Free Crystal Dragon by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

memory to it, not inconsiderable. And she'd pointed out the logic behind imprisoning Liad dea'Syl in Osabei, on the slim chance he hadn't figured it out for himself.

    Still, he'd wanted to check it for himself, and so he was—using an interesting combination of military grade and Dark Market gizmos. Cantra supposed she ought to be grateful for his caution. Herself, she was finding the inexorable passage of time an unwelcome irritant.

    She sat down in the chair she'd lately been calling home, and put her feet up on one of the rare clear spots of her table. Crossing her ankles, she glanced at the tree, sitting in a fancy artwork pot over in the corner, under the special light Jela'd rigged for it—and then at the clock. Not long now. She sipped her tea and watched Jela, which was a deal more scenic than staring at the wall, and waited.

    Her tea was gone by the time the clock finally gave out with its tootling little on-the-local-hour song, and Jela sighed, rolled his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, his eyes lingering on the spyware.

    "Luck?" she asked, though by the look of it, learning-by-doing had only gained what she'd told him in the first place.

    He sighed again, and finally met her eyes, his tired and tending toward bleak.

    "We go in," he said.
    * * *

    HE RAISED TELMAIR.

    He raised Kant.

    He raised Porshel and Braz, Jiniwerk, and Oryel.

    He dug deep into the library, and unrolled star charts across the tower floor, weighting the corners with spanners. When he had identified the coordinates for a sphere of six waystops inside the influence of the Ringstars, he fed those into the nav-brain, webbed himself into the pilot's chair, initiated transition, and waited, his face tight, his back rigid.

    The ship accepted its office. Tor An sighed, his muscles melting toward relief—

    And Light Wing twisted, klaxons blaring as she fell into real space, alarms lighting the board, and across the main screen, the bright blue legend:

    Transition aborted. Target coordinates unavailable.

    He was a conscientious boy, and he had been taught well. Ignoring the ice in his belly, the chilly sweat on his face, he re-checked the charts, made sure of his numbers, and initiated transition for the second time.

    And for a second time, his ship transitioned, and almost immediately returned to normal space.

    Transition aborted. Target coordinates unavailable.

    He shut down the board, made sure of his shields, deliberately unwebbed and stood. It had, he told himself, been some time since he had eaten—how long a time, he was not prepared to say with any certainty, save that he had been awake for longer.

    "Pilot error," he said to the empty tower. "I am taking myself off-duty for a meal, a shower and a nap. Barring ship's need, I will return in five ship hours and perform the exercise again from the top."

    He was a lad of his word, and had been raised to know the value of discipline. There was no ship's emergency to disturb him and he returned to the tower visibly refreshed, had there been any to see, in just under five ship hours.

    Once at his station, he again carefully examined the star maps, acquiring six coordinate strings defining a sphere of ports that lay within the boundary space of the Ringstars.

    Rising, he went to his chair, webbed in, entered the coords, double-checked them—and initiated transition.

    Light Wing leapt, stuttered—fell.

    Transition aborted, read the message across the main screen. Target coordinates unavailable.
    * * *

    CANTRA WOKE AS SHE'D set herself to do, since it was important to be up and well about her business before Jela, who never that she'd noticed slept more than four hours together, did the same.

    Despite that the "up" side of the equation was as crucial as the "awake," she stayed a bit longer just where she was, curled slightly on her left side, her back snuggled against Jela's wide and reassuring chest. His arm was draped companionably over her waist, her hand tucked into