This colossal system of invisible motion was what made interstellar sailflight possible. As the Bucentaur eased herself into the stream that was to carry her toward Maralia, her passengers sedated themselves and took to deep-cushioned bunks. The crew, too, took drugs that helped them to withstand the period of acceleration, though the potions were of a kind that did not bring on stupor, and in a well-drilled sequence more and more sail was run out.
The ship’s velocity mounted, became stupendous.
Then, after a few days, a remarkable change took place. A barrier seemed to have been broken, heralding new, pleasanter conditions. The sails remained at full stretch; but the bone-breaking pressure abruptly dropped to a comfortable one-half Earth normal which bore no relation to the ship’s actual rate of acceleration. The Earthmen on board were puzzled by this, especially when they were told that maneuvers which logically should have torn the ship to pieces (such as sudden changes in direction) could now be tackled without danger.
Rachad Caban, bunked deep down in the starship with the rest of Zhorga’s men, recovered his strength somewhat more quickly than the others. For the first time since coming aboard the stupendous Bucentaur he found himself unsupervised. He decided it would be a good opportunity to go exploring.
He wandered at length up companionways and through corridors which were still deserted for the most part. Eventually he found a hooded door, and on passing through it emerged, without warning, onto the main deck.
The view was breathtaking. The deck, the size of a large playing field, consisted of an immense expanse of polished planking waxed to the color of light honey. At least a hundred capstans studded it; and swelling over the major part of it like a giant glass cocoon was an enormous transparent air balloon.
There were towering superstructures whose nature was not immediately clear to Rachad. Farther down the deck, docked in special bays, were the three lighters, plus the fast reconnaissance craft, which the Bucentaur used for planetary contact—though she could, if the need arose, put down on most planets herself.
In order that Rachad and everyone else on board could stand upright on the floor, the ship currently traveled deck foremost. Rachad knew, however, that she could just as easily move stemward, sternward, sideways or even bottom first. On enormous booms extended from either side of the hull were arranged the sails that made such maneuverability possible; he now turned his attention to these.
They were even more spectacular than the deck itself, curving away and away into the void, their farther limits vanishing in the distance. And there were colors. Not just the shimmering blue Rachad was familiar with, but thousands of dazzling rainbow colors that crawled across the sails in evershifting moiré displays.
Rachad stared hypnotized, gaping in a dazed rapture.
Suddenly a slap on his face rocked him back on his heels. A voice snapped at him harshly. “Keep your eyes off the sails—the silk will trance your mind!”
Rachad swung blankly to his attacker, shocked out of his reverie. He found himself facing a neatly bearded sailor in a body-hugging striped tunic.
The sailor’s stern expression softened slightly. “Never look at ether silk when we’re in star travel,” he instructed in a more kindly tone. “The luminescent patterns are because we’re moving faster than light, and they’re not like anything you’ve ever seen before. They’ll leave you dazed for the rest of your life.”
Rachad touched his stinging cheek. “I—I didn’t know,” he faltered.
“One of the Earth lubbers, eh?” the sailor said, gazing at him condescendingly. “Don’t know much about star flight, do you?” He gestured upward. “Take a look overhead.”
Rachad obeyed. At first he thought there was something wrong with his eyes. It wasn’t like looking into space at all. The blackness was incomplete. Violet curtains seemed to be swirling behind the void, reminding him of dark oil poured on water. Set against those curtains, the stars were a startling sapphire blue. And they danced: they wove, darted, spun, leaving contrails of lavender light.
“Space will get more purple as we accelerate,” the sailor informed him. “Already we’re doing better than a hundred lightspeeds.”
“Why do the stars move?” Rachad asked shyly.
“It’s an illusion. When the sails get up to lightspeed they disturb the ether. That distorts space. And if space around us is different, everything is different. That’s why we only have one-half gravity—roughly Mars-weight—when by common sense we should be smeared against the deck.”
“Space can be distorted?” Rachad echoed incredulously.
“We’d never break the light barrier otherwise. If it weren’t for ether silk, light would be the fastest thing there is.” The sailor smiled, grunting reflectively. “It’s a weird experience when space starts to waver and we overtake light. Time seems to slow down, to stand still. I must have gone through it a hundred times. You wouldn’t know anything about it, of course, sound asleep in your bunk.”
The starman spoke with the pride of one who considered himself a member of an elite. Rachad struggled to understand his words. He was conversant, of course, with the general principle that the larger the sail the greater the velocity. Theoretically if one had a sail spanning the entire macrocosm, its speed would be infinite.
But the idea that light had a speed of its own was something that had never occurred to him. He did not understand why this speed should be so significant, nor why it should comprise a “barrier.” He did recall, though, that Gebeth had once described light as a compound of ether and fire; and that according to some sages the motion of the ether winds was more apparent than real—the ether did not actually “move” at all, but conveyed a vibration or tensioning force in some way.
The sailor left to go about his business, giving him a parting warning to keep his eyes off the silk. Rachad strolled about the deck for a time, but grew nervous; always the shimmering sails seemed to lure his eyes. Shortly he went back below, through the hooded door.
He felt no desire to return to his quarters, however. He walked aimlessly through the quiet corridors, passing men and women all clad in some version of the baron’s livery (as he himself now was). Everywhere he seemed to be tantalized by closed doors. Until, that was, he spotted Elissea, the baron’s niece, stepping along a passageway wearing a flowing robe cinched fetchingly at the waist.
He quickened his steps, but before he could catch up with her she had disappeared behind a door of paneled wood. Rachad halted before it, lifted his fist to knock, but instead, swallowing at his own temerity, he turned the knob and opened the door gently.
Quietly he stepped into what was evidently a private bedchamber. Elissea was alone, seated at a dressing table. She turned, startled to see Rachad, her expression one of shock but also of veiled excitement.
“Is this how you conduct yourself on Earth?” she accused coquettishly.
Rachad was flustered. “Forgive me, I…” Afraid lest someone should happen along in the corridor outside, he closed the door behind him.
She rose and sauntered toward him. Her eyes were dancing. “Why, you look terrified. Is this the brave hero who faced space dragons?”
He looked away, stung by the taunt. “Excuse me. I will leave.”
“No, wait. Come here.” Taking him by the elbow, she led him to a wide, plush bed and sat him down beside her. “Why so gloomy? I should have thought everything was going well for you.”
He snorted. “Well? Hardly! I didn’t embark on this adventure meaning to leave home forever. I’ve lost everything—my freedom, my…” My chance to make gold, he finished silently.