place for him with Carlyle and his friends, what then? Could he find another ship, rig with another person? Live in the RiggerGuild Haven and become an alien curiosity? Carlyle's throat tightened as he considered the question. He couldn't be responsible for Cephean forever, could he?
What will we do on this planet? the cynthian had asked. Without Carlyle, Cephean would be friendless. And despite the cynthian's quest for solitude, he didn't truly want to be friendless. Did he?
Cephean was still waiting for an answer.
"Well, we'll check in, and if my friends are here now, you'll meet them, and—"
He was interrupted by a call from the tow pilot. " Spillix, we will be landing in twenty minutes."
"All right, tow. Fine," Carlyle answered. He turned back to Cephean. The riffmar were now on his shoulders, combing his fur. Cephean seemed to have forgotten his question. Carlyle was happy to try and forget it, too.
They were back over the Lacerta Ocean now. It grew beneath them, and the coastline drew nearer as well. Swells moved in long lines across the sea. And then they were over land, and the attitude of the ship changed, and they settled downward. Finally they touched down with a bump. The tow broke its connection and lifted, leaving Spillix motionless on the ground.
Chaening's World!
Carlyle looked out across the Jarvis spaceport. Most of the ships were fatter and taller than his, blocking the view. But above two freighters he saw a passenger liner lifting gently under the ungainly framework of a tow ship.
"Cephean," he said faintly—and stopped. It was hitting him. His heart turned inside out. He couldn't see the tower, the city, or much of the field, but that didn't matter. He was here. That was what mattered. He was here. Chaening's World. Jarvis.
The cynthian padded over to look at him curiously. Cephean was clearly puzzled, and no wonder. Carlyle was radiating a welter of human emotions, and even he did not understand all the kinds of hurt he felt. "Don't ask me to explain, Cephean. I can't. But maybe if you stick with me you'll get to understand." He glanced at the board where the communicator was winking, and then back out at the space field. "Got to check in."
The cynthian snorted and walked toward the exit. "H-we kheef h-our ssingss hon thiss shift?" he asked, turning at the doorway.
Carlyle paused at the board and looked back. "No . . . no, we'd better pack all our gear and take it with us. I'm not sure if we'll be coming back aboard again."
Cephean hissed and left to pack. The riffmar trooped along behind him.
Carlyle shrugged and turned back to the board. "Jarvis Control, this is Spillix rigger Gev Carlyle. Checking in with courier and precious cargo." He was busy for about five minutes, and then it was time to head into the spaceport center and the RiggerGuild.
* * *
The transport pod slipped along a clear tube running the length of the field. Scores of ships lined both sides of the tubeway. Cephean hissed and peered every which way out of the pod while they rode; Carlyle was untalkative, preoccupied by a feeling that his future was coming upon him rapidly. He remembered Holly Wellen's warning about hoping too much; but the worst that was likely, he felt sure, was that Lady Brillig might be out on a flight, and he would have to wait for her return. In that case he would relax, and perhaps travel. Maybe Cephean would be interested in touring.
The tube looped, giving them for a moment a view of the entire field, then they glided into the spaceport terminal. They were discharged into a lobby that was paneled with glass and cut stone, and dark woods from native forests. Two enormous grinbey plants climbed in intricate patterns from either side of the lobby, meeting in an intermeshing arch at the far side, over the entrance to the RiggerGuild section. They passed through the arch and on into the Haven.
The Guild Haven was carpeted with indoor moss, walled with soft-finished wood, filled with
What will we do on this planet? the cynthian had asked. Without Carlyle, Cephean would be friendless. And despite the cynthian's quest for solitude, he didn't truly want to be friendless. Did he?
Cephean was still waiting for an answer.
"Well, we'll check in, and if my friends are here now, you'll meet them, and—"
He was interrupted by a call from the tow pilot. " Spillix, we will be landing in twenty minutes."
"All right, tow. Fine," Carlyle answered. He turned back to Cephean. The riffmar were now on his shoulders, combing his fur. Cephean seemed to have forgotten his question. Carlyle was happy to try and forget it, too.
They were back over the Lacerta Ocean now. It grew beneath them, and the coastline drew nearer as well. Swells moved in long lines across the sea. And then they were over land, and the attitude of the ship changed, and they settled downward. Finally they touched down with a bump. The tow broke its connection and lifted, leaving Spillix motionless on the ground.
Chaening's World!
Carlyle looked out across the Jarvis spaceport. Most of the ships were fatter and taller than his, blocking the view. But above two freighters he saw a passenger liner lifting gently under the ungainly framework of a tow ship.
"Cephean," he said faintly—and stopped. It was hitting him. His heart turned inside out. He couldn't see the tower, the city, or much of the field, but that didn't matter. He was here. That was what mattered. He was here. Chaening's World. Jarvis.
The cynthian padded over to look at him curiously. Cephean was clearly puzzled, and no wonder. Carlyle was radiating a welter of human emotions, and even he did not understand all the kinds of hurt he felt. "Don't ask me to explain, Cephean. I can't. But maybe if you stick with me you'll get to understand." He glanced at the board where the communicator was winking, and then back out at the space field. "Got to check in."
The cynthian snorted and walked toward the exit. "H-we kheef h-our ssingss hon thiss shift?" he asked, turning at the doorway.
Carlyle paused at the board and looked back. "No . . . no, we'd better pack all our gear and take it with us. I'm not sure if we'll be coming back aboard again."
Cephean hissed and left to pack. The riffmar trooped along behind him.
Carlyle shrugged and turned back to the board. "Jarvis Control, this is Spillix rigger Gev Carlyle. Checking in with courier and precious cargo." He was busy for about five minutes, and then it was time to head into the spaceport center and the RiggerGuild.
* * *
The transport pod slipped along a clear tube running the length of the field. Scores of ships lined both sides of the tubeway. Cephean hissed and peered every which way out of the pod while they rode; Carlyle was untalkative, preoccupied by a feeling that his future was coming upon him rapidly. He remembered Holly Wellen's warning about hoping too much; but the worst that was likely, he felt sure, was that Lady Brillig might be out on a flight, and he would have to wait for her return. In that case he would relax, and perhaps travel. Maybe Cephean would be interested in touring.
The tube looped, giving them for a moment a view of the entire field, then they glided into the spaceport terminal. They were discharged into a lobby that was paneled with glass and cut stone, and dark woods from native forests. Two enormous grinbey plants climbed in intricate patterns from either side of the lobby, meeting in an intermeshing arch at the far side, over the entrance to the RiggerGuild section. They passed through the arch and on into the Haven.
The Guild Haven was carpeted with indoor moss, walled with soft-finished wood, filled with
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