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:

...into circumstances surrounding the loss of the passenger starship Impris, owned and operated by Golden Star Lines of Faber Eridani. Once considered the "Princess of the Starlanes," Impris disappeared en route from Faber Eridani to Vedris IV, in the thirteenth week of the year 217 Space. This was in time of war; however, no evidence has been found of hostile action.

Indeed, this report will examine certain troubling events noted prior to the final journey, events investigated by the author and his associate, Mr. Pen Lee. The investigators traveled aboard Impris three times prior to her disappearance, observing and interviewing her crew. By chance, the author left the ship immediately before her last fateful journey; however, Mr. Lee remained aboard and is presumed lost with her passengers and crew.

The nature of the earlier events is difficult to summarize, and about them no firm conclusions can be drawn. They certainly call for a fuller investigation; they may present clues to rigging hazards that all would do well to understand. A fuller study may clarify the nature of that hazard—representing as it does the latest of the uncertainties and perils that have accompanied peoples of all kinds for as long as men have "gone down to the sea in ships."

This much is known about the final voyage of Impris: she departed Faber Eridani on the last day of the twelfth week of 217 Space (local date: Sunday, Springtide the thirty-fourth), at 2635 local evening time, bound for Vedris IV. She carried a full complement of 74 crew, under Captain Noel Friedman, and 486 passengers, including Mr. Lee. Her itinerary called for a brief layover at Vedris IV, before continuing on into the Aeregian sector.

Impris never reached Vedris IV. No communication was ever received from her. No evidence of her destruction has ever been found—though wreckage in interstellar space is notoriously difficult to locate. Though she traveled in time of war, she was far from areas of active conflict. Hostile action cannot be completely ruled out, but neither is there evidence to support...

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.

In the two years since her disappearance, several reports have been made to the RiggerGuild of purported sightings of Impris by riggers flying in the same region of the Flux, though not on identical routes. Upon investigation, these reports were dismissed by Guild authorities as imaginative constructs by riggers who, it must be said, are preselected for an ability to create vivid imagery. Nonetheless, these reports did bear certain similarities to the earlier reports by Impris's own riggers, which triggered the initial phase of this investigation.

The statements from the Impris riggers will be examined in detail in the main body of this report. In brief, however, they concerned two distinct, but possibly related, classes of phenomenon: 1) a series of unexplained sightings of ships in the Flux; and 2) a series of difficulties experienced by the crew in returning from the Flux into normal-space.

The sightings, three in number, came to be referred to by the Impris crew as "ghost ship" sightings. The ships, while bearing markings of known worlds, appeared only briefly and did not respond to efforts at communication, nor could all riggers in the net confirm the sightings. The riggers came to describe these events as sightings of the "Flying Dutchman"—a reference to ancient legends of a haunted seagoing ship, a vessel doomed to sail through eternity with neither port nor rest nor hope.*

Was this a whimsical designation, reflecting the imaginary nature of the sightings? Or was it a truthful and accurate observation of a ship or ships caught in some dreadful layer of the Flux, unable to reach port or even respond to communication?

*References to the Flying Dutchman are hardly new to star rigging. The legendary ship Devonhol has long been a part of rigger lore, despite the lack of historical evidence for the existence of such a ship.

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...

We found surprising consistency in the sightings, even when reported by different sets of riggers on separate occasions—similarity in the sudden but fleeting manner of the other ships' appearances in the Flux, in the reception of faint distress calls, and in the subjective impressions of there being something wrong aboard the ghost ships—specifically, a sense of a "living presence" within the ghost ships, as though there were live riggers in the other ships' nets straining to reach out to make contact...

Captain Friedman regarded these sightings as significant in terms of the psychology of his own rigger crew—thus his request for outside consultation—but he discounted their reality in physical terms. (See Appendix A: "Captain Friedman Interview.") It was the captain's belief that a pattern had developed within the rigger crew's imaging, predisposing them to "see" things like ghost ships during certain kinds of Flux transition. His concern was more for the possibility of group hallucination among the rigger-crew, with attendant risks to the safety of the ship.

Our own survey of the Impris rigger-crew supported no such concerns at the time—though of course now, with the disappearance of the ship, we must reconsider all possibilities. (See Appendix B: "Rigger Interviews 1-17.") We found all members of the crew to be clear minded, cooperative and helpful—at least within the bounds of normal rigger variance. Several were rather private individuals, a common enough trait among riggers, and several exhibited low levels of anxiety concerning our presence and the matter we were investigating. However, none of these observations caused us to consider detaining the ship in port or to request replacement crew. Indeed, we felt that it was a fine crew.

What did concern us was the possibility of some physical effect arising from repeated passage through the interstellar Flux. This is a vaguely stated concern, but it is difficult to be more precise without further data. Could problems be traced to certain regions of the Flux? If so, why were similar problems not noted on other ships? Were the difficulties experienced in exiting the Flux (Appendix C: "Prior Navigational Anomalies") somehow related to the sightings, real or imagined, of the ghost ships? These were among the questions we sought to answer.

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.

...in comparing the flight histories of Impris with those of other ships flying well-established routes, we found Impris crews experiencing a 37 percent higher-than-mean EQ exposure. In fact, the very stability of the crew during her final year resulted in even greater EQ exposure than the "average" Impris crew over the ship's lifetime.

hadn't gotten any easier to read over the years. He pushed ahead to the conclusions.

No intimations of carelessness or negligence should be inferred from these findings. All flights appear to have been conducted within lawful limits; nevertheless, the fact emerges that the flight paths of Impris's normal runs did expose her to areas of relatively high EQ.

One important factor may turn out to be the star-birthing region of the Akeides Nebula—a navigational "caution point" along the route between Karg-Elert 4 and Vedris IV, and a sightseeing attraction for passengers. Though unquestionably a beautiful sight, one must ask: is the nebula also a hazard to those who pass by it? This report draws no conclusions, but we believe the matter deserves further study—not just with respect to the Akeides Nebula, but EQ exposure in general. More will be said about this in Section 4...

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 McGinnis 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:

ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE MAIN MEMORY MODULE? TYPE "YES" FOLLOWED BY NAME AND I.D. TO CONFIRM.

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.

"Barrister Mahoney:

I have been in contact with appropriate elements of the Narseil Navy. They are willing to accept Renwald Legroeder as a member of the special services undercover mission, provided he agrees to certain temporary, but essential, surgical alterations and augmentations. We are to transmit an answer by 0900 tomorrow. In the event Rigger Legroeder does not wish to accompany the team, the three of you may remain on this asteroid as our guests until such time as the extradition negotiations have run their course.

With all due regards—El'ken."

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.