Eternity's End

Prologue Ghost Ship

Streamers of light seemed to coil in slow motion through the corridors of the starship.

The passengers and crew moved in great straining ripples as they walked through the ship, carrying on the business of living, if living you could call it.

The passengers breathed and ate and slept, and socialized after a fashion. And the crew carried out their duties, seeing to the needs of the passengers, repairing machinery, and tending the makeshift hydroponics gardens that supplied the nutritional needs of the five hundred-plus souls on board. The riggers on the bridge continued to search the skies for a way home, peering into the bewildering mists of the Flux and wondering what in the name of creation had gone wrong. Their lives consisted of ennui and bewilderment, interrupted at long intervals by heart-pounding excitement when they sighted another ship… followed inevitably by piercing despair, when their efforts to make contact ended in failure.

It was a strange and terrifying limbo, here where the starship floated, trapped in some enigmatic layering of the Flux, exiled from the “normal” regions of the Flux—never, it now seemed clear, to restore contact with the universe of its origin. Time had ceased to flow in a rational or comprehensible manner. It wafted through the ship unpredictably, a drafty breath sighing through unseen holes in the walls of eternity.

Among the passengers was the Jones couple, married on the ship two days after departure, who now passed their time in each other’s arms—not in perpetual bliss as they had once imagined, but huddled despairingly in their cabin where time, through some twist of fate, had slowed to an even more glacial crawl than elsewhere on the ship. There they found, if not hope, then at least a hint of sorrowful consolation in each other’s company, as their bodies lay entwined in near-stasis.

In the lounge one level down, a pair of old men played the same game of chess they’d been playing for who knew how many years. Had they ever gotten up to eat or sleep? No one could quite remember. The ship’s captain seemed always to be nearby, moving more speedily than the chess players and yet without aging, stumping up and down the corridors, muttering to himself like a tormented Ahab of the stars.

And in his own cabin, the tailor stared for the thousandth time at a slip-needle and bind-thread as though he had just now found them in his hand. His movements stretched out in ghostly projections; he felt as if his life were hardening in amber. He could not fathom what was happening, and had long ago given up trying. And yet, even as he worked, his thoughts reached out to his sister and her family. It was their homeworld he had been bound for, their home lost now across the twin gulfs of time and space. He no longer held any hope of seeing them again, but he could not stop wondering how much time had passed on the outside, and whether anyone he had known off the ship was still alive.

With a prolonged sigh, the tailor drew the slip-needle in a slow, glittering slide down the shoulder seam of the coat he was altering. The seam split, and came together again a centimeter to the right. He studied the results for half a lifetime… and then, with great deliberation, moved on to the next stitch.

Chapter 1 Escape from Captivity

Renwald Legroeder’s eyes darted frantically, scanning for traffic as he guided the scout craft away from the spacedocks. His heart pounded with fear. No general alarms yet, thank God; but how long could that last? The scout’s flux reactor hummed, alive and ready. The rigger-net would spring to life at his command; but first he had to get clear of the outpost.

The raider outpost loomed like a threatening mountain cliff over his back as he powered the tiny ship away. The spacedocks were an enormous, malignant structure, blotting out most of the view of the Great Barrier Nebula that stretched across the emptiness of space behind him. He felt terribly alone.

He snapped on the intercom. “Maris—if you can hear me, we’re away from the docks!” She couldn’t answer, and probably couldn’t hear. She was the only other person aboard—the only one with the guts to flee with him.

Guts—or insanity? Don’t be distracted. Switch over now…

He lurched out of the pilot’s seat and climbed into the rigger-station, yanking the secondary maneuvering controls into position over him. The scout crawled toward the departure area; he dared not go faster. Don’t draw attention.

Had they been spotted yet?

Their only hope was stealth. Any of a dozen ships of the pirate fleet could destroy him at a moment’s notice. Clear of the docking zone, he popped thrust toward the inner marker. Gently! He ached to punch full power… to sprint away… Keep it slow, keep to the traffic patterns, don’t arouse suspicions…

About ten minutes had passed since their shootout with the guards at the maintenance docks. Only a miracle would get them away from here and out of pirate space alive.

Was Maris alive even now? He risked a glance, toggling a monitor to the first-aid compartment. Maris lay in the med-unit, eyes closed, arm flung across her chest. Neutraser burns ran down her neck and shoulder. Life signs flickered on the screen… URGENT: SHOCK: IMMINENT NEURAL FAILURE… He’d started the suppression-field; there was nothing more he could do.

The com blasted, jolting him back: “SCOUT SIX-NINER-SEVEN. STATE YOUR CLEARANCE.”

His breath caught as he jabbed down the volume. He stalled, keyed the mike, held it as Departure Control repeated its demand through the static. Every second took him a little farther out. If stealth didn’t work, confusion might.

He drew a ragged breath. “Departure Control, Scout Six Niner Seven, emergency departure Bravo Eleven Alfa. No delay, please—answering an emergency call from sector—”

Something lit up behind him, and he choked off his words. A blaze of lights in the central docking region, and at least one large craft moving out. After him? He scanned hastily. Weapons arrays were coming to life at three key defense points.

“SCOUT SIX-NINER-SEVEN, TERMINATE YOUR VECTOR AT ONCE. WE HAVE NO EMERGENCY CLEARANCE ACTIVE. BRAKE TO DEAD STOP! PREPARE FOR INSPECTION! REPEAT—”

Legroeder cursed, shut his eyes for an instant, and hit the fusion thrusters.

The scout ship rocketed past the marker buoys, shot across traffic lanes, leaving a plasma trail in its wake. Scan ahead, behind… The weapons arrays on the station were opening fire now, a cluster of neutraser bursts glittering against the dark of space. He veered far out of the departure path, away from the direction they’d expect him to flee, and aimed for the guard field that flanked the channel, all energy and spatial distortions. A neutraser beam flashed over his screen.

Hold tight, Maris!

Another blaze of neutraser fire caught his port-side sensor, partially blinding him. He veered left, then down, and right. The ship tumbled as it hit the guard field. The hull shuddered, and he nearly lost control. Then he was through the field, into the Dead Man’s Zone that enclosed the departure lanes.

Clouds of plasma swirled over the ship’s prow. There was a reason for this place’s name. The spatial distortions were nearly impossible to maneuver through. But if he could manage it, pursuit should be impossible.

A neutraser burst leaked through the field and spun weirdly around the ship. His viewscreen and console began to glow with St. Elmo’s fire. He couldn’t wait any longer. He slammed the maneuvering controls shut, drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes. At his silent command, the rigger-net billowed out into space, a shimmering sensory web. He caught some fragmentary words on the com: “—Going under in the Zone—must be crazy—!

And then he reached out with his arms in the net like wings on a plane, and banked the ship down out of the fiery cauldron of normal-space and into the chaos of the Flux.

The star rigger’s Flux: a higher-dimensional realm where reality and fantasy became strangely merged, where landscapes of the mind intersected with the real fabric of space, where space itself flowed and surged with movement—and where a rigger’s skills could vault him across light-years, or send him spiraling to his death.

Legroeder was flying in a thunderstorm, wind shear and lightning buffeting and rocking him. His senses stretched through the net into the Flux, as though his head and torso were the bowsprit of the ship. His arms embraced the storm, mists of streaming air coiling through his fingers. He drew around him the only image he could think of: a stubby-winged airplane bouncing through cumulonimbus, stubbornly refusing to surrender.

The craft bucked violently. It was hard to keep a heading in the turbulence—but he had to, if he was going to get through the Dead Man’s Zone and out the other side. The raiders had sown mines throughout the Zone, which was almost redundant; the place itself was a natural minefield. Everything was distorted here, normal-space and the Flux alike. A fragmentary remnant of some ancient violence of creation, it was a perfect place of concealment for the raider base. Only a maniac would try what Legroeder was trying now…

He fought back a rush of fear as he skidded through the wind shear. Why had he thought he could do this? It’s impossible!

No sooner had he thought it than the turbulence grew worse. He realized why, and fought to control himself. His mere thoughts could reverberate disastrously into the Flux; he dared not allow panic or fear.

Stay calm!

He drew a long, slow breath and tried to refocus the image. Keep flying the ship. Whatever happens, we’re away, better off than before.

What lay ahead? Mines. Treacherous shoals. Dead ships. But where? Change the image: make it transparent. Sooner imagined than done; the energies swirling before him were too powerful to easily remap. He blinked once to alter the contrast, and now he could make out distant flecks of darkness against the glowing whirlwinds of the storm. Shipwrecks? He couldn’t tell.

WHOOM!

Something blazed off his port-side, a mine exploding. He veered hard, avoiding damage. His heart raced. The explosion had opened a path through the storm, a shadowy tunnel in the clouds. A way through? It wouldn’t last long. He circled back, scanning for pursuit. Nothing: maybe they’d given him up for dead. Fly, now—fly! The currents were tricky; he had to scull with his arms to bring the ship back.

As he banked into the tunnel, the winds seemed favorable—but at once he sensed his mistake. A trap. He banked hard the other way, back into the current. It was too strong now—it was pulling him into the passage. He cursed and hit the fusion motors—dangerous in the Flux!—and continued thrusting until he’d veered past the opening. At that instant the passage twisted closed, then erupted with a belch of fire. The blast caught his wingtip and snapped him head over heels.

The storm clouds spun around him. By the time he pulled the ship out of the tumble, he’d lost his bearings completely. He felt a rising panic.

And then he heard a voice softly, distantly, in his mind. You must keep your center… stay calm. Legroeder, you’ll find the way through. Aren’t you the one who showed me, after all?

His heart stopped as he recognized the voice-from-memory, his old shipmate Gev Carlyle, as clear as if Gev were right here looking over his shoulder. Keep your center… stay calm… how often had he said those things as the younger Carlyle had fought to master his instincts and fears?

Keep your center…

The storm clouds tossed the little vessel like a wood chip on a pounding sea. He again breathed deeply and focused inward, and then from his center focused outward—and as he did so, the clouds shimmered to transparency, just for an instant. He drew another breath. Center and clarify… illuminate…

For a moment, he felt the almost tangible presence of his old friend. The feeling was so powerful, it drove the fear back a little more, and the storm clouds grew pale. Through the twists and turns of the moving currents, he began to glimpse a path: a fold in the Flux, and a current slipping through…

The escape had happened so fast Legroeder had scarcely had time to think. For seven years since his capture, he’d looked for a chance to make a break. But the guard was too tight, the fortress impregnable and light-years from anywhere. No one had ever escaped alive; that was what they said. Everyone said it; everyone believed it. A few had tried: they were dead now, or being tortured, in solitary.

And yet… even as he’d piloted their raider ships for them, preying on innocent shipping in the wilds of Golen Space, even as he’d worked for the bloody pirates, to stay alive, he’d never stopped watching, planning, ready to bolt if the opportunity ever arose.

He never dared talk about it with the other prisoners. But he’d sensed that Maris was of like mind. He’d had a rough time among the pirates, but she’d had it worse. At least he hadn’t been raped and abused, in addition to being forced into labor. She was a tough woman and an angry one. He’d thought often of Maris as a friend he’d not really gotten to know.

When the chance finally came, he had just seconds to make up his mind. They were coming off a ship-maintenance detail in the outer docks—Jolly, Lumo, Maris, and Legroeder—when a Flux capacitor in the main docking room blew, spewing a jet of blazing plasma across the room. Two of the guards, caught in the discharge, went sprawling. Several other workers helped the injured out of the compartment, leaving two guards with four conscripts. Through the haze and confusion of the leaking plasma, Legroeder spotted a fallen handgun lying under a console. He glanced at Maris, who stiffened as she saw it, too.

Legroeder thought furiously. The remaining guards were occupied by the plasma leak, and behind Legroeder and the other prisoners, just down a short corridor, a small ship was docked, its airlock doors open. His crew had just finished checking it over; it was ready to fly.

Maris’s eyes met his; they both shifted to the far side of the compartment, where the guards were shouting, trying to cut off the plasma discharge. Maris gave a shrug that seemed to ask a question. Legroeder nodded. He looked at Jolly and Lumo, standing to one side watching the plasma jet. Neither was likely to be of help. When he glanced back, Maris was moving toward the gun.

One of the guards finally noticed. “Hey, what are you doing?” he shouted, unslinging his neutraser rifle. The plasma plume partially obscured his view, but it wouldn’t block his shot.

Legroeder barked a warning.

Maris came up with the gun.

A crackle of neutraser fire: Maris cried out and spun around, wounded. But not too wounded to fire back: from a crouch, she fired three times. A shriek of pain told Legroeder that she’d hit one of the guards. She dropped the gun, staggering.

Legroeder snatched it up and caught her by the arm. The second guard was coming around the end of the dying plasma jet. Legroeder aimed and squeezed. There was a flash: the guard staggered back. Jolly and Lumo were flattened against the wall, dumbfounded. “Come with us?” Legroeder yelled.

Jolly shook his head. Lumo was frozen with fear.

Legroeder squeezed several bursts into the guards’ com panel. “Then don’t try to stop us!”

Jolly nodded, terrified.

“Let’s go,” Legroeder grunted, straining to support Maris with his shoulder.

“ ’Kay,” she gasped. “Let’s go.” Her face was taut with pain, but she was already struggling toward the airlock.

It took about five minutes for him to get them both onto the scout, seal the airlock, secure Maris in the med-unit, and get to the bridge to power up.

A lifetime.

The scout ship dashed out of the Dead Man’s Zone like a fish through a broken net. Legroeder steered furiously, searching for currents leading away from the raider outpost. They were past one danger, but hardly in the clear.

BAROOOOOM!

The ship shuddered violently.

He kept flying as he scanned for the source of the explosion. The crimson and orange clouds of the Flux billowed past like foaming surf over the prow of a submarine. But he needed to stay fast and maneuverable. He reshaped the image to one of a jet fighter, fast and sleek, streaking through the misty clouds. He veered left and up, then right and down, trying to make them a difficult target if anyone was aiming. They were back in the main channel, on much the same course a raider ship might take in leaving the area. If the raiders were still pursuing…

BAROOOOOM!

Light flashed in the clouds to the left, and Legroeder banked hard away. Three raider ships burst out of the clouds in pursuit. Hell’s furnace! he thought. They’d been waiting to see if he made it through the Dead Man’s Zone. He was damn sure he’d surprised them.

He barreled over into a steep dive, pulling away, but only momentarily. They’d never get out by the main route—which left just one other way.

Maris! he shouted into the intercom. We’re going out through the Chimney. If you can hear me, hold tight!

Ignoring the lurch in his stomach, he pitched his dive past the vertical, undercutting his own flight path, then rolled the ship upright for a view of the raiders that were coming around in pursuit. They were not quite as desperate as he was, or as crazy, and they took a wider turn. They were firing, but accomplishing nothing but lighting up the clouds. Legroeder rolled inverted again to search the clouds below, and finally spotted a region of shadow that marked the opening of the Chimney, a passage so narrow and hazardous it was known as the Fool’s Refuge. He stretched himself into the longest, fastest fighter plane he could imagine, and aimed straight down into the murky darkness of the Chimney.

Pounding waves of energy suddenly assailed the net. TURN BACK! TURN BACK! OR YOU WILL DIE!… DIE!… DIE! The raiders were broadcasting into the Flux.

It was the booming of a steel kettle drum, projected so as to come right up out of the Chimney, reverberating through the very fabric of the Flux and booming into the rigger-net as though he were inside the drum. Legroeder knew the source of the thunderous noise, knew it well—he’d used it himself, against others—and yet, even knowing that it was only a trick to inspire fear, he couldn’t help being shaken. He was doing something insane.

WILL DIE… WILL DIE… WILL DIE…

There was no escaping the echoes. He could only try to ignore them. Try not to be afraid.

A deep, dark fissure was opening in the clouds below. That was where he had to go—and if he had any doubts, they were erased by bright flashes of light behind him—neutrasers and flux torpedoes. He took a sharp breath and spun down into the fissure. Into the Chimney. From this moment on, the pursuers would be the least of his worries. If they were stupid enough to follow, maybe they would all die together…

DIE… DIE… DIE…

Suddenly he was in darkness—midnight in the Chimney. Glints of light flickered in the cloud walls ahead. Deadly Flux-abscess, or other terrible ways to die.

He glanced back. Damn. They were still coming after him. No time to worry; he was dropping at tremendous speed through a shaft of raging turbulence. He fought vertigo as the cloud walls flashed abruptly light / dark / light / dark, until he could scarcely focus on them at all.

Something flashed past him from above, a coruscating veil of light that turned and rose back up toward him like a vast fishnet of energy seeking to ensnare him. He grunted and narrowed the rigger-net to a needle and arrowed straight down. The fishnet veil billowed up and around him again with a twinkle and a whump. The ship bucked but kept moving—until a blast of secondary turbulence hit him.

With a shriek, the ship lurched out of control and careened sideways toward the deadly Chimney wall.

Chapter 2 Inquest

The RiggerGuild hearing room was dead silent.

Its domed ceiling was coated with a multi-optic laminate that made it glitter like stars against darkness. Legroeder let his gaze wander along the ceiling, and for an instant the stars were transformed into the luminous features of the Flux.

Skidding toward the Chimney wall, pulsing with light: pockets of quantum chaos, where images could distort without warning. The ship plummeted through, and suddenly the landscape was strobing with stark reversals of light and contour. Behind him was the sparkle of weapons fire. Before his heart could beat twice, a spread of flux-torpedoes exploded, triggering a cascade of distortions that sent his ship spinning…

The holograms of the three panelists sat at the curved table at the front of the room. Legroeder sat with his young, Guild-appointed counsel, a Mr. Kalm-Lieu, facing the panel from a smaller curved table at the center of the room. Despite the expansive design, the room was designed to keep the inquest panel and its subjects rigidly separated. Only Legroeder and Kalm-Lieu were physically present.

From the front bench, the holo of the RiggerGuild inquest chairwoman was speaking. Her voice seemed hollow, devoid of inflection. Legroeder couldn’t remember her name, had never met her in person. “Rigger Legroeder, please remember that there are no charges being considered in this hearing. Our purpose is not to determine guilt or innocence, but rather to determine if you should be represented in this matter by the Guild of Riggers. We hope you understand the distinction.”

Legroeder shrugged in disbelief, staring up at the dome…

The pocket of Flux-abscess turned itself inside out with the torpedo blast, hurling him into a sudden opening that he felt rather than saw, a breach caused by the blast. Steering by an intuition that seemed almost supernatural in its accuracy, he threaded his way through… and by the time he caught his breath he was coasting free in the open Flux, well away from the Chimney, away from the raider outpost, and apparently free of pursuit.

Spying a current leading away from that place, he rode it for a long time, until he could decide on a destination world. The choice in the end was made for him; there was only one major world within his reach that was free of pirate influence: Faber Eridani, well beyond the borders of Golen Space. Not an easy flight in a small ship; but if he wanted to be free, really free, he had no choice but to risk the distance. Checking frequently on Maris, still in near-stasis in the suppression-field, he rigged their ship toward a new life and new hope for both of them. Toward the protection of the Centrist Worlds and the RiggerGuild, their own people…

Legroeder trembled with anger. He avoided looking at the inquest panelists. To have escaped from the raiders and gotten Maris to a hospital here, only to be put on trial for collaborating with pirates in his own capture? It was impossible! Who would have believed it?

“Counsel, may we take that as a yes?” asked the voice of the inquest chair.

Kalm-Lieu glanced uneasily at Legroeder. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“In that case, Rigger Legroeder, we will put the question to you again. Please describe your actions, seven years ago, leading up to the taking of Ciudad de los Angeles by the Golen Space pirates.”

Legroeder felt as if he were standing outside of his own skin, watching himself—a small, olive-skinned man with gloomy eyes, trying to comprehend the trap he was caught in. He sighed and rubbed his temples, forcing himself to suppress that image.

“Let me understand,” he said slowly. “I’ve just escaped from forced servitude with interstellar pirates, and I’ve come to you for sanctuary and offered to tell you everything I know about the pirates’ operations. But all you care about is what happened when my ship was attacked seven years ago—and whether you can pin something on me for it?”

“Not at all, Rigger Legroeder. But we must have the facts before us.”

“Including facts about the ghost ship? About Impris?”

The voice of the court inclined her virtual head. “You may describe your capture in whatever way you feel is appropriate. Now, if you please…”

Legroeder closed his eyes, summoning the events of seven years before. The beginning of the nightmare…

The Ciudad de los Angeles was a passenger/cargo liner, a good ship carrying a modest but respectable manifest of fifty-two passengers and twenty-four crewmembers, including the rigging complement of seven. Legroeder was among the more seasoned of the riggers, three of whom were stationed in the net at any given time. Legroeder’s specialty was the stern-rigger station, the anchor; he was to be the maintainer of good grounding and common sense, especially if the lead and keel riggers became carried away with the imagery of the Flux. He was known as a rigger with a dark outlook, but solid reliability.

Ciudad de los Angeles was en route to Varinorum Prime—a little close to the edge of Golen Space, but on a route considered fairly safe from pirate attack. It was Legroeder who first sighted the other ship in the Flux, flickering into view off to the portside of the L.A. It appeared to be on a course parallel to theirs. The sighting of any other ship in the Flux was such a rare event that the image was branded on his memory: the ship long and pale and silver, like a whale gliding slowly through the mists of the Flux. He didn’t just see it, but heard it: the soft hooting of a distress signal so thin and distant as to be nearly inaudible.

Take a look off to the left, and tell me if you see what I see, he said, alerting his rigger-mates to the sighting. He strained to get a better reading on the distress signal. He couldn’t quite make it out, or decipher where the ship was going; it seemed to be passing through a layer of the Flux that was separated from the L.A. by a slight phase shift, though he couldn’t quite discern a boundary layer.

I see it, too, said Jakus Bark from the keel-rigger position. Is that a distress signal? We’d better call the captain. Bridge—Captain Hyutu—?

When Captain Hyutu checked in, he reported that he could just make it out in the bridge monitors. By now, the distress beacon had become more audible. The codes didn’t match anything in the L.A.’s computer, but soon they could hear voices calling across the gulf: “This is Impris… Impris calling… please respond… we need assistance… this is Impris, out of Faber Eridani…”

Legroeder and the rest of the crew were stunned.

Impris.

The legendary Flying Dutchman, the ghost ship of the stars? Impossible! Officially, Impris was nothing more than a legend—a ship that vanished into the Flux during a routine voyage, well over a hundred years ago. Impris was hardly the first, nor the last, ship to vanish during a voyage, especially in time of war. What made her the stuff of legend was the recurring rumor of ghostly sightings—not just by one ship or two, but by generations of riggers. None of the sightings was clear enough to constitute proof of her continued existence, but the number of alleged sightings was enough to keep the legend alive.

It was as though Impris had faded into the Flux, never to reemerge into normal-space; and yet neither had she perished. So the tale in star riggers’ bars grew: that she was like the Flying Dutchman of old, the legendary haunted seagoing ship whose captain and crew were doomed to sail through eternity, lost and immortal and without hope.

Myth, said the Spacing Authority’s archives.

Real, said the riggers in the bars.

In the Flux it could be hard to tell the difference.

Not this time, though. Legroeder saw the ship moving through the mists of the Flux, and his crewmates saw it, too. Captain Hyutu of the L.A. was no rigger, but he was an experienced captain who could read the signs in the monitors as well as any. When he heard the distress call, he gave the order to the riggers: Make slow headway toward that ship. See if you can bring us alongside. An announcement echoed throughout the L.A. They were preparing to render assistance to a vessel in distress.

The L.A. closed the gap between the ships.

And that was when the Flux began to light up, the misty atmospheres around the L.A. suddenly flashing like a psychedelic light show. What the hell—? muttered Legroeder.

And then the sounds… DROOM! DROOM! DROOM!… like booming kettle drums, drowning out the distress call. Legroeder’s heart pounded as Impris turned toward the L.A., and for a few seconds he thought the sounds were coming from Impris herself.

Are they turning to dock? called Jakus, from the keel.

They’re on a collision course! cried the lead rigger. Hard to starboard! Captain, sound collision!

Legroeder’s stomach was in knots as he struggled, in a Flux that had suddenly become turbulent and slippery, to bring the stern around. Captain Hyutu intoned, Steady as she goes! Steady, now! The riggers obeyed, Legroeder holding his breath. And then Legroeder saw what Hyutu must have seen in the monitors: the other ship was shimmering and becoming insubstantial. As she closed with the L.A., turning, the front of her net cut across the portside bow of the L.A.’s.

And for just an instant, Legroeder felt the presence of the rigger crew of the other ship, heard their cries of anguish and despair, felt their awareness of him… and then Impris and her crew became altogether transparent, and suddenly were gone.

Gone.

A heartbeat later, another ship emerged from the mist in its place: a spiky and misshapen ship with a grotesque, leering face on its bow and weaponry bristling down its side. What—? Legroeder breathed, along with the others in the net, and then someone cried, Golen Space pirates! The booming crescendoed: DOOOOM!… DOOOM-M-M!… DOOOM-M-M! The Flux came ablaze with light, and it was all coming from the marauder ship. It had been hiding behind Impris, using the doomed ship as a shield.

Away! Legroeder cried, and they tried to turn the L.A. away to flee, but it was already too late. The pirate riggers had spun threads of deception and fear, and they seemed to have a command over the stuff of the Flux that the L.A.’s crew did not. Within minutes, the two ships were bound together in coiling, distorted currents of the Flux, and then the marauder ship was pulling them up through the layers of the Flux into the emptiness between the stars. As they emerged into normal-space, light-years from the nearest help, the emerald and crimson haze of the great Barrier Nebula obscured even the sight of the distant stars that had been the L.A.’s destination.

The boarding was a brief, violent affair. The liner, carrying some limited armament against the perils of Golen Space, was hopelessly outmatched. Her fighting potential lasted about ten seconds, and by then half a dozen members of the crew were dead. To Legroeder it was a blur—emerging from the net and staggering out onto the bridge, he was met by armed raiders and herded through the ship’s passageways at gunpoint, through clouds of noxious gas and smoke. From the airlock, he was shoved through a passage tube to the raider ship—and then into a hold with about thirty other people; and his life as a free man came to an end.

The court panel interrupted him, stating that they would get to his “captivity period” at a later time. Legroeder fell silent, gazing at the panel. “We’d like to know,” said a man sitting to the right of the chairwoman, “if you can tell us a little more about the fate of others from the Ciudad de los Angeles.” This man represented the Spacing Authority, the enforcement agency that dealt with pirates. Why was he here, if Legroeder wasn’t on trial? “How many would you say were taken prisoner, and how many executed by the pirates?”

Legroeder stared at the man. “That’s hard to say. I didn’t see it all.”

The man wore a pained expression, as though he hated asking such questions. “But what would be your best estimate?”

Legroeder turned to Kalm-Lieu in frustration.

Kalm-Lieu’s soft, boyish features were twisted into a frown as he rose. “My client does not have that information, if it please the panel.”

“Counsel,” said the chairwoman, “we’re only trying to complete our picture of the situation. If your client would give his best estimate as to the number captured, and the number executed by the pirates—”

Kalm-Lieu glanced at Legroeder and shrugged.

Legroeder sighed. “If I had to guess, I’d say that maybe half to two thirds of the crew and passengers were taken prisoner, and the rest killed during the boarding. Is that what you mean by executed?”

“Wouldn’t you call it an execution to kill innocent people in the process of hijacking a ship?” asked the man from the Authority.

“Sure,” Legroeder said. “I would.” But in his seven years, he’d seen people summarily executed who weren’t doing anything at all to resist. The thought of it made him ill, even now. But as for casualties in the boarding, he had never really known the true number, because most of them he never saw again—including Captain Hyutu. But he had the oddest recollection about the captain, one that had stayed with him all these years. In his last glimpse of Hyutu, he had seen on the captain’s face an expression of outrage and indignation, as the raiders stormed through the ship. This would have seemed exactly right on another man’s face. But not on Hyutu’s: the man had always looked stiff and expressionless when he was angry. Legroeder had always wondered about that.

“I see,” said the panelist.

The chairwoman of the panel spoke inaudibly to the other two. Then: “That will be all for today, Rigger Legroeder. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Kalm-Lieu accompanied Legroeder to the Spacing Authority holding center and waited while Legroeder made a call to the hospital. No change in Maris’s condition. Returning to join his counsel in the small visitors’ lounge, Legroeder shook his head. Maris had been in a coma since their escape, and was now under intensive care in the hospital. Legroeder was torn between gratitude that she was alive and guilt that she lay in a coma because he’d encouraged her to flee with him. It wasn’t just the wounds; the pirates had put implants in the back of her head specifically programmed to deter escape. The doctors here were at a loss as to how to remove them without killing her. Legroeder wondered if they’d ever even seen an implant, much less a booby-trapped one.

“I’m sorry,” Kalm-Lieu said, handing him a cup of coffee—real coffee, supposedly, not like what they’d had at the raider outpost.

“Not your fault,” Legroeder murmured, taking a sip. It burned going down.

“The news is on,” Kalm-Lieu said, pointing to the holo in the corner of the room.

“News,” Legroeder whispered. How long had it been since he’d seen news—uncensored journalism about what was happening in the rest of the world. Rest of the world, hell—the rest of the known galaxy. He cradled his coffee and watched.

“…Discussions toward improved trade relations with the Narseil homeworlds hit a snag today with revelations of a preferred status offered to Clendornan traders by the Narseil merchant coalition. Reports suggest that the Faber Eridani Trade Minister would be unwilling to open further doors to Narseil business interests without some clear, reciprocal action on the part of the Narseil. This seems to contradict earlier predictions that the Faber Eridani government would actively court increased trade with the Narseil…”

Legroeder sipped the hot liquid, letting the reporter’s words drone on. These concerns felt so alien—Narseil, Clendornan, interstellar trading relations.

“You know,” Kalm-Lieu said, shaking his head. “I wonder how long they’ll go on pretending we don’t need decent relations with the Narseil. It’s not as if we have to like each other. We could still work with them.”

Legroeder glanced at him, slightly dazed. Who cares? he thought. The politicos have always hated the Narseil.

“Stagnation,” Kalm-Lieu said. “That’s what’s happened to our society. And it started a long time ago..”

“You still trade with other worlds, don’t you?” Could things have changed that much?

Kalm-Lieu darted a glance at him. “Sure—of course we trade. But mostly just among humans—and Centrists, at that. In a lot of ways, we’re a very isolationist society. But it’s been so long, now…”

Legroeder squinted, trying to absorb what the lawyer was saying. He’d been away from civilization for seven years, and Faber Eridani wasn’t his homeworld, anyway. But now that he was here, he supposed he’d better start learning…

The holo broke into his awareness again. “In other news from the offworld front, a preliminary RiggerGuild inquest has been looking into the strange case of a fugitive star rigger who arrived on this planet ten days ago, after a harrowing escape from Golen Space raiders—”

Legroeder choked on his coffee.

“Seven years ago, Renwald Legroeder served aboard the interstellar liner Ciudad de los Angeles when it was captured by raiders. Spacing authorities reportedly suspect Rigger Legroeder of collaboration in the capture, quoting sworn testimony that the rigger deliberately steered the Ciudad de los Angeles toward the pirate ship. Rigger Legroeder, through his Guild-appointed attorney, denies all such allegations. Questioned by the press, Spacing Commissioner Ottoson North issued the following statement.”

The reporter’s image was replaced by that of a well-groomed man wearing a dress tunic with a gold, interlocking-ring insignia over his breast. “Let me make one thing clear: this Spacing Authority will never tolerate collaboration with pirates. However, Rigger Legroeder must have the opportunity to defend himself in a court of law. He has found his way to Faber Eridani after a death-defying escape from a pirate outpost, and he has every right to expect fair treatment. As long as Ottoson North is commissioner, he will get that fair treatment. For all we know, the man may be a hero.”

The commissioner was interrupted by a reporter shouting, “What about allegations he was responsible for the loss of Ciudad de los Angeles?”

Commissioner North waved his hand to acknowledge the question. “We’re investigating, as is our responsibility. All allegations will be examined. But there has been no guilt established yet—and it’s the job of the Spacing Authority to determine facts, not allegations. It’s also the job of the RiggerGuild to protect and defend the interests of riggers everywhere, and that includes Rigger Legroeder, as well as his colleagues. So let’s allow the investigation to move forward, and let the evidence speak for itself, shall we?”

The holo cut away from North and back to the news desk, where the anchorwoman continued, “Despite these words of reassurance from Commissioner North, potentially damning testimony by the rigger himself was released by the RiggerGuild…”

The image cut to Legroeder saying, “We steered toward the other ship—” cut to “—the captain told us to maintain our course—” cut to “—we were headed directly toward the pirate ship—”

The holo cut again, to the panelist asking how many had been killed and captured, then to Legroeder snorting, looking with apparent disdain toward the ceiling. Then just his voice, answering, “Hard to say…”

And finally an echo of Commissioner North’s voice: “—let the evidence speak for itself…”

Legroeder’s coffee cup fell and rolled across the floor. He stared at the holo image, scarcely hearing as his attorney repeated, “That’s not the way you said it. We can challenge that. Don’t worry, we can challenge that…”

“The panel has reached its decision,” the chairwoman said, with the barest of opening prelimaries.

Legroeder drew a sharp breath. Reached its decision—? He turned to his attorney.

Kalm-Lieu was already on his feet. “Madame Chair, this is highly irregular! My client has not yet concluded his testimony.”

“Irregular it may be,” said the chairwoman, with a severe expression. “Nevertheless, the decision is made.”

“May I ask why the rush to judgment?” Kalm-Lieu demanded.

“This is not a judgment, Counsel, merely a decision as to the RiggerGuild’s involvement in the matter.” The chairwoman sounded chiding. “The full legal proceedings have yet to begin.”

“Nevertheless—”

“However, I will inform you that the reason for the timing is a request from the Spacing Authority that we move quickly so that the full investigation can begin. This matter is viewed very seriously by the Spacing Authority, and it is the wish of the RiggerGuild to cooperate to the fullest extent possible.”

The chairwoman stared down, clearing her throat. “Now, then. It is the finding of this panel that your actions while serving aboard the Ciudad de los Angeles did in all probability bring harm to the passengers in your care, and to the shipmates with whom you served. Such actions are therefore in violation of RiggerGuild Code—”

Legroeder grunted in disbelief and tried to turn to his lawyer, but his head felt frozen in ice.

“—we find a high probability of conviction for dereliction of duty in Spacing Authority Court, and therefore have determined that the Guild of Riggers should not represent you in this matter.”

“Madame Chairman, I object!” he heard his counsel protesting, miles away, it seemed. “My client has not even been permitted to present his full case—”

“Mr. Kalm-Lieu, please be seated. I repeat, the purpose of this hearing is simply to determine whether the RiggerGuild should take a role in the matter. We have determined that the Guild should not become involved.”

The attorney was clearly flustered. “I really must—I mean, what about the circumstances? What about starship Impris? You have released misleading information to the press, and have given us no opportunity to—”

“Please be silent, Mr. Kalm-Lieu, while I finish reading the decision. You will have an opportunity to make a statement at the end.”

The attorney stood for a moment, shaking with frustration. Finally he sat down beside his client.

Numbness was overtaking Legroeder. He stared at his thumbs and listened impassively as the rest of the judgment was read.

“Thank you. Rigger Legroeder, your service aboard Ciudad de los Angeles was a sacred trust. If you had acted with greater care and wisdom, you might have saved many passengers and crew from death or captivity at the hands of Golen Space pirates. Instead, in your belief that you had seen the legendary ship Impris, you pursued a phantom. As a result of those actions, your ship was boarded, and all hands taken or lost.”

“Objection! He was hardly the only crewmember involved in the actions! What about the captain—?”

“Mr. Kalm-Lieu, silence! Rigger Legroeder was not the only one, perhaps, but he is the only one to stand here before us.”

There were locked, silent glares for a half dozen heartbeats.

The chairwoman went on, “There remains the question of Rigger Legroeder’s complicity with the society of raiders, in captivity. That we leave to the Spacing Authority to determine. But by his own admission, he participated in as many as fifty or sixty acts of piracy—”

“Before he had the opportunity to escape!” protested Kalm-Lieu.

Was it Legroeder’s imagination, or was his counsel losing spirit?

“—in those acts of piracy, uncounted innocent people may have lost their lives. Therefore, it is the judgment of this panel that Rigger Renwald Legroeder’s membership in the Guild of Riggers shall be suspended, and he shall not be granted the protection of the RiggerGuild in this matter or any other.”

Legroeder sat rigidly silent as the chairwoman concluded, “Mr. Kalm-Lieu, your vigorous defense of your client has been admirable. However, you will not be continuing in this role. Mr. Legroeder, following the conclusion of this hearing, the Guild legal offices will no longer be available to you. You will be remanded back to the Spacing Authority, for their judgment in the matter of your alleged complicity with the Golen Space raiders.

“And now, Mr. Kalm-Lieu. If you or your client would like to make a final statement, this is your opportunity.”

Kalm-Lieu rose slowly, obviously struggling to find words to express his disbelief. “Ma’am, I can only reassert that this is a blatant violation of my client’s rights. I ask for a moment to confer.” He turned to Legroeder. “If this were a trial, I could file an appeal. But under the Guild rules—” He raised his hands helplessly. “This is extremely irregular. I had no idea this was coming.”

Legroeder did not look at his lawyer, but slowly raised his gaze to the holo of the chairwoman. He was beginning to feel his anger burn through the numbness, but he had no target for it. He knew, as certainly as he knew his own name, that this panel could not possibly be acting on its own. It was just too irrational. But who were they acting for? He couldn’t even guess. Finally, he glanced at his attorney.

“Do you want to voice your personal protest, for the record?” asked Kalm-Lieu.

“You’ve said it all already,” said Legroeder. He raised his voice to fill the room. “It’s clear this hearing has been a fraud from the start. So why belabor it?”

Kalm-Lieu grunted. He rose unsteadily, glanced back at Legroeder twice before speaking. “My client… protests the injustice of this hearing, Madame Chairman. He has nothing further to say.” Kalm-Lieu sat again, fidgeting.

With a motion of her hand, the chairwoman sealed the judgment in the computer. “Then this hearing is adjourned.” A moment later, she and the rest of the panel shimmered and vanished.

Legroeder forced himself up, a tightness in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Kalm-Lieu said.

So am I. “What’s my next step?”

Kalm-Lieu’s eyes darted around the room uneasily. “I’m sorry, but I am no longer permitted to advise you. They’ve taken me off your case.”

Legroeder felt his breath go out. “You mean I’m just left to twist in the wind?”

Kalm-Lieu gestured awkwardly. “That’s not the way I want it, but—”

“But that’s the way it is, isn’t it?” Legroeder gestured toward the empty hearing table, the fury rising at last in his voice. “You mean you can’t even tell me what’s supposed to happen next? Who do I get to represent me with the Spacing Authority? What am I supposed to do now?”

“You’re free to hire counsel, of course.” Kalm-Lieu lowered his voice, and looked as though he were going to shrink away altogether. “Perhaps I could recommend someone—”

“Hire counsel?” Legroeder thundered. “I’ve been a prisoner in Golen Space for seven years, and I have nothing but the shirt on my back, and you tell me I can hire counsel?”

“I understand how you must feel—”

“Oh, do you?” Legroeder snapped. He shouted toward the front of the room. “Do you understand what it’s like to be betrayed by the people who are supposed to be defending you? Do you understand that?”

“Please. This won’t help.”

“Then what will? Sitting here arguing RiggerGuild code, instead of trying to find out why they’re blaming me for what a band of pirates did to my ship?”

Kalm-Lieu’s face was filled with remorse. Two security agents had appeared at Legroeder’s side. “I’m afraid,” Kalm-Lieu said, “you’ll have to stay in confinement with the Spacing Authority until your hearing. Unless you can post bond…” His hands fluttered helplessly.

Legroeder snorted in disgust. Post bond? With what? Even his back salary from the owners of Ciudad de los Angeles was in escrow until the matter was settled. He shook his head once—and without another word, strode out of the hearing room, the guards close behind.

Chapter 3 Harriet Mahoney

Only a few people were being held at the Spacing Authority holding center at the time of Legroeder’s arrival: two small-time smugglers and an orbital tug pilot being held for a license violation. It was rare for a rigger to be kept there, since riggers usually fell under the protection of the Guild; if they were detained at all, it was generally at RiggerGuild quarters. Legroeder felt humiliated, being held like a common criminal.

At least it wasn’t a cell. They’d put him in a small room with a bunk, granting him some privacy and a com-console linked to the center’s library, but few amenities beyond that. The primary amenity it lacked was freedom. He spent the first few days exercising until he ached, trying to regain muscle tone after the long journey cooped in the scout ship. The guards looked on, bemused, as he cycled the exercise machines over and over through their full range of movement: stretches, lifts, crunches, steps… until he was puffing with exhaustion. When he wasn’t working out, he was mostly lost in grim thought, worrying about Maris, and trying to understand how an escape from the pirates of Golen Space could have brought him to this.

How could he possibly be accused of trying to give Ciudad de los Angeles—“City of the Angels”—into the hands of the pirates, even if he had made an error in judgment while rigging? How could he have known that Golen Space raiders were hiding behind the phantom ship, waiting to strike? He hadn’t even been in command. Captain Hyutu was the one who’d given the order to approach Impris.

And yet, he found himself almost beginning to doubt his own actions. Many had died; and many more had endured, and continued to endure, captivity among the Golen Space pirates. Few if any would escape as Legroeder had. He could only hope, forlornly, that those remaining behind would not suffer reprisals because of his escape.

By the end of his third day of confinement, there was still no word on the beginning of his hearing. Kalm-Lieu was gone, and Legroeder had done nothing about finding new legal assistance. He did spend some time on the com-console, running searches through the RiggerGuild finder service to see if any of his old rigger friends happened to be on Faber Eridani. The closest he found was a stopover six months ago by a rigger he’d known casually ten years before. It didn’t look as though he would find help from any friends here.

Faber Eridani! he thought. Why’d I have to pick Faber Eridani? But really, where else could he have gone?

All this mulling was getting him nowhere. He dumped his cup of cold coffee into the sink and returned to sit at the tiny desk beside his bed. He stared at the seascape holo on the wall, a painting of a ship in a storm, and thought, Ghost ship. It wasn’t a damn ghost. But who will believe me? Who—?

“Renwald Legroeder!” A voice outside in the hall.

Legroeder sat up, blinking. What the hell time was it? Morning… he didn’t even remember getting into bed, much less going to sleep.

“Rigger Legroeder!” repeated the voice, closer now.

Legroeder stared at the locked door. “Yeah! What is it?”

The door clicked and opened. Vinnie, the tall, skinny guard, stepped in. He was half human and half some kind of Trakon hybrid, built like a rail with bulging hips and shoulders. A weird-looking alien guard dog stood at his side, rumbling from the back of its throat. The guard claimed it was just a purr, but Legroeder had never wanted to test the claim. Vinnie grinned. “Wake you up?”

Legroeder shrugged.

Vinnie chuckled, tugging at a strand of cordlike hair. “An easy life, eh—sleeping in whenever you want? Well, it’s coming to an end. Gather up your things. You’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Legroeder struggled to his feet. “Why, are they transferring me somewhere?”

Vinnie’s laugh sounded like a twang. “The hex, no. You’re free on bail.”

“Bail? I haven’t posted any bail.”

“Someone did it for you.”

Legroeder stared at him, uncomprehending.

“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be happy as a pig in the dew.”

“I am happy. Don’t I look happy? Who was it?”

The guard unclipped a compad from his breast pocket and consulted it. “Says here the name’s Harriet Mahoney. Friend of yours?”

“Never heard of her.” Legroeder blinked in bewilderment. “Who is she?” His mind raced through possibilities and came up blank. Could it have been some forgotten affair, from years ago? Ridiculous. He’d only been on this planet a few times, and certainly had never had an affair here.

Vinnie seemed to read his thoughts, and winked. “Well, she’s a real looker, if you ask me.”

Legroeder frowned, then shrugged. Out was out, so what did he care? He grabbed the duffel bag a kind soul at the Guild had given him, and began to pack. It didn’t take long.

“Ready?”

Legroeder shouldered the bag, stepped carefully around the guard dog, and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

As Legroeder was being processed out through the Spacing Authority lobby, he peered around for anyone he might recognize. It wasn’t until he had passed through the security barriers and filled out six or seven forms without reading them that he heard the name Mahoney again, and turned to see who was attached to it. He followed Vinnie into a small room off to one side of the lobby. An older woman rose from a plastic chair to greet him. Her face, lined with years, was slightly reddish as though sunburned, and her hair was mostly silver, with streaks of black. She wore tastefully designed chrome-rimmed glasses. She was old enough to be his grandmother. Legroeder glanced at Vinnie, who winked. A real looker. But she moved with an energy that Legroeder did not associate with older women. “Renwald Legroeder?” She extended a hand. “I’m Mrs. Harriet Mahoney. I’ve arranged for your release.”

Legroeder shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you. And—thanks, I guess. Will you think I’m ungrateful if I ask, Who are you?”

She smiled. “I may be your only friend at the moment. If you would consent to join me for breakfast, I’d be happy to explain. I’ve been over your release forms, and they’re all in order.”

Legroeder stared at her. “Are you a lawyer or something?”

Mahoney adjusted her glasses. “That is correct. It’s my understanding that you need a lawyer. Yes?”

“Well—”

“I’ve posted your bond, and you’re free to leave. You’re prohibited from leaving the planet, however, pending your hearing with the Spacing Authority. Is that satisfactory to you?” She peered intently over the tops of her glasses.

Legroeder shrugged. “Do I have any choice?”

Mrs. Mahoney’s eyes twinkled. “None that I can see. Shall we get out of here and have breakfast?”

Legroeder pursed his lips. “Can I visit a friend in the hospital first?”

He gazed down at Maris for a long time. She lay motionless in the hydro-bed, the scars on her face and neck not looking much better under the clear bandages than they had when he’d first brought her in. But it wasn’t the scars that bothered him; it was the stillness. Whatever had most damaged her was invisible. According to the doctors, her basic physiological signs were strong; but with the raider implants controlling certain basic cortical functions, they couldn’t predict when—or if—she’d return to consciousness. “We just don’t have much experience with these augmentation devices,” one of the doctors said. “It’s hooked so deeply into her autonomic nervous system that we don’t dare meddle with it—not without knowing more. But if there’s no activity in a week or so, we’ll try some cortical stimulation and see what happens.”

Legroeder touched Maris’s forearm. Fellow prisoner. Comrade in arms. He knew little about her life before her capture by the pirates. She was taken from a ship he didn’t know the name of. They’d served together a few times on raider missions. But really… it was those two or three minutes on the maintenance dock, when they’d made the decision to trust each other, that had bound them together. He gripped her limp hand and leaned close to her ear. “You did well, Maris. We’re out. We’re away from the pirates. You’ll be free, just as soon as you pull yourself out of this. Just one more escape.” He hesitated. “I have to go and… do some things. Try to clear up a mess. I’ll be back… as soon as I can.”

He straightened with a sigh. Rejoining Harriet Mahoney in the hallway, he walked out of the hospital, into the late morning sun.

Harriet turned out to have a good knowledge of coffee shops in the area, and they settled on one that featured a holosurround of a desert, complete with spike bushes, umbrella trees, and a proliferation of desert flowers. A spring ran past their table—real rock and real water—and for the first time in years, Legroeder had the feeling that if he stayed in this place long enough, he might conceivably begin to relax. Or he might, if he weren’t bristling with questions. He held most of them long enough to wolf a plate of waffles and drink a mug of—not just real coffee, but good coffee. He had forgotten what the aroma of good coffee was like, filling the air around his head.

Finally he said, “Mrs. Mahoney—or should I call you—?”

“Harriet,” she said, resting her teacup in its saucer. “Please. I hate formal names. They make me feel old.”

“All right. Harriet. Is there a Mr. Mahoney?”

“There was. He passed away almost twenty years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

A smile twitched at her lips. “Don’t be. I think he was glad to get away from me. I was a hard person to live with, back then. Probably still am.” She chuckled. “And tell me, how do you prefer to be addressed, Rigger Renwald Legroeder?”

“No ‘Rigger’ anymore, it looks like.” He grunted, feeling a surge of anger. “Just Legroeder.”

“Then Renwald is your surname?”

He shook his head. “Legroeder is just what people have called me since I was about five. My friends, I mean.”

“Very well, then—Legroeder. You’d like to know why I bailed you out.” Harriet reached up to her right ear, as though to adjust her earring. A holo a dozen centimeters high sprang up on the table between them. It was a boy, six or seven years old, sitting on a lawn with a pet Althasian minibear. The boy was smiling and waving at the camera. “Have you ever seen this young man?” Harriet asked, and for the first time since they had met, Legroeder heard a tremor in her voice.

Legroeder bent to study the image. “Should I have?” He looked up at Harriet. “He looks a little like you. A relative?”

“My grandson,” she said. “My only grandson. He was a passenger on the Ciudad de los Angeles when she was lost.” Her voice caught. “When you were attacked by the pirates.”

Legroeder’s throat tightened as Harriet gazed somberly at the holo. “His parents were separated, you know. His father—my son—was killed in a building collapse here in Elmira. Bobby was on his way to join his mother on Thrice Varinorum. On the L.A.” Harriet touched her earring again, and the image disappeared. “For years, we didn’t know anything, except that the ship had failed to arrive, and was presumed lost.”

Legroeder said nothing.

“Until two years ago, when we first heard that the L.A. had been taken captive… by the gentlemen pirates of Golen Space.”

Legroeder laughed hollowly. “Gentlemen?”

Harriet reached for her teacup, but her hand started shaking, and she pulled it back. “By the murdering, cutthroat bastard pirates of Golen Space,” she whispered.

Legroeder closed his eyes, willing the memories away.

“I’m sorry,” Harriet said. “You suffered, too. I can see it in your eyes. Are you sure you never saw Bobby? You have no idea what might have happened to him?”

Legroeder shook his head. “I never really saw the passengers, even during the flight. And after we were taken prisoner, they split most of us up. I don’t even know what happened to most of my crewmates. I just never saw them again.”

Harriet’s gaze narrowed. For some reason he suddenly felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He squinted past her, across the broiling desert that landscaped the coffeehouse. “Not even Jakus Bark?” she asked.

“Jakus?” Legroeder started at the name, and blinked down at the table, and a holo of Jakus Bark, the keel rigger who’d been in the net with him at the time of the pirate attack. But in this picture, he looked… older. “Where did you get this picture?” Legroeder demanded.

“I’ll tell you in a moment. May I ask, when did you last see Rigger Bark?”

“Well, I—” Legroeder’s voice caught, as he remembered being marched off the bridge of the L.A. with the other riggers. Jakus had been visibly shaking with fear; he’d looked even more scared than Legroeder was. Legroeder cleared his throat. “We were both pulled off the L.A., onto the raider ship. But we were taken into separate holds.”

“Did you see him again?”

“Just once. A few weeks later, I guess. At the raider outpost. We’d been going through nonstop indoctrination, telling us if we wanted to live we had better learn to cooperate.” Legroeder swallowed, feeling the familiar pain. “In the case of the riggers, that meant flying their ships for them.” He struggled to put words to the memory. “Jakus—that one time I saw him—I got the feeling he’d adapted more than most. I was still pretty resistant—not outwardly, but in here.” He tapped his chest. “But Jakus… wasn’t. He didn’t seem as angry as the rest of us. After that, I never saw him again.”

“Would it surprise you to learn,” Harriet asked, rotating the image to better display Jakus’s face, “that he’s here on Faber Eridani?”

“Here?” Legroeder was stunned.

“Right here in Elmira, in fact. He’s been here for two years. I talked to him not long after he returned.”

“But—” Legroeder stammered “—they said at the inquest that no one else from the L.A. had returned. How could they—don’t they know he’s here?”

“They not only know,” said Harriet, “but it was his testimony, in large part, that led to their decision against you.”

Legroeder stared at her in bewilderment. “But that’s not—I didn’t hear anything about any testimony—”

“No. You didn’t,” said Harriet. “And isn’t that interesting—especially given the damaging nature of his testimony?”

Legroeder opened his mouth again. “What damaging testimony?”

“I can show it to you later, if you like. The fact that they hid it from you is something we can use in your defense. I assume the testimony will be brought into an actual trial. But in this preliminary inquest, they didn’t need it; all they wanted was to deny you the support of the RiggerGuild. But someone pretty high up must be scared about something. Or at the very least, dismayed by your sudden arrival here. Dismayed enough to use hidden testimony against you, apparently in hopes of shutting you away forever. Why do you suppose they would do that?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

Harriet sighed, frowning. “That’s what we have to find out. I think there’s a lot more to this than meets the eye. But right now, all I have is suspicions.” She studied Legroeder for a moment. “It wasn’t easy to get you freed on bail, you know. I think the only reason they set bail for you was that they weren’t expecting someone like me to come along and help you.” She pressed her fingertips together in concentration. “You know, if you’re convicted of setting up the L.A. for capture, you could be mindwiped, or locked away for life.”

Legroeder tightened his lips, but said nothing.

“I’m sorry—you didn’t need to hear that.” Harriet attempted a smile. “So, Rigger Legroeder… would you like me to represent you?”

“Well, I don’t have any m—”

“There’s no fee up front, just a percentage if we ever go for damages and collect anything. We probably won’t. I’m not in this for the money.”

Legroeder was having trouble focusing; his head was filled with questions. “Did Kalm-Lieu bring you in on this? Are you a good lawyer?”

Harriet grinned. “Does it matter? I’m the only one you’ve got. But yes, I think I’m a pretty good lawyer. And no, Kalm-Lieu didn’t bring me in—though I think he was relieved that I stepped in.” Her grin vanished, and she looked deadly serious. “When I spoke with Kalm-Lieu, he seemed—scared, is the only word I can think of. Though he tried to hide it, I’m sure he’s glad to be off the case.”

Scared? Frustrated, Legroeder would have thought. Angry. But why scared? “Why are you doing this? If it scared Kalm-Lieu?”

Harriet steepled her fingers. “I’ve been following your case with great interest—along with everything else I can find that’s related to the Ciudad de los Angeles. As I said—there’s a lot going on here beyond procedural irregularities—but I’m just beginning to put together what it is. I’m hoping we can help each other find out, and get you exonerated.”

“But why? Why are you helping me?”

“Because somehow there’s a connection between what’s happened to you and what happened to Bobby,” she said softly. “And one way or another, I am going to find out what it is.”

Impossible. Bobby’s in Golen Space. He’s gone, Legroeder thought, shutting his eyes. He took a deep breath. “What chance is there of learning anything about your grandson? Realistically.”

“Maybe no chance. Maybe it’s hopeless. Maybe I’m just a crazy old lady, and I wouldn’t blame you if you thought so. But I want to know if Bobby is alive or dead. I want to know what happened.” For a moment, she seemed surprised by her own vehemence. Then she poured some tea from the insulated pot into her cup. “And I want to make sure everyone else knows, too. Would you like some more coffee?”

Legroeder’s head was spinning. He felt as if a real sun were beating down on his head, here in this holodesert in the midst of the cafe; he could feel the heat like the blast of an oven. “Yes, sure,” he muttered. “More coffee would be wonderful…”

Chapter 4 Comrade In Arms

The recording of the testimony was a bit muddy from imperfect decryption. Access to it had been restricted by the RiggerGuild office, and two years ago Harriet had paid a private investigator to snag an illicit copy off the datagrid. According to the PI, the copy he’d intercepted was being transmitted to a location known to be a datastop for an extremist political group called Centrist Strength. What Centrist Strength had to do with a RiggerGuild inquest on a five-year-old lost ship, the PI had been unable to say. Centrist Strength was new to Legroeder. According to Harriet, it was a group headquartered here on Faber Eridani, but active on a few other worlds as well, which was known for an almost fanatical advocacy of new human expansion into the galaxy. Their philosophy was laden with heavy overtones of what they called “Destiny Manifest”—a belief that the stars, all of them, were destined for human conquest and habitation. Though lip service was paid in their pronouncements to cooperation with other species, the overall tenor of their activities seemed to be one of a human supremacist movement.

Harriet remained silent as Legroeder watched the initial part of Jakus’s testimony. It was a fairly straightforward account of the raider attack, with one critical omission: any mention of the sighting of the lost starship Impris. Legroeder stared, tight-lipped, waiting to see how his old shipmate would explain the L.A.’s entrapment by the pirate ship. The Jakus on the recording looked like a different person from the one Legroeder had served with on the L.A. For one thing, he seemed far more tentative and cautious, and—Legroeder thought—old. Or perhaps not so much old, as worn. His time in servitude with the pirates had taken a heavy toll. A datachip implant flickered on his left temple—a gift of the pirates, no doubt. Legroeder wondered how he’d been received here on Faber Eridani with that implant; there was a lot of prejudice about that sort of thing on many of the Centrist Worlds—or at least there had been seven years ago. Not for the first time, Legroeder uttered a prayer of gratitude that he had been spared that particular indignity.

Eventually someone on the inquest panel had asked Jakus why the Ciudad de los Angeles had slowed enough to make it vulnerable to attack in the first place.

“Watch Jakus’s face here,” Harriet murmured.

The haggard-faced man on the screen hesitated before answering. Jakus looked as though he were running two or three possible scenarios through his mind. Twice, he seemed about to speak, before biting back words. He scratched at the implant on his temple, cocking his head slightly. Finally he answered in a gravelly voice, “It was because of a bum image from our stern-rigger. He had some kind of crazy idea he’d seen a vessel in distress.” Jakus seemed to be trying to laugh at the idea; but the laugh couldn’t quite get out. “The rest of us and the skip—we saw right through that. It was just a clumsy deception thrown up by the pirates to confuse us.”

“And were you confused?” asked an offscreen voice.

“Well, yeah—things got pretty damn hairy pretty fast.” Jakus barked a laugh, almost a cough. “But still—”

“What?”

“Well, you know. If our stern-rigger hadn’ta fallen for it, we could’ve steered clear. The pirates didn’t come after us ’til after we’d slowed.”

“But if you and the captain saw through it, couldn’t you do something?”

Jakus shook his head. He seemed to gain a measure of self-confidence, now that the lie was out. “You got to understand about rigging—it’s a team thing. It only takes one person pulling the wrong way, or getting confused, to bring the whole thing down around you. And that’s what happened—we got bad input from the stern, ’cause our guy there kept sayin’ he saw something. And even though the skip said—well—” Jakus’s voice faltered. “Well, he said to stay right on course, but we couldn’t—couldn’t do it—”

“Because of the stern-rigger?”

“Yeah.”

“And his name was—?”

“Oh, uh—” Jakus hesitated, swallowing. “Groder, I think it was. Is that right?”

A different voice from the panel: “There was a Renwald Legroeder listed on the rigger crew. Is that who you mean?”

Jakus’s voice shook a little. “That’s it.”

“Thank you—”

“Legroeder,” Jakus repeated, his voice gaining strength. “It was Renwald Legroeder.”

The recording ended.

Legroeder stared at the blank screen. “I’ll be a God-damned son of a monkey.”

Harriet turned off the monitor and settled into the wingbacked chair behind her office desk. The sunlight coming in through the window was turning golden orange with the approach of sunset. “What do you think?”

“I think,” growled Legroeder, “that I’d like to have a talk with my friend Jakus.”

“Well, I’m not sure that would be very productive.” Harriet lowered her glasses to hang from the chain around her neck. “That was two years ago. The inquest is history now. But if we could prove that there was falsification—”

“Prove it? The sonofabitch lied through his teeth because he thought he’d never have to answer to me.” Legroeder tried, with difficulty, to keep his anger under control. “You don’t happen to know where he lives, do you?”

“I haven’t really kept track—”

“You aren’t going to bullshit me now. My lawyer?”

Harriet scowled. “All right. As your lawyer, I strongly recommend that you not attempt a personal confrontation. You’re out on bail, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten. But something rotten’s going on, and we aren’t going to find out what by sitting here. So do you know where Jakus is, or not?”

Harriet stared at him for a moment. “Let me see what my PI’s latest files say.” She put her glasses back on, tapped on a small screen on her desktop and studied it before looking back up at Legroeder. “According to this, he lived for a short time in a RiggerGuild complex on the outskirts of the city; then he left the Guild and moved out into a small condominium. He hasn’t flown since, though he’s done some work for a maintenance outfit at the spaceport.” She studied the screen again. “What would a rigger do for a maintenance company, I wonder.”

Legroeder rubbed his chin, remembering many days on maintenance details at the raider outpost.

“Whatever it is, he spends a lot of time at it. According to this—and I must commend my PI for staying current—he’s moved out of his condominium and is spending all of his time with that maintenance outfit.”

“You mean he’s sleeping at the spaceport?”

“Apparently so.” Harriet closed the screen again. “The question is, what should we do?”

Legroeder rose, shaking, and not from the coffee. “I know what I have to do.”

“That’s not what I meant, Legroeder. Will you please let me do this right—and keep you out of jail? Let my PI make the contact.”

Legroeder closed his eyes, as the memory of all that had happened to him welled up, bringing his rage with it. He struggled to push the rage back under. “I’m sure you’re probably right. But this… is something I have to do myself.” Jakus Bark. My friend. Backstabbing bastard. He forced a smile at Harriet. “I’ll be good. I’m not going to start a fight with him or anything. But I am going to talk to him. I mean, we used to work together. That counts for something, right?”

“Legroeder, please—”

“And after this, I’ll follow your advice. I promise.”

The spaceport field was a sprawling place, bordered with countless hangars and repair shops and administration buildings, and few signposts for strangers. Legroeder had traveled in and out of this port before, but he still had trouble finding his way around; the place had changed in seven years. They’d taken his RiggerGuild ID away from him, but as it turned out, security was nonexistent on this part of the field.

Legroeder stood at the edge of the decayed plasphalt pavement of a parking lot and squinted across the complex into the setting sun, trying to figure out from Harriet’s notes just where the maintenance hangar might be. He was at a remote corner of the field, and it looked more like a down-at-the-heels industrial park than a spaceport.

Harriet’s words echoed in his mind. What are you going to do if he won’t talk to you? She’d given him a good, long stare. If his own grandmother had still been alive, she couldn’t have conveyed greater sternness.

He hadn’t had an answer, and still didn’t. But he knew one thing: pushing paper wouldn’t get answers out of Jakus. He had to confront the man himself.

The line of hangars just across the way looked promising. He started across the crumbling tarmac, clenching and unclenching his fists. When he realized what he was doing, he pressed his open hands to his sides.

The shop he was looking for was the last one, marked by a dusty sign: CAVANAUGH AND FARHOODI RIGGER SYSTEMS. The hangar door was shut, so he tried a small door to one side. It opened with a creak and banged shut behind him as he entered. Inside was a dingy outer office, with a scarred counter and one dirty chair; behind the counter was an inner office, with a light on. A voice—a woman’s—called out: “Who’s there, eh? We’re closed!”

“Hello!” he called, and moved around the end of the counter to peer into the office.

A thick-waisted woman in a faded jumpsuit stood behind a desk, holding a dusting wand. “That door was supposed to be locked,” she said, sounding annoyed. “They’re closed here.”

Legroeder showed his empty hands. “I’m sorry—I’m not here on business, exactly. I’m looking for someone named Jakus Bark. I heard he worked here.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah, I guess he does. What d’you want with him?”

The words came reluctantly. “We used to… rig together. I haven’t seen him in years, and I, um, wanted to say hello. I’m… interested in getting into his line of work.”

The woman squinted at him, obviously processing his words slowly. He couldn’t tell if she recognized him from the news or not. Perhaps she wasn’t someone who watched the news. “I’ll check,” she said. She touched a com switch on her collar, spoke subvocally for a moment, then nodded. “What’s your name?”

He told her, and she relayed the information. Her eyebrows went up once, as she listened to a reply. Finally she shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. He’s in the, what do you call it, sim’lator three, out back.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating a door behind her. “Don’t touch nothin’, though, ’cause you probably shouldn’t be in here.” She muttered under her breath for a moment before adding, “and be quick, eh? I don’t want to get in no trouble.”

“I’ll be careful,” Legroeder assured her. “Thank you.” He passed through the door into the hangar and paused to let his eyes adapt to the gloom. There were several modest-sized spacecraft in the hangar, with various bays and panels open for servicing. One small craft was in an advanced stage of disassembly. Legroeder had to skirt around the front of the first ship just to find a path back through the hangar. Two ship-lengths back, against the righthand wall, he saw three giant grey eggs. They were rigger-station simulators, used for testing repairs to the flux-reactors and rigger-net equipment. As he walked back alongside the ships, Legroeder saw a flicker of actinic light on the far side of the hangar. Someone was working with a photonic torch on the underside of a third ship.

The door was slightly ajar on simulator three, letting light escape. As he approached, he could see a full bank of controls and monitors—and the back of someone’s head. Suddenly the door slid the rest of the way open, and the couch rotated, and his old comrade Jakus Bark blinked up at him from beneath the brim of a battered duckbilled cap. “Legroeder,” he said, rubbing his left temple. An implant glittered beneath his fingertip. “Wha’d’ya know?”

Legroeder’s voice caught. “Hi… Jakus.”

Jakus squinted. “Shit, man—good to see you. I heard somethin’ on the news that you got out. Man, I didn’t think anybody would ever get out of there. Way to go!” His voice trembled as he peered up at his former crewmate.

Legroeder had to reach to find his own voice. A host of feelings were welling up inside him, most of them violent. “You made it out,” he said finally. “Imagine my surprise to hear about it.”

Jakus’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an instant, and then he laughed—a nervous bark that echoed in the little chamber.

“They didn’t seem to remember it at the RiggerGuild,” Legroeder said, with forced evenness. “About you coming back.”

“Well, heh—that’s the RiggerGuild for you.”

“Yeah,” Legroeder said. “So how’d you get out?”

Jakus shrugged. “I was on a raider ship that blew up, a couple of years ago. I was the only one to get out alive. How about you?”

“Escaped,” Legroeder said. “Not a fun story.”

“I bet not.” Jakus gave another nervous laugh. He gestured at the simulator panel. “You like my new job?”

“Yeah, real nice place here.” Legroeder looked around at the hangar, then back at Jakus. “I get the feeling you’re not too happy to see me—if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Well—no, it’s not that, man. Shit—let me get out of here—” Jakus lurched forward out of the reclining seat of the rigger-sim and grabbed the edges of the doorway “—I been sittin’ awhile.” He hauled himself out of the giant egg and stood upright, towering over Legroeder by half a dozen centimeters. His hair looked thinner than when Legroeder had last seen him, and his face more chiseled. “I just wasn’t expectin’ you to turn up here out of the blue, that’s all. How the hell’d you find me, anyway?”

Legroeder ignored the question and glanced around again. “What is it you do here, anyway?”

“Pretty much what it looks like.” Jakus shrugged. “Refit ships, test ’em out for the customers. It’s not too fancy a shop, but it’s better than some places we’ve seen, right?”

Legroeder didn’t argue. No doubt it was better than the raider outpost, where every moment was a battle between fear and despair. But how had a rigger like Jakus wound up in a place like this? He’d been a good rigger in his time. Before the pirates…

“So what’s up, Renwald?” Jakus leaned back against the simulator shell. “You didn’t drop in just to say hi, I guess.”

Legroeder felt his gaze narrow. “No. I didn’t.” A knot was tightening in his stomach. “I came, actually, to ask you about your testimony before the RiggerGuild.”

“Testimony?” Jakus grunted.

“Yeah. Testimony. About the L.A. You want to tell me about that? About why you lied to the Guild about what happened to the L.A.?”

Jakus looked away. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said, rubbing his nose. “I didn’t give no testimony.”

Legroeder snapped, “I saw the recording of it, Jakus. You blamed me for what happened to the L.A.”

Jakus gave that nervous laugh again. “Nah, I didn’t really. I remember now. I didn’t know what you were talking about at first.”

Legroeder drew his lips back. “You said you and the captain tried to tell me that Impris wasn’t real—and that I was the one who put the ship in danger.”

Jakus looked down at the floor. “Yeah, well—isn’t that what happened?”

“You sonofabitch!” Legroeder slammed the side of his fist against the shell of the simulator. “You saw that ship just the same as I did! And it was Captain Hyutu who gave the order to move in, and you backed me up when I made the identification!”

Jakus’s eyebrows went up. “Did I?”

“Yes. You damn well did.” Legroeder let his breath out with a hiss. “What’d those pirates do to you, Jake? Back then, I could’ve trusted you to tell the truth. Instead of lying to protect your own little ass—”

Jakus jerked a little.

“—or whatever the hell it is you’re protecting.”

Jakus said nothing. His right eye had begun to twitch, and he rubbed at the tic with his finger. As Jakus shifted his head, Legroeder noticed that a second implant behind the man’s right ear was alive with a tiny, erratic red flicker. Was Jakus connected to something or someone right now? Or was he just thinking?

“The truth,” Jakus said slowly. “Easy word for you to use. What exactly do you mean by it?”

Legroeder snorted. “Do I have to explain the word ‘truth’ to you?”

Jakus worked his mouth for a moment, then cocked his head toward the glowing interior of the rigger-sim. “Well, hell, Renwald, we’re both riggers, right? We both know that half the time there’s no way you can tell what’s real and what isn’t, in the Flux.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jakus. Is that thing whispering so loud in your ear you can’t even hear yourself think anymore? You and I know what we saw.”

“Not real,” Jakus said, with a shake of his head. “Not real.”

“You know it was real!” Legroeder shouted. “You heard the distress call. Hyutu wasn’t even in the net, and he heard it! If anyone was responsible, it was him.”

“Show some respect,” Jakus said, with a shiver. “A little respect for the dead, okay?”

Legroeder was drawn up short. “Who’s dead?”

“Hyutu.” Jakus make a throat-slitting motion with his finger. “The pirates did ’im. You and me, we were lucky to get out with our skins.”

Legroeder scowled. “How do you know? Did you see it happen?”

Jakus shrugged. He tapped the silver disk on his temple. “You had one of these Kyber things, you’d be able to see things a whole lot better. Understand stuff you don’t know now.”

Legroeder felt a chill at Jakus’s words. Kyber things? “Is that it?” he whispered. “Is that what took your—” he struggled for the right word “—integrity from you? The implants?”

That brought a sharp laugh from the other man. “We gonna talk about my integrity now? Oh, yeah, Renwald—you must’ve had loads of integrity, the whole time you were pilotin’ pirate ships, burning innocent people. Oh, yeah.”

Legroeder’s face grew hot with bitterness and shame. “I did what I had to, to survive. I don’t deny that I rigged ships for them.” There had been no choice, if he’d wanted to live. And it was only his exceptional skill as a rigger that had kept him free of an implant; he’d persuaded his captors that he could rig better without those things in his head.

“Yeah, Renwald, that’s right. We did what we had to to survive. You and me both. Maybe if you’d taken a chip you wouldn’t be so high and mighty about it now.” Jakus sneered. “Listen, it was sure nice of you to stop by, but I’ve got work to do.”

Legroeder realized he had allowed Jakus to derail him from his point. “You lied to the Guild, Jake. Thanks to you, I’m losing my certificate and getting framed for what happened to the L.A.”

“I’m real sorry about that,” Jakus said.

“Sorry enough to go back and tell the truth? Tell them we both saw Impris? Tell them it was real?”

Jakus shook his head. “I told you already—there’s no way to know what was real and what wasn’t. You thought it was real, and I didn’t. Neither did the captain. I ain’t gonna change my story about that.”

“The pirates were real enough, weren’t they?” Legroeder growled.

“Oh yeah, they were real.” Jakus glanced over his shoulder, as though worried that someone might overhear. “Listen—we’re both damned lucky to have gotten away at all. Maybe you’re losing your certificate—not that I have one anymore, either—but at least you got away alive. Isn’t that more important than your certificate? You can still work.”

“Work? More likely, they’ll lock me away for life. If they don’t mindwipe me instead.”

Jakus shrugged. “Whatever.”

Legroeder glared into the oppressive gloom of the hangar, his thoughts burning. “So that’s it? You’re going to let them frame me?”

Jakus shrugged. “If you want to put it that way. Now, like I told you, I gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah.” Legroeder made no attempt to hide his disgust. “You get back to work. See you around, Jake.” He turned away.

“You don’t know what the truth is!” Jakus called after him. His words were punctuated by a loud metallic slam.

Legroeder glanced back; Jakus had climbed back into the sim and slammed the door shut. Legroeder angrily strode away, alongside the half-assembled spaceships. What the hell was going on here? Why was it so important to someone that he take the fall for the L.A.? It was obvious this wasn’t just Jakus’s doing. It seemed to be coming from somewhere in the Spacing Authority. But what conceivable connection could there be between the Spacing Authority and a lowlife like Jakus?

As he made his way back toward the front of the hangar, he also began wondering what sort of a shipping firm would use the services of a place like this. He couldn’t imagine a respectable company letting a contract here. He stared at the ships for a moment, then realized what was bothering him. They looked… armored. A glint of light from a single overhead lamp reflected off the hull plates with a greenish sheen, almost the color of oxidized copper. It wasn’t obvious, and he might not have noticed if he hadn’t just spent seven years around raider warships. But that looked like arnidium hull armor, very hard and resistant to radiation. With a surreptitious glance around, Legroeder crouched to peer beneath the nearest ship.

Not much to see—a number of closed bays on the underbelly of the craft. He looked beyond, to the next vessel; he could see the feet of a worker moving around with a work light. With a mechanical hiss, a bay door opened beneath the far ship. Legroeder squatted lower, trying to get a good look. The feet moved left, then right. The light flickered. For an instant, he caught a glimpse into the just-opened bay. A weapons compartment. He caught sight of three slim shapes—dark, sleek and oily-looking. Then the light moved away, leaving darkness. He heard the hiss of the bay door closing.

Legroeder rocked back on his haunches, letting his breath out slowly. Those were flux-torpedoes, he was nearly certain. Now, what the hell was a ship like that, in a place like this, doing with flux-torpedoes? The vessel bore no markings of police or navy. So what was it? Undercover? Criminal? Right here at the main spaceport? How could the Spacing Authority let that kind of thing slip by their security… unless they knew?

Legroeder rose silently from his crouch. The sooner he got out of here the better. As he started walking again, he saw the worker with the photonic torch moving between the two ships; that must have been the man who’d opened and shut the weapons bay. The man looked at him without friendliness, and stared as Legroeder walked on, heart pounding, toward the front exit.

As he paused near the office door, Legroeder heard footsteps, then a bang of metal. An unfamiliar voice shouted Jakus’s name; Jakus shouted back. Legroeder stood in the darkness, listening. As the voices rose in heated argument, he bit his lip. What have I done? Without quite knowing why, he started edging back the way he had just come. Moving alongside the nearer ship, he tried to make out the conversation. He caught his own name—then Jakus yelling, “—didn’t tell him anything!” The voices became more muffled. He strained to hear the rest of the argument, thought he heard the word Impris. The anger in the voices was unmistakable, and made the speech hard to understand. Then… there was a bone-jarring thump and a prolonged moan. That was followed by a third voice in a language Legroeder didn’t understand—Veti Alphan, maybe. There was another thump, and the cry of pain cut off. Then footsteps, moving away. What the hell was going on?

Stay out of it, Legroeder.

But he couldn’t just walk away, could he? Someone had obviously overheard his argument with Jakus.

God damn it. He looked around for something, anything, that he might use to defend himself. Nothing. Cursing silently, he crept back toward the simulator pods. The door to the third sim was open, light pouring out. He pressed his lips together. Maybe he could act as if he’d come back for something he forgot. “Jakus, you still there?” he called softly. No answer; but a door slammed shut way in the back of the hangar.

“Jakus?” He peered into the sim pod. It was empty, but the controls were still on, the screens flickering with a simulation in progress. On the floor was Jakus’s hat, its brim bent. Legroeder picked it up and examined it in the light of the sim chamber. There was a dark, wet stain along the headband. Blood, it looked like.

Legroeder looked around nervously. The hangar seemed completely deserted now. He bent to peer under the ships. No one. Now he heard distant doors and vehicles outside. Someone leaving? With Jakus, maybe? Legroeder circled around the stern of the third ship, toward the rear of the hangar. There were spacecraft maintenance tools scattered all over, and the smell of ozone and vacuum-grade lubricants. In the far corner, a dim hallway led away from the hangar area. He hesitated, before moving toward it. The hallway was short. A dim emergency light glowered, revealing two doors on the right side, and one at the end.

Legroeder drew an uneasy breath. This was stupid. What would he do if he found someone? Still… he’d come this far. He stepped into the hallway. What were these—storerooms? Offices? Armories? One of the two doors bore a dirt-encrusted warning sign: CAUTION—STAIRS. He tested it cautiously: locked. He exhaled softly. Beyond the end door, he heard traffic sounds. It was a steel door with a push-release, and a security panel beside it. With a nervous glance at the security panel, he pushed the door open.

Cool night air greeted him, along with the sound of a truck whirring past. He stood at the top of a short flight of steps: early evening darkness, some empty loading docks; not much else. Spaceport lights glowed in the distance. If Jakus had walked or been carried out, he was gone now. Legroeder started to turn back through the door.

“Far enough, chump—”

He saw only a blur. Then the club slammed into the side of his head, and he tumbled backward down the steps. His head hit hard on the tarmac, and he rolled, as he heard the words, “Come back again and we kill you.” Then the sound of the door slamming. He raised an arm dizzily to ward off further blows, but none came.

When he managed at last to push himself up to a sitting position, he saw that he was quite alone in the night, outside the locked building.

Chapter 5 Harriet’s Way

“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you,” Harriet said, examining the wound on the side of his head. “They probably just didn’t want to have to deal with your body. For Heaven’s sake, will you hold still?”

Legroeder grunted as Harriet used an antiseptic cloth to clean the dirt out of the scrape on the side of his cheekbone. She shook her head, spraying the area with a bandage mist. “I’m a lawyer, not a doctor,” she muttered. “There, I hope that holds.”

“Thanks,” Legroeder managed, testing the spot with a fingertip. “I can tell you were a mother once.”

“I still am,” Harriet said, tossing the sprayer back into her office first-aid kit. “A lousy one.”

“Oh—well—”

She went back around behind her desk and snapped open her compad. “Now, do you want to tell me why you did such a damn fool thing? It wasn’t bad enough you had to go talk to Jakus. You thought you had to snoop around in the dark, too?” Harriet rocked back in her chair, eyeing him. “I suppose, since you did go back in an effort to prevent mayhem, I will refrain from remarking about fools I’ve had for clients.”

Legroeder sighed. He felt like a fool. Worse, he didn’t know what to do next. “There’s still the question of what they did with Jakus. I wouldn’t be surprised if they killed him.” It was obvious Jakus had been lying on someone’s orders. And if he’d been overheard arguing about it…

Legroeder was mad as hell at the guy, but he didn’t want him dead. For one thing, there was always the chance that he might recant and exonerate Legroeder. A dwindling chance, to be sure.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was killed, either. If you still had the bloody cap, we’d have more to go on,” Harriet pointed out.

Legroeder grunted. He wasn’t sure if he’d dropped the cap where he’d found it, or lost it when he’d gotten clubbed. The bash in the head seemed to have clouded his memories.

“Of course, now it has your finger oils on it as well as Jakus’s blood,” Harriet said. “So I suppose it’s not something we necessarily want turning up right away.”

“Look, I’m sorry. But isn’t there something we should do? Call the police, at least? What if they’ve got his body in there or dumped it nearby?”

Harriet sighed. “Given the circumstances, and the frame-up that you yourself are experiencing, I’m not entirely sure who I trust. That hangar is probably under Spacing Authority jurisdiction.”

“But—”

“Still, I suppose I could contact my PI and ask him to phone in an anonymous report. He could say he heard reports of a fight. Hang on a moment.” She touched her throat com and swiveled her chair away. “Peter? Harriet Mahoney. I need you to do something…”

When she was finished, she swiveled back to Legroeder. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she cautioned. “And don’t expect them to find armed ships, even if they look. If you know what I mean.”

Legroeder raised his hands and dropped them. “All right. So we’ve done our duty. What next?”

“I’ll ask Peter to keep his ear to the ground, to see what he can find out about possible covert military, or paramilitary, operations. Or who knows what—there could be a dozen explanations for those ships you saw. And yes—given Jakus’s involvement, it’s probably something we should find out about. But that’s Peter’s job, not yours. As for what we will do next…” Harriet lowered her glasses on their chain and studied him again. “Are you ready to take the advice of your attorney?”

He sank back in defeat. “I promised I would, didn’t I?”

“I’m glad you remember.” Harriet smiled faintly. “Then I think it’s time we learned all there is to learn in this city about starship Impris.”

He spread his hands in question. “Where are we going to do that? The RiggerGuild and Spacing Authority libraries had nothing.”

Harriet snapped her compad shut. “We’re going to start by getting some sleep. I’ve got a place where you can stay. Unless you’ve got someplace else in mind—? Good. Then first thing tomorrow, we’re going to pay a visit to the public library.”

“The public library?”

“Believe it or not, Legroeder, riggers are not the only people interested in knowledge…”

An orange-tinged sun woke Legroeder before the knock on the door. He was up on one elbow in bed, staring out the window at rooftops, when a velvety voice purred, “You wanted to be up at six, Mr. Legroeder-r-r?” It was Harriet’s housekeeper, Vegas.

“I’m up,” he called back. He dressed and stepped out of the guest quarters. It was actually a small cottage, set back twenty meters or so from Harriet’s house. By the time he’d crossed the garden to the back door of the main house, Vegas was there to open it for him. Vegas was a Faber aborigine who looked like a cross between a swan and a very slender, very white-skinned humanoid woman with small vestigial wings. She led the way to the dining room.

Harriet was seated at the table with a cup of tea, studying her compad. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Clearly Harriet was a morning person. Legroeder was not. And he had not slept well; he’d awoken constantly during the night. “Couldn’t have been better. Have you already gotten started?”

“I checked the Guild library files on Impris, and as you said, there’s not much. So I thought I’d try the main files at the public library. I must say, they don’t have a lot, either.” Harriet fiddled with the compad screen. “Just a summary about the similarity of legend between Impris and the old stories of the Flying Dutchman. Judging from this, you wouldn’t think that anyone took it seriously.”

“Even here in its home port? You’d think they’d have more information here than anywhere in the galaxy.” Legroeder pulled out a chair to sit, and looked gratefully at Vegas, who had just appeared with a tray bearing a thermal coffee pot and cup.

“Well, it’s been a hundred and twenty-four years since she was lost, during the war. And after the war, a lot of the early records disappeared.” Harriet turned the compad around. “Here, take a look.”

Legroeder poured a cup of coffee and stirred in some yellow-tinged cream. He sipped it as he read the entry.

Impris. Interstellar passenger liner operating out of Faber Eridani during the years of the War of a Thousand Suns. Impris reportedly disappeared during a routine flight in the final year of the war. No official explanation was ever provided for the ship’s loss; however, unofficial and highly controversial reports attributed the loss to surprise hostile actions on the part of the Narseil, theretofore considered allies of the Centrist human worlds. (For a historical overview, see NARSEIL: PARTNERSHIP WITH CENTRIST WORLDS: BREAKDOWN IN RELATIONS.)

Legroeder grunted. He hadn’t associated the Narseil with Impris. The amphibious Narseil were relatively rare—and not always welcome—guests in human society. But their riggers were among the best in the known galaxy, and the Narseil RiggingInstitute was without peer in the study of rigging science and technology. Legroeder had always suspected that the Narseil could teach the human rigging community a thing or two, if they were given a chance. He didn’t know much about the historical relationship of the human and Narseil worlds—history had never been his strong suit—but he couldn’t imagine why the Narseil would have destroyed Impris.

He drank more coffee and read on.

Accurate information concerning Impris disappeared, along with a host of other records, during post-war turmoil on Impris’s homeworld of Faber Eridani. She might well have been forgotten by history were it not for the lasting political repercussions against the Narseil, which among other consequences, served to delay continued exploration of deeper space (see also GALACTIC EXPLORATION: COLLABORATIVE EFFORTS: LOSS OF WILL IN THE POST-WAR ERA). In addition, curious legends arose in the rigging community during the following decades, referring to Impris as “the Flying Dutchman of the Spacelanes”—a ship and crew doomed to sail the Flux forever, haunted and immortal.

No objective evidence has ever been found to support these legends. Nevertheless, myth has it that the ship, in the more than one hundred years since her loss, has reappeared on numerous occasions to riggers during routine passages through the Flux. Typical reports have the Ghost Rigger sighted only fleetingly, sometimes transmitting a distress call, but never responding to any attempts at contact. Variations on the legend attribute the loss of other ships to unexplained, deadly encounters with Impris; but such claims similarly lack substantiation.

Though the legends are considered meaningless for purposes of rigger navigation, a significant body of folklore has grown up over the years regarding not only Impris but also other ships of similar reputation, notably Devonhol and Totauri. (See PURPORTED GHOST SHIPS: SPACE and FLYING DUTCHMAN LEGEND: LITERATURE AND HOLO: FACT VS FICTION.)

Legroeder swiveled the compad back to Harriet. “This doesn’t help much.”

Harriet shook her head. “I said this was just a beginning, remember?” She buttered a scone from a tray Vegas had set between them. “Have something to eat, and then we’ll go down and see what we can find.”

“Go down?” Legroeder asked. “What’s the point?”

Harriet smiled and took a bite of her scone.

The Elmira Public Library was a tall-towered affair, originally designed as a mayoral office building and later converted to its more prosaic (in some views) role as library. As they walked from the hoverbus, Harriet told Legroeder that she loved the place, not for its auto-retrieval capabilities (she could do just as well from home or from a coffee bar) but for its collection of hard-copy books. Paper, mylar, parchment… she didn’t care what they were printed on. “I like the permanence, the texture, the smell of old books—”

“The dust, the dust-mites—”

“Heavens, don’t be so dreary.” Harriet led the way up the steps and into the central hall of the library. “My dear Legroeder, sometimes you find information in hard-copy, or even from people, that you just don’t find on the net.”

Legroeder grunted.

“Well, you may turn out to be right. We’ll see.” She stepped forward briskly. They walked through the main reading room, past a small gallery of pastels on paper—aboriginal artwork. They came to a solid wood door at the back of the reading room, which let them into a hallway lined with offices and special study spaces. Harriet knocked on the door of the third room on the right. A Fabri aborigine female looked up from the desk. To Legroeder’s eye, she looked identical to Vegas.

“Quoya, Mrs. Mahoney,” the woman said, with a musical chuckle. “Nice to see you.”

“Good morning, Adaria,” said Harriet. “I wonder if you could help us with a problem today.”

“Ha, but I always tr-r-ry, do I not? What will it be today? Exotic cuisines frrom the Gar-r-rssen mountains? Animals from the cirrrcuses of the known galaxy? Architectural drawings from Old Earth?”

Harriet smiled. “Not today, thank you. My friend Legroeder and I are looking for some old information that has passed out of circulation, and I thought perhaps if we searched some of the original paper records, we might find something.”

“Of course,” chuckled Adaria, with a toothless smile; the Fabri had a pair of curved plates, not teeth, in their mouths. “What can I help you find?”

“Well… we were hoping you might have some in-depth information on Impris, the legendary starship. Faber Eridani was its home port, you know. But I’m having trouble coming up with much.”

Adaria rocked back slightly. “Ffff. There was nothing in the main records?”

“Not to speak of. That’s why we thought perhaps the original materials—”

“Ahh. Those may be a tr-r-rifle difficult to locate. But if you would like to wait—?”

The librarian rose with a flutter and disappeared down the hall. When she returned, a few minutes later, she seemed agitated. “I’ve spoken to the archives director. Those were very old papers, and I’m afraid they were removed from the collection some years ago.” She puffed a few times.

Harriet cocked her head curiously. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is anything wrong, Adaria?”

“What? Ffff—no. That is, I don’t think so. It’s just that the question seemed to disturb the director for some reason. I don’t know why.” The librarian nervously fluffed a vestigial wing.

“I see,” Harriet said, frowning. “Would you happen to know why the papers were removed?”

Adaria looked uncertain. “Lack of demand, is the usual reason. If no one was interested, they wouldn’t be kept forever.”

Legroeder stirred. “That seems odd. It was a Faber Eridani ship. Wouldn’t someone be interested in the legend—for tourist value, if nothing else?”

“An inter-r-resting question,” said the Fabri. “I recall there were some private press items written on the subject. But they never generated much interest. We don’t even have copies here.”

Harriet rubbed her chin, as the librarian shrugged. “Tell me. When the materials were removed, would they have been destroyed?”

“Well—fffff—that’s difficult to know. It’s been years.”

“If they weren’t destroyed, what would have been done with them?”

Adaria clucked thoughtfully. “It’s possible they were passed on to a smaller, more specialized collection. That sometimes happens with outdated mater-r-rials.”

“And would there be a way to find out who they might have been passed on to?”

Adaria consulted her compad. “Ffff—herrre’s a thought. Those small prrress items I mentioned? Several of them were wr-r-ritten and published by a R-r-robert McGinnis.”

Harriet turned her hands up. “Do you know this man?”

“I know of him,” Adaria said. “He is a p-r-rivate collector of archives, with a special interest in materials dating from the War of a Thousand Suns. He has a reputation as a r-recluse, but his collection is well regarded. Let me see if his location is available… Fffff, yes. Would you like it?”

“Please,” said Harriet. She placed the ring on her right hand against the edge of the librarian’s compad. Then she nodded. “Thank you, Adaria. You’ve been most helpful.”

The librarian rose, her wings fluttering. “It’s always a pleasure, Mrs. Mahoney. Perhaps next time we can rrresearch some, ffff, Iliution gems. We have some wonderful new materials on them. Wonderful materials.”

Harriet smiled. “Perhaps next time.” She gestured to Legroeder. “Shall we?”

Legroeder nodded politely to the Fabri librarian and followed Harriet back through the halls and out of the building. “Was that worthwhile?” he asked, squinting in the bright midmorning sun, now bluish in tint.

“We’ll find out, I suppose.” Harriet hummed for a few moments. “Adaria is a dear, and always helpful. I’ve done some work for her people, you know—the Fabri natives have problems from time to time with our brand of civilization—including extremist groups like Centrist Strength encroaching on their land and bothering them because they can get away with it. I’ve been able to give them some legal advice on occasion.”

Legroeder glanced at her, surprised. “You get around, don’t you? And so does Centrist Strength, it sounds like.”

Harriet shrugged, frowning. “There’s a lot that goes on that you wouldn’t suspect—even if you were here for more than just the occasional port of call.” Before he could react, she waved him around a corner. “Would you like to look in on your friend in the hospital? I’ll see what I can learn about Mr. McGinnis, and we can meet in that lovely coffee shop around the corner from the hospital…”

Legroeder sat motionless, his hand resting near Maris’s arm. He watched her sleep in the hydrobed, thinking, Sleep. She’s asleep. Better to think that than the other. That she’s in a coma. Being slowly suffocated by those damned implants. The burns on her face and neck leered at him from under the clear bandages. She got me out of the raider outpost alive. She slowed up the guards for us—even with the shots she took herself. He shook his head grimly.

He wished he could give her a chance to escape now. Escape from this hospital room. From the shadow of death. He rested his head back against the hospital room wall and closed his eyes, willing away the feeling of helplessness—not just about Maris, but about whatever was behind his own troubles. How many enemies can one guy have, anyway? He hated to think.

“Mr. Legroeder?”

He opened his eyes. “Yes?”

It was an attending robot. “I’m sorry, but your visiting time is up.”

He rose with a sigh. “You’ll send word if there’s any change?”

“Of course, sir.”

Legroeder uttered a silent prayer in the direction of his companion, and walked off in search of Harriet.

He found her at a back table in the coffee shop, her compad plugged into the wall. “Ah, there you are,” she said. “I was starting to worry. Don’t sit down, we’re leaving.”

“Huh? Where are we going?” He’d been looking forward to a good strong Eridani coffee with marsotz cream.

“To the aircar rental.”

Legroeder blinked in confusion.

Harriet rose, packing her compad. “I’ve rented a flyer to take us for a visit to our Mr. McGinnis.”

“That was fast. Have you talked to him?”

Harriet shook her head. “Mr. McGinnis doesn’t have a listed com number. But I’ve made a few inquiries. Very reclusive man, it seems—but respected by those who know of him. He’s a former space-marine.” She urged Legroeder toward the door. “He also has the planet’s most complete set of archives from the War of a Thousand Suns. Besides which, he has a special interest in rigging history.” Harriet smiled grimly. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t mind surprise visitors.”

Chapter 6 Historical Truths

The McGinnis estate was located four hundred and thirty kilometers northwest of the Elmira spaceport, a little over an hour’s flight at the speed of a rental flyer. The countryside flowing beneath them was wooded and green. The autopilot seemed confident of finding the address, so Legroeder and Harriet didn’t have much to do except drink their coffee and worry.

Legroeder asked Harriet why, if she had been so obsessed (her word) with this case for the last seven years, she had never researched the history of Impris before.

Harriet looked at Legroeder with amusement. “You aren’t accustomed to solving puzzles, are you, dear?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, think about it. How would I have known, until you came back, that Impris was even involved? I’m almost as interested in knowing why that information was taken from the library as I am in knowing about the ship itself. Was it innocent, or was someone deliberately hiding it? And if the latter, why? Once we know that, I think we’ll be closer to understanding why you were framed.”

Legroeder shrugged. “The librarian said if the documents weren’t being used—”

Harriet laughed. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you must have made a very poor pirate.”

Legroeder felt his face redden.

“Oh, don’t take it as an insult. It’s a compliment. You don’t seem to have a duplicitous bone in your body. But I’m reasonably sure those papers were removed because someone wanted them gone. Now we just have to find out if someone else wanted them preserved.”

“Someone like Mr. McGinnis?”

“Let us hope so.” With that, Harriet closed her eyes to rest, and Legroeder drank his coffee in silence. He gazed out the window, watching a winding river snake to and fro beneath them. Scanning for traffic, he saw another craft, higher in altitude, following a parallel course, and a couple of others crossing their path like fast-moving bugs against the sky.

It wasn’t much longer before he felt the flyer begin its descent. He searched for their destination, nestled somewhere in the wooded land below. The flyer began to bank and turn for its approach. There was the glint of the river again, a smaller stream to the west of it, and the occasional rocky bluff poking up out of the woods. The flyer seemed to know what it was doing, but Legroeder kept checking the console map to verify the course. The position readings seemed right. As he sat back, he realized that Harriet was watching him with amusement. He tried to feign unconcern.

Out the window on Harriet’s side, he saw another flyer, a little higher, apparently also circling to land. “Look,” he said, pointing to the other craft, which was trailing a little behind now, and falling back out of his view. He couldn’t tell if it was the same one he’d seen before, but he felt a prickle of unease. “They look like they’re headed to the same place.”

Harriet craned her neck to see. “What’s that puff of smoke?”

“What puff of smoke?” Legroeder leaned over Harriet to look out the far window. The other craft had dropped even further back, and something was shooting forward from it, leaving a contrail of smoke. It was arcing directly toward them. “Jesus Christ, Harriet!”

“What?”

“Hang on!” Legroeder shouted, groping for the autopilot release. The flyer lurched and nosed down abruptly as he grabbed the yoke. He wasn’t used to this kind of craft, and it dove alarmingly as he struggled to regain control. Legroeder banked hard to the left, then started to bring up the nose. The missile streaked past and exploded with a whump! The flyer slipped sideways, bucking. Legroeder cursed, fighting with the damaged controls. They were in a steep left bank and spiraling steeper.

He fought to level it out of the bank, then gradually pulled up the nose. He didn’t want to crash, but didn’t want to stay an easy target, either. “Look for a clearing!” he shouted. “Any clearing! And see if you can find that other ship!” They were dropping like a stone now, the power inductors losing strength. In less than a minute, they were going to plow into the forest.

“There!” cried Harriet, pointing to the right. “There’s a clearing! No, you’re turning away from it!”

He didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to bring them around. As he glanced up, he saw the other flyer circling.

“There it is again!”

Their turn had brought the clearing back into view. A large house stood in the middle of it—probably the McGinnis estate. “Good—good—” Legroeder muttered. He fought to control the descent. They had too much airspeed and were in danger of overshooting.

“Legroeder, I think that flyer’s attacking again!”

He shoved the nose down to drop them fast and hot toward the clearing. The other craft was coming around…

They skidded sideways as he banked left, then right. He thumbed the com. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! We are under attack!” He glanced backward at the other flyer, just in time to see it peel off at high speed. Apparently its occupants didn’t want to be seen by witnesses.

“We’re not going to make it,” Harriet said nervously.

“Yes, we are,” Legroeder said, as they careened over the house and low over the forest again. He began a new turn, trying to coax some additional power out of the propulsion. The inductors wheezed a little, then slowly oozed back to life. He banked in a slow hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, back toward the clearing. He had just enough power to maintain control. “Good… good…” he murmured, leveling onto a straight course for the clearing. There was some crosswind. He compensated, then brought the nose up a little, and settled into a final approach. That was when he noticed the faint glitter of a forcefield over the clearing. Oh shit.

The com blared to life. “Unidentified craft approaching McGinnis estate, identify and state your purpose!”

He thumbed the com and rattled, “This is the flyer, Legroeder and Mahoney aboard. Mayday! We’re disabled, sinking fast, and your clearing is the only place to land.”

“I just tracked a missile. If you’re in a fight, take it elsewhere.”

“Mr. McGinnis, we’re falling out of the sky! We didn’t come to fight! We urgently request clearance to land!”

There was a pause that lasted forever. “Very well, you may land. But I warn you, my defensive lasers are charged.”

Legroeder was too busy flying to answer. Harriet pressed the switch on her side and said, “You’ll get no trouble from us. We were attacked, and we don’t know by whom. We need your help!”

“I’m shutting off the forcefield. Land to the west of the house. It’s smoother there.” The sparkle of the forcefield vanished from the air, and a man came running from the house, waving them toward the far side of the clearing.

The ground was coming up fast. Legroeder ballooned the power from the inductors, and they slowed, wobbling. They slammed, bounced, and lurched to a stop. He cut the power, and looked at Harriet. Her face was pale as she gasped, “Damn, Legroeder—that was good flying! Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Legroeder whispered, his throat dry. He glanced out at the approaching man. “I don’t think this gent is too happy about it, though.” Legroeder popped open the door and allowed fresh air to blow across them before he released the seat restraints.

As they climbed out, the man was scanning the sky, shading his eyes with one hand. A large brown dog, some kind of retriever, had come to join him, and was standing alertly at his side.

Legroeder, too, studied the sky. He saw no sign of their attacker. Keeping a wary eye on the dog, Legroeder greeted their host—a short, stocky man with black eyebrows that set off his grim features. “Robert McGinnis?”

“Yeah. That flyer that shot at you took off toward the west.” McGinnis pointed over the treetops, where the edge of the forcefield was glittering; evidently he had switched it back on already. “Mind telling me what the hell’s going on?”

“We’re not quite sure,” Harriet said, breathing hard. “But thank you for allowing us to land.”

The retriever, ears raised, was sniffing the air around them. “That’ll do, Rufus,” McGinnis said, snapping his fingers. The dog, lifting his nose one last time, circled back to McGinnis’s side. “Well… I didn’t seem to have much choice.” McGinnis rubbed his chin. “Except to let you crash in the woods.”

“We’re grateful you didn’t,” Harriet said.

“No doubt you are. No doubt you are.” McGinnis pointed to the side of the flyer near the main inductor cowling, where a meter-long burn mark showed the lasershrap hit from the exploding missile. “I’m not overjoyed at having missiles fired over my property. Is there an explanation for this?”

Legroeder bent to inspect the damage, sobered to see just how close they had come to being blown out of the sky. “We’ll tell you what we know. But it’s not much.” He hesitated, then stuck out a hand. “I’m Renwald Legroeder, and this is Harriet Mahoney.”

“Legroeder,” McGinnis said grimly, resting his own hands on his hips. “Rigger Legroeder?”

Legroeder let his hand drop. “You’ve heard of me?”

Harriet forced a chuckle. “You’ve been in the news, Legroeder. I’m sure even out here, Mr. McGinnis has heard of your case.”

“Well,” McGinnis said. “I don’t pay a lot of attention. But I have heard of you.” He cocked his head. “They say you were responsible for handing over a ship to Golen Space pirates.”

Legroeder felt a flash of anger, but Harriet put a calming hand on his arm. “That is what I am accused of,” he said grudgingly.

McGinnis barked a laugh. “Well, I didn’t say I believed it, did I?” He stared out into the woods for a moment. “Did you all come out here to see me? If you did, it was a risky thing to do.”

“Apparently so,” Legroeder agreed.

McGinnis turned to Harriet. “And your name was—”

“Harriet Mahoney. I’m assisting Legroeder in trying to prove his innocence.” Harriet adjusted her glasses as she returned McGinnis’s gaze. Either she had recovered quickly from the trauma of the attack, or she was hiding it well. “We undertook this… visit… because we were hoping you could help us.”

“Is that so? And what gives you that hope?”

As McGinnis cocked his head, Legroeder observed that the man’s left eye was synthetic; then he realized that a good portion of the man’s face was synthetic. Legroeder’s glance did not go unnoticed, but McGinnis said nothing.

“I apologize if we were mistaken,” Harriet said. “But your name came up in some research we were doing. You are known as a collector of historical materials on the subject of rigging—particularly materials dating back a century or so. As it happens, we are very much in need of information from that period.”

“In order to prove Rigger Legroeder’s innocence?”

“Precisely.” Harriet patted her forehead with a handkerchief. “Mr. McGinnis, do you suppose that we could step out of the sun somewhere? I’m feeling rather faint, after that close call we just had.”

McGinnis grunted, not answering. He bent to make a closer examination of the scorched side of the flyer. When he straightened up, he had a troubled look on his face. He again gazed up into the sky, as though struggling with some decision. And then, as quickly as the cloud had come over him, he relaxed. “Yes, of course. I’m being a poor host. You both must be shaken up. That was a very fine landing under the circumstances, Rigger Legroeder.”

“Thank you. Just Legroeder will be fine.”

“Legroeder, then,” said McGinnis. A smile worked at his lips. “I guess there’s someone out there who doesn’t like you much. Or maybe doesn’t like lawyers,” he added with a glance at Harriet.

Harriet’s eyes gleamed. “Did I mention that I was a lawyer?”

McGinnis looked startled. Another shadow seemed to cross his brow. “Now that you mention it, I don’t recall. I—suppose I must have seen your name in the… news, too. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

As they walked to the house, he spoke to his dog. “Stay and watch out here, Rufus.” The retriever trotted to take up a position under a tree, and stood alertly as the humans made their way across the lawn to the side door.

“If your attackers come back, my security field should keep them out,” McGinnis said, leading them into his living room. The place looked like a converted hunting lodge. The living room breathed with space; it had an open-beam ceiling and wood-paneled walls. A ceremonial sword and several sidearms were mounted on the walls, along with half a dozen holos of military spacecraft.

“May I ask how you happened to have a forcefield around your house?” Legroeder said. “Not that I’m ungrateful, mind you.”

“You can ask.” McGinnis gestured toward a cluster of seats near a large stone fireplace. “Make yourselves comfortable while I fix something to drink.”

Legroeder sank into a seat near the fireplace. A crackling fire billowed up with a soft rush. Legroeder closed his eyes, forced himself to try to relax… to focus on the warmth of the fire, the smell of the wood smoke, the crackle of flames. His thoughts drifted inevitably to the weapons fire of attacking pirate ships, and missiles in the air—and he winced, opening his eyes. He twisted around in his chair.

Harriet had seated herself on a small sofa facing a broad wooden coffee table. Her compad was out. She beckoned to Legroeder, and he moved to the seat opposite her. When McGinnis returned, carrying a tray with three tall drinks, Harriet lowered her glasses on their chain. “Is there some way I could make a call from here? We need to order a replacement flyer, but my signal can’t seem to get past your forcefield.”

McGinnis rested the tray on the table. “Of course. I’ll see to it in a moment.” He passed out coasters and glasses. “I think you’ll like this. It’s an infusion made from the leaves of the nascacia tree.”

Legroeder held his glass up, peering through a reddish amber liquid and several ice cubes. He took a cautious sip, then another. The drink had a sharp tang, with a hint of sweetness. He nodded appreciatively.

McGinnis didn’t respond. He was standing with his eyes closed, concentrating. “Hmph,” he muttered, looking annoyed. Returning to the bar, he tapped at a control panel. “Try your transmission now,” he called.

Harriet touched her earring, then typed at the pad.

“Are you getting through?”

“I’m afraid not.”

McGinnis did some more fiddling, then returned to join them. “Whatever’s wrong, I’ve got my house system checking into it. It should let me know when it finds the problem.” He looked preoccupied as he took a seat at the end of the table. But rather than speaking of whatever was troubling him, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “All right, then—you’ve come a long way because you think I can help you. What is it you want? And why did someone want to shoot you out of the sky to keep you from getting it?”

Harriet cleared her throat. “What we want is information about an old rigger ship. As for why someone would kill us to keep us from talking to you… well, I was rather hoping you might be able to tell us.”

McGinnis inclined his head. “Really. What ship are you interested in?”

“If you’ve seen the news reports, you probably already know. The passenger liner Impris. The Flying Dutchman of Space.” Harriet paused, waiting for a reaction. McGinnis said nothing, but his eyes seemed to narrow. “Oddly enough,” Harriet continued, “we’ve found very little information about her in either the RiggerGuild library or the public library.”

“That is odd, isn’t it?” McGinnis said, in a gravelly tone that suggested he didn’t find it odd at all.

“But we heard—rumor, I guess you would have to say—that some of the original reports on the ship had been removed for safekeeping.” Harriet scrutinized McGinnis’s face. “Would you, by any chance, know anything about that?”

McGinnis’s eyes closed, and an expression of pain crossed his face, unmistakable even through the synthetic skin. For a few heartbeats, he seemed removed from their company, as if his thoughts were occupied far, far away. Legroeder watched him, wondering what inner struggle was going on in this man. And what did it have to do with them? He also wondered, suddenly, what augmentation McGinnis had beneath that synthetic skin. And was that augmentation one of the reasons McGinnis lived out here like a hermit?

When McGinnis’s eyes blinked open, he exhaled suddenly, as though a great tension had been released from his body. His voice sounded husky. “Why, may I ask, are you interested in this… ship?” His gaze shifted from one to the other, and came to rest on Legroeder. “You weren’t thinking of looking for her, or something…”

“As a matter of fact,” Legroeder answered softly, “I’ve already seen her.”

“You—” McGinnis said with a start, and then cut himself off. “Please continue.”

Legroeder nodded, feeling a band of tension in his forehead. “I’ve seen it. And I’ve heard lies about it. And I need to know the truth—to prove the truth. This has great personal importance to me. So if you—” He paused, realizing that McGinnis’s hand was trembling.

McGinnis placed his half-empty glass on the table and stared at it, as if it held answers to his questions. His gaze caught Legroeder’s. “Tell me,” he whispered.

“If you’ve seen the news reports, you must know—”

McGinnis shook his head. “Tell me.”

Legroeder glanced at Harriet. What nerve had they struck here? Drawing a deep breath, he told McGinnis the story. The Impris sighting. The pirate attack. His years of captivity and servitude. His escape. And finally, his framing by the RiggerGuild inquest panel. Even in brief, it was a tortuous tale. When he finished, he sat back with a sigh, trying to push the reawakened memories back into their bottle.

McGinnis rotated his glass in his hands, contemplating. “Well.” He gazed up at the ceiling. “You’re right about my having information about Impris. Nobody’s looked at it in years. I probably have the closest thing there is to a complete record. As complete as there can be, considering that we never learned what happened to her. Except—” he paused, looking down “—you’ve just confirmed reports I’ve heard over the years, that she’s being used by present day pirates as a lure for unsuspecting ships.” He shot a piercing glance at Legroeder. “You might want to think about what that means, in terms of your being framed.”

Legroeder opened his mouth wordlessly.

Harriet spoke sharply. “Would you be willing to share the information you have with us?”

McGinnis pressed three fingertips to his forehead, scowling. “Yes,” he hissed… but as though he were speaking to someone else.

“Mr. McGinnis? Are you all right?”

Pain flickered across the man’s face. “I’m… fine.”

Harriet exchanged alarmed glances with Legroeder. “Is there anything we should—?”

McGinnis blinked his eyes open. “No. I’m fine now. Really.” He grimaced. “I don’t… know much more than you about the present state of Impris, I suspect. But if you’re interested in knowing the truth of her past… I’ll show you what I have.” He seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. He pressed his hands to the tabletop, as if steadying himself. His chin jutted, eyes challenging them. “Not many people are interested in the truth, you know.”

“The truth is what we’re here for,” said Harriet.

“Then I have what you need. The whole reason I’ve kept these documents here… is to keep the truth alive. Truths. Not just about one ship, but about a larger historical matter—” he paused, as though gathering strength “—that for over a hundred years has been nothing but a lie.”

Legroeder shook his head in confusion. “What—?”

“You came here to ask about a ship. But what you really need to know about is dishonor and betrayal between worlds—in wartime and in peace.” McGinnis’s voice hardened to a knife edge. “A betrayal that continues to this day—unrecognized, and written right into our history books.” He sighed. “The disappearance of Impris was one of a great many mysteries left at the end of the War of a Thousand Suns. Most of them remain unsolved, and forgotten. But for some—like Impris—answers were fabricated, and perpetuated, for reasons that have nothing to do with the facts. But there are real answers… if you want to know them.” He glared in the direction of the crackling fire, his black eyebrows knitted together. “If you want to read them for yourselves.”

Harriet seemed taken aback by his ferocity. “Yes, we do—very much. But may I ask something first? Why was this information removed from the public record? Was it deliberately suppressed? Is there some raider influence here?”

McGinnis barked a laugh. He slapped a fist into his open palm and sat trembling. His lips barely moved as he whispered, “Get… out of my… you little shit!” With a shiver, he said a little too loudly, “Sorry—yes—it was suppressed.”

McGinnis looked to Legroeder as if he were about to explode. “Who suppressed it?” Legroeder asked.

McGinnis spoke in halting words, as if against some resistance. “I cannot—tell you that—now. But I can tell you why—the lies were told—a hundred years ago, and still are, today.”

“Yes?”

McGinnis’s breath rasped. “Blame the enemies of the Narseil.”

“Excuse me?”

McGinnis seemed to gain strength, and his voice became almost normal. “Back then, there were those who wanted the Narseil blamed for the loss of a prized ship. It could have been any ship. But when Impris disappeared, the perfect excuse presented itself. Look at the Narseil and the Centrist Worlds. They were allies against the Kyber in the War of a Thousand Suns—until the end of the war, when suddenly they weren’t, anymore.”

Legroeder frowned. “That’s what the RiggerGuild library says. That it was suspicion that they’d destroyed Impris that ruined relations with the Narseil. But Impris wasn’t destroyed—I’ve seen it! It’s out there!” His pulse was racing now, with hope that he might finally learn what was behind the RiggerGuild lies. But why would anyone have betrayed the Narseil, and what could it possibly mean now, one hundred years later? What connection did it have to pirates using Impris as bait?

“Perhaps,” said McGinnis, “this would be a good time to show you what was known, until it was buried under the lies. Would you like to see the report of the inspector who investigated the ship before it disappeared?”

It took a second for the words to register. “Before—?”

“That’s right. Impris’s troubles started well before the time of her disappearance. Excuse me one moment.” McGinnis returned to the control console near the bar. He worked for a moment, muttering under his breath. Rejoining his guests, he said, “The materials will arrive shortly.”

When the library robot rolled into the room, bearing a large carton, McGinnis quickly cleared the table. “Some of this used to be on the public library systems, but it was purged long before the originals came into my possession. I was given these materials for safekeeping—”

“Why you?” asked Harriet.

“That,” McGinnis said sharply, “is something I’m not at liberty to speak about. Let’s just say they were safer with me.” He lifted a set of folders from the carton. “I’ve reloaded all of it on my own system, but these are the originals. Or as close as one can get. These are certified copies of the original investigation by the Space Commission—they were the forerunners of the present Spacing Authority—into the disappearance of Impris. And along with it, the old RiggerGuild investigation. They don’t entirely agree with each other—but neither one ascribes any blame to the Narseil.” McGinnis opened the top folder and took out several sheaves of mylar paper. “In fact, they don’t even mention the Narseil.”

Legroeder picked up the RiggerGuild document and held it gingerly, as if it might burn his fingers. What could possibly be in these old documents that would explain what had been done to him? For no clear reason, he felt a tingling sense that he was teetering on the edge of answers. Rigger intuition?

“If you’re wondering how the Narseil got implicated,” McGinnis continued, “it happened in a special report to the planetary governor—written by a political committee with virtually no rigging or spacing expertise. That’s in here, too.”

“Would you mind,” asked Harriet, “if we made copies of some of these documents?”

McGinnis hesitated, his brow furrowing again. “Copies,” he murmured, straining. “There are reasons… why I have not…” His breath caught, and for several heartbeats, he seemed unable to continue speaking. Then he hissed suddenly, “Yes, I’ll give you the whole damned collection on a cube before you leave. “But—” his gaze caught them sharply “—be aware, your possession of the information could make you a target.”

“It would seem that we’re already a target,” Harriet said dryly. McGinnis inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Legroeder touched an unopened folder. “What’s this?”

“That’s the Fandrang report.”

“Fandrang. That name’s familiar.”

“Gloris Fandrang. He was a shipping inspector, very highly regarded, before and during the War of a Thousand Suns. Later, he went into politics, but not here on Faber Eridani. He moved to the Aeregian worlds. Died in a flyer accident about ten years after he wrote this.” McGinnis shrugged. “At least, they called it an accident.”

Legroeder glanced at the paper. “And his report—?”

McGinnis opened the folder and laid out a number of holos, as well as a long text document. “This was never released to the public. It was the result of his investigation into the disappearance of Impris. But not just her disappearance. Fandrang had been looking into anomalous events reported by her riggers a dozen voyages before her disappearance.”

Legroeder felt a chill of fear. Why should a century-old event frighten him? “I hadn’t heard anything about that,” he whispered.

“I know. And when you read this, you’re going to wonder why you never had access to this information. Because there was something going on—probably is still something going on—that every rigger ought to know about.”

“Meaning—?”

“Dangers out there that you know nothing of. And yet you face them every time you rig.”

“If you’re talking about the raiders—” Legroeder heard his own voice trembling “—I think I know more about them than you’ll ever know.”

“Maybe.” McGinnis’s gaze didn’t waver. “But no, I’m not talking about the raiders.”

“Then what—”

McGinnis gestured to the table. “Read the report.”

Chapter 7 The Fandrang Report

Robert McGinnis watched with both dread and satisfaction as his two visitors settled in to study the materials. At last, it seemed, someone had come along to whom he could reveal the truth—and perhaps, entrust its safekeeping. There was no way to be certain, but his heart wanted to trust these two. And if they were being persecuted by the Spacing Authority and the Guild, then his heart probably knew best. Let them study the facts first, and delay as long as possible opening his own thoughts to them. Of course… there was no way they could possibly understand the danger they were stumbling into, and no way he could warn them without risking a total collapse of the charade he’d been carrying on all these years.

“You can read the text here if you want—” he touched a switch under the edge of the table, and two compads opened out of the tabletop for Legroeder and Harriet “—and then compare with the documents. Afterward, we can talk. Now, why don’t I go fix us a light dinner? I always eat early.” Legroeder and Mahoney nodded; they were already absorbed in the materials.

McGinnis retreated quietly, not so much to prepare dinner as to prepare himself for the next attack, which surely would come. All the signs were there: the anonymous message from the Elmira library just a few hours ago, advising him that two people had been looking for information on Impris; and a separate warning, direct through his augments, that if a Rigger Legroeder and his lawyer came snooping, he was to turn them away. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to think much of the Impris investigation, and he’d found the warnings jarring at first—and then terrifying, once he’d examined the implications. Was the Impris matter about to be thrown wide open? Maybe he had insulated himself too well here in his enclave. He had indeed recognized Legroeder’s name from the news, but in his determined insularity had paid little heed to the actual reports.

Now he recognized his error. It seemed likely that the confrontation he’d long dreaded was—quite without warning—at hand. Absolute caution and attention to control were essential.

He walked to the kitchen, just down the hall from the living room. He focused on his breathing, keenly aware that his thoughts could slip at any moment. He’d managed to keep his deepest intentions isolated from his augment network, but several times in the last hour, he’d almost lost the struggle. If only he weren’t so dependent on the network for his own memories and thoughts!

The other side no doubt had their suspicions, but they could not be sure. The forces testing him from within were growing stronger; the instructions from those who would be his masters came with greater and greater urgency. If he had been complacent these last years, so had they. But no longer.

He stood before the cookmate, trembling, fingertips pressed to the countertop, trying to focus on what he could cook. And then the power hit him from within, like an ocean wave—slamming and lifting him as though to hurl him head over heels. His breath went out in a terrible gasp…

Stop it, don’t let it past… FIGHT IT!

The fingers of the augments were reaching downward, trying to discover his innermost thoughts…

// Let us see, let us see—! //

He fought back with a grim will, clamping his thoughts down until his mind was almost totally blank… leaving only the familiar, abstract struggle of mind against circuitry. (Out! Get out, you bastards—out!) He reeled, losing ground. The eyes and ears of the augment, and of those who controlled it, were like a tiger at his tent, clawing at the thin flap that protected him, roaring to be let in…

(You may not, they are my thoughts, you may not have them…)

Even as he hissed his protest, the barrier was shredding, the claws tearing the canvas; in a few more heartbeats he would lose the struggle. When that happened—and he could smell the tiger’s breath now, almost upon him!—he would be torn open like a gutted fish. He would spill everything he knew, everything he was about to do. And then it would be over and they would have won… they would have defeated him.

OVER MY DEAD BODY!

Like a rubber band snapping, the fear gave way to utter determination. Almost as if he were a rigger, he put all of his focus into that inward battle. And suddenly the canvas of the tent transformed itself to crystalloy steel—and the tiger raged and howled, but could not get through. It clawed and hurled itself against the barrier, in vain; and finally in frustration it stalked away, leaving him gasping.

McGinnis struggled to focus his eyes on the kitchen counter. His heart was pounding with the terror… and with the jubilation of having won one more time.

Always one more time. But the augments were not without deeper resources; and he knew their masters would be infuriated by his victory, his discipline and determination, and yes, his superior mental strength. Once the battle was truly joined, he couldn’t win forever. He was weary, so weary. Soon the tiger would gain entry, and then his part in this war would be over. He’d bought a little time. But how much—a day? An hour? He hoped it would be long enough to do what he had to do.

The supreme irony was, he actually shared many of the stated goals of the hated masters of his augments—he too longed for humanity to reach out again to the more distant stars. But this collaboration with pirates… never. Never.

And now… out in the other room were two people he prayed he could trust—two guests who had fallen like angels into his life, to carry on the fight. Perhaps once they had the information and understood it, he could pass the burden at last. So weary…

But he had to give them time to absorb the knowledge, to begin to comprehend it before he dared open his own thoughts to explanation. He had to buy his guests a little more time.

He let his breath out slowly and ran his finger down the menu list on the cookmate. His guests might be angels, but they still needed to eat.

Legroeder adjusted the screen of his compad, and started with the Fandrang report. It began with an investigation of certain piloting reports from Impris of difficulties in navigation. The outcome, according to the abstract, was uncertain.

Legroeder read the introduction:

Legroeder scratched his head. “There’s no mention of piracy as a possible explanation for her disappearance.”

Harriet glanced up from her viewer. “This was written just after the end of the war. If I’m not mistaken, there wasn’t much piracy, even in Golen Space, for at least a decade after that.”

“That’s right,” said McGinnis, who had come back into the room and was working at the bar. “The raider culture developed after the war—though you can trace much of its origin to the war and its fallout. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

Legroeder felt a flash of irritation. “All right—so I flunked history. Give me a break, will you?” During the seven years of his captivity, he’d come to know a lot about the raider culture and its ways of operating, but very little about its past.

McGinnis inclined his head in apology, and Legroeder read on.

Most of this material was familiar, so Legroeder skipped ahead to the main body of the report. Fandrang and Lee had conducted extensive interviews with her rigger crew and captain. Fandrang noted that even after in-depth analysis, he found it impossible to draw conclusions. Nevertheless…

Legroeder read with growing interest. The navigational difficulties Fandrang referred to mostly seemed to involve transient conflicts of imagery in the net. Shared imagery, of course, lay at the core of flight with a multi-rigger crew. One rigger had described a tenuous feeling in the net, a temporary difficulty in finding anchor points in the Flux. This reference was not to physical points in space or time, but rather intuitive compass points in the minds of the riggers. Without such anchors, riggers would find it impossible to make navigational connections back to normal-space.

Legroeder skimmed ahead, looking for an explanation. He found, not an answer but a suspicion, further into the text.

“What’s he talking about with these EQ levels along starship routes?” Harriet asked, peering over the top of her glasses. Apparently she had reached the same section.

“EQ is an old mathematical expression for energetic turbulence leaking into the Flux from black holes, star formation, matter annihilation, that sort of thing. No one uses the term much anymore. It was an approximation for something no one quite understood.”

“Do they understand it now?”

“Well—we’re using different measurements now. It’s still an imperfect science. From what I hear, the Narseil come closest to having a good theoretical understanding.”

“So maybe they should have been brought in on this investigation?”

Legroeder stared back at her reflectively. “Yeah, maybe. Except… they got blamed for it, right?”

“Ah. Yes,” Harriet said.

Legroeder continued reading.

Tables followed, which Legroeder only glanced over. He hadn’t looked at this sort of thing in a long time, and it hadn’t gotten any easier to read over the years. He pushed ahead to the conclusions.

At this point, the report shifted to a history of the Fandrang/Lee investigation, including logs of the observation flights. Legroeder flipped through the pages awhile, then sat gazing into the fire in the fireplace, lost in dark thought on the possibility of there being something in the Flux, something unidentified, that could so drastically interfere with a rigger’s ability to find his way among the stars.

“Legroeder? What do you make of it?” Harriet had a troubled expression on her face.

He turned from the fire, shrugging. “I wish I knew.”

“Well, you’re the rigger. Does this stuff seem plausible?”

“Which? The ghost ship sightings? The EQ readings?”

“Any of it. All of it.”

Legroeder sighed. “Who can tell? But if any of it is true, then riggers need to know.”

“Excuse me,” Harriet said pointedly. “If it is true, then we need to know. It could constitute objective evidence that Impris is still out there.”

“Oh. Yeah.” For a few minutes there, Legroeder had lost sight of his own troubles. “But Fandrang doesn’t seem to have come up with any answers.”

“Well—” Harriet pressed a finger to her lips. “If Impris is still out there—and we know it is—then we’re back to the question of why someone, aside from the pirates, wants nobody else to know. Wants it badly enough to hide evidence of a danger to all riggers.” She tapped the compad screen and looked around. “I wonder where our host—oh, there he is.”

“What do you think?” McGinnis said, coming through the door.

“It’s damn sobering,” said Legroeder. “But if this Inspector Fandrang was so well respected, why weren’t his suspicions ever investigated further?”

McGinnis sat down heavily, his face creased with the now-familiar pained expression. “Why, indeed?”

“And why were these documents removed from public access?” asked Harriet. “I can only think of two plausible reasons. One is that they were discredited upon examination.”

“I’ve found no evidence of that.” McGinnis clasped white-knuckled hands in front of himself.

“Then the other is that they endangered someone’s position, power, or money.”

McGinnis made a clicking sound with his tongue, and almost smiled. He riffled the documents in his hands.

“What are we talking about?” Harriet asked. “A cover-up by the shipping line?”

McGinnis shook his head. “None that I could see. Oh sure, there might have been a wish not to alarm potential passengers—and perhaps liability concerns. Certainly, for the Golden Star Line, it was preferable for the public to think that the ship was destroyed by the Narseil than that it didn’t come back because its riggers had… how shall we say, faded into the Flux.”

“Well, that right there—”

“But that’s not all there was to it,” McGinnis interrupted. “That much would have come out eventually, if there hadn’t been someone who wanted it hidden, badly enough to see to it that history was rewritten.”

“And who might that have been?” Harriet asked.

McGinnis rested the documents on the table with care. “I don’t know—if I can tell you—that.” He seemed to be struggling again, a grimace creasing his face. “I can show you what information was hidden. But by whom is… difficult.” He drew one slow breath after another, until the grimace faded. “If we had the time, I could take you through some of the ways the truth was obliterated in the public record—or altered enough that it might as well have been obliterated. But to really understand that time period… you’d have to visit a historian I know.”

Harriet cocked her head with interest.

“A Narseil. By the name of El’ken.”

Legroeder stared at McGinnis in astonishment. The Narseil historian El’ken. Even Legroeder had heard of him. “But if the Narseil were framed for the loss of the ship—”

“You won’t necessarily receive a warm welcome. Even a century later, El’ken hasn’t forgotten, or forgiven. The breach has never really healed. But for reasons of his research, El’ken lives here in this system, out in the first belt. Asteroid named Arco Iris. I’ll give you a reference, if you like.”

“But why would someone go to such trouble to discredit the Narseil? It makes no sense.”

McGinnis, eyebrows raised, seemed about to nod in agreement; then his movement froze, and he squeezed his eyes shut in obvious pain. A warbling chime sounded somewhere, and he seemed to be struggling against an urge to turn his head.

Harriet reached out her hand. “Mr. McGinnis—”

“No,” he whispered, his face pale. The chime continued, insistently. McGinnis stood up awkwardly. “If you’ll… excuse me… for just a moment…”

Legroeder felt an inexplicable urge to reach out, to stop him. He felt his hands clench as McGinnis disappeared into the hallway. A moment later, he heard the sound of a door locking.

He and Harriet stared at each other. Legroeder’s heart was hammering; he didn’t know why. He swallowed and picked up the Fandrang report again. Across the table, Harriet did likewise. But neither of them could read long without their gazes being drawn to the back of the room.

Robert McGinnis locked the door to his office and tested it with a shaking hand, then lowered himself into his desk chair. He drew a slow breath as he turned on the neural-interface panel. His head was throbbing from the inner struggle. The chime had been a summons from his security monitor. He was under assault, this time not just from his own implants, but from the outside. The enemy had been blocking his outside transmissions earlier; now they were trying to force their own way in through his security shields. Not a physical attack, of course. No, this was much worse…

There was so much he had wanted to say… about criminals in government, and the Kyber, and their meddling with all of space commerce… but he couldn’t risk, because the barrier he’d built between his thoughts and the implants was beginning to fail. And now it was too late to say it directly to Legroeder and Mahoney. But perhaps there was another way.

This was all happening far faster than he’d anticipated. The enemy must have glimpsed enough through his mental barriers to at least suspect his intentions. Now they would do everything in their power to stop him—everything short of revealing themselves to the rest of the world. But he, McGinnis, was expendable. This was the battle he had been dreading. A battle to the death.

It was a battle he could not hope to win. The augments had always been stronger, but he had been protected by their owners’ desire for secrecy, and their belief that he would remain valuable as a guardian of information, and a powerful agent at need. He doubted they cared much about his value now.

But perhaps he could still win the war. For himself. For those two out there. For the rest of civilized space. For his last thirty years of effort.

// Open link… access requested… //

Denied. Denied. Denied.

The noise level in his skull was ballooning. He could feel the rictus on his face, the twitching of his eyes. If he could just keep control a little longer… keep the compartments of his mind separate, the barrier between the artificial and the natural, the augment and the McGinnis. If he could keep the implanted chips at bay long enough to get his guests out of here and the information with them… before the intruding signal took command and turned him, as he knew it would, into a machine that would ruthlessly kill the very people he was trying to help…

And long enough for one more thing.

To find a way to preserve the information in his own thoughts… in spite of the tremendous power of the augments. He heard Rufus barking somewhere outside, was aware of Rufus’s presence at the edges of his mind, the chips that he himself had implanted in his dog, linked to his own. Rufus, he thought, can I do this to you? It would be risky; it could kill the dog. But what else could he do?

He could feel the augments searching like a roving eye, trying to discover what he was doing. I’m sorry, boy. Whatever happens… I need you to do this for me… one last service…

He made an adjustment on the interface board, hesitated only a moment, then closed the circuit. With one part of his mind, he felt a projection channel opening into the living room. In another part, he felt a burring sensation, and then something that felt like great stores of grain slipping away, down a long, long shaft…

Legroeder was not even aware of the sound of the dog barking in the distance until he heard a sudden yelp—and the barking abruptly stopped. Then he heard a loud, sharp voice:

“You must leave at once!”

Legroeder looked up with a start and saw a holoimage of McGinnis standing in front of the fireplace. A faint flicker of the fire could be seen through the image of the man.

“What’s wrong?” Legroeder asked.

“You must leave at once!” the image of McGinnis repeated. “You are no longer safe here!”

Legroeder and Harriet exchanged alarmed glances.

“Excuse me,” Harriet said. “We can’t leave. Our flyer is disabled.”

The image faltered for a moment. “Christ, that’s right.” It seemed to freeze, and then spoke again. “Take my flyer! I’m releasing the controls to you now. But go. GO! Take this cube and take all the documents and HURRY!” With that, the image blinked out.

A small compartment opened in the top of the coffee table. In it was a datacube half the size of a human fist.

Legroeder stared at it in astonishment and indecision, then snatched up the cube. “Gather the documents!” he commanded, jumping to his feet. Pocketing the cube, he hurried to the door. He peered cautiously up and down the hallway. “McGinnis!” he shouted. “McGinnis, do you need help?” There were several closed doors. Did he dare go searching? You are no longer safe.

“Take the documents and go!” boomed McGinnis’s voice again, from hidden speakers. “If you delay, you’ll lose everything!”

Legroeder cursed, returning to Harriet. “I don’t know what kind of trouble he’s in, but I don’t think we can help him. Let’s do what he says. Let’s get this packed up!”

Harriet stuffed the last of the folders into the archive box. Her voice shook. “Legroeder, what do you think is happening?”

His own breath was tight with fear. “I don’t know,” he whispered, picking up the box. “But remember Jakus? And the missile? All I know is McGinnis wants us to keep this stuff safe! Let’s go!”

They came upon McGinnis’s dog Rufus outside the house. It was lying on its side, glassy-eyed—twitching, as if with a seizure. Legroeder crouched by the dog. “Look at that!” He pointed to a tiny implant flickering rapidly behind the dog’s ear. He looked up, scanning the estate and the tree line. Was the house under attack? If so, it was by an invisible foe. Legroeder rose. “I don’t think we can do anything for him, either. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’d better get out of here.”

As if in answer, Rufus yipped twice, then was still.

Harriet’s face was white. “Which way?”

“Around back.” They hurried past the damaged rental car to the rear of the house. McGinnis’s flyer was a high-powered Arcturan sports model, for which Legroeder was grateful as they climbed in. Whatever was going on, he wanted all the speed he could get. “Strap in,” he said, scanning the controls.

As the power came on, he squinted, shading his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. No sign of anything in the air; nothing moving within the security field. He wondered if he should use the autopilot. Probably not; better to risk unfamiliarity with the controls. He took a deep breath. “Lifting off.” He pushed the power forward, and the flyer shot into the air. Before he had it fully under control, they were already climbing out through the forcefield boundary and were well above the house and clearing.

The com suddenly crackled, and they heard McGinnis’s voice:

“You will have the only copies. Keep them safe! Get to El’ken if you can!”

Legroeder exchanged glances with Harriet, then banked the flyer in a circle around the clearing to find his bearings.

McGinnis fought for control as he watched his guests’ departure on the remote scanner. He was in a life-and-death struggle now to retain the functioning of his own brain. The chips had not yet decided to kill him; they were still trying to keep him from doing what he was doing, but they were not yet certain what that was. It had taken all of his strength to give Legroeder and Mahoney their chance to get away, and to keep that information locked away from the augment-mediated portion of his brain.

His hand shook over the control board. Jesus; he was losing it. He shut his eyes, opened them in time to see his finger press the stud to power up the defensive laser. “Damn you, no!” he whispered. It was not him aiming, but the augments. Shuddering, he wrenched control back, and in the instant that the laser fired, he deflected the aim. A lance of death stabbed up from the house…

It missed the departing flyer.

He slammed the power off to the laser and swiveled from the board, shaking. The information was still pouring from his mind, but not reaching his augments, not yet. Iron will. You must keep an iron will.

The information about the Impris conspiracy was out now, and what was done with it was up to others. Maybe, with luck, they’d live long enough to follow the trail to Impris and back again to the bastards who had ruined his life and were using the ship in their web of lies. But the augments didn’t know yet, not for certain. And it was crucial for the protection of Legroeder and Mahoney that they not learn—or at least not transmit the knowledge out. Their masters might suspect that he’d betrayed them in the end, but they wouldn’t know, at least not until Legroeder and Mahoney were on their way.

The thought was lost in a flash of pain that seemed to come from a million miles away. The fun and games were over; they were going to torture him to break down the barrier. He clenched his teeth and turned back to the console. Gasping, he struck the console once with his fist. It was time for the final action. He had always known this moment would come; he was well prepared. The circuits were ready. It took several steps, no mistakes: switch cover up, button jammed down, laser charged.

And then… the code, painfully typed in, grim desperation on his lips, focusing, focusing, over my: D-E-A-D-B-O-D-Y…

Shaking with pain, he fired the laser.

This time, nothing happened…

…except the deliberate overload in the laser capacitors, exploding in the basement. A half-second later, the pyrotechnics beneath the first floor erupted—and then billowing fire roared to life in the center of the house. There was no escape now, not with the fire-arrest system disabled, not with the door lock sealed.

He seized the interface input cable from the console control. Reaching behind his right ear, blinded by pain, he lifted the flap of hair and jammed the connector into the augment socket. A wind howled through his brain.

He keyed the next sequence of switches. A message on the screen began flashing:

He could barely type now, his hand was shaking so hard. He used his left hand to steady his right, as he typed with one finger. He paused for a heartbeat to cry out a silent command, Rufus, run for safety—take what I’ve given you—keep it safe until… Jesus, why didn’t I send you with them? Look for them when you can.

Crying aloud, he pressed START. Good-bye, my friend…

The erasure current was like a balm of flowing water in his skull. The pain subsided as the programming of the augments faded, as the waters washed away all of the jointly stored memories of the last thirty years, all of his memories as well as the augments’. It lasted only an instant, but an instant that seemed to go on forever…

…as all that was Robert McGinnis, all the memories that were his life, slipped away like sand through a broken hourglass. And when it was all gone, there would be light, as the fire roared, and peace…

Peace.

Chapter 8 Further Truths

“Did he just shoot at us?”

Legroeder glanced over his shoulder. He thought he’d seen a laser flash. “If he did, he missed by a mile. He couldn’t have been aiming for us.” But if McGinnis hadn’t aimed for the flyer, what had he aimed for? Legroeder scanned, but couldn’t see any other craft in the sky.

“Look down there!” Harriet shouted.

He was just beginning to break out into a southerly heading; he banked back into an orbit around the house instead. “What is it?”

“I thought I saw something. Fire, I think. In the house!”

“Jesus!” He banked steeply, ignoring Harriet’s gasp, and peered down at the house. There was no mistaking it: smoke was curling from a second-floor window. “The whole place is going up!”

“We’ve got to do something!”

“We can try to get back down, but I don’t—”

Whoop! Whoop! A light flashed on the console with the audible alarm, and the flyer lurched sickeningly. He fought to steady it.

Harriet’s voice was tight with fear. “What was that?”

“His forcefield. It won’t let us back in! We can’t go down!” Legroeder snapped a series of switches on the console. Finally he found a remote for the forcefield, but it blinked: ACCESS DENIED. “It’s demanding a password. Harriet, I don’t think there’s any way we’re going to get back in there.”

“Let me try.” Harriet began keying in everything they could think of: McGinnis. Rigger. Impris… After the fifth attempt, the screen flashed: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ATTEMPT! SECONDARY OVERRIDE CODE REQUIRED! “Oh, hell. Legroeder—”

“Yah.” He strained to watch the house as he maneuvered outside the forcefield. Unfortunately, the barrier was hard to see. The alarm sounded and the flyer bucked again. He took them farther out, but lower. If he could bring them down near the edge of the clearing… maybe the forcefield ended before the start of the forest. “I don’t know what kind of a shield this is. I wonder if it would let us walk through…” He interrupted himself as he saw something ahead and below. “What’s that?”

“It’s the dog!”

Rufus was running in a zigzag toward the edge of the clearing. Legroeder slowed the flyer, watching, as the dog burst through the forcefield with a sparkle, bolted in alarm into the woods, then reemerged and tried to run back in through the security field. It half-slid, half-bounced off the invisible barrier. Terrified, it disappeared into the woods again. This time it didn’t come back.

“Hell!” Legroeder pulled the flyer into a savage climb. “We’re not going to get in that way, either. Harriet, there’s not a damn thing we can do.”

“My dear God,” whispered Harriet, pointing at the house.

There was a flicker of flame inside the windows now, and a thicker plume of smoke curling into the air. Legroeder cursed. “Let’s get some altitude and see if we can call for help.” He flicked the com switch. “Can you handle that?”

Harriet didn’t waste time answering, but starting calling out a Mayday. She got only static in reply. “Can you get us farther from the house?” Whatever had been blocking their com-signal before was apparently still doing so. Legroeder boosted them quickly to five hundred meters altitude. Harriet finally got through and reported the fire to a regional control center. An emotionless voice told her that units would be on their way at once. She glanced at Legroeder. “Should we wait for them to arrive?”

Legroeder hesitated, scanning the sky for other craft. The question kept running through his mind: Why had McGinnis told them to flee? And what had started the fire? Was McGinnis under attack, and if so, by whom?

“Legroeder?”

He shook his head finally. “I think we’d better get the hell out of here, like he told us to. I don’t know what started that fire, but if someone was coming after him, then they’re pretty damn sure to come after us, too. I’m glad you didn’t broadcast our names just now.”

Harriet was silent.

“Look,” Legroeder snapped. “I don’t like leaving him, either. But he wanted us to take these documents and keep them safe. And we aren’t going to do that if we get caught by whoever decided to take him out.”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Legroeder was already turning the flyer away from the estate. He took one last look back. It wasn’t going to make much difference when rescue teams arrived, he thought; if that forcefield didn’t go down, the rescue workers would be as helpless as he and Harriet had been.

He shook his head, pushed the throttle out to full, and was jammed back in his seat as the sport flyer accelerated.

The link broke with a jarring twang, but not before Major Jenkins Talbott caught the image that McGinnis had projected back into the link: fire… destruction… termination.

Talbott cursed violently, trying to reestablish the contact. C’mon, c’mon… But there was no longer any carrier signal from the implants, even on the lowest level. The screen in front of him had turned to static—how the hell?—and all of the house monitors had shut down. Damn! McGinnis had somehow silenced his personal implants. There was only one way Talbott could think of to do that.

The man had taken his own life. Deliberately, and probably premeditatedly.

That can’t be…

Talbott leaned back and hollered to the tech on the other side of the cramped control room. “Jerry, ’d you do something to cut the signal from McGinnis?”

“Not a thing,” came Jerry’s drawl. “What’s wrong?”

Talbott didn’t answer. He scrolled back through the log. It took a few minutes of searching, but there it was, hidden in the noise: McGinnis issuing a termination command—on himself. Jezu. How could he have done such a thing? And why? Mr. Big Ex-Marine had never rebelled before—at least not until he’d let that rigger and his lawyer onto his property. What the fuck…

Talbott hit the controls; the display in front of him switched to an overhead satellite view. It zoomed in with quick jumps until McGinnis’s house emerged from the forest, smoke and flames billowing.

“Talbott—what’s going on with McGinnis?” squawked a voice in his headset. His commanding officer.

Crap. Talbott cut from the remote link and switched over to the local.

“Major?”

“He killed himself and his house is burning down,” Talbott snapped into the com. Christ, was there anything else that could go wrong with this operation? Maybe he’d at least taken Legroeder and the lawyer with him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Don’t move.”

Talbott wasn’t about to move; he was glued to his seat. He pulled back a little on the satellite-zoom. About the time Colonel Paroti showed up to lean over his shoulder, he saw what else could go wrong.

“What’s that flying away from the house?” Paroti asked, stabbing at the lower left corner of the display.

Talbott was already reaching for the e-com to call in backup. But he knew it was too late. “That’s McGinnis’s flyer,” he muttered.

“I thought you said McGinnis killed himself.”

“He did—I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, I don’t have the body, for chrissake. But yeah, I’m pretty sure. That may be the rigger and the lawyer, taking his flyer.”

Paroti growled. “Can we bring ’em down?”

Talbott shook his head. “Assuming they’re heading back toward the city, it would take maybe fifteen minutes to intercept.” He looked up at the colonel. “They’ll be in patrolled airspace by then—”

Paroti swore. “We can’t, then. Too much chance of being seen.”

“No shit. Wait a sec’…” Talbott paged back in the satellite imagery; the replay took a few seconds to load. “There.” He pointed. “Yeah, there’s the woman and Legroeder getting into the flyer. I wonder if McGinnis sent them away.”

Paroti smacked a fist into his hand in fury. “Damn it to shit!” He swung back to the screen. “Did they get away with any information? Or did it all go up in that house?”

Talbott yanked off his headset and sat back angrily. All the equipment they’d gathered, all the organization, the men, the ships ready to go when the call came—and they couldn’t fucking stop an unarmed flyer. “How would I know? But I’m guessing they took the records. The implant logs are garbled pretty bad, but I’m thinking McGinnis was planning to hand the records over.”

“What a fuckup! How could this happen? Christ, Jenk—what made McGinnis do it? Did he do anything we told him to?” Paroti clawed at his sideburns in agitation. Finally he moaned, “We’re gonna have to tell Command. And I suppose North, too.”

Another risk of exposure. And who’s gonna take the heat? Not Command. Not North. Talbott scowled up and down the console. God, he wanted a drink right now.

“What do you think about picking them off in the city?” Paroti asked.

Talbott glared up at him. Why is this idiot in charge? He drew a breath. “We can’t take chances like that, Colonel. Going after them out in the wilderness was risky enough. This is supposed to be an undercover operation, remember?” And now we screwed it up royally.

“Don’t be a wise ass. Give me some options. What about that other rigger, or whatever the hell she is. Legroeder’s woman. Can we do something with her? She probably knows some things that would be useful.”

Talbott rocked back in his chair, surprised by his commander. “There’s a thought now. That rigger might not be so eager to spill his guts if we’ve got his girl. We’d probably have to have Command pass on it first. And I suppose we’ll need to see what Hizhonor North has to say. But grabbing her just might be a way to pull our nuts out of the fire on this one.”

“Then get on it…”

“You know,” Legroeder said, between glances at the instruments and the autopilot, “we’re flying what could easily be construed as a stolen craft. Plus, we’ve got a box full of documents that were probably known to have been in his archives. We might want to do some thinking about how that’s going to look.”

“I have been thinking,” she said softly. “And I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“You think they’re going to come after us?”

“I think the police will probably want to have some words with us.”

“Which raises the next question. Are they in on this frame-up business?”

Harriet bit her lip. “Maybe not. Whatever’s going on at the RiggerGuild—and whoever they’re colluding with—I haven’t seen a reason yet to suspect the police.”

“But do we trust them enough to go back to Elmira? Will we be safe there?” They were flying on a southerly heading at the moment; Elmira was to the southeast.

Harriet scowled in concentration. Clearly matters had gone beyond anything in her experience. “Seems to me, if anything, we’re probably safer in the city. At least there we have some control, and we can use the legal system. Peter has good security, and whoever these people are, they don’t seem eager to reveal themselves.”

“They might not have to, if they can frame us for McGinnis’s house burning.”

“Yes, but we were shot at before we landed there.”

“Which will be hard to prove, until someone gets through the forcefield and looks at the rental flyer.”

“Well, nothing’s easy,” Harriet said. “You know, McGinnis knew more than he told us. I think he was expecting us.”

“Why do you say that?”

“For one thing, he knew who we were. Remember his remark about whoever shot at us not liking lawyers? Only I didn’t tell him I was a lawyer?”

Legroeder grunted. “I was wondering about his reconstructive surgery. I didn’t see any datachip markers on him, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have implants.”

“Meaning—? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Legroeder rubbed his jaw. His guess was, anyone with implants was suspect on this world; but that didn’t mean he was guilty of anything. “I’m just thinking Jakus had them, and gave every sign of being under their influence. And we know where he got his implants.”

Harriet was watching him over her glasses. “Golen Space?”

Legroeder nodded. Implants made him uneasy enough in and of themselves; but in the pirate culture, they were designed without safeguards, and were used for control as much as for enhancement. He shuddered, remembering how close he had come to having them in his own head.

With a deep breath, he set a new course for Elmira.

They landed at the edge of the city shortly after sunset, in a driving rainstorm. They sat in the grounded flyer, listening to the rain pound on the roof, while Harriet called for Peter to send a car to meet them, and made arrangements for the flyer to be garaged outside the city. Then they piled into Peter’s associate’s car with the box of documents. It was a gloomy ride to Harriet’s office, in the rain and the darkness. They were greeted outside by another of the PI’s men, already on watch.

When they walked into the office, shaking off the raindrops, Legroeder was surprised to see a woman sitting at Harriet’s desk, poring over Harriet’s com-console. The woman’s face looked familiar. “Hi, Mom,” she said. “I was starting to worry.”

“We had a few problems, dear,” Harriet answered, showing Legroeder where to put the box. “Like someone trying to shoot us out of the sky, and then a house burning down. Legroeder, this is my daughter Morgan. Morgan, Rigger Legroeder.”

They shook hands. Morgan appeared to be in her mid thirties, a good-looking woman with a narrower and more angular face than Harriet’s, but with her mother’s greenish eyes and intensity of expression. She looked alarmed as her mother bustled around the office, turning down lights and closing shades. Then Harriet told her about the visit with McGinnis.

“Christ, Mother! You need to get some security. Do you think they’ll attack you here in the city?”

Harriet sank into an overstuffed chair with a heartfelt sigh. “I don’t think so. But Peter’s on his way over now. We’ll do whatever he says.”

“But what about Mr. McGinnis? Do you have any idea what’s happened to him?”

Harriet looked grim. “I have a pretty good idea, yes, though I hope I’m wrong. I’ll ask Peter to send someone up there as soon as possible. But in the meantime, McGinnis gave us some extremely sensitive materials to safeguard. This stuff could be major armament for Legroeder in his case with the Guild and the Spacing Authority. What else it will do, I don’t know.” Harriet got up with a groan and pried the lid off the box. “Somebody is awfully afraid of what’s in there. So let’s get busy making backup copies. We’ll want one in a bank vault, one in free-float storage on the net, and maybe a couple in other places. Let’s copy the cube first, then scan in all the hardcopy.”

“Let me clear a space here,” Morgan said. A smile flickered on her lips. “Jeez, mother, I haven’t seen you look this alive in years. Maybe you should have people shoot at you more often.” The smile disappeared when it became apparent that neither Harriet nor Legroeder could make light of the situation. “Sorry. Let me see if I can get this going for you.”

“Any calls while we were gone?”

“Yes—I almost forgot. There was a call for Legroeder from the hospital. It was sealed, so I saved it for you.” Morgan tapped on the phone pad and turned the viewer toward Legroeder. “Do you want to take it in private?”

Legroeder shook his head. Did Maris wake up? he wondered hopefully. He keyed the call and saw the face of the attending physician.

“Mr. Legroeder,” said the doctor, “I’m calling to let you know that Maris O’Hare is about to be transferred out of our facility. Some of her relatives came by and made the arrangements. I know you were concerned about her, and I hope this reaches you before she’s gone. Please give me a call back. It’s now nineteen hundred hours.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. Legroeder looked up at Harriet in fear. “Somebody got to Maris.” He checked the time. It was 2430, getting late in the evening.

Harriet hurried to his side. “What happened?”

He shook his head and pressed the callback button.

The phone blinked on, displaying the face of the duty nurse. Legroeder asked for Doctor Goldman and was promptly put on hold. He fumed helplessly until the doctor came on. “Mr. Legroeder—I was just on my way out. I’m not sure if Ms. O’Hare is still here. They were supposed to come for her a little while ago.”

“Who was?”

“Their names were—ahh, MacAffee and Squire. Man and woman. As I said in the message, they were family. Half-siblings, I believe.”

“Doctor, she doesn’t have any family on Faber Eridani! She told me her closest family was on Gamma Ori Three. That’s about as far away as you can get and still be in the same galaxy! There’s no way they could be here now even if they’d been sent word!”

The doctor leaned away from the phone, frowning. “Well, that’s very strange. They had all the proper credentials. Are you sure? From what you told me, her knowledge of her family was years out of date.”

Legroeder shook his head vigorously. “No—this isn’t right!” His heart was sinking.

“Well, it was all according to procedure—though I did argue against moving her. I said she was better off here—”

“Wait—doctor—where did they say they were taking her?”

“They had papers from a private hospital in another city, where there were physicians they knew. Legally, since she was stable, I couldn’t refuse.”

Legroeder’s grip tightened on the phone pad. “Is she gone yet?”

“Hold on, let me check. I’m not on that floor right now.”

Legroeder asked Harriet, “How fast can you get me to the hospital?”

Harriet touched her earring and began muttering urgently.

Dr. Goldman returned to the phone. “Apparently they arrived just a few minutes ago to check her out.”

“Stop them!”

“Well, I can try, but I—”

“You have to! I’m on my way. Don’t let them take her!” Before the doctor could reply, Legroeder lunged for the door.

“Wait, I’m coming with you!” Harriet called. “Morgan, keep copying this material!”

The ride to the hospital with Peter’s man took ten frantic minutes. Legroeder jumped out ahead of Harriet and dashed through the lobby and up to the third floor. “Maris O’Hare! Is she still here?” he cried, running past the front desk.

“Sir! Just a moment!”

Legroeder ignored the shout and rounded the corner to Maris’s room. He stopped, panting, inside the doorway. “Maris?” he shouted. The bed was empty, stripped. He turned. “Where is she?”

“Sir!” A nurse was behind him, followed by a robot security guard. “Please come this way. If you want to talk to—”

“Dr. Goldman! Where’s Dr. Goldman?”

“Dr. Goldman’s not—”

“I’m right here,” said a voice from down the hall. The doctor hurried into view. “I tried to call you. I wasn’t able to stop them.”

“What?”

“I’m very sorry—they were gone by the time I got downstairs.”

“Damn it to hell!” Legroeder clenched his fists, fingernails biting into his hands.

“I really am sorry. But they identified themselves as closest kin. They had the right to insist. I simply had no legal authority to hold her here.”

“Damn the legal authority!”

The doctor drew back. “Excuse me, I know you’re upset…”

Legroeder took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could feel the blood pounding in his head. It would do no good to scream at the doctor. “I’m sorry—what hospital did you say they were taking her to?”

The doctor checked his compad. “Symmes. In the town of Arlmont in the Northern Province.”

“And you did verify that this hospital was expecting her?”

“Mr. MacAffee showed us the admission order, yes.”

“But did you call the hospital?”

The doctor looked pale, both defensive and frightened. “There seemed no need. All of the documentation was in order. Mr. Legroeder, are you sure that—”

“I’m telling you those people were not her family! I don’t care about their documents. They were not her brother and sister!” Legroeder turned with helpless fury to Harriet, who had finally caught up.

“Then who were they?” Dr. Goldman shook his head in dismay. “If this was an abduction, we’d better call the police at once.” He turned to the robot guard. “Check the door security. See if there’s a record of the vehicle that Ms. O’Hare left in.”

Harriet spoke quickly. “We’ll need that, and we’ll need all of the purported documentation.” She pulled at her earring and spoke subvocally for a moment.

“May I ask who you are?” Dr. Goldman said.

“Harriet Mahoney, attorney at law,” she said brusquely. “Doctor, there will certainly be a legal investigation into this matter, and it is paramount that all of the documents be preserved. We’ll need to examine them for evidence of forgery.”

The doctor’s alarm deepened visibly. “Yes, of course. But hadn’t we better concentrate on getting the police on this?”

“Absolutely. Please do that. We’ll be in touch. But right now, we must see if we can put a pursuit on that vehicle.”

“They told me they were headed for the Northern Province,” Dr. Goldman said.

“Then they probably aren’t. Legroeder, let’s move quickly. Thank you, Doctor.” Without waiting for anyone to reply, Harriet seized Legroeder above the elbow and propelled him down the hall toward the lift and the exit. “If there’s any more to learn here, Peter and his people will learn it. I don’t think we want to be here when the police arrive.”

“Are we going after the car that took Maris?”

“Peter’s getting someone on it right now. But Legroeder—understand there’s very little chance of catching them. If they could produce papers to fool the hospital, then they aren’t going to be waiting around for us to catch them.”

“But we’ve got to do everything we can—”

“We will, Legroeder. We will.” Harriet steered him out a side exit onto the street. In front of the hospital, a police flyer’s lights were flashing. As they strode away quickly, she added, “But we’ll let the people do it who can do it. You, my friend, have other business. And no time to delay, before the police start to suspect you.” She shook her head worriedly. “And what am I doing? Helping you to become a fugitive? God. There’s the car…”

Legroeder slumped in a chair in Harriet’s office, picking with a pair of chopsticks at a nearly empty carton of Fabri takeout food. An hour ago, he had been starving; now he had no appetite.

Morgan glanced at him sympathetically. She was still busy copying and scanning the hundreds of pages of material they had brought from McGinnis’s house. The data on the cube had already been encoded and distributed for safekeeping on the net.

Legroeder started as Harriet snapped off her phone; he must have dozed off. “You were right, Legroeder. There is no Symmes Hospital in the town of Arlmont. The town itself is nothing more than a trading post for lumbering interests in the northern forest.”

Legroeder grunted, unsurprised. Maris really was gone, then. Either dead… or in the hands of the same people who had tried to kill him.

“Peter will give a report to the police, of course. But I doubt they’ll be able to do much.” Harriet consulted her notes, then continued grimly, “We need to think very carefully about what your next move should be.”

“Meaning—”

“Meaning, whoever these people are, they seem to have connections in more places than I’d guessed. We may not be safe here for long.” Harriet ran her fingers through her hair in agitation. “But who the hell are they? Someone in Spacing Authority? Some outside group? There’s a note here from Peter. It seems that spaceship hangar where Jakus Bark worked is owned indirectly by Centrist Strength. I wonder if they’re involved.”

“Centrist Strength again! Where do these people come from?” Legroeder asked in annoyance.

Harriet looked as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. “Mainly Faber Eridani, though there’ve been rumors of offworld connections outside their own organization. It began years ago as a particularly strident, and racist, lobbying group—then they started getting into paramilitary activities. Their members all have military-type ranks and titles. And they’ve got wilderness training camps—which is where they’re causing that trouble with the Faber aborigines I told you about. Lately, they seem to have been trying to improve their public image, but I haven’t heard of any change in their human-supremacist outlook.”

“I wonder how Jakus got mixed up with them.”

“Good question. And I wonder how, or if, they’re connected with your problem.”

Legroeder grimaced. “May I make a suggestion?”

“By all means.”

“We’re not going to solve this by wondering. Let’s contact that Narseil historian that McGinnis told us about. El’ken. Maybe he knows some things. And we’ve got to read the rest of this material. What are we doing for security?” Legroeder looked around, as if terrorists might leap out of the closet.

“Peter is proofing my house right now,” Harriet said. “I think we’ll be safe there for the time being. He’s the best in the business. Morgan, you’re staying with us.”

Morgan nodded, sorting pages.

“Then let’s study while we can. And let Peter do his work.”

Peter met them at the office to escort them to Harriet’s house. Among humans, Peter was the only name he used. He was a Clendornan—a silver-blue-skinned humanoid with a wedge-shaped head, wide and flat on top. His nose was all angles, and his eyes looked like clear orbs with luminous steel wool at the backs of the eyeballs. He smiled only once, briefly—a zigzag smile beneath an angular brow, and then was all sober concentration. He had two bodyguards with him—a long-armed, almost tentacled Gos’n named Georgio; and a Swert named Pew, a brawny individual with a head like a horse’s and an astringent smell. “We take no chances from now on,” Peter said, after introductions. “We’ve scanned your house, I’ll leave Georgio and Pew to look after you for the night, and I’ll stay in touch with them, but I have many investigations to undertake tonight. Are you ready to go?” The words spilled out of his mouth like marbles out of a bag.

“We need to get these spare copies stored safely,” said Harriet, showing him the datacubes.

“The bank vaults won’t be open at this hour. But if we each keep a cube, that will give us a measure of security. You’ve dispersed a copy on the worldnet, right? Good—and the originals?”

“Right here. Peter, we might need to make a trip to the asteroid belt. Can you arrange that?”

Peter blinked; the effect was like a lighted sign going off and on. “I can arrange it if necessary.” He peered at Legroeder. “Is it your intention to become a fugitive?”

“Could I be more of a fugitive than I am now?”

Harriet cleared her throat. “I believe Peter’s reminding us of your bail conditions—namely, that you won’t leave the planet. And of my responsibility, as your attorney, not to encourage you to violate the law. Is that correct, Peter?”

The PI turned up his long-fingered hands. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But I wanted to remind you, not just of Mr. Legroeder’s bail, but of the fact that he is a potential suspect in both the disappearance of Jakus Bark and the possible death of Robert McGinnis. It would not appear to help his case for him to vanish from the planet. That is the sort of thing that fugitives do, no?”

“You’re absolutely right, Peter,” said Harriet. “But frankly, we’re in some pretty deep manure here. Whatever is going on, I’m convinced that someone in the Spacing Authority is involved. And maybe Centrist Strength—who knows? We certainly can’t trust the RiggerGuild, and the police are less and less likely to believe us, as all this circumstantial evidence piles up. I hate to say it—you can’t imagine how much I hate to say it—but I’m afraid if we follow all the rules, we’re going to wind up squashed. The same way I believe Mr. McGinnis has been squashed. Have you learned anything more about him?”

Peter’s eyes flared with light. “Nothing, really. We can’t get near the house, and all the regional authorities will tell me is that the fire’s still burning inside the forcefield, and they can’t do a thing until the forcefield generator fails.” He shrugged and tilted his large head. “With all the smoke, they can’t even tell me if the rental flyer is still intact.”

“The rental flyer is the least of our worries,” said Legroeder.

“The rental company won’t think so,” Peter chided. “Anyway, the burn mark from the missile may be about the only evidence on your side in this entire business.”

Legroeder grunted.

“So one or more of us should go to visit this El’ken,” Harriet said.

“And you would be taking Rigger Legroeder with you?” Peter asked.

“Damn right she is,” said Legroeder.

“The reason being—?”

Legroeder answered irritably, “I’m only going to beat this by finding out what the hell’s going on. And what it all has to do with Impris.” He paused a moment. “Someone wants it kept quiet pretty badly. Badly enough to frame me. Badly enough to kill and kidnap people. I can’t help Maris directly, it seems. So where would I rather be—out in the asteroid belt looking for information, where at least it’ll take them a while to catch up with me—or here, waiting to be arrested?” He looked at Harriet. “If anyone should stay here, it’s you.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked quietly.

“You’ll become an accessory if you come with me. Aren’t you a little old to become a criminal on the run?”

“I could go with him,” said Morgan.

Harriet turned and squinted at her daughter.

“That way, you could keep working here. And if he needs legal advice while he’s there—”

“Are you a lawyer, too?” Legroeder asked.

“Most of a lawyer. I never took the planetary bar.” Morgan stared at her mother.

“You’re both missing the point,” said Harriet, “which is that we have an urgent need to gather this information, and I need to hear it for myself. And I’m probably better at digging for it than either of you. Now, the fact that I may well lose my legal license is neither of your concerns.”

Legroeder and Morgan exchanged glances. “Then I’m coming along to keep an eye on you, Mother,” said Morgan. “You might be smart, but you think you’re invincible, and you need someone to guard your back. And you’ll probably need some legal advice of your own, before you’re done.” With that, Morgan turned away and busied herself with the last of her work.

Harriet stood silent, frowning into space.

“If that’s settled, are you ready to gather up and head home?” Peter asked mildly.

By the time they reached Harriet’s house, they all realized that they were dead tired, and probably the best thing to do was get some rest. Legroeder tossed and turned on his bed in the little guest house for what seemed hours. The last thing he remembered thinking was that, having snatched Maris, his enemies were not likely to wait long before trying to snatch him, as well.

It was the middle of the night when he awoke from a dead sleep to a thumping on the door. He sat up with a start. “Who is it?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Peter. We need to see you in the house. Hurry, please.”

Legroeder let out the breath he’d been holding and pulled on his clothes. He stumbled across the lawn to the dining room door, rubbing his eyes. Everyone was gathered around the table, including the Fabri housekeeper, Vegas, who apparently had been roused to make coffee and was clucking unhappily as she offered some to Legroeder. “What’s going on?” he murmured, accepting a steaming cup.

Harriet gestured to him to sit. “I think Peter had better tell you.”

The Clendornan’s eyes were flickering like a thunderstorm. “I’ve just heard from a friend in the police department. They’re drawing up a warrant to bring you in on suspicion of murder. And since that business at the hospital, they’re moving even faster. They could be here within the hour.”

Legroeder’s head was spinning. “Just which murder do they think I’ve committed?”

“Two counts,” Peter said. “One—Robert McGinnis. The house has burned to the ground. The forcefield is still holding, but scanners have identified a human body in the rubble.”

Legroeder said nothing, but felt a sudden, fresh weight of sadness and regret.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “By the way, they’re considering arresting Harriet on that one, too.”

Legroeder looked up. “Why Harriet?” he asked Peter.

“Because she was with you, obviously. And it was she who put in the call about the fire. And she who stored McGinnis’s flyer. It didn’t take them long to find it.”

“But she didn’t identify herself when she called in the fire.”

“Which is a strike against her. The com had a transponder ID, and they’ve confirmed the voice recording. I might add that my friend indicated that the department is under some pressure from the outside to act against you.”

“The outside? Who on the outside?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Legroeder sighed. “What else, then?”

“Your old friend Jakus Bark.”

Jesus. “They found him? How was he killed?”

Peter tipped his top-heavy Clendornan head. “They have not found him. But they did find a series of holo recordings, starting with the two of you arguing, then you skulking around in the back hallway of that hangar, and finally Jakus lying unconscious and bloody on the floor of the basement. Oh, and they found Jakus’s bloody cap, which indeed has oil traces from your hands on it.”

Legroeder stared at the PI. “But they don’t have a body?”

“No.”

“Then it’s all circumstantial, right?”

Peter gestured to Harriet, who was lost in thought. “Harriet?”

She looked up with a start. “What? Yes—but unfortunately, they probably have enough to bring you in. Under Fabri law, they don’t need a body, or even proof of a murder, to arrest you under suspicion. They have the circumstantial evidence, plus one piece of material evidence. It wouldn’t be enough for them to convict you—but they could hold you indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely?”

Harriet nodded.

Morgan, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table, said, “Faber Eridani is not a signatory to the Danii Convention. So the laws are a little different here. It goes back to the days after the Thousand-Sun War.”

“But that was over a hundred years ago!”

“Yes—and there was near-civil-war here, afterward,” Harriet said. “The war took a big toll, you know—in money, personnel, ships. There was a nasty dissident backlash. Coups, attempted coups, martial law. By the time things settled down, civil liberties were in the toilet along with a lot of other things. A few revolutionaries have worked for change over the years, but…” Harriet shrugged.

“Mom being one of those revolutionaries.”

“In my younger years, dear. Back when I had fire,” Harriet said. Morgan rolled her eyes. “But the upshot is, they can arrest you. So let’s concentrate on keeping us out of jail—and alive.”

“Which we will do how?”

Harriet looked pained, and frightened. “As your attorney, I have a hard time saying this—but you’re not going to be able to clear your name from inside a prison cell. And I don’t think I can do it without you, even if I stay out of jail myself. And—” she glanced at Peter “—the fact that they’re being pressured to arrest you on so little evidence, in spite of the attack on you, in spite of your having brought them a captured pirate ship, suggests to me that—” she hesitated, clenching her teeth “—that we’d better get the hell off the planet at once. Right now. Before that warrant is issued.”

Legroeder was stunned.

“At the moment, you’ll be breaking your bail agreement, but you won’t be fleeing arrest. This is probably our last chance to get away. If Peter can get us a ship.”

“We’ll know in a few minutes,” said Peter.

“Have you heard from El’ken yet?” asked Legroeder.

Harriet shook her head.

“So we head there anyway? Because we’re good at dropping in unannounced?”

“Something like that.”

Legroeder sat back, staring up at the ceiling. Fleeing from bail would virtually guarantee he’d be finished at the RiggerGuild. But his career would be at an end anyway, if he couldn’t prove his innocence—not just in the deaths of Jakus and McGinnis, but in the loss of Ciudad de los Angeles. “All right,” he whispered. “I’ll go get my bag.”

Harriet glanced at her daughter. “Are you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are.”

“I’ll do what I can here, while you’re gone,” said Peter.

Vegas, gathering up the empty coffee cups, made a soft chuckling sound. But she did not look happy.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Legroeder heard, as he snapped his bag shut. He ran back into the house. Peter was at the living room window, peering out, a com-unit pressed to his ear. He turned to Legroeder. “Georgio says three patrol cars are on their way up the hill. We’ve got to go now.”

Legroeder piled into Peter’s flyer with Harriet and Morgan. Peter took the controls, and they lifted straight from Harriet’s drive pad, with running lights dark. At the same time, two of his men climbed into a ground-car and roared off down the hill, in the direction of the approaching police. With a little luck, they’d be able to distract any pursuit.

Legroeder peered down from the flyer and saw flashing blue lights, just a few blocks from Harriet’s house. The police had stopped the car with Peter’s men. Legroeder flopped back in the passenger seat, breathing heavily.

Peter flew them directly to the southeastern edge of the spaceport, farthest from the main building. Piling out onto the tarmac, they got their first look at the ship they’d be traveling in. It was a small corporate-size craft, pretty old from the look of it. Peter had hired it from a company on Faber Eridani’s largest moon—a company whose officers were looking for ways to generate some revenue from their expensive equipment. They probably weren’t paying too much attention to what was going on at the Elmira spaceport, or with the spacing authorities or the local police. Legroeder wondered if Peter had mentioned that their passengers-to-be had an unfortunate tendency to bring trouble along with them.

A drizzling rain obscured the field. It was comforting to be surrounded by banks of mist in the midnight darkness, knowing that the police would be looking here soon. They hurried to the spacecraft and were greeted by the pilot, Conex, a dark-skinned Halcyon whose face, while humanoid, was extremely narrow, with an almost reptilian snout. Conex and Peter exchanged words and dataslips, before the Clendornan turned and said, “I’ll be off, then. I’ll learn what I can here. You be careful, yes?”

The Clendornan’s eyes sparkled with light as Harriet thanked him. Then he glanced across the field, where the flashes of police flyers were piercing the night. “You’d better get going,” he murmured. He hurried to his flyer and disappeared into the mist.

Conex escorted them through the entry portal and up to the passenger compartment. Once their bags were stowed, and everyone secured in their seats, Conex rejoined his copilot in the cockpit.

Five minutes later—an eternity—a tow descended and coupled to the ship. Flanked by the soft glow of the tow’s Circadie space inductors, they accelerated up through the rain clouds and out into the star-flecked blackness of space.

Chapter 9 To the Asteroids

The trip out to the asteroid belt took three days from the time the tow released them on a fast outbound track. The sleeping compartments were scarcely larger than closets, so Legroeder, Harriet, and Morgan spent most of their time together in the cramped passenger compartment. Conex and his copilot Zan, also a Halcyon, kept to themselves most of the time, joining their passengers only at mealtime.

As a passenger on a spacecraft, Legroeder felt like a third leg. He kept wanting to go forward and help pilot the ship, never mind that they were simply traveling through normal-space and there was no rigging involved. Instead, he and the others pored over the data from McGinnis, absorbing details about the Impris investigation, and pondering the questions that McGinnis had never had a chance to answer. From time to time, they would go to the lounge’s observation port and peer intently back at Faber Eridani, as if they might glimpse pursuit by the police, or by their unknown enemy.

After a time Legroeder, overwhelmed by the minutiae of the hundred-year-old investigation, simply sat and gazed out the port into the depths of space, his thoughts wandering among the stars. He found himself longing wistfully for a set of pearlgazers he had once owned, before they were stolen by his pirates captors: gems with psychogenerative powers that he had often used as a focus for meditation. Now, missing them, he began to lose himself in his memories… glimpses of lost friends, lost hopes and dreams…

“Penny for your thoughts, Legroeder.”

He blinked and turned his head.

Morgan Mahoney had settled into the seat beside him. “You haven’t moved a muscle in the last hour. I was afraid we were losing you.” She peered at him for a moment, frowning. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No—no, it’s fine.” It wasn’t fine at all. But he would talk; he could do that.

“You’re worried about your friend?”

He shrugged. “What am I not worried about?”

“I know what you mean. I’ve been wondering whether we’ll get there before the authorities turn us around and haul us all in. I have to admit, I’ve never been on the run like this before. It scares me.”

Legroeder rocked back and squinted up at the ceiling of the little lounge. It glittered. Now, who the hell would put glitter on their ceiling? “Yah,” he murmured, thinking, When was I last not on the run?

A chime sounded, and the younger Mahoney got up to retrieve a fresh pot of tea from the galley. Returning with cups, she said to Legroeder, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but you know, I haven’t heard much of anything about your life before.”

“Before—?”

“The pirates. Where did you come from, how did you start rigging… what was your family like?”

Legroeder felt a sudden roaring in his ears. He closed his eyes, trying to shut it out. Before the pirates…

“I’m sorry—did I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No… no…” he whispered. Life before the pirates… eons ago. Another world. Another universe. At this moment, he couldn’t begin to recapture it. Any of it. He felt as if he’d had no life before the pirates. Just the effort of reaching back into the fog made him dizzy. Claire Marie, where he was a child; then New Tarkus a little later. He had never really had a home planet as an adult, though for a while, Chaening’s World came as close as any. Finally he managed, “Why would you want to hear about that?”

“Well… I guess to get to know you better,” Morgan said, looking a little puzzled. She handed him a cup of tea. “Isn’t that the usual reason?

Legroeder accepted the cup. “I guess so. But I don’t recall your telling me anything about you. You know, before you met me.”

“Oh.” Morgan cleared her throat as she sat back down. “Well…”

“What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

Across the tiny lounge, Harriet looked faintly amused, as Morgan foundered for words. “Well, I don’t know. There’s not that much to say.”

“Why? Because your life is too dull, or too interesting?”

Morgan blushed.

“Oh, just go ahead and tell him,” Harriet said.

“About what?” Morgan snapped. “The failed marriage? Or the three different attempts at a career?”

“Listen,” Legroeder said. “I didn’t mean to start anything—”

“It’s perfectly all right, Legroeder,” said Harriet. “Morgan is just being hard on herself. She’s had career troubles for perfectly good reasons, and I haven’t noticed her giving up. As for the marriage—well, it’s not as if she had a great role model.” As Morgan glared protectively at her mother, Harriet shrugged. “Her father divorced me when she was seven. And for good cause. I was too preoccupied with my career—and, I am ashamed to admit, somewhat neglectful of my two children.”

“Are we going to bring out all the dirty laundry now?”

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to embarrass you. But you did open the subject.”

“I did not. I just asked—”

“Look,” Legroeder interrupted. “Would it help if we cut out all this feel-good history crap, and I just told you what it was like to be with pirates? That ought to bring everyone down to earth.”

Harriet, startled, opened her mouth to answer. She was interrupted by a buzz from the intercom and Conex’s voice: “Mrs. Mahoney, we’ve received a message from Mr. El’ken, addressed to you. Would you like to come forward to view it?”

“Thank you, yes!” Harriet set her cup of tea on the sideboard. She rose and disappeared through the door to the bridge.

Legroeder sighed, glancing at Morgan.

“Don’t mind my mom.”

“I like your mother,” Legroeder said. He looked toward the bridge, wondering what El’ken’s reply was.

“Well, she has good taste in clients,” Morgan said, busying herself with the pot of tea. “Sometimes, anyway. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I asked out of genuine curiosity. But if it’s something you’d rather not talk about—”

“Which—my life before? Or the seven years in a raider stronghold?” Legroeder shrugged, as if the distinction were inconsequential. But there was a tension rising between his shoulders, and he knew that it was going to be a long time before he could talk about either. Strangely, he felt more inclined to discuss the pirates now. It was no worse than sitting here wondering how soon he would wind up in prison. “It was—”

“Difficult?”

He chuckled. “Yeah—it was difficult.”

“That was stupid of me. What I meant was, when you had no freedom and your life was always being threatened, wasn’t it hard to keep a sense of your own identity?”

“Well, yeah. I suppose the hardest thing was being forced to rig ships for them. Not so much when we were just flying transport. But when we were out prowling—” he shook his head, as if that might somehow keep the memories at bay “—when we went out to attack other ships, and we knew they were going to capture or kill innocent people…”

Morgan winced.

Legroeder shrugged, trying to ignore a buzzing in his head. “There was nothing we could do—we either flew where they said, or we would be killed, or brainwiped. And not just us—”

“What do you mean?”

“They always had hostages on the ships—and they wouldn’t just kill us if we disobeyed, they would kill them, too. And it wasn’t an empty threat.”

Morgan was silent.

Legroeder frowned in thought. “Except for that one time. There was… one… occasion… when I actually managed to keep them from capturing a ship.”

“Really? How?”

He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. “We were attacking a ship—and we made contact with the other rigger crew. And…” He had to struggle to keep his voice steady; the memory was rising with incredible power. It was about four years ago; the three riggers on the raider ship had cast an oversized net around their intended victim, and were drawing it in like a fishing net. Something in the other net struck him as oddly familiar, and he risked opening a private speech channel, disguising it as a dark crease of cloud billowing over the landscape. “I couldn’t believe it. It was an old friend of mine, an old shipmate, flying the other ship! Along with some kind of alien, catlike thing.”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open.

Again, a half laugh rose in his throat. “His name was Gev Carlyle—one of the most innocent guys you ever met in your life. I mean, painfully innocent. When I flew with him, I had to watch out for him. A good rigger, but young—naive.” He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure what came over me—but I just couldn’t let them capture him… or kill him. I couldn’t.” Aboard the raider, a team of commandos was preparing to board the target, and another crew stood ready to blow it to pieces if it tried to escape or fight back.

Morgan’s voice was husky. “What did you do?”

“I was scared. Real scared. But I had to hide that.” His heart was pounding with the memory. “We were coming in—lights flashing in the Flux, drums crashing, boarding party ready to go. If you’ve never been under attack in the Flux, you can’t imagine how terrifying that is. We were already grappling, net to net, drawing him in. But I was able to sabotage the net imagery… just enough. Made it seem like a fluctuation in the net.” In fact, he’d been incredibly lucky. The only people who could really see what was happening were the riggers. He reshaped the image just enough: they already had the two ships enveloped in a flaring thunderstorm, and when an eruption of turbulence loosened their grip and clouded the image, it seemed almost natural…

Legroeder remained silent a moment, reliving the memory. He’d kept the covert channel to Carlyle open just long enough to yell, Gev, go!… and then let the two ships slip apart as though he’d lost his hold in the turbulence.

“And—?”

He swallowed. “I was able to give him time to break free and vanish. I couldn’t have gotten away with it if Rusty, one of the riggers in my net, hadn’t been willing to look the other way.” He laughed, this time for real. “And if the other guy hadn’t been so dumb. Rusty was a captive like me, but the second guy… he just didn’t catch on.”

“Dear God,” Morgan whispered. “Weren’t you afraid they’d kill you?”

“Sure—afterward. At the time, I just reacted. Pure instinct.” It made him shudder now to think of the peril he’d put himself into. “Why’d I do it then, and no other time? I don’t know. If I’d thought about it, I don’t know if I would have had the nerve then.” He closed his eyes, feeling vaguely ill. “You know something? I’ve never told anyone about this. Not until now.”

“It sounds like a very tough business,” Harriet said. She was back in her seat with a small printout in her hand.

Legroeder blinked. “When did you come back?”

“Just now. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” Harriet folded the paper and then reopened it, with uncharacteristic nervousness.

“That’s all right. What did El’ken say?”

Harriet chuckled without humor. “That since we were halfway there, he wouldn’t turn us away. But if we were anything less than serious students of history, we shouldn’t expect much. It’s not what I’d call a friendly note. But since El’ken is one of the Narseil’s most honored scholars, I guess we’re fortunate to get to see him at all.”

Legroeder hmph’d noncommittally. “Well… McGinnis wasn’t eager to see us, either. But we won him over.”

“That’s true.”

“Of course, he’s dead now.”

“That’s also true. Legroeder, dear, this is starting to sound depressing. Can we go back to talking about your life among the pirates, and see if we can cheer ourselves up a bit?”

Legroeder managed a laugh. “To be honest, most of it was crushing boredom and frustration, and chronic anger—interrupted by periods of extreme terror.” Harriet looked away, and Legroeder suddenly realized that, despite her remark, Harriet probably didn’t much want to talk about life with pirates. Not with her grandson—if he was still alive—almost certainly enduring similar hardship at this very moment.

Legroeder cleared his throat. “I don’t really know what it would have been like for a young boy—if Bobby was even at that outpost. I wish I could tell you, but I just don’t know.”

Harriet nodded, stirring her tea. Glancing at Morgan, Legroeder could see appreciation in her eyes. He sighed again and fell silent.

Morgan brought him back to his story. “What happened after you let your friend go?”

“Well…” Legroeder scratched the back of his head. “I have no idea what happened to Gev Carlyle. He seemed to get clear okay. Funny thing was, he was flying around trying to put an old crew back together—including me. He managed to get that much across in the half second we had to talk. And here I was, in the net of a pirate ship. I can’t imagine what he thought.”

“But you did risk your life to let him go.”

“Yeah. But I never got the chance to tell him why I was there in the first place.”

Morgan frowned. “What happened to you afterward?”

Legroeder let out a slow breath. “No one except Rusty seemed to suspect that I’d done anything deliberate. If they had, I doubt I’d be alive now to tell you about it. But it was clear something had gone wrong, and I told the captain that a Flux anomaly had caused us to lose our hold on the other ship. I’m not sure he really believed me—but how could he tell?” Legroeder chuckled darkly. “On the other hand, he definitely thought I’d blown a sure capture. Or he thought we had, and thank God Rusty was willing to take some heat for me, rather than blowing the whistle.”

He reflected a moment longer. “But I must have done a pretty good job of making it look real, because they never did come down on us, except to say, ‘You stupid lowlifes—couldn’t you see it coming?’ The third guy, Joey, who was sort of a favorite of the captain’s, helpfully volunteered how amazing it was—and said it with such conviction, the captain made a note about it in his log.” Legroeder laughed. “Poor Joey! He was a terrific natural rigger—could take just about any image and sail right down it—but he didn’t have a clue about much of anything else.” He shook his head. “We were just damn lucky.”

At that moment, Conex appeared in the doorway. “We’ll be making a course adjustment soon, to start our final approach to Asteroid Arco Iris. For safety, please secure yourselves.”

Morgan collected the cups and saucers, while Legroeder turned the seats into position. Five minutes later, he watched the stars turn as the ship rotated end over end. As he waited for the vibration that would tell him that the acceleration had gone from two gees to five, he let the emotions from all that had come before wash over him like a tide coming in over a sandbar. Maybe this time he really was on the way to reversing his fortunes.

At first the asteroid was a sparkling point of light whose motion was barely visible against the star field. As they drew closer, it began to take form: disk-shaped structures of shiny metal poking out here and there, and along one edge the profile of a silver dome. A large golden helix floating just beyond the asteroid looked like a Narseil Flux antenna.

A private Flux-wave transmitter? The average planet usually only had a couple to serve the whole world. They were not only horrendously expensive; there was a bandwidth limitation before transmissions began to interfere with rigger ships moving in and out of a system. But the Narseil had a reputation for looking out for their own needs when they lived among humans. And with the technology of the Narseil Rigging Institute at their command, they did it remarkably well.

“The Narseil own the asteroid,” Harriet remarked. “They hollowed and outfitted it themselves. El’ken is their most famous resident, but there are at least a few hundred Narseil living here.”

Conex came on the intercom to inform them that they would be docking in several minutes, and if they had any second thoughts, now was the time to voice them. Harriet and Morgan chuckled, but Legroeder remembered their reasons for coming, and felt anything but amusement. If he’d been at the controls of a rigger ship, he’d have taken them straight down into the Flux and on until sunset… or until he found a place where no one had ever heard of pirates, or of Renwald Legroeder.

As they passed through the airlock into the asteroid’s interior, they plunged into humid air filled with the smell of the sea. An alien sea. The corridors, with their long stretches of bare stone wall, seemed at once tidy and musty. The walls felt damp to the touch. As they walked along, Legroeder tried not to think about mildew. Nevertheless, he was intrigued. He had never entered a Narseil habitation before, and only on a few occasions had even seen a Narseil rigger.

They were greeted by a pair of the amphibious Narseil. They were tall and vaguely reptilian, with dark green, finely scaled skin like an iguana’s. Their eyes were humanoid except for the shape: vertical ovals with similar-shaped pupils. Their faces seemed long and hollow, with mouths but no nostrils. Breathing was accomplished through fan-shaped gill openings on the front of the neck. Tailless and bipedal, the Narseil had long, flat dinosaur-like crests or neck-sails running from the backs of their heads to their lower backs. They dressed in wide, crisscrossing bands of fabric and carried long, thin compads. Their speech was a mixture of their own rendition of Anglic and synthesized translation, in about equal measure.

“Please ssstate your business on our world,” hissed the Narseil on the right, as the other examined their ID tabs.

Harriet answered calmly, though the sight of the Narseil towering over her must have felt intimidating. “We are here to visit El’ken the historian.”

“Jussst the three of you?” asked the second Narseil.

“Yes, plus our pilot and copilot—” Harriet gestured back up the corridor toward their ship “—who will be waiting for us for the return trip.”

The second Narseil made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hiss. “They may stay on their ship. If they need assistance they may make a request.”

“We have permission to visit Academic El’ken,” Harriet replied. “We wondered if you might direct us to his quarters.”

“Kkhhhh—we will get to that.” The first Narseil busied himself making entries on his compad, while the other motioned to the visitors to follow. “Come. First you must pass through customs.”

Customs consisted of a complete multiscan examination of their persons as well as their possessions. They were assured that the radiation levels were almost undetectable, but Legroeder could not help thinking that the Narseil looked to him as if they had very different tolerances for radiation. Or as if they’d already had way too much of it. Don’t be racist, he chided himself. But their cool demeanor was starting to wear on his nerves.

As they were led from customs through the inner asteroid, they saw the occasional human face, and one Swert; but the vast majority of those they encountered were Narseil. They came at last to a short passageway with a door at the end. A nameplate on the wall listed a name in Narseil script, beneath which was engraved in Anglic: El’ken.

“Do not expect to stay long,” said their escort. “He is a very busy tophai.” The escort deliberately used the Narseil word, which Legroeder recognized as a high Narseil honorific. He opened the door and they walked in.

They were suddenly beneath the stars again. El’ken lived under a dome. His quarters were a large, twilit cavern, about half the size of a human gymnasium. Perhaps two-thirds of the ceiling was dome; the rest was a dark stone overhang. On the near side of the cavern a long, curving desk or counter, a trifle high by human standards, was built into the stone wall. The far side of the cavern was dominated by a pool carved out of stone. A bordering strip between the two sections was covered with gravel, and held two bench seats.

Legroeder peered around in the gloom. He exchanged glances with Morgan, who was also turning around. “Is anybody here?” she asked.

There was a splash, and then a husky voice from somewhere in the darkness of the pool. “What do you want?”

“Academic El’ken?” called Harriet. “I’m Harriet Mahoney. This is my daughter Morgan and our client, Rigger Renwald Legroeder.”

There was a ripple in the water, and a head appeared over the top of a stone island in the center of the pool. “I know who you are,” said the Narseil, his eyes gleaming in the twilight. “I asked what you want.”

“Truth,” Harriet answered. “What we want is truth, if you have it and are willing to share it with us.”

The Narseil made a sound remarkably like a dog’s bark. It was hard to tell if it was a laugh or a snort. “Humans from Faber Eridani come to a Narseil in search of truth? Just what manner of truth were you hoping to find?”

Legroeder sighed. “Truth about a rigger ship from a century ago, and truth about why the Narseil were blamed falsely for her disappearance. We’d hoped to put an end to a longstanding lie. But if you don’t have it, or don’t want to share it—”

“Legroeder,” Harriet interrupted, giving him an annoyed look.

Don’t blame me, Legroeder mouthed.

“I see,” said El’ken. “If it’s Impris you want to know about, and if you were sent here by Robert McGinnis, as your message said, then perhaps indeed we can talk.” The Narseil’s head vanished with a splash. A few seconds later, he reappeared at the near edge of the pool. “No need to hang back. You may approach.”

The three walked across the gravel border as El’ken rose to his waist in the water. “I have not been able to reach Robert McGinnis, these last two days. Do you know if something is wrong?”

“Very wrong, I am sorry to say,” Harriet answered. “He died in a fire at his estate, three Fabri days ago. We believe the fire was deliberately set. But we don’t know by whom.”

El’ken stared at her with dark eyes. “That is most distressing news.” A flutter went down the crest, or sail, on his neck. His eyes sharpened as he studied Harriet. “You knew him well, then?”

“We had only just met.”

“But even so, he sent you here to see me?” El’ken angled a glance at Legroeder, and seemed to focus on the rigger for a long moment.

It was Harriet who answered. “He said, if we wanted to know the truth about what had happened between the Narseil and Centrist Worlds, we should go see El’ken the historian.”

El’ken continued to study Legroeder appraisingly. “And why do you wish to know these things?” He sank slowly up to his neck again in the water, as if he might dismiss them.

Legroeder lost his patience. “Because no one believes in Impris!” he exploded. “And I’m being framed for piracy because of it! Your people were blamed for the loss of Impris—but I’ve seen her! I know she’s alive!”

El’ken suddenly rose again, dripping. “Yes? And what about the history books?”

“Damn the history books! Even the Fandrang report doesn’t say a thing about the Narseil and Impris.”

“You’ve read the Fandrang report, then?”

“Read it? We have it!”

“You have the Fandrang—”

“McGinnis gave it to us for safekeeping. He also told us to come to you if we wanted to learn more.”

Harriet added, “Mr. McGinnis seemed to be expecting trouble. He sent us away with some urgency.”

“I might add,” interjected Morgan, “that someone on Faber Eridani seems extremely upset about all this. They tried to kill my mother and Legroeder.”

El’ken’s eyes gleamed in obvious fascination as he shifted his gaze from one speaker to the next.

“We would be happy to make a copy of the report available to you,” said Harriet.

“Unnecessary. But thank you.”

“You already have it?”

“Let’s just say that I have seen it.” The Narseil stepped suddenly out of the water and onto the gravel floor. As he stood dripping, a soft whoosh came from the floor, and he remained still as a warm draft of air dried him. “I think,” he said, pulling a silken, split-backed robe over his shoulders, “that it is time you told me all that you know. And then, perhaps, we can talk about what you would like to know.”

Legroeder felt a chill as he gazed back at the Narseil. There was a glint in El’ken’s eyes that suggested that what he had to say would not be reassuring, not at all.

Chapter 10 El’ken the Historian

El’ken sent away the Narseil guides and pointed to the bench seats. Harriet began the story, but after laying the groundwork, turned the narrative over to Legroeder. El’ken was not a patient listener; he kept interrupting and asking for more information—first, about their trip to McGinnis’s, why they had gone there, why their visit had been so abruptly terminated. Then about Impris. And about the pirates, and Legroeder’s escape.

Legroeder had not expected El’ken to be especially interested in his time with the pirates, but in fact the old Narseil’s eyes seemed to grow clearer and more intense as he came to that part of his story. El’ken leaned forward, his paper-thin neck-sail rustling in the air. “You must tell me more about this pirate culture,” he said, seeming to forget all about what his guests had come to ask him.

“Well, certainly, but—” Legroeder hesitated “—later, perhaps? Right now, we’re very concerned about Impris, and what the loss of that ship meant to the Narseil.”

El’ken stared at him for a moment with his large, green-yellow eyes. Then he made a wheezing sound and said, “Very well. I will do the telling, for now.”

For a moment, there was hardly a sound in the chamber except the chuckling and stirring of water in the pool. The old Narseil leaned back and looked up through the dome at the stars. “So much history,” he sighed. “So many years, and so much… truth lost.” He peered at Legroeder, his eyes burning. “Do you want to know the truth—not just about Impris, but about why my people and yours were the losers in the War of a Thousand Suns?”

Legroeder frowned in puzzlement. “I’m not sure what you mean. I always thought that the Narseil mostly kept out of the war. Wasn’t it just between human worlds? McGinnis implied there was more to it, but he never finished telling us—”

El’ken interrupted him with a loud hiss, his sail quivering with anger. “Your ignorance is appalling.”

Legroeder drew back, stung.

“But at least you are willing to admit it, and that is in your favor,” the Narseil added. He rose, shaking like a leaf on a tree. “I will tell you what I can. Since Robert McGinnis seems to have paid for it with his life.”

Legroeder took a shallow breath, saying nothing.

El’ken walked alongside his desk, touching book ends and compad controls. He made a sound through his gills that was equal parts rumble and sigh. “I have spent my life trying to establish the truth, and to record it so that others may one day benefit from it. Too many of my own people don’t even know it. But your people—” The Narseil turned back to his guests. “The only Human I ever knew who cared about the truth of those days was Robert McGinnis. And he struggled against terrible obstacles to keep his work alive. Terrible obstacles. Do you know what I refer to?”

Legroeder shook his head.

“He did not tell you?” El’ken said. “No, I suppose he would not. Or could not. Something happened that kept him from finishing with you. Hssss.” The Narseil returned to his bench seat. “Let me tell you a story about Robert McGinnis, and how as a young man he served in the Centrist Worlds Navy.”

“As a space marine, yes?” Legroeder said.

“Hssssh, do not interrupt! This human named Robert served on a warship that was sent to fight against an incursion of pirates in the region of the Great Barrier Nebula. In those days, there was an effort to combat the pirates—back before the Centrist Worlds lost their spine and integrity, and surrendered the region to the raiders. Young Robert’s ship engaged the pirates and fought a great battle—but in the end, they were outnumbered and outgunned. They were neither captured nor destroyed, though. Instead, they were left adrift. And their ship drifted into a region of the Flux known as the Sargasso.”

“I know that area,” Legroeder said. Seeing incomprehension on Morgan’s and Harriet’s faces, he explained. “In the Flux, you know, space itself flows in currents, like rivers and streams—which is how rigger ships move, as well. But the Sargasso is a dead zone, where almost all motion ceases. It’s deadly for ships, because you can be stranded—just like old-time sailing ships that were sometimes becalmed, and left drifting helpless in the middle of an ocean.”

“That is correct,” said El’ken. “And that is where the pirates left them. Only a handful of crewmembers remained alive on the warship, and they subsisted for a long time on the remnants of the ship’s stores. Eventually, they drifted to the edge of the region, but at that point they had no functional net controls.”

“Jesus,” said Legroeder.

“Exactly,” said El’ken. “They were nearing the end of their supplies when a ship appeared. Robert—who had received severe head wounds in the battle—lost consciousness and knew almost nothing of what happened from that time until much later. But he never saw his crewmates again.

“The next clear thing he knew, he was on a ship coming into port—Faber Eridani, to be precise. He had been treated for his wounds, and his facial structure had been rebuilt. He had also been given neural implants. Though the implants helped maintain his brain function, his rescuers did not install them for altruistic reasons.”

Morgan stirred at the mention of implants. “Like your friend Jakus?” she asked Legroeder.

“I do not know of this Jakus, nor do I know why you people insist upon continually interrupting,” said the Narseil. “But yes, he’d received implants of considerable sophistication. It was, I imagine, like having a robot intelligence constantly interacting with his own intelligence. They provided much memory support to replace cognitive faculties he’d lost due to his injuries. But they also, at times, tried to control him.” The Narseil paused. “Yes, I know—that’s what worries you about all implants. An understandable, but not entirely accurate, worry. At times, Robert’s appeared dormant, benign, and he could almost forget that they were there. But they never stopped working.”

“Working for whom?” asked Legroeder.

El’ken gazed at him piercingly. “I think you know.”

“The pirates? He didn’t look like a man who was under the control of Golen Space pirates.”

“I did not say he was ‘under the control’ of the pirates. I said that the implants tried to control him. But he fought them—subtly, so as not to be in obvious rebellion. For thirty years he fought them! You wonder why he secluded himself, why he lived in a small fortress in the wild? It was because he dared not let others see the struggles he fought. At times, it was a near thing. At times, he almost succumbed to their control. Indeed, he had to do some of their bidding to persuade them of his usefulness. But ironically, it was partly because of his torment that he was so devoted to gathering and preserving information. His passion for the truth was his own private bulwark against the encroachment of this other power.” El’ken paused, and for a few moments his eyes and thoughts seemed focused on something very far away.

“But why didn’t he have the implants removed?” asked Morgan.

“Ah,” said the Narseil. “The implantation was too thorough. The augments were bonded, not just to his cerebral cortex, but also to his—what is the word?—autonomic nervous system. He went to several specialists, but in the end they determined that the integration was so complete that there was no way to remove the implants without killing him in the process.”

“Just like Maris,” Legroeder muttered. “The bastards.”

El’ken gave a stiff-necked nod. “And so he lived, and fought his silent, lonely battle, all those years. Until, presumably, the day you came to visit. Now, perhaps, he is at rest.”

“But what did they want with him? Why did they bother?” Legroeder asked.

“Indeed,” said El’ken. “Did they send him back as a spy? As a weapon to be held in reserve for some future need? Probably both.”

“Then,” said Morgan, “in a way it might have been a blessing that he died in the fire.”

“That may be,” El’ken said. “But a very sad blessing, nevertheless.”

Legroeder’s thoughts flickered back to McGinnis’s last cries to them… to their escape from the house, somehow under attack… the dog shuddering in a seizure, as though it were under attack… and the smoke and fire billowing under the impenetrable security field. The memory was profoundly disturbing.

El’ken rustled his neck-sail. “What’s important now, I think, is not what drove McGinnis, or drove against him—but the information he fought so hard to preserve.”

“Which is now entrusted to us,” Harriet said.

“Yes. Not just to preserve, but to use. Would you excuse me a moment?” The Narseil walked along the gravel pool perimeter, until he stood under a stone overhang. A soft spray of water came on, misting him. He made a sound like a weary sigh, then came back to sit again on the bench seat. “Forgive me. It is my skin. It grows dry, these days. But Robert sent you to me to learn about what really happened in the War of a Thousand Suns. And so I will tell you.”

“Is there a connection to what happened to him?” Legroeder asked.

“In a way there is. Yes…”

The old Narseil knew far more about human history than Legroeder did—probably more than all three of the humans put together. He spoke softly, almost as if addressing a group of students.

The War of a Thousand Suns (he said) actually involved between thirty and forty human worlds. It was in many respects a conflict between two divergent elements of starfaring humanity: the so-called Kyber worlds and the human Centrist Worlds. The Kyber had embraced highly sophisticated neural implants of all kinds—and as a people, had all but subsumed their humanity in a maelstrom of cybernetic consciousness. The Centrist Worlds, on the other hand, espoused separation from cyber-consciousness, declaring this to be an essential foundation of human reality.

“But the Centrists won,” said Legroeder, realizing even as he said it how thin his knowledge was.

“Did they, now?” asked El’ken. “Do you really know what happened to the Kyber—what they were then, and what they’ve become?” The Narseil hissed softly. “I thought not,” he said, and continued his explanation.

The Kyber were a frantically creative and yet dangerous element of humanity. Though they resided largely in off-planet locations, such as asteroids and artificial habitats, they sought leadership over a proposed, massive, migrational movement inward through the galaxy, toward rich clusters of promising star systems. Indeed, it was for this region of space that the war was named—though in fact the war had as much to do with racial prejudice and economic position as it did dreams of far-flung colonies. Still, the Kyber claimed ludditism on the part of the Centrists, a claim not without some justification. But neither were the Kyber innocent victims. Arrogant and ruthless, they commanded the finest technology in the human realm, including weapons technology.

And yet, despite their technological advantage, the Kyber lacked the numbers and the internal cohesion needed to fight effectively against the joined forces of the Centrist Worlds. In the end, they lost the war. But they exacted a terrible price from the Centrist Worlds, in destruction and social disorder.

“But what does all this have to do with the Narseil? You said that—”

“We were betrayed—yes!” barked El’ken, eyes glinting. “A betrayal which to this day has never been acknowledged—though it changed the course of both human and Narseil history.”

Throughout most of the war, the Narseil were allied with the Centrist Worlds—not because they particularly wanted to be involved in the conflict, but because they thought the Centrist Worlds were the most stable. The riggers of the Narseil Rigging Institute had long been developing interesting new synergies with the riggers of the Centrist Worlds, something the Kyber worlds found a threat to their own hoped-for dominance in starfaring science. “But in the end,” El’ken said, and his voice tightened until it was clear that his words were underlain by a very old anger, “the Centrists decided that a fragile alliance with a nonhuman species was less important to them than ending the costly war. They broke their alliance with the Narseil, in exchange for concessions from the Kyber. On the surface, the Kyber surrendered the fight—but in reality, the Centrists weakened themselves, without even realizing they had done so. Without the shared skill and knowledge of the Narseil, they could never reach the Cluster of a Thousand Suns—not in a practical way. They’re too distant; the undertaking too expensive. But by the time the Centrists realized this, the will to attempt such things had withered away in the long aftermath of the war.”

“But why such an abrupt shift—if the Narseil were allies—?”

El’ken waved away the question. “There were numerous small events, and much racially-motivated suspicion. But what finally provided the excuse to break the alliance was the disappearance of Impris.” El’ken gazed up through the star-dome for a moment, then continued with a sigh. “The Narseil were accused of hijacking the ship in order to obtain details of strategic technologies supposedly carried by one of the passengers. There was never the slightest evidence of any such technical secrets, on or off the ship. But most of humanity was all too willing to believe the accusation. You might find some of the writings of that period interesting. They could teach you a lot about your own people.”

Legroeder wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“By blaming the Narseil for the loss of Impris, the leaders of the Centrist Worlds were able to justify excluding my people from the colonizing effort that everyone assumed would follow at the end of the war. And by doing that, they unwittingly strengthened the position of the Kyber worlds—the very people they were fighting. Such was the price of the peace.”

“I don’t see—” Morgan began, but was silenced by a sharp glance from El’ken.

“That was the end of collaborative rigging between the Narseil and the Centrist Worlds. It left my people impoverished from the collapse of trade, and the Centrist Worlds a parody of their former power and vision. And history was written to perpetuate the lie.” El’ken’s voice grew even sharper. “Who knows what technologies went undeveloped, what areas of knowledge untapped, because of the breakup of that alliance—particularly rigging knowledge, which not only might have taken us to new star clusters, but might also have helped to explain such mysteries as the disappearance of Impris herself? Who knows! And yet, look at the Kyber worlds, which supposedly lost the war. Their expansionism was restricted, for a time. But they have not remained idle—no.”

“But we hardly even hear about most of the Kyber worlds anymore,” Harriet said.

“Perhaps not. But they haven’t gone away. They’ve changed some of their names, to be sure. And they work in other ways now. But they are not idle.” El’ken laced his long, green fingers together and gazed down at his folded hands, in contemplative silence.

He looked up again. “It was a shrewd maneuver by the Kyber leaders. They would have lost the war anyway, had they continued to fight. But by breaking the Narseil-Centrist alliance, they crippled the growth of the Centrist Worlds’ power and influence, even while appearing to cede victory to them.”

“You mean, by undercutting the Centrists’ joint explorations with the Narseil?”

“Of course,” said El’ken. “But it wasn’t just a matter of lost technology. The collaboration had served as a catalyst, inspiring new efforts. Now, with that gone and the real costs of the war hitting home, many of the Centrist Worlds became insular, more concerned with their own economies than with huge investments in exploration, which might not pay dividends for decades. Many, like Faber Eridani, went through their own post-war upheavals, further undermining the preservation of truth. You can read my own writings on the subject, if you wish to know more about it.” El’ken’s eyes again seemed to focus elsewhere. “Among my people, bitterness lingered long after the war’s end. For many years, the Narseil drew away from humanity.”

“But there’s commerce now,” said Harriet.

“Yes—now. But not nearly what we once had. Tell me—how were you greeted, when you arrived here?”

“Like dogmeat,” Legroeder said.

“Not with great friendliness,” El’ken conceded. “Yes, commerce has been renewed, haltingly. But how much has been lost between the cultures as a result of the betrayal? How much trust? Intellectual exchange? How much fruit of cooperation? What knowledge might have been gained if we had explored the Cluster of a Thousand Suns? It is incalculable.”

El’ken abruptly stood up. Breathing huskily, he returned to his mist unit, where he stood facing the pool. Legroeder watched Harriet making notes in her compad. When El’ken seemed in no hurry to return, Legroeder got up and walked to the edge of the cavern dome and peered out into space. It all seemed so changeless out there. But he knew it was not. Though it was invisible to the eye, the expanse of interstellar space was laced together by the powerful currents of the Flux. Impris is out there somewhere, he thought. The Flying Dutchman of the Flux… marooned in eternity.

El’ken returned at that moment, picking up as though he had never paused. “It is my belief that descendants of the Kyber are using Impris even now, for their own purposes.”

“Meaning—?”

“Do you have to ask? You, of all people?”

Legroeder’s voice caught. He had never, in seven years with the pirates, been privy to information about Impris. But he’d heard rumors—as had McGinnis. And he had his own capture as evidence. “I know what I think. I want to know what you think.”

“Fair enough. But first, let me ask—do you know who the pirates of Golen Space really are?” The Narseil turned from one to another, his gaze probing. “Any of you?”

Harriet remained silent, though obviously troubled by the question.

“I can tell you who they are,” Legroeder said savagely. “They’re scumbags who prey on the innocent and practice slavery. You want their names? I could give you some, but it wouldn’t do you any good. They’re a long way away.”

“So they are,” said the Narseil. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant, who are they as a people? Where do they come from?”

Legroeder shrugged. “All over the place. A lot of them start out as captives, and get converted, or tortured into cooperating—or—” he tapped his temple “—they get implants, and they don’t have the strength to resist the way Robert McGinnis did.”

“Indeed. But I’m talking about the core population. Do you not know? I’m talking about the Free Kyber—the descendants of the Kyber revolution.”

Legroeder’s mouth opened, but it took him a moment to find words. “Free Kyber? Are you saying that the Kyber worlds are the sponsors of the pirates?” He suddenly remembered Jakus saying something about the Kyber. Kyber implants.

“Some of them. Do you not know the term ‘Free Kyber’ from your period of captivity?”

Legroeder shook his head in bewilderment. “No—but I was in one outpost the whole time. I never learned much about the pirate movement as a whole.” He did know that the early pirates had split off many decades ago from other spacefaring worlds, and gone to live in hidden fortresses lost in places reachable only through the Flux.

“Well, there is substantial evidence that several of the old Kyber worlds heavily support the present-day piracy movement.” El’ken raised his hands. “Not all of them. There are doubtless many honest Kyber, and Kyber worlds that are no more a part of piracy than you or I. But others are not innocent.”

Legroeder absorbed that silently. “And Impris?”

“Ah,” said the Narseil. “At last we come back to Impris. I have long believed that the so-called Free Kyber—the pirates—have known exactly where Impris is. They knew where she was seven years ago, when they used her to entrap your ship, City of the Angels. And they no doubt have done the same with countless other victims.”

Legroeder clenched his fists. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say!” He swung triumphantly to Harriet, then back to El’ken. “Can you help us prove it?”

“Not directly, no,” El’ken answered.

Legroeder’s heart sank.

“It is only a strong suspicion,” El’ken continued. “The trouble is, none of the victims ever make it back to testify. Or they haven’t, until now. You are unique, Rigger Legroeder.”

Legroeder shut his eyes, thinking of Jakus Bark, who could have told the truth but didn’t. Had others made it back—but under the pirates’ thumbs, like Jakus? Or framed, as he was?

Harriet was tapping furiously on her compad. She looked up. “It’s a very provocative assertion—if we can prove it. Academic El’ken, I’m afraid Legroeder is in a terribly difficult position. Not only has he violated his bail by coming here, but he’s fled from possible prosecution for two murders he didn’t commit—including, I fear, that of Robert McGinnis.”

El’ken’s eyes closed in sorrow. “I would very much like to see the killers of Robert McGinnis brought to justice.”

“Well, I can assure you that Legroeder is innocent. I was with him the entire time. Academic—it is clear that there is a conspiracy on Faber Eridani to conceal the involvement of Impris in the L.A.’s capture. And it would seem that to unmask the conspiracy, we must first prove the continued existence of Impris.”

El’ken touched his fingers to the front of his robe. “That is indeed the problem, isn’t it?”

“We were hoping you’d be able to help us,” Legroeder said.

El’ken’s neck-sail fluttered. “Unfortunately, I do not know where Impris is.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Let’s just say that the Narseil Rigging Institute has been hard at work trying to answer questions related to her disappearance.”

Legroeder waved his hands in frustration. “Such as?”

“Matters related to obscure conditions in the Flux, conditions that can interfere with a ship’s movement in and out of certain interdimensional layers. I am no rigger, and cannot explain it to you. May I assume, however, that this line of research is of interest to you? If it is, perhaps you would like to stay here as my guest for a day or two, while I acquire some information for you.”

“Thank you—yes. We would appreciate that very much.”

“Excellent.” El’ken gave a great, inhuman sigh. “In that case, my friends, I must ask you to excuse me. I am unused to so much company. If you could return first thing in the morning…”

Chapter 11 Decisions

“I think he knows more than he’s saying,” Morgan said, pouring herself some pale-violet Narseil wine and passing the bottle to Legroeder.

“Well, of course he does,” Legroeder said. “The question is, why? Is he just teasing us? Or does he want something?” Harriet barely looked up from her notes, which she had been studying almost continuously since they’d been escorted to the dining room. Legroeder held out the wine bottle, but she ignored it.

“What about this connection between the Kyber worlds and the pirates?” Legroeder said, pouring himself a refill. “I wonder if we could get evidence on what the pirates are doing with Impris by going to one of the Kyber worlds. Do you know anything about them?”

Harriet peered up from her compad and removed her glasses. “Not much. I’ve heard rumors on occasion that some of the old Kyber worlds are supplying some of the pirate outposts. But there’s enough innate suspicion between the Kyber worlds and us—the wired and the unwired, you know—that it’s hard to know what to believe.”

“But if there’s even a grain of truth to it—” Legroeder turned the wine glass slowly, studying the purplish liquid “—there are probably people on those worlds who have information.”

“Meaning what—you want to take off to one of the Kyber worlds?” Morgan asked. “And make yourself an interstellar fugitive, instead of merely an interplanetary fugitive?”

“Well—I’m not saying that, exactly. But still—if you want to go fishing, you have to go where the fish are, right?” He took another sip of the tart wine, aware that the alcohol was layering a soft fuzz around his thoughts. Despite his confident words, he felt considerable uncertainty.

“Yeah, right,” Morgan answered. “But this isn’t a fishing expedition. This is your freedom and your career.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m considering it.” Never mind that he had no idea how he would get to a Kyber world, or how he would gather information if he did go. “It all depends on what El’ken can tell us, I suppose. I don’t want to go off half-cocked, but I’ll do whatever I have to.”

Morgan looked unconvinced.

“Here comes dinner,” said Harriet, closing her compad. “Fortunately, we don’t have to make any decisions this instant. Are you two going to hog all of that wine?”

After a dinner consisting of oversalted roast feasting bird and unidentifiable greens, plus a second bottle of wine, they left the tiny dining room. Morgan suggested that they walk around a bit to clear their heads. “Dear,” said Harriet, “I’m not sure we’re really invited to wander—”

“It’ll be fine. Legroeder?”

He groaned at the thought of moving. Nevertheless, they followed Morgan through the winding stone corridors. Eventually they came to a domed area that appeared to be a common lounge. It was empty—except for the stars.

“It’s glorious!” Morgan exclaimed, turning about under the dome. They were on the opposite side of the asteroid from El’ken’s cavern, and here the display of stars was a spangle of light across blackness. The dust lanes of the Milky Way arced across the dome like a welcoming carpet of luminosity. Far off to one side, a bright blue dot floated, the distant world of Faber Eridani. A handful of moving points of light were visible: spacecraft maneuvering nearby. At the edge of the dome, the outer surface of the asteroid curved away like the dark slope of a volcano.

Legroeder walked along the edge rail, absorbed by the spacecraft activity. One ship, just near enough for its shape to be distinguishable, was approaching the asteroid. Another, much closer, flew up suddenly from below the horizon, startling him. It lifted away with glowing maneuvering inductors.

“Impressive,” Morgan said, coming alongside him.

Legroeder suddenly stiffened. He pressed his hands to the crystal dome. “That’s our ship!”

“What did you say?” Harriet asked.

“That’s our goddamn ship!” Legroeder pointed, trying to project the flight path. “And that other ship out there is turning to meet it.”

Harriet stood with her mouth open, as Morgan swore under her breath.

“Excussse me, please,” said a voice behind them.

They turned, as one. A very tall Narseil approached them, holding out a slender envelope. “May I ask, which of you is Mrs. Mahoney? I have a message from your pilot.” The Narseil handed her the envelope, gave a stiff bow, and walked from the room.

“What’s this all about, I wonder,” Harriet muttered, opening the envelope. “Oh, by God in Heaven.”

“What? Mom, what is it?”

Harriet fumbled with her glasses and finally read the message aloud. “ ‘Mrs. Mahoney, greetings. We are sorry, but circumstances have forced us to leave Arco Iris. We have received word that a Spacing Authority cruiser, waiting outside diplomatic limits, carries warrants for your arrests. Our vessel will be impounded if we attempt to transport you. I am afraid we must leave you to find alternate transportation home. Apologies for the inconvenience. —Conex.’ ” Harriet crushed the message in her hand.

“Why, those—” Morgan began, then caught herself. “No, it’s not their fault. So what do we do now?”

Harriet muttered to herself as she smoothed the paper out to read it again. She was clearly struggling to maintain her professional dignity. “Hope we can get diplomatic protection from the Narseil, I suppose.”

Diplomatic protection? Legroeder began pacing under the dome. If the Spacing Authority was ready to arrest them the moment they left the Narseil asteroid, then they were effectively prisoners here. Unless he could find some other way to leave—not for Faber Eridani, but perhaps another star system. The Narseil probably had diplomatic ships here. It was a long shot, but they did have some goals in common.

But what about Harriet and Morgan?

“What?” Morgan said, peering at him. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, “that we need to talk to El’ken again. How long’s the day in this place?”

“Eighteen hours,” said Harriet. “It’s the middle of the night now.”

“Then we’d better get some sleep. Morning will be here real soon.”

They found the historian busy at his desk. He looked as if he had been awake for hours.

“Have you ever heard of a group called ‘Centrist Strength’?” El’ken asked, before they had a chance to say a word. He turned from the long desk-shelf that lined the wall of his cavern, and dusted his hands together.

“Yes, certainly,” Harriet said. “Why?”

“Then you’re familiar with their view that the Centrist Worlds should reclaim their mantle as leader of the galaxy and strike out in a colonizing movement? ‘Destiny Manifest,’ they call it. ‘Timid no longer—ours the stars!’ is one of their slogans.”

Legroeder answered impatiently, “Yes, but—”

“Interestingly enough, this group is reported to have ties with several of the old Kyber worlds—and maybe even with the Free Kyber. Adversaries of the Centrist Worlds. I only bring them up as a possible factor behind your current problem.”

“Which just got worse, last night,” Legroeder said.

“Yes, I heard.” The old Narseil pressed his fingertips together in what seemed a very human gesture. “That was most unfortunate, the arrival of the Spacing Authority and the departure of your transportation. Perhaps there is something I can do to help you—beyond bestowing temporary diplomatic protection.”

Legroeder blinked. “I’m listening.”

“Yes. Well, I doubt you can fight them on their own territory. But suppose I could get you to a place where you could gain information far beyond what I have to give you.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” Legroeder answered.

“And would you be interested in trying to gain information directly from the Kyber?”

“I certainly would.”

The Narseil stood very still, gazing at Legroeder. “Then we must get you out of the Faber Eridani system. There may be a way…”

“Yes?”

“You would travel aboard a Narseil naval vessel, with diplomatic immunity. From there, you could join in with certain efforts of our own.”

“Yes?”

“But I must tell you… you would eventually be entering a—how shall I put it?” El’ken paused, touching his oval mouth with one finger. “Hostile environment.”

Legroeder felt a ripple of fear. “More hostile than I’m facing here?”

“I would think so. Although you would be in the company of Narseil naval officers, so the risk would be shared.”

“Are we talking about… the Kyber worlds?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The Narseil’s face contorted in an expression of discomfort. “I suppose there’s no easy way to put this to you.” El’ken looked away for a moment, then whirled back, his robe billowing. “If you want to know more about Impris and those who follow her, you must go to a place where such matters are pursued.”

“You mean the Narseil Rigging—wait a minute.” Legroeder caught himself. “What are you saying—”

“That if you want to go fishing, you must go where the fish are, yes? An old human saying?”

Legroeder pressed his lips together in anger. So much for private conversations.

El’ken waved a hand. “I apologize for any intrusion.”

Legroeder let his breath out slowly. Forget it; let it go. “So where… do you propose that we go to do this fishing?”

“To an outpost of the Free Kyber Republic.”

“The—?”

“Free Kyber.” El’ken coughed delicately. “The raiders.”

Legroeder felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. He stood stunned, struggling to draw a breath. Finally he managed, “Do you know how long I spent getting away from the pirates?”

“Yes, I do,” El’ken said. “Nevertheless, my offer is to send you back into the lion’s den. To a pirate stronghold.” He held up a hand to forestall protests from Morgan and Harriet, then tugged the closures of his robe together. “To fully explain, I must reveal certain things that are classified as secret. Before I can do that, I require an oath of secrecy from you. All of you.”

Back into the lion’s den. Legroeder shook his head to dispel the buzzing sensation in his head, and a surreal feeling of disconnection from the world around him.

“I do not suggest this lightly. And I assure you—I would not send you back to the place where you served your captivity.”

“Then what exactly would you do?”

El’ken drew himself taller. “Are you willing to take an oath of secrecy? All of you?”

Legroeder laughed harshly. “Who would we tell?”

“Perhaps no one. But that is not the question. There are others involved, and I must be able to assure them of your sincerity.”

“I’ll take your oath,” said Harriet, echoed by Morgan.

Legroeder shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”

“Very well.” El’ken brought his hands to his chin. “There are preparations underway, through the Narseil naval undercover services, to mount a mission to infiltrate a pirate outpost. The goal is to gain intelligence—about pirate operations and about, as it happens, Impris.”

Legroeder was speechless.

“It is not only human ships that fall prey to pirates, you know. My own people are victims, all too often.” El’ken’s gaze shifted for a moment to the emptiness of space, beyond the dome. “And now we have made plans to do something about it.”

“But how? By attacking a raider outpost? You can’t be serious!”

“I did not say attack. A Narseil ship is being readied to go undercover, in search of information.”

Legroeder blinked uncomprehendingly.

“The intent is to be captured. Or to seem to be captured.”

“You must be joking.”

“I am not. There will be danger, obviously. However, considerable preparation has gone into the mission. We have found—” El’ken hesitated, and his eyes closed to vertical slits for a moment “—sympathetic connections within the raider organization, which lead us to believe there may be hope of success. But clearly the mission would benefit from the assistance of someone who has spent years among the pirates, and who knows much about their methods and systems.” His yellowish eyes widened again, which had the effect of making his entire face seem to glow.

“No doubt it would,” said Legroeder. “But how would this be anything but a death sentence for me? I’d not only be an infiltrator and a spy, I’d be a returning escapee.”

“To put it mildly,” Morgan interjected. “Legroeder! You’d have to be crazy!”

“Perhaps he would,” El’ken agreed. “However, a great many Narseil naval personnel are crazy too, perhaps. Because they are preparing, even as we speak—and the mission will soon be off.”

“Forgive me, Academic,” said Harriet, “but this is a rather sudden proposal—and not one that I feel at all—” she struggled to find the right word, and finally shook her head “—happy with.”

“None of us is happy with it, Mrs. Mahoney.”

“No, but I’m here to advise and protect my client’s interests. Before I could even think of allowing him to do this, I’d have to know a lot more. Academic, what hope is there really that this mission will succeed—and that Legroeder would come back alive?”

El’ken pressed his hands together and took a seat on the bench. “I will tell you what I can.” He glanced from one to another; no one was breathing. “You see, it seems there may be an underground within the pirate organization. Our contact has advised us that we might, surprisingly, have some needs in common. Interests to be shared. You would not altogether be walking into a hostile situation…”

El’ken talked for a long time, even calling for refreshments midway through their discussion. He described a daring (far-fetched?) plan for penetrating a raider stronghold—one well away from the area of DeNoble, the outpost from which Legroeder had fled. Legroeder listened, but distractedly. He cared about the particulars of the plan, and yet in a sense, he didn’t. A part of him was willing to trust the Narseil to put together a viable scheme—it was either completely crazy, or wasn’t, but he doubted that he would have much to add to it one way or another.

He wondered which was the crazier prospect: embarking upon a dubious Narseil undercover operation, or turning himself back over to the Faber Eri Spacing Authority, who would lock him up and throw away the key. Which would give him the better chance of proving the existence of Impris and still being alive at the end of the exercise?

“…and so you see, we will be depending upon stealth, meticulous planning, and judicious use of connections within the Free Kyber organization. Rigger Legroeder, are you following me?”

Legroeder blinked and nodded to the Narseil. “Get captured, get information, get out.”

El’ken rocked slowly on his bench. “Put simply, yes. You understand the steps leading to it?”

Legroeder shrugged. “More or less. It sounds like an astronomically long shot to me. But maybe not absolutely impossible.”

“It sounds insane to me,” Morgan said.

“I would have to agree with Morgan,” said Harriet. “And yet—”

“What?” Morgan asked, in disbelief.

“Well, if his only alternative is to surrender to that Spacing Authority cruiser out there…” Harriet lowered her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Academic, is there no other option? No way you could get Legroeder out of the Faber Eri system to go searching for information, short of going back to the pirates?”

The Narseil rose and walked to the edge of his pool. He turned back. “No other way that I know of. No way to get him protected on one of our ships, without his participation in the mission. I’m sorry.”

Harriet sighed. “What do you think, Legroeder? We’re talking about your life, here.”

Legroeder nodded without answering. He had no answer. For a few moments, the only sound was the chuckling of water in El’ken’s pool. Finally Harriet spoke again. “I think this is a decision not to be made in haste. Academic, could we have some time to think, and talk, about it?”

“Of course,” said El’ken. “But not too much time. We can stall the Spacing Authority for a while. But once diplomatic pressure is brought to bear…” He raised his hands in something like a shrug. “Thank you for considering the proposal. I will await your choice.” And with that, he stepped into the water and vanished beneath the surface.

Lunch was a somber affair. Legroeder had more or less made up his mind, without voicing it. He went through the pros and cons with his friends, perhaps hoping to be persuaded otherwise. But so far, nothing led him away from the inevitable choice.

He was depressed by the conclusion he had come to, but he didn’t see any other way. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I’m not going to be able to do much to help Maris. Promise me that you’ll do everything you can for her?”

“You know we will,” Harriet said. She peered at him, frowning. “You’ve decided to go, haven’t you?”

Legroeder saw Morgan’s eyes widening, and he looked away, staring at nothing for a few moments. “I guess we should go tell El’ken.”

“Legroeder, you’re not—” Morgan began, then caught herself as he smiled at her.

“What else can I do?” he asked gently. He turned to Harriet. “I promise I’ll try to find out about your grandson.”

Harriet nodded. She fiddled with her glasses, trying unsuccessfully to disguise her anxiety. “Legroeder, if I knew another way… even giving yourself up to the authorities…”

“Forget it, Harriet. There is no other way. By the time we get the evidence we need on Faber Eridani, they will have brainwiped me six ways from Tuesday.” He drew a breath and bared his teeth. “So… can we please smile, everyone?”

El’ken was unavailable that afternoon, but sent a message to Harriet, informing her that the Faber Eridani authorities had made an initial filing for Legroeder’s and her own extradition with the Narseil government. Time was growing short. He would speak to them first thing the next morning.

Legroeder retired to his room to think; to sleep, if he could. Instead he ended up pacing round and round in the tiny, stone-walled bedroom. Memories of the pirate outpost kept surfacing in his mind: the slamming of gates, shouts as new captives were brought in…

The door hummed. He stopped pacing and tried to force that mental image out of his mind. “Who is it?”

“Me. Morgan. May I come in?”

He turned and swung open the stone-and-metal door. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I thought so, too. But I have a message for you. Mother was going to bring it, but I offered to.” She took a folded mylar paper out of her breast pocket and handed it to him. “It’s from El’ken.”

Legroeder opened the paper.

Legroeder looked up at Morgan. “You’ve read this?” She nodded, her eyes troubled. Legroeder looked at the note again, then closed his eyes. Surgical alterations and augmentations… Visions of Robert McGinnis and Jakus Bark danced before him. Had he avoided cyber-implants all these years, only to be trapped into accepting them now?

Morgan perched on the edge of his bed. “Is it the augmentation part that worries you?”

“Good guess.”

She seemed to suppress a shudder. “I wish we could just send you the hell away from all of this. Someplace where no one’s ever heard of you.” Her eyes seemed to say she didn’t really want him to do that. Was she feeling attached to him? Personally?

“Yeah, well…” Legroeder managed a laugh. “I guess my mistake was picking Faber Eridani as a port of refuge in the first place.”

Morgan caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. He was startled; he liked the feeling.

“Of course,” he said awkwardly, “I wouldn’t have met you and your mother then. But…”

“Legroeder?”

“Yeah?”

She tightened her grip on his hand. “I…” Her eyes seemed to be welling up. “Oh hell.”

Legroeder cleared his throat, trying not to seem obtuse. He hadn’t had much practice reading women in recent years. Or even paying attention to his own feelings. Here he was, alone in a bedroom with Morgan, whom he found quite attractive in an understated way. He liked Morgan; he liked her warmth, and the intelligence that shone through her eyes. As he thought about it, he realized it wouldn’t take a lot for her to seduce him right here and now—in spite of everything that loomed over him. Was that what she wanted? Was it what he wanted? He wasn’t likely to have too many more chances—with Morgan, or anyone else. He returned the pressure on her hand.

“Since you’re not jumping in to fill the awkward silence,” Morgan said with a nervous laugh, “I guess I should.”

He drew a silent breath.

Her voice fell to a near whisper. “I like you, I want to help you, I want you to come through this.” She pushed her hair back with her free hand. “And I feel like a complete fool right now.”

Legroeder squeezed her hand harder. Yes? So do I…

“But if… there’s anything I can do…” Morgan met his gaze. “If you’d like me here with you tonight…”

Legroeder smiled, or tried to, past the lump in his throat. He tried to speak, but could only think, Want you… do I… so rushed? I don’t know; give me more time. I need more time! Will I ever have another chance?

Morgan continued, looking away, “I don’t even know if you and… Maris… or if the two of you…” She frowned. “I’m sorry—here I am, and we don’t even know if she’s still alive, or what’s happened to her.”

“That’s all right,” Legroeder said softly. “You can’t help about Maris—not right now. Anyway, she was a friend—is a friend. But we weren’t—lovers.” He tried to stop thinking about Maris. What she might be going through right now.

Morgan’s grip tightened again.

“But I—” Legroeder’s voice caught, and he suddenly found himself breathing harder. Did she want him to kiss her? He envisioned her in his arms, and a confused part of him suddenly yearned for that. Without quite consciously deciding, he leaned to kiss her. Her breath went out with a strained sigh, and her lips met his, tentatively, and then softened against him. She leaned into him, slipping her arm around his waist. For a moment, he focused only on the pressure of her lips, and her breath, and the warmth of her body pressing against him. He felt a powerful stirring of arousal; but it was confused, uncertain. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He kissed her more urgently, felt her tongue flicking at his. Her hand started to move over him; he drew a sharp breath and touched her breast, reveling. And then hesitated. It didn’t feel right; he didn’t know why.

Both their eyes blinked open, and their gazes met. Morgan pulled back from him, head cocked. Her face reddened with embarrassment as she seemed to read his thoughts. “You don’t… really want that, do you?”

“No, I don’t mean—it’s just that—Morgan, I don’t—you’re very beautiful—”

“Shh. Stop.” She put a finger to his lips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be helping you, not messing you up when you’ve got so much on your mind.” She stood up, readjusting her blouse.

He followed, his emotions churning. “Morgan, don’t—”

“No, look—”

“Don’t you apologize. I’m the one who—”

“I wasn’t exactly—

“Yes, you were.” Legroeder suddenly burst into laughter, and then she did, too. He hugged her tightly. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

She nodded and pulled away toward the door. “Call me if you need… to talk… or whatever.”

“I will. Good night.”

The door clicked shut, and he stared at it in dumb bewilderment, before mentally kicking himself. Idiot…

They found the Narseil historian swimming back and forth in his pool, his neck-sail cutting through the surface of the water like a shark’s fin. He lifted his head, spotting them, but did not stop until he had finished swimming his laps. When he stepped out of the pool and into the soft whoosh of the dryer, he was breathing hard, with a whuffing sort of sound.

“My apologies,” he said, joining them in the dry section of the cavern. “I am old. If I do not keep up my daily exercise, my mind and body will both fall into decay. Have you decided?”

“I have,” Legroeder said. “When do we leave?”

El’ken bowed in acknowledgment. “I am pleased, and grateful. You will be an invaluable addition to the party. If you will excuse me for just one moment, I will begin making the arrangements.” He turned toward his communications console, then paused. “Regarding Mrs. and Ms. Mahoney…”

“What about them?” Legroeder asked, before either of the women could speak.

“Well, since you will not be accompanying Rigger Legroeder, and you have problems in terms of getting back home…”

“I was hoping you could help them with that.”

El’ken visibly suppressed his annoyance at the interruption. “I can offer hospitality here, as long as necessary. Perhaps once the mission has been completed, and security for it is no longer an issue, we will be able to assist you—”

“No,” said Legroeder.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you keep them prisoner here, the deal’s off.”

El’ken spread his long-fingered hands. “I assure you, they would not be prisoners. They will be very comfortable.”

“They have important work to do, back on Faber Eri. If you don’t let them go, they’re prisoners.”

“Legroeder, wait,” said Harriet.

“No—it’s that or nothing.” Legroeder rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t realized until just now that this was part of his decision. “Look, Academic—if I’m going to entrust my life to your people, then you have to trust my people. Quid pro quo. Isn’t that what they call it, Harriet?”

Harriet opened her mouth, then closed it.

“Yeah, that’s what they call it. Look,” he said. “Maybe you see this in just one dimension, which is your secret mission. Well, my friends won’t peep a word about it. You can trust them. And I’m not only concerned about their freedom. They have work to do while I’m gone, and I’m hoping you can help them. I expect to return to find that I’ve been cleared of all charges back on Faber Eridani.”

Everyone else seemed at a loss for words, so Legroeder kept talking. “I notice your eyes narrowed just a bit at the word return.”

The Narseil winced slightly.

“I thought so. Maybe you don’t think I have all that much chance of returning. But you wouldn’t be undertaking this mission if you thought it had no chance, right? And you will offer me the same prospects for safe return as your own people, won’t you?”

He was aware of Morgan stirring uneasily beside him, but he kept his gaze on El’ken’s.

Finally the Narseil said, “Your chances are exactly the same as any other member of the crew. I hope very much for your safe return.”

“Good. Then what can you do to help my friends on their way?”

El’ken hesitated a long moment. “I suggest a cooling off period, at least until the Spacing Authority cruiser leaves. Then perhaps I can arrange for a diplomatic transport to take them back to Faber Eridani. Barrister Mahoney, can you perform your duties from within the Narseil Embassy in Elmira?”

Harriet looked surprised. “Better than I could do them from here, or in prison, I suppose.”

El’ken bowed. “Then I will endeavor to arrange it. And I would very much appreciate it… if you would do all in your power to learn who was responsible for the death of a good man.”

“McGinnis? You have my promise.”

“Thank you. Before I make the call to my people, Rigger Legroeder—when can you be prepared to travel?”

Legroeder shrugged. “I’m ready now.”

“Excellent. A transport will be standing by.”

“And its destination?”

“That, I cannot tell you.” The Narseil stretched out his hands. “I suggest you make your appropriate farewells in the next few minutes. You will not hear from him again until he returns. Go and make your preparations, and come back when you are ready.”

Legroeder felt like a body being viewed at a wake. “Look—I’m not dead yet, okay?”

Harriet nodded miserably, and Morgan was too busy leaking tears to say anything. Legroeder tossed his bag over to the door of their little dining room. “It’s not as if I’m never going to see you again. So for chrissake, how about showing me a smile. Morgan, you were terrific in bed last night.”

Harriet’s eyebrows went up. Morgan made a choking sound, and for a second he didn’t know if she was going to laugh or sob. She smacked him on the shoulder—hard—then burst into tears. “Asshole,” she muttered.

Legroeder sighed. “Doesn’t anyone have a sense of humor around here?” He knew he was just making it worse, but couldn’t help it. “Look—I’m sorry—you were awful in bed last night. Terrible. In fact, you weren’t even there. Harriet, she wasn’t—ow!” Morgan had just hit him twice as hard. Now she was covering her face, making hiccuping sounds.

He sighed again. “Morgan, I’m just trying to make you a little less funereal, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” she said, voice muffled by her hands.

“All right. But look—don’t be so scared for me. Be happy that I have a chance I didn’t have before.” He moved awkwardly to put his arms around her. She grabbed him in a sudden, powerful bear hug. They embraced for a long time, before stepping apart. Morgan wiped at her eyes.

“Good-bye, Legroeder,” said Harriet, putting her arms around both of them. “Take good care, dear—and come back safely, so I can collect my thirty percent, okay?”

Legroeder struggled to answer, as Morgan shook, hugging them both. “All right, you two,” Morgan said hoarsely. “Can we please get moving, before I go to pieces again?”

Legroeder picked up his bag, and they walked off together, back to El’ken’s chamber.

Chapter 12 Narseil Mission Center

Once more, Legroeder rode as a passenger, this time on a Narseil diplomatic transport three times the size of the corporate ship that had brought them to the asteroid. And this time, traveling through the Flux, he fairly twitched with frustration, wishing he could get up there on the Narseil bridge and see what rigging was like among these amphibious star travelers. Eventually he sent a message to the captain, asking for a visit to the bridge. He received a polite rebuff: forget it, while they were en route to the secret base.

He chafed at having nothing to do but sit and wonder what the hell he was doing, and what would become of his friends. Where was Maris by now? And what would happen to Harriet for helping him? Was her grandson Bobby alive? Gah. He was going to be cooped up way too long to spend all his time fretting.

Eventually, a crew member pointed him toward the ship’s library, where he occupied himself delving into the Narseil files on Impris. At first he read grudgingly, to kill time. Soon, though, he became fascinated reading about the ship from the alien perspective. Inspector Fandrang was mentioned only fleetingly. Considerably more space was given over to the propaganda campaign that was launched against the Narseil, blaming their navy for the loss of Impris. Various searches of the Narseil’s meticulously kept naval archives, over the years, had turned up no record of any engagement with such a ship—or any ship even remotely close to Impris’s course. It was clear from the sheer volume written on the subject that Impris remained a sore point with the Narseil.

Legroeder browsed for writings by El’ken, and found quite a lot; he was a prolific and respected chronicler of Narseil history. There was nothing by him on the subject of Impris, though, except for a third-level footnote in one article—the Narseil loved footnotes—mentioning that Impris was to be a subject of future research. Legroeder closed the file, feeling unsettled at having recognized himself as a tool in the august historian’s “future research.”

As the days wore on, he found himself reflecting on how far one could travel in a dangerous and possibly quixotic search for truth. He also found himself reflecting on the irony of his own worlds’ failure in space exploration—no vision, no courage, no willingness to sacrifice and take risks—and how strange it felt knowing that he was, in some sense, in accord with those he so utterly despised. What if he were given a chance to participate in deep-space exploration, but only in the company of pirates, or the likes of Centrist Strength? Jesus. Would he do it?

No… no… he wasn’t that desperate to go. Not yet…

By day four, the feelings of isolation were starting to close in around him. He finally found some company in the crewman who had shown him the library, a young Narseil named Korken. Korken was interested in learning about humans. He had never been to a human world, but had studied the major Earth-standard language, Anglic, and talked when he could without the assistance of the implanted translator. “The closssest I ever got was the asssteroid where we gathered you,” he said ruefully.

“Well, that makes us even,” answered Legroeder. “I’ve seen Narseil riggers, but that asteroid was the first time I’d ever been on your turf.”

Korken nodded, causing his neck-sail to flutter. His crest was considerably larger than El’ken’s, framing a smaller and rounder face. Was it his youth, or simply a personal characteristic? Legroeder was finally becoming able to tell one Narseil apart from another. When he’d first come aboard, they’d all looked the same to him.

“Have you ever rigged?” Legroeder asked, pouring himself a small beaker of juice from the refreshment center.

Korken poured himself a larger beaker. “No, but I hope to, one day. I am—what would be the word in your language—an apprentisss to the riggerss of my ship. I study their inssstructionals—and one day, when I have passed their tests, I may be permitted to enter a rigger-net with the crew.” He paused to sip his drink. “That will be a proud day for me.”

“I’m sure it will,” Legroeder said glumly. When Korken looked quizzical, he sighed. “Sorry, I’m just not used to being cooped up like this. Not able to see where we’re going—it makes me nuts.”

“Ah, I undersstand,” said Korken. “I wish I could show you, but I’m afraid that my superior here—” he gestured to a Narseil officer who had just walked in “—would take away my job. Yesss?”

“Yes,” said the officer. “But in fact, I came to tell Rigger Legroeder that we have made better time than expected. We will soon be entering the restricted zone, and then you’ll be able to see.”

“Huh? I’ll be able to see the restricted zone?”

The Narseil waved a bony hand. “We’re not concerned about your seeing the base itself. It’s the location of it we need to protect.”

Legroeder’s spirits rose. “When?”

“I would think, by dinnertime. Would that be sssatisfactory?”

“That would make my day,” said Legroeder.

Korken beamed, his face distorting nicely into a mask of apparent pain.

The Narseil base consisted of a chaotic array of disk-shaped structures—like an assortment of pancakes stacked in parallel planes, but shuffled out of alignment. Legroeder pressed his face to the viewport, trying to take it all in. “I’m a little surprised,” he murmured to Korken.

“Why? Did you think we would have large weapons and thhhreatening battle fleetss?”

“I thought you might have a few ships. But I didn’t think it would look just like a holo of typical Narseil architecture from Galacti Geographic.”

“Ah,” said Korken. “I guessss, when a design works, one stays with it.”

Soon they were docked and Legroeder was being escorted onto the station. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting—maybe something like El’ken’s asteroid. Instead, he found an interior that mirrored the smoothness and asymmetry of the exterior: smoothly curving grey walls, soft greenish-white lighting, the occasional expansive viewport, and pools everywhere. Some of the pools were occupied by Narseil; others were empty and still. An air of quiet efficiency pervaded the station.

Accompanied by a pair of officers from the ship, Legroeder was whisked to a meeting room that might have been any human conference center, except for the French-curve walls and a large, brightly lit pool in which half a dozen Narseil were carrying out some sort of underwater training exercise.

“This way, please.”

Legroeder followed a Narseil to the far end of the meeting room, where he was introduced to an array of officers, only three of whose names he remembered—Fre’geel, Cantha, and Palagren. He stared at each for a heartbeat, trying to fix names with faces.

“Welcome to our team,” said Fre’geel—tall, green-eyed, and businesslike. He was the mission commander, dressed in a shiny, forest-green uniform that seemed all straps and belts; he was, Legroeder had learned, a veteran of several forays against Golen Space raiders. “If you’re ready, we’d like to brief you immediately on the mission. You’ve shown great courage in joining us.”

Legroeder twitched, but said nothing.

“We’d like to go over our objectives and strategy, to determine where you might best fit in. We welcome any ideas you might have for improving the chances of success.”

“I’ll do my best,” Legroeder murmured.

“And then of course we must get you to the surgical theater to begin the alterations to your physical appearance—”

“Uh?” Legroeder blinked. “So soon?”

Fre’geel looked surprised. “Well, of course. We launch in just a few days. You knew that, didn’t you? And you know we’re equipping you with augmentation?”

“Well, I… did want to talk to you about that, actually…”

One of the others spoke up—Cantha, the stockiest of the Narseil. Dressed in a dull khaki uniform, he had an extremely thick neck crest, almost a ridge rather than a sail. His face was fuller and craggier, and he had greenish-brown eyes. “It’s essential that you be fully equipped. As a human, you may have more opportunity to gain useful information in the stronghold than we do—but it may be necessary for you to blend with the locals—”

“Right, I understand.”

“—and equally important, to record your findings.”

“Yes, but—”

Suddenly they were all staring at him, as though wondering what his problem was.

He stirred, self-conscious. “Well, it’s just that… I’m not really sure I can function properly with augments.” Because I’m terrified of them. He gestured awkwardly. “The pirates didn’t put any in me because they thought I’d have trouble functioning in the net with them.” Or at least I managed to convince them of it… and I was a good rigger without…

“Ah.”

Fre’geel turned to Palagren, a slender, grey-eyed Narseil who was dressed in a grey robe that shimmered with occasional iridescence—a trademark attire of Narseil riggers. Palagren answered, “I will be the lead rigger, and I will train you very carefully, to make certain that we can work together with your augments. We have considerable experience in that area, so I wouldn’t worry.”

Legroeder opened his mouth to answer, but Palagren continued, “In any case, it is necessary, so there’s no need to discuss it further.”

Legroeder closed his mouth.

“If I might add,” said Cantha, “since our intent is to penetrate a raider stronghold—and, we hope, to gain useful information from their internal datanets—you’ll need to be able to interact with those nets.” Cantha paused, as Legroeder reflected on the fact that, in all his years of captivity, he had managed to remain quite disconnected from the raider intelnets. “Our analysis,” Cantha continued, “suggests that with you assisting us with full augmentation, our chances of success rise significantly. That is to say, our chances of getting out with the information. Or at least getting the information itself out.”

Legroeder cocked his head at that. “Tell me something. What do you estimate our chances are of getting back in one piece? El’ken was a tad vague on that question.” And yet I listened to him. So who’s the fool here?

The Narseil exchanged glances among themselves. This is the mighty human warrior come to aid us? he could imagine them thinking. Fre’geel, the mission commander, answered, “That’s impossible to know, really. El’ken told you we have had contacts with people in the Free Kyber society?”

“Yes.”

“That is one of our reasons for considering this mission worth attempting. But of course, there is a chance that the team will not return, that our lives will be traded… for useful information. Did you not understand that?”

Legroeder tried to conceal his annoyance… and fear. “Well, yeah—I knew there were serious risks. Obviously. But I have no interest in going on a suicide mission. I assume you have some actual plans for getting us in, and getting us out again?”

Fre’geel clapped his hands together in apparent irritation. “Of course we have plans, and we will brief you on them. Appearing to be captured will be our first challenge; penetrating a raider stronghold will be the second; gaining information, the third; and getting out again, the fourth—and most difficult. Our minimum goal is to transmit out information useful to the Narseil Navy.”

“Information such as—?”

“Information on Impris, of course. Data on the nature and location of the outpost, and information on the command structure of the enemy.” Fre’geel’s eyes glinted. “Understand, we have tried before to strike out at the pirates. The cost has always been greater than the reward. Three times we have seized raider ships, only to watch them self-destruct before we could learn anything from them. We have yet to locate a single raider outpost. If we enable our navy to find, and possibly neutralize, even one outpost as a result of this mission, we will have succeeded.” The Narseil commander blew out a breath from his mouth. “But the risk to those of us on the mission…” He turned his long-fingered hands outward.

Legroeder tried to nod, but felt himself scowling instead. “All right, look—here’s my feeling on the subject, if you care. All these noble ambitions are fine, but I’ve already lived as a prisoner in a raider outpost, and I don’t intend to do it again. If I go into another one, I plan on coming back out. If you don’t think we can do that, tell me now.”

Fre’geel stiffened. It was Cantha who answered, “I have heard that is a common human approach. Our way is different. Our way is to plan on giving all, including our lives. To expect to have to give our lives. If we find that we come away alive, so much the better. A happy surprise.”

Legroeder stared at Cantha. I always knew there was something wrong with you people, he thought. Finally he shrugged. “Well, at least we know where we stand with each other. But if you want my help, as opposed to just my warm body, then I trust you’ll take my needs into account here. Yes?”

He saw several neck-sails flutter. Then Fre’geel bowed. “Indeed, you shall have a voice. And soon we’ll discuss strategy in detail. But first we must see to those alterations you will need.”

Legroeder frowned. “Why first?”

Fre’geel’s mouth stretched in an expression he couldn’t identify. “Because we must have your absolute commitment before we can discuss details. And what better way to show your commitment than to go ahead with the operation, yes?”

Sarcasm? Triumph? Legroeder tried to think of a good answer—or a way out. You’ve already committed, he thought. Finally he shrugged. “All right. Let’s go…”

His Narseil hosts took him to the medical center, which looked like a cross between an aquarium and a physiological stress lab. There were sunken pools in the center of the room and raised glass tanks around two sides, several containing placidly floating Narseil surrounded by medical instruments. There were also cots and tables, and banks of unidentifiable equipment.

Legroeder was introduced to the chief medical officer, a surgeon named Com’peer, a female Narseil dressed in flowing green robes. Her neck-sail was maroon-tinged, and edged with a striking gold ridge. Legroeder found himself wondering, irrelevantly, if those colors were real. Did Narseil color their neck-sails?

Com’peer wasted no time. “This is what we’ll be installing,” she said, holding out a tray for his inspection. It contained four small metallic buttons and two large syringes with real needles, not sprays. “We’ll implant the disks by subcutaneous insertion, but the internal wiring will be established by programmable nanoscale microsurgeons.” She tapped the first syringe. “That will be phase one.”

Legroeder studied the tray unenthusiastically. “What’s phase two?”

“We’ll alter your physical appearance—a precaution, in case your image and vital statistics have been circulated among the raider outposts. After all, you may be on—what is the term?—a ‘wanted’ list.”

I’m sure I am, Legroeder thought.

“Do we have your permission for the changes, Rigger Legroeder?”

“Well, uh—are you planning to leave me human, at least?”

“Of course. And you will have an opportunity to preview all of the changes before they’re made.”

He let his breath out very slowly. “Well-l-l… all right, I guess. As long as I see every step before it happens.”

“Excellent. Then let us proceed with phase one.”

“Just like that?” Legroeder was startled to realize that all the others, except Cantha, had disappeared. And Cantha was examining his long Narseil fingers, pretending to ignore the entire conversation.

“We are ready. You are ready,” said the surgeon. “And you will need time for adaptation and training.” Com’peer studied him for a moment. “Why delay?”

I can think of a thousand reasons, Legroeder thought with a shiver. “All right…”

For the operation, Legroeder received a partial anesthesia, which left him conscious but spacey, filled with a disembodied awareness of what they were doing to him—guarded not so much against physical pain as neural disorientation. When they implanted the disks, he felt a brief stinging sensation—four times, once on each temple and once behind each ear. Within minutes of the syringe injections that followed, he began to feel an inner tickling as the microprocessors that had just been released into his bloodstream burrowed into his nervous system, building interfaces between the implants and his brain.

“Am I—” he murmured dreamily “—going to be able to have these taken out after it’s all over?”

“Why would you want to?” asked the bemused surgeon, rustling about beside him. “You’ll be far more intelligent with these inside you.”

“Wonderful… but will I still be me? With this… stuff… I won’t know who’s in charge.”

Com’peer made a hissing and clucking sound. “You humans—you are so insecure about your personal identities!”

“What the hell do you know about humans?” Legroeder muttered, just aware enough to be annoyed.

The Narseil gave a chittering laugh. “Quite a lot, actually. How much time have you spent on Earthhome?”

Legroeder blinked in amazement; with the anesthesia, the action occurred in slow motion. “You’ve been to Earth?” Earth, to him, was hardly more than a legend. He had never been within a hundred light-years of the place.

“Indeed I have. I did my post-post-training on Earthhome,” said Com’peer. “Columbia Interspace Medical Center, in Old America.”

“Huh…” said Legroeder. He wanted to ask more, but just then the surgeon stepped away, humming softly. A moment later, his thoughts were obliterated by a sudden rush of sensation from the inner network construction…

It was a little like feeling a spiderweb being pulled through his nerves, veins, and sinews. The sensation was partly physical, and partly an image being drawn through his consciousness. It was growing and he had no power to control it, to slow it or stop it. He had a sudden feeling of being caught in traffic in a city, trapped and choked, and forced to move where traffic moved him, or held where it held him, caught in a living web that was part of something greater than himself.

And then darkness flared over him, and all sensation flickered out, and he no longer knew whether time was passing slowly or quickly. But he knew that it was somehow altered… and he retained just enough awareness to realize that the new network was somehow integrating itself with brain centers associated with time perception…

…and then without warning there was a jarring sensation, as if his own inner system were being reset. Immediately a rush of information followed, to and from the implants. He had no idea of the actual content of the information; it was as though the system were testing itself, and felt no need to involve him in the process.

And then, just like that, the physical alteration was done. But not the readjustment; that was only beginning. There were things linked to his brain now: knowledge systems. It was a little like being hooked into a rigger-net; but the kinds of data he sensed were very different, more like a library connection.` He was dimly aware, as he lay motionless, of the Narseil medics moving around nearby, but most of his attention was drawn inward; the knowledge systems were stirring, and offering their services to him. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

A series of connections flickered open briefly, in succession. Some were to databases, others to analysis engines. Still others, to the outside—or would be, later, when he needed to join with ship systems, or libraries. Or… the pirates’ intelnet.

He became conscious of Com’peer moving around, humming. When the surgeon leaned over to peer into his eyes, he yelped involuntarily; there was a mutant iguana staring at him. His vision squirmed for a moment, then refocused to reveal the Narseil’s face.

“Good,” said the surgeon.

Legroeder struggled to make his mouth work. “Wha’ d’y’ mean, good?” he managed. “You scared… living b’jesus… out ’me.”

The Narseil laughed, the sound of a zipper going up. “I was applying a small input to your vision system to see if you would react. I was not disappointed.”

Legroeder closed his eyes, praying it would all go away.

“Don’t worry if all this seems a bit disconcerting,” Com’peer went on. “We’ll have you trained before you actually go into action.”

“How’re you—?” Legroeder started to say, but before he could complete the thought, a new rush of inputs came over him. He was suddenly swimming in a surrealistic landscape, floating over glowing orange lava beneath a blood-red sky. He felt a rush of fear, and then annoyance and confusion. Finally it occurred to him that perhaps he could control this the way he would control a rigger-net. He tried to wish the volcanic landscape away. When that didn’t help, he tried to command it away. There was still no effect, except that the lava seemed to glow hotter, rising toward him with its sulfurous fumes. With a silent mutter, he focused his thoughts more sharply. In his mind’s eye, he formed his right hand into a painter’s brush. He stroked at the sky. The blood-red softened to pink, and then to a pale violet. Ahh… With a sweep of his brush, he erased the lava and turned the surroundings into a cool blue place with a ceiling over his head… and finally back into the Narseil medical center.

He glared up at the Narseil surgeon.

“Very good,” said Com’peer. “You seem to have a knack for this. Of course, as a rigger, you should.”

“As a rigger,” Legroeder growled, “I don’t like having my mind messed with. If I don’t know where input is coming from, and I can’t control it, I can’t rig. That’s why I didn’t want these damn things!”

“I understand,” said the surgeon, in a tone of sandpaper, probably meant to be soothing. “That’s why we’re training you—so you will be in control. You’re off to a good start. I expected it to take you far longer to pull out of that image just now. My congratulations.”

Legroeder swore under his breath. “You might have given me some warning.”

Her laugh sounded like crinkling cellophane. “Next time. Next time we will give you warning. Now, would you like to rest before we move on to phase two?”

Legroeder rolled his head on the padded table. “Phase two? Phase two? Yes, I would like to rest! Can I get off this damned table?”

The surgeon helped Legroeder sit up. “You are feeling well enough to walk? Good! Then my associates will take you to your room and get you something to eat before you sleep. Try to make yourself at home and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Legroeder wobbled as he slipped off the table onto rubbery legs. “Thank you.”

The surgeon acknowledged with a nod, then motioned to one of the medical assistants to come forward. “Now, do not be surprised if you find yourself… interacting… with your new implants as you sleep. It is nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Legroeder asked suspiciously.

“You may have dreams.”

Sleep proved hard to come by, and when he did drop off, Legroeder found himself on a roller coaster of night visions. His inner world flickered with images and movement; he ran in his dreams, trying to find his way down a maze of corridors, trying to escape from he knew not what, or to catch up with something very much like it. His breath became ragged; his pulse raced.

He woke up, alone, in a small room. He was lying on a pad on the floor. The Narseil had worried that he might fall off one of their high beds, and his tangled bedclothes suggested that they were right. He sat up, dazed, trying to bring back the confusing welter of dream images that had preceded his awakening. He felt a need to identify them before he could push them aside—to clear his mind of them before he could trust his senses in the waking world.

A Narseil aide appeared, calling him to breakfast. Already? It felt like the middle of the night. He dressed and followed the aide to a nearby room, where he sat alone and ate cereal with rice milk, and drank something like coffee. Finally he was taken back to the medical center. Com’peer greeted him cheerily, asked how he’d slept, and led him to a console. “Please study,” she said.

On the display were six faces. The first snapped to full screen as he sat down. It was his own face: dark, olive-tinted skin in a narrow, slightly pinched face. All right—he knew what he looked like. He could stand to be a little handsomer, but he’d lived with this face for a long time, and figured he could keep on living with it. The screen flicked to the second face, and it was… his face, but different. It was longer and thinner, almost more like a Narseil. His features were recognizable, but only because he was looking for them. It was a very good disguise. It was also a remake of his entire facial structure. “Just how would you do this—by putting my head in a vice?” he asked, looking up at Com’peer.

“Nothing so crude,” said the surgeon. “But in a sense you are right. We would have to redo the bone structure of your face. It would involve some pulverizing and reconstituting.”

“Jesus,” Legroeder said, feeling faint. “What else have you got?”

The next image was just the opposite effect: it looked as if an anvil had been dropped on his head. The face was recognizably human, but barely. “Oh, that’s great,” he said. “Christ Almighty.”

“All right, no need to worry,” said Com’peer, beginning to sound just a little tense. “We’ll keep showing you possibilities.”

“I can just imagine! Christ!”

Com’peer was quiet for a moment. “Could I ask you a personal favor? Could you not curse in those terms, please?”

“What?” He looked up at her, startled.

The Narseil’s voice changed in tone. “I am a Christian,” she said, “and it troubles me to hear His name used in that manner.”

Legroeder stared, open-mouthed. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I am not.” The Narseil looked at him oddly. “Why would I kid?”

“You’re a Christian? I thought you Narseil were all Three Ringers.”

Com’peer’s neck-sail quivered a little. “The Three Rings is the predominant faith on my world. But not the only one, no. Forgive me for the digression. About these images—”

“I’ll be damn—I mean—”

“It is all right. Now, if you will look at the images again… I think you worry too much about these changes. If you do not want us to alter your fundamental bone structure, we will not. There is much that we can do, short of that.”

Legroeder shifted his gaze from the surgeon to the screen. The next image looked like a face that had stood in the path of a desert sandstorm. The features were scoured and smoothed, the eyebrows almost entirely missing, the angularities of his nose and cheekbones rounded and softened. It seemed almost feminine.

“Next!” he grunted.

The next was a lot more like his real face, except that at first he scarcely saw it, because his hair was so drastically altered. It cascaded out in a thick, overhanging umbrella, and was cut sharply inward at the bottom, in a downward angle to his head. The eyes were changed, too—dulled from the dark intensity that he normally saw in the mirror. “Ug-g-ly,” he grunted. “But better than any of the others, that’s for sure.”

“This would require far less in the way of organic change to your facial bones,” Com’peer said. “But we’re not sure that the change is sufficient to disguise you.” She hesitated. “At the risk of offending… I must confess that most human characteristics look universal to most Narseil. Even after considerable exposure. So we must depend somewhat on your judgment in the matter.”

Legroeder tried to look more offended than he actually felt, then realized that the expression was probably lost on the Narseil, anyway. “It would fool me,” he said. “You got any others?”

There was one more, which looked like his face molded from putty. Legroeder shook his head. “Nope. If it has to be one of these, give me the umbrella-head.”

Com’peer and several other Narseil conferred, then Com’peer said, “Very well. That is what we will do. Do you have any requirements before we begin the procedure?”

Besides packing my bag and leaving? Legroeder sighed heavily. “I guess not. You mean, now? Let’s get it over with, then.”

They put him back on the padded table, and this time put him under a light sleep. He started to protest—did he trust them to do this right without his oversight?—but it was already too late. The sleep-field slipped over his thoughts like a fine, downy comforter and his thoughts drifted away.

He dreamed of rows of corn growing on the top of his head, and the wind sighing through his hair.

Chapter 13 Mission Away

He awoke feeling clear headed, and asked to see a mirror.

“Dear God, how long was I asleep?” he gasped, when they led him to a seeing wall. His face was white, and his hair had turned light grey and been shaped into a wide, snub-topped cone, extending about four inches out from the sides of his head. It was at least ten inches longer than it had been when he went to sleep. He touched it hesitantly; it felt synthetic. But it wasn’t; it tugged at his scalp roots as he moved his head from side to side.

“About fourteen hours,” said Com’peer, walking into the room. “How do you like it?”

Legroeder was having trouble breathing. “My skin! I’m bleach white!”

“Well, it’s not quite that—”

“Fish-belly white! You didn’t tell me you were going to do that to me!”

Com’peer waved her hands. “We felt that it was necessary.”

“For what?”

“To ensure your anonymity. The other changes seemed insufficient, when we saw them.”

Legroeder patted his skin, scowling at himself and at the surgeon in the reflection. What the hell was wrong with this mirror, anyway? Then he realized that the surgeon, who was standing to his right, was also to his reflection’s right. It wasn’t a mirror; it was a projection of his image, without left and right reversal. Damned disorienting. He shut his eyes for a moment. “What else have you done?”

Com’peer made a husky sound. “Well… we did change your DNA slightly—just enough to fool a scan.”

Legroeder gulped. “You changed my—”

“Only in your gonads. According to our reports, that’s where the raiders like to do their testing.”

“What?” His hands went instinctively below his belt.

One of the other Narseil said, “Apparently it is more accurate there.”

“Not more accurate,” corrected Com’peer. “Just more humiliating. It is a method of theirs.” She lowered her gaze as she studied her human patient. “That is something you needed to be warned about, in any case. You must be ready.”

Legroeder stared at her, appalled.

Com’peer seemed to relax a little, having delivered the bad news. “We can change you back if—forgive me, when—you return safely. And we only changed genome segments listed as inactive or cosmetic. So it’s not really a big thing.”

Speak for yourself.

“Good,” said Com’peer. “Now, if we’re through with the inspection and everyone’s happy, let’s get started with your training. Shall we?”

Shaking his head, Legroeder followed the others out of the room.

If he thought they were going to give him time to acclimate to the changes, he was wrong. Before he could blink, he was being subjected to lectures on combat and undercover operations, interspersed with physical training in everything from hand-to-hand combat to deep-cyber penetration of shielded intelligence systems.

The basic plan of action was simple enough. Their ship, posing as a passenger liner, would put itself in harm’s way, in a region of space known to be patrolled by ships of a certain raider tribe. Upon contact with a raider ship, the Narseil would be prepared for a diplomatic encounter if it occurred—but if attacked, they would attempt to capture the pirate ship, and then use it as a cover to make their way to its home base. Once at the raider outpost, their goal was to gather intelligence through the local networks, contact the underground, and get out as quickly as possible.

It was a risky plan, obviously. They were counting on a combination of Narseil fighting skill and potential assistance from their contacts in the raider organization. Indirect messages received from this outpost had suggested a possible interest in opening lines of communication with the outside. The problem was, the messages were of uncertain reliability; however, it seemed possible that they represented a genuine underground movement within the Free Kyber organization.

To the Narseil Command, it had seemed a risk worth taking—especially if, in the long run, it might lead to a reduction of hostilities.

“Academic El’ken is more hopeful about that than I am,” Mission Commander Fre’geel said during one discussion. “I doubt we’ll find this particular leopard changing its spots, as you might say. If someone is looking for us and wants to talk, we’ll talk. But I am operating on the assumption that this will be an undercover intelligence mission, from beginning to end. We can hope that any underground element that wants to find us, will. But we have no way of looking for them; we must assume that we are on our own. If we’re in a fight, we intend to win it. And not just win, but take captives and a flyable raider ship. That could be the hardest thing of all.”

“Except, perhaps, getting out again afterward,” Legroeder pointed out.

“Well, yes—there is that. And that is why everyone, including you, Rigger Legroeder, must be trained in all phases of combat. We might have to fight our way out.”

It was hard to argue with that line of reasoning, and Legroeder threw himself wholeheartedly into the training. After two days of lectures, rigger-sims, and hands-on training with Narseil weaponry, he was brought to a large cavern the size of a sports arena. From a balcony, he looked down on Narseil commandos in training—in one corner storming an office complex, in another working their way through a jungle setting (a jungle?), and in still another making their way deck by deck through a mockup of a ship, opposed by holographic adversaries. At one end of the balcony, he peered through a window into an enormous zero-gee chamber, where spacesuited teams were rehearsing a ship-to-ship assault.

“This way, please!” his trainer called. Legroeder turned from the window and dutifully followed to the suit-up room. Having gear fitted to him took two hours—and for the next two, he ran and climbed and shot—and tried not to be shot—all with a heavy pack on his back, and holo-enemies popping up like targets on an arcade game. At the end of a long obstacle course, he found himself being urged into a pool for water-borne hand-to-hand combat training.

That was where he reached his limit.

“Swim yourself!” he gasped, and threw himself down, wheezing for air.

“What’s the matter?” asked his trainer, a Narseil weapons specialist named Agamem.

“I’m not an amphibian, and I don’t want to drown, that’s what’s the matter!” Legroeder snarled. He had never been a strong swimmer. He had nearly drowned once as a boy, when he’d lost his footing in the shallows of a river beach, and gotten caught in an undertow. The memory still haunted him, twenty years later. “Why the hell should I train in water combat, anyway?”

“We want you prepared in all environments,” said Agamem.

“Yeah, well, we’re trying to penetrate a pirate outpost. Unless I wind up falling into the local pirate Y pool, I don’t think I’ll have to fight anyone in the water. Comprendo?”

Agamem looked puzzled, but perhaps recognized that an alien species might have different training requirements. “Very well, then. How about another round of corridor fighting?”

Legroeder nodded. That he would do. It was entirely plausible that there would be fighting in corridors. Although he had little interest in or native talent for fighting, he did have a survival instinct. He would take all the training he could get.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Give me a moment to rest, okay?”

“Will your enemy give you time to rest…?”

The implant training was another matter altogether. The Narseil had embedded what seemed at times a controlled madness in his skull, and he had to learn to master it. The knowledge bases, the processing enhancements, the memory caches… none was impossibly difficult in isolation, but taking them as a group was like trying to herd a group of drunken pirates.

During commando training, he’d mostly kept them turned off. But in rigger training, his teachers insisted that he practice using the implants. His trainers seemed puzzled by his difficulties; but Legroeder felt as if his head had become a cage full of wild animals, and his confusion and frustration were overlaid with fear that the augments were gaining the upper hand.

Palagren and Cantha led him to a sim-room filled with rigger-stations that looked like giant clamshells propped open at a forty-five degree angle. Legroeder climbed into the opening of one and lay back on the soft body of the clam—a neural hydrocushion. The clamshell snicked closed, leaving him surrounded by darkness and silence, except for a reassuring whisper of circulating air. He tried to relax, alone with his thoughts… and his implants. A minute later, the com and the net came alive. Cantha was at the control center on the outside. Though not a rigger himself, Cantha was an expert in rigger theory, having done advanced research at the Narseil Rigging Institute. He would be overseeing much of the training.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” A moment later, Legroeder’s head filled with voices: library inputs, head-up data displays, com status reports on everything from the rigger-net interface to his own kidneys. He tried to corral the voices into the background, but the only thing that seemed to work was to turn them down to near inaudibility; and that left him with an annoying and useless low-level buzz. In the end, he simply tried to ignore the voices, droning in the background.

First Cantha let him fly alone, to regain the feel of being in a net and to acclimate himself to the Narseil equipment. Though he wouldn’t have mistaken the sim for the real Flux, the net responded well as he “flew” virtual currents of wind and sea. After a while, Palagren joined him, and then another rigger, named Voco. For the rest of that day, they flew programmed sim voyages, polishing their skills together along both familiar and unfamiliar star-routes.

The next day was more of the same.

Legroeder struggled with the difficulty of rigging with aliens in an alien environment, and of adjusting his flying style to theirs. The Narseil were restless riggers—using a lot of sea imagery, but also changing images frequently in an effort to gain new leverages or insights. When Legroeder invoked his implants for assistance, he found himself quickly overwhelmed by inputs. It didn’t take long before he had the whole crew struggling to maintain control of their virtual ship. He was thankful that these were only sims; the Narseil probably thought he was a hopeless incompetent.

“You must control your augments—be their master,” Cantha urged. “You are their master. You are like the conductor of one of your human symphony orchestras, and you must think like one.” Legroeder felt more like a musician trying to produce a concert on a synthmixer, but unable to control anything except the master volume while a gaggle of musical voices rippled through his skull.

The breakthrough came on day three of his training. The night before, he’d tossed and turned in his sleep, dreaming of struggling with the strings of a dancing marionette, and thrashing helplessly in a tangle of threads. He’d woken up trying to remember what had followed that dream; it was something important. Were the dreams part of his training? They certainly felt similar. The first sim of the day gave him a tangle of maneuvers to perform, with full input from his internal nav-libraries. The streams of data nearly overwhelmed him. But he was determined to overcome it.

He was flying down a cataract—a simulation of a region of the Flux known as the Hurricane Flume. Palagren and Voco were at the keel and stern, with Legroeder in the lead position. He was having trouble keeping the ship centered in the flow. It was a white-water rapids, fast approaching a sheer drop into a waterfall. The dashing water tossed the ship from side to side, threatening to capsize it. Legroeder’s head reeled with data from the nav-library, suggestions from the augments’ tactical advisor, and warnings from Cantha on the outside. It was too much; he was losing control. If he didn’t shut off the implants, he would crash for sure.

A memory of the dream jumped into his mind: the helpless feeling of swinging in a tangle of marionette strings…

As he was about to turn off the augments, the scene around him blinked out and he heard Palagren shout: We’ve lost sensory input! We’re on internal nav only.

Legroeder cursed. Cantha had thrown a simulated emergency at them, forcing him to use the implants. He was already failing. Focus, damn it, focus!

And then he remembered, like a punch to the stomach, the dream that had followed the marionette dream. All those strings had turned to streams of water, erupting in a complex of geysers that towered into the sky…

And the image of Com’peer’s lava storm came back to him, and he remembered how he had controlled that image by treating it not as an inner switch, but as a landscape feature of the Flux. He realized now what he needed to do. He could master the welter of inputs—not with the built-in controls, maybe, but by changing it all to image and letting his subconscious take charge. Let it all be streams of water. He didn’t need to conduct an orchestra; he needed to rig through his own mind.

As though in response to his thoughts, the white water image sprang back, and a great gusher of spray went up. For a frozen instant, as the ship dashed through the water, he saw—like a mushroom cloud at the center of his mind—a thundering wave of foam that was not a part of the white water of the Flux at all. It was datastreams from the augments gathered together in a curling wave. He could see, glimmering in its interior, the silver threads of a dozen or more individual inputs. He touched the streams and they bent to his touch. With difficulty at first, then with growing skill, he reshaped them into forms that curved toward him when he wanted them, and out of his way when he didn’t.

He felt the ship coming back under his control. He quickly damped out the back-and-forth yawing, and felt the Narseil behind him slipping into a closer coordination. The three riggers and their ship shot down the Hurricane Flume and out, dropped along a dazzling white waterfall, and spun away downstream. Legroeder laughed in triumph and heard the Narseil hissing their approval, and he knew that he had finally won the lesson, and it was one he would not soon forget.

For the next two days, his training accelerated to a blur. Battle sims were added to the basic rigging practice, and soon Legroeder was steering the fictitious ship as frantically as he had once piloted a scout ship out of the mine-strewn fortress of Outpost DeNoble. It was something he was good at, and he’d certainly done enough battle flying in captivity, but now he was being tripped up by something altogether different.

It was his rigger-mates, the Narseil.

He had always known that the Narseil had some kind of weird time sense, which was one of the things that made them exceptional riggers; but he’d never encountered it firsthand. They called it, in their own translation to human speech, the tessa’chron, or extended time. A form of temporal persistence, it enabled them to see the “present” as a smear of time fore and aft, ranging from about a second, under ordinary circumstances, to several seconds under stress. Battle, even simulated battle, seemed to bring it out in them. No doubt it was useful to them to have a continuing momentary glimpse into the future; but for Legroeder it meant always feeling half a step behind. The implants helped; they couldn’t give him the same time sense, but they could reinterpret some of the information that the Narseil were pouring into the net. But that meant adjusting to a whole new level of implant function.

It was going to take practice. A lot of practice.

In the meantime, the rigger crew racked up a score of six victories to three losses against programmed enemies, all in encounters in which they were outnumbered and outgunned by their adversaries. Mission Commander Fre’geel pronounced their progress satisfactory, and decreed additional exercises.

“We’re ready to go,” announced Cantha at breakfast a day later. “We’ll be boarding this evening, and departing during the night.”

The announcement stunned Legroeder.

“Is this a problem? Don’t you feel ready?”

“Well—not to invade a stronghold, no.” Legroeder suddenly felt a desire for a few more days of commando training. He suddenly felt hazy on the actual strategic plans. He suddenly wanted to go lie down in a meadow.

The Narseil chuckled, an almost musical sound. In the days they had spent together, Cantha seemed to have developed a pretty good understanding of Legroeder’s feelings. “None of us feels quite ready, either. Don’t worry, we’ll keep training on the ship. But you know—beyond a certain point, our strategy is going to have to unfold on the fly. If things go according to plan, you and I won’t have to fight; we’ll just follow the marines in.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a nice thought—”

“And between your knowledge of the raiders, and our own skills, I’m hopeful of acquiring some good intelligence and transmitting it out before we’re discovered and destroyed.” Cantha’s tall, amphibious eyes seemed to glimmer with an almost human humor.

“Very funny. Could you please refrain from using the word destroyed when you talk about our chances?”

“If you insist,” said Cantha. “Look, this is our last day here. What would you say to breaking training and having some of our excellent—” he struggled for the correct word “—the closest thing to it, I guess, would be your beer. Do you like beer?”

“I like beer.”

“Then let’s celebrate, my friend.”

It turned out that all the Narseil involved in the mission were celebrating that day. It also turned out that the average Narseil had a much higher tolerance for alcohol than Legroeder did. He was fairly woozy after just half a glass of what was definitely a fermented beverage, but seemed to him a cross between coconut milk and something called beermalt that was popular in rigger dives. Not only did it carry a kick; the Narseil served it in liter-sized flagons.

Legroeder began nursing his drink, watching the celebration from the sideline. He still wondered what made these Narseil tick, but he had grudgingly come to enjoy the conviviality of their company. Cantha turned out to be something of a singer, and while the singing sounded to Legroeder like the moaning of a walrus, it was well appreciated by the other Narseil. Legroeder sipped his drink and chatted with Korken, the young Narseil who’d been friendly with him on the trip here, who wasn’t coming along on the mission but wished he were; and with Com’peer the surgeon, who wasn’t coming along, either, and didn’t appear the least bit sorry.

After the celebration had gone on for a while, Fre’geel called for silence. A Three Rings priest stood up and spoke for a few minutes in a kind of singsong that might have been a prayer, or poetry, or both; and then Com’peer rose with a Bible in her hand and offered a prayer in Legroeder’s tongue. It sounded vaguely familiar to Legroeder, though he had trouble placing it. A psalm, perhaps?

The other Narseil listened in respectful silence as Com’peer read several other psalms, then concluded with a benediction. Legroeder found himself unexpectedly moved by the offering. A moment later, Fre’geel returned and delivered an address that sounded more like a eulogy than a pep talk—except that he then broke into what could only be called a song and dance, jittering across the front of the room, waving a wand that was apparently some sort of data storage device, but looked to Legroeder like a wooden cane.

Cantha, noting Legroeder’s amusement, came over and confided that when Narseil departed on a difficult mission, especially one with a high degree of risk, they liked to send themselves off with a rousing good time—to taste, if briefly, the good times that they might not live to see if things went against them. Legroeder nodded. “Not so different from us,” he said.

At the end, all the Narseil sang an anthem together, swaying to and fro as though their arms were linked (they weren’t), their neck-sails flopping from side to side in perfect rhythm. Legroeder tipped his glass to finish his beverage, and realized that he was drunk. As the Narseil anthem came to an end, he sighed deeply, thinking that maybe it was time he offered a bit of human something to this gathering of lunatic aliens. He stood, clearing his throat self-consciously—then raised his empty glass and cried, “Hip, hip—hooray!” and when all eyes turned toward him in curiosity, he yelled it again. “HIP, HIP—HOORAY! Say it with me! Shout it!”

The Narseil stirred in uncertainty, but Cantha and one or two others joined him… and then more, until the whole roomful of Narseil was thunderously shouting, “HIP HIP—HOORAY! HIP HIP—HOORAY!”—cheering the celebration to its conclusion.

Legroeder returned to his quarters to rest for a few hours before boarding the ship. Lying on his mattress on the floor, he stared at the ceiling and tried not to be sick. He thought of what the Narseil had turned him into, and realized that he really did not want to go on this mission at all; and then he remembered Harriet and her grandson, and Maris, and why he had to for himself—and he closed his eyes mournfully and let all of his thoughts drain out of his mind. Eventually he drifted off to a sleep that was neither long enough nor restful.

As they gathered to board the ship, Legroeder stood off to one side of the crowd. His head hurt, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

// Your condition can be self-correcting. //

Legroeder blinked and looked around, just to be sure the voice had come from within. It was one of the implants.

(All right, I give. How do I correct it?)

The answer appeared silently, and he realized that he could use the same technique he had applied to the control of the implants themselves. He closed his eyes and focused inward, and cast a golden cloud around himself, which slowly penetrated him with its ghostly glow. After a moment, he let it evaporate. When he opened his eyes, the headache was gone.

(I’ll be damned,) he said to the voice.

He turned and saw Com’peer watching him. “What?” Legroeder asked.

“You’re learning, aren’t you—and you will continue to learn,” said the surgeon. “Rigger Legroeder, you will be a formidable member of this crew. And I believe you will find your implants useful for more things than you can imagine.”

“Well, they worked pretty well on my hangover,” Legroeder conceded.

Com’peer rested a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. “May God go with you, Legroeder. And who knows? Maybe even your desire for a safe return will come true.” She laughed, a sound like a saw cutting wood. “I look forward to hearing your report.”

“Too bad you’re not coming,” Legroeder said. “You could remake everyone on the ship.”

“I almost wish I could. I almost really do,” Com’peer said, none too convincingly. “But my orders keep me here.”

The boarding began then, and Legroeder got in line.

The ship’s name was H’zzarrelik, which roughly translated meant “Javelin.” But Legroeder found himself referring to it mentally in the Narseil tongue; it seemed more appropriate somehow. She looked like a luxury liner, at least on the outside—long, silver, and sleek as a shark. Her departure was silent and unheralded, marked by little more than a vibration in the deck in the middle of the night. The celebration was a fading memory now, and the official mode of operation was stealth and efficiency, even in departing from Narseil Naval Command.

Legroeder’s cabin was, to his surprise, more pleasantly appointed than the one he’d had at the naval base. The ship looked like a passenger liner on the inside, too. His cabin had smoothly curved walls, like those back at the base, in a cool off-white, with charcoal-gray trim. It was fitted with a respectable bunk and a small bath alcove. He wondered what class he was traveling in—business class, maybe?—not perfect luxury, but far better than steerage.

Soon enough, he grew weary of being alone with his thoughts, and went out for a walk around the ship. Everything seemed to convey the illusion of this being an innocent passenger vessel. But surely it was not so innocent, if one probed beneath the surface. It wasn’t long before he encountered Cantha in the corridor. “Are you unable to sleep?” asked the Narseil.

“Who can sleep, when we’re just getting underway?”

“I think there are many of us who feel that way,” said Cantha. “That’s why I’m up. I’m not on duty right now, either.”

“How about showing me around, then?”

“Happily. What would you like to see first? Shall I show you where the weapons are hidden?”

“Well—”

“We’re not as harmless as we look, you know,” Cantha said, blinking his elongated Narseil eyes. “Come on. You might as well see where everything is.”

They were near the midships exercise room and pool, so Cantha took him there first. It was an impressive facility, and already in use by several of the crew. Cantha took him past the pool to the equipment lockers. He released a catch and the backs of the lockers opened to reveal numerous rows of small arms. “Enough for half the crew right here. If you count up all the different storage locations, we have several weapons for everyone on board, including you.”

“So this isn’t the only stash?” Legroeder briefly examined one of the Narseil neutrasers. A week ago, he would not have known which end to hold. Now it felt almost comfortable in his hand.

“Hardly. I’ll show you the other stores as we come to them.” Cantha closed up the lockers and led him back out past the pool. “Oh—by the way, there are antipersonnel weapons sealed into the bottom of the pool. They’re remotely controlled, so if you get involved in a fight in this area, beware.”

“Terrific. I’ll remember that the next time I go for a late night swim.”

Cantha peered at him, as though trying to decide how to interpret the remark. “A sense of humor is a good thing to have,” he said finally.

Legroeder followed Cantha out of the room and up the corridor toward the bow of the ship. Three more times, Cantha pointed out locations of concealed antipersonnel weapons. The Narseil really did not want the pirates taking control of this ship. They stopped just aft of the bridge, at the access portal to a large, round compartment. “Flux reactor?” Legroeder asked in surprise. “This close to the bridge?”

“Standard on our ships,” Cantha said. “This is also where the external armaments are concealed.”

Legroeder peered around, but saw nothing remotely resembling weapons. “Where? Inside the power room?”

“Almost. You won’t find them without tearing the ship apart. They’re embedded in the walls, inside the shielding.”

“That’s handy. How do you load them?”

“They were loaded when the ship was built. Reloading could be a problem, though.” Cantha gave a whistling chuckle. “No, if they’re used at all, it’s one shot per tube.” The Narseil raised a hand and traced the slight cylindrical bulge of ventilation ducts near the ceiling. “Those go radially out toward the skin of the ship. They really are ventilation ducts. But they have special linings, waveguides, and shunts. If we need to fire torpedoes, that’s where they go out, through concealed openings in the hull. And the internal power couplings—” he pointed to smaller bulges “—carry high capacity op-fiber barrels, for the beam weapons.”

Legroeder frowned, following it with his eye. All very clever, he thought. But would it work? It wasn’t as if they’d be able to keep this stuff hidden from the pirates for long. “Interesting,” he said finally. “But Cantha—isn’t this overkill, for a stealth mission? I mean—maybe we can blow a pirate ship out of the sky with all of this, but that’s not what we want to do, is it?”

“Indeed not,” said Cantha. “If all goes well, most of this weaponry will never be used. We hope that stealth will be our greatest weapon. But pretending to be vulnerable carries obvious risks. Hence our preparations for defeating the enemy right here on our own decks, if necessary.”

“But what about these supposed contacts in the raider underground? What if they meet us, looking for a parlay?”

Cantha looked uncomfortable. “We were hoping for a confirmation message from the underground, some indication that a nonhostile contact could be made. Unfortunately, it never came. Therefore we must assume—” Cantha spread his hands wide, in the Narseil equivalent of a shrug.

“In other words, we really don’t know what the hell we’re doing.”

“That is an exaggeration,” Cantha said.

Legroeder grunted. “So, look—have you got anything to show me that isn’t a hidden weapon?”

“Indeed, I—” Cantha paused and raised a finger. “Listen.”

To what? The tessa’chron?

An instant later there came a call on the intercom: “Rigger Legroeder, please make your presence felt on the bridge.”

Cantha seemed to straighten a little. “Yes, indeed. I will show you the way to the bridge. If I am not mistaken, they are planning to put you in the net before much longer.”

“That’s more like it.”

The Narseil bridge was large, with rigger-stations in a row, and nearby, a post for the captain, who apparently always stood while on duty. Captain Ho’Sung, the ship’s master, was present along with Fre’geel, the mission commander. Ho’Sung’s job was the safety of the ship and crew; Fre’geel’s was the success of the mission. How the two commanders reconciled their responsibilities and authority was a mystery to Legroeder, but it didn’t seem to trouble the Narseil.

The captain nodded a greeting. “Welcome.”

Legroeder acknowledged and looked around eagerly. A glance at the viewscreens told him that the ship was still in normal-space, probably still navigating out of the region of the Narseil naval base. The stars were visible in a thin, wide band that stretched across the front of the bridge. The view of the stars was moving in a slow, continual scan up and down. For the Narseil, with their tessa’chron view, it no doubt worked just fine. It gave Legroeder a headache.

“Rigger Legroeder,” said Ho’Sung, “We will be entering the Flux shortly. I thought you might like to observe.”

Legroeder felt a twinge of excitement in his fingertips. He had not been in a real net in the real Flux since his escape from the pirates, which seemed a very long time ago. “Where would you like me to stand?”

Ho’Sung made a burring sound. “Stand, indeed? I would like you in rigger-station number four, over there.” He gestured with both hands, the sleeves of his robe billowing like a priest’s.

Legroeder felt an involuntary smile spread across his face. He hurried to climb into the clamshell rigger-station. He sank back, watched the shell close over him, and sighed with pleasure as his senses flowed out into the living matrix of the net.

The Narseil riggers greeted him with quiet salutations. Welcome, said Palagren. First time lucky, we always say. You may take the top position.

Legroeder moved into the spot at the top center of the net, where he felt like a rifleman atop an ancient horse-drawn stagecoach, in classic holos. After he’d settled in a bit, that image gave way to a feeling of being top lookout in the bubble of a fishing sub, as the three Narseil riggers crafted a starting image for the voyage: a misty, copper-green sea beneath them, with long, smooth waves rolling in toward their bow. The rigger-crew was preparing to dive.

Will you let me stay in my bubble here for a while, or am I expected to sprout gills to keep up with you fish people? Legroeder felt better than he had in a long time. The net was a powerful euphoric drug.

For our poor, nonaquatic human friend? Palagren answered. Of course we will allow you your hull filled with air. Perhaps we can even tow it on our backs. Are you ready, crew?

Voco at the stern and Ker’sell on the keel echoed their assent. The captain, his voice whispering from the outside com, said, Riggers, you may take to the Flux.

The Narseil riggers responded with a hiss of approval. An emerald light welled up from the sea below. Legroeder felt a familiar rush of adrenaline, and a less familiar tingling from his implants, as the three Narseil took the ship down. The watery mists of the Flux closed over their heads, and Legroeder put out his hands, sighing with pleasure at the movement of the current through his fingers.

The sea and the mist were at once real and imagined; everything around him was a blend of mind and reality—his imagination, and the Narseil’s imagination, and the actual multidimensional energy-flows that would carry them across the light-years. He knew that the images would change many times in the coming days, as they passed out of the realm of the Narseil and the Centrist Worlds, and made their way toward the no man’s land of Golen Space. He knew that his skills would be tested, and his courage, and that of the Narseil, as well.

But for now, Legroeder was content simply to be sailing on the streams of space, even if they were making their way toward danger, even if they were heading back toward the seas of mist where none but pirates ruled.