Free Empire Dreams by Ian McDonald Page A

they sent him out to sail the Nineteen Worlds under the staff of Navigator-Meister Koch to learn those things which cannot be taught. And at the end of all this, he was a boy no longer but a man, and a man but briefly, for when he took up the silver-shod staff and badge of Trinity House he became a Pilot. But do you know, Fraser, in all those years they never once thought to ask him if he was happy, for in the consideration of what is highest, Happiness always bows to the Law, and the Law to Expediency.
    And that is the first part of Christian’s story.
    * * * *
    “But how do you fly a kite inwards and outwards?”
    It is a gusty, roary sort of day. Overweight white clouds with dirty gray bottoms hurry across the sky. Too blustery for the sunkite, reckons Christian, so he has only the black kite, which no weather seems to worry, and a blue kite speckled with scuds of painted cloud, up flying this morning. Christian considers your question.
    “Hard to explain, maybe easier to show. Try touching your fingers gently to the flying line, there … Now, what do you feel?”
    You brush the line with your fingers. An odd sensation hums through them.
    “It tingles,” you whisper.
    “But not unpleasantly?” You nod your head. “That’s good. Now, close your fist on the line and pull it as hard as you like. Go ahead, pull, and don’t forget to watch the kite.” Puzzled, you keep one eye on the sky and tug the line firmly. Nothing happens. The line twangs from your fingers.
    “Try again, harder, as hard as you can.” You seize the line and heave for all your worth. It does not move one inch. It is like trying to pull an iron paling out of the school fence. Up there the black kite does not even waver.
    “What’s happening? Why won’t it move?”
    “Well, you see, most kites fly in the three dimensions that we’re familiar with in our world, but some kites fly in four or even five dimensions and go a little bit outward and a little bit inward into time. So unless you can hold the flying line in those additional dimensions, the kite’s not going to budge in these three. Then of course, the nature of the wind has a lot to do with it. Now, my weatherkites, they fly on the worldwind and respond to the world’s weather, but the Black Kite (which is made from special, sensitive sail-fabric I buy from a man in Corpus Christi, and is as much a creature of the flyer’s mood and whim as the wind’s), it flies on the higher starwinds and responds not to the brightsun, but to the darksun out there at the edge of our system of worlds.”
    “But what would you want a kite like that for?”
    “Many reasons, Fraser, but chiefly so that I know when anything arrives or departs from our universe at Cape Infinity. You remember that tingle you felt?” It had felt like a distant shout sounds when you cannot make out what the words are, like something you can never fully know. “Well, that’s a foursight impression drawn down from the sky. In a way, it’s sort of like …”
    “The aerial on my Da’s wireless!” you shout as things become clear.
    “Well put. You see, over the years I’ve been waiting, my foursight has grown weak. Oh, I can still foursee big, obvious things, like the weather, or the first question that comes into your head, but I’ve lost the subtlety for the small things, like when a particular ship comes through Cape Infinity, or even when a small boy decides to have a look around my caravan. People muddy the timestream and cloud my foursight; they’re always deciding, or not deciding, and from each decision, or lack of it, a whole new universe springs into being. You understand?”
    “I think so…. So you need something to make the wee things louder,” you say, thinking of Miss Latimer’s ear trumpet from school. “And there’re no people here to bother you. Except me.”
    Christian laughs, a wonderful sound like ripples chuckling on the shore.
    “Oh, you’re no bother, Fraser. You do me a power of