currents. Different kinds of matter. Some things stable, others less so. Some are fixed, while others move about. By navigating these exceptions, these oddities in space-time, it is possible to shortcut ordinary space and arrive at a destination made suddenly congruent to the point of one’s departure. To do so requires the skills of a snapweft: a highly trained pilot who is half organic and half machine. He or she or s’he is physically attached to the great contorting complex called the twilldizzy, which delicately tracks the disruptions in non-normal space-time. The body of the ship remains steady within while it spins around it, its course directed by the snapweft.
“Manipulation must be constant, unyielding, and faultless. Once control of a twilldizzy is lost, a ship can emerge anywhere in space. If that happens, sometimes a snapweft can reposition it within an anomaly and resume course. Sometimes that cannot be done. Then a ship is lost, never to be heard from again.” She gestured confidence. “But such occurrences are rare. Twilldizzy travel is safe.”
He was unable to forbear from pointing out, “Except for those unfortunate enough to have been designated the exception.”
Her reply was even, her tone enigmatic. “It is good to see that you are feeling like your usual self. I need to ready myself for departure now. You should do the same.”
Having silently joined them mid-conversation, Kel’les now put a hand on Ruslan’s shoulder. “It is possible you will perceive the overflow from the snapweft. A pilot’s projections are very powerful. There is no need to be alarmed. Such reception is perfectly normal.”
Uncertainty further corroded Ruslan’s already rugged features. “Why would I sense mental emanations from a representative of another species? I didn’t when I was brought to Myssar from Seraboth.”
“You made that transfer while under heavy medication. It would have dulled your awareness. As to being a member of a non-Myssari species, snapweft projections are sensed across multiple intelligences.” A hand gestured meaningfully. “It is something that transcends species. Sensitivity depends entirely on the architecture of one’s sentience. You may feel nothing at all.”
They had entered the passenger torus. All around them, other travelers were slipping into waiting pods as calmly and efficiently as he would have slid into bed. Quite unexpectedly he felt a rush of uncertainty. Confronted with the possibility of death, rare as such occurrences might be, it developed that perhaps he was not quite as ready to die as he supposed.