Chapter 22 - OUTPOST IVAN

It seemed, as they walked through the halls, that everyone they passed was moving quickly, as though on urgent business. Even so, Legroeder felt that something was missing, some element of ordinary random bustle. Or maybe it felt emptier than he expected. "I thought there'd be more people around," he murmured, half unconsciously.

Tracy-Ace glanced at him sharply, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong. But she answered calmly enough, "There's been a big shift of personnel lately. More and more people have been sent out into the field, to work in fleet preparations."

Legroeder tried to hide a twinge. "Fleet preparations?" Preparations for what?

Tracy-Ace glanced sharply again. Was he being tested? He took a stab. "Are you talking about the pirate fleets?" That brought a laugh.

"What'd I say?"

"Usually, it's the people who don't like us who call us pirates," she said abruptly. "The preferred term around here is raider." She was silent for a moment before adding, "Usually defined as 'raiding for that which should be ours.' " She laughed again, in a hollow echo of the first.

Legroeder tried to interpret the sound. Was she making a commentary on the raiding—or on his naiveté? "I guess I've picked up some of the Narseil's language," he said apologetically. "Most people on the outside, you know, do regard the Kyber fleets as pirate ships."

Tracy-Ace cocked an eyebrow at him and lengthened her stride. "Well, that's not the fleet I meant, anyway." "What, um, fleet did you mean?"

"You really don't know?"

He shook his head.

"The colony fleet."

Colony fleet...?

At that moment, they came around a corner into a brightly lit area that looked like a transit platform, except instead of cars, it was filled with clear vertical cylinders.

Legroeder blinked at the sight.

"You'll see later," she continued. "This is where we catch the transport between sectors."

He was struggling to keep up with the cascade of new information. Transport between sectors... He remembered it had looked as though the sprawled-out structures in this outpost were anchored separately in the Flux. It had seemed an unlikely arrangement.

"The habitats float independently, but they're joined by the flicker-tubes," Tracy-Ace said, as though reading his mind. "It avoids certain instability problems of large structures, and gives us greater safety in the event of an attack."

"Have you ever been attacked here?" Legroeder asked, remembering uneasily that part of his mission was to gain intelligence that might permit just such an attack.

Her eyebrows bristled. "No. But that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. And if it did, we could absorb some hard punches and still survive. Our leadership has always been very strong on taking the long view."

As they talked, people were crossing the platform in both directions, stepping in and out of the clear cylinders. Those who stepped into the cylinders sank out of sight through the floor; others emerged from below like slow-rising pistons.

Tracy-Ace led him to a pair of empty cylinders, side by side, and touched the two simultaneously. "We'll be linked. Go on and get in." She stepped into one capsule as Legroeder stepped into the other. The capsule closed around Legroeder with a puff. "You with me?" he heard.

"Yup." His breath went out with a whoof, as the capsule dropped away from the platform. He looked down. They were falling, Tracy-Ace before him, into a glowing, golden tube of energy. It curved downward and away, seemingly to infinity. In the distance, he could see the arc of the tube intersecting with other strands like threads of a spiderweb. Tiny droplets of light were moving through the tubes; he guessed them to be other passenger capsules in transit. It was impossible to judge his velocity.

"So this—" his words came out in a gasp "—is a flicker-tube?"

Tracy-Ace's voice was a chuckle in his ear. "This is a flicker-tube." He could almost imagine her standing beside him. "Okay, now I can fill you in..."

"I, uh—" He cut himself off as a shower of images sprang up around him, painted on the blurred inner surface of the tube. The images changed with an almost cinematic flicker as they shadowed him in his glassy chariot. He reeled from the sheer volume and speed: strobing glimpses of faces and ships and places, and fast-changing shots of what looked like space-station construction. "What the hell is this?" he breathed.

"It's the flicker feed," Tracy-Ace's voice said. "It conveys news and information to people when they're in transit. It makes use of slack time."

Legroeder wished he had something physical to hang onto. The motion through the tube was a blur, and the images were now a blur, too. "How is this conveying information? I can't make out a thing."

“ We are processing... “

"If your augments are any good," Tracy-Ace said, "they'll be picking it up and storing it for you. Don't worry about trying to follow it consciously—"

Thank God. Legroeder closed his eyes for a moment. He was startled to find that he was still seeing the images. (What's going on? I thought it was being projected on the tube wall.)

“ Meant to look that way. But no, it's coming through us. “ (Oh... )

"—but you are meant to be observing sensations and context, to help you integrate it," Tracy-Ace continued. "It would be better if I kept quiet now and let you watch."

Legroeder breathed slowly and deeply, trying to stifle the thoughts racing through his mind. A hundred images flashed by every second. After a while, he was only dimly aware of the Flux outside the tube wall; he almost came to feel that it was normal to be surrounded by swirling patterns of light woven through with holographic images, and the murmuring of recorded voices, some in languages he could not identify. It was like listening to multiple conversations and understanding none of them—but absorbing it all, so that later, perhaps, he would be able to sort and translate and comprehend. From within, the implants murmured repeatedly...

“ ...relax and listen, do not concern yourself with comprehension... “

All right, then, he wouldn't...

* * *

Several times, they passed tube intersections in a molten blur. And then, at last, he was startled to see a habitat looming over his head and drawing closer; he was ascending headfirst toward a terminus. How in the world had they flipped without his noticing? In other tubes, he could see capsules dropping away from the habitat like beads down a chute. Overhead, Tracy-Ace was disappearing into the building.

As his own capsule decelerated and entered the structure, Legroeder was aware that he had just acquired, in several minutes, considerable knowledge about this Free Kyber world known as Ivan. Not that he could put his finger on any of it this instant, but he knew that it was tucked away somewhere in his cranium. His implants were likely to be working long into the night, sorting it all out.

The capsule came to rest on a platform distinguishable only by color—blue—from the one they had left behind. As he stepped out beside Tracy-Ace, he felt an unexpected pleasure, as if he were glad to see her, an old and comfortable friend. He stopped in his tracks, stunned by the feeling. Why did he suddenly feel as if he had known her for years?

"What?" Tracy-Ace said.

He let out his breath, banishing the thought. "Nice ride," he muttered.

She peered at him with obvious curiosity. "We go this way," she said, pointing to the left.

As they moved on, he began to suspect that she was puzzling over him as much as he was over her. (Did you pass personal information between us during that download link?) Legroeder muttered to his implants.

“ If you mean information about your past, and your true identity, no. “

(Good.)

“ But there was a certain amount of handshaking involved, and personal protocol exchange. Most of it was strictly augment-exchange protocol. “

(Do I hear a "but"—?)

“ But there had to be certain personal-preference exchanges to establish how and what would be transferred. To establish "trust," as it were. That could be part of what you sense. “

He wondered uneasily just how much "personal preference" information had been exchanged. How could protocol exchanges make him feel not just warmth, but a certain actual attraction toward this pirate whom he hardly knew? These augments were beginning to scare him.

“ We're only here to serve. “

(Mm.)

"...be staying here in this sector," Tracy-Ace was saying. "This is where we put visitors and people who are... between jobs. You know, like unemployed heroes." She flashed a grin at him—and he flushed, realizing that he felt such a palpable attraction that he had to shove his hands firmly in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her. He countered the thought by thinking about his imprisoned comrades, and wondering when he might dare to ask about them.

Tracy-Ace had quickened her long-legged stride. They walked, rode lift-tubes, walked some more. When they finally stopped at a closed door, they might have been in the hallway of a cheap apartment building anywhere in the known galaxy. Tracy-Ace pressed her hand to the plate beside the door. "Number 7494," she said. "Remember that." The door paled and she ushered him into a room the size of a crew cabin on a starship. "Your new home."

Legroeder surveyed the place. It was plain but neat: narrow bunk, tiny desk with com, table, sling chair. Perfect for a monk. Heaven, compared to what he'd lived in for seven years at DeNoble. His bag, which he had last seen in his cabin on Flechette, was sitting on the bunk. They were efficient here. He could forget about any hopes he might have had about sneaking back one day to transmit a message from Flechette.

“ That was hardly a serious option, you know. “

(Well, yes, but... )

“ The underground. Finding the underground is your only real option now. “

(I am aware of that, thank you.)

"You ought to be comfortable here," Tracy-Ace was saying.

"Thank you." He struggled to find words, and hoped she wasn't reading his thoughts. "I guess—it'll take time to learn my way around. And to figure out—I don't know —what I'll be useful for." It was starting to hit him all over again how alone he was here. With the unraveling of the Narseil plan to get in, get info, and get out, it was really all up to him. Suppose he couldn't contact the underground. What then? Sign on to another ship, and try to broadcast a message in flight, before they killed him? H'zzarrelik would wait out there for fifteen days before heading back with their prisoners. Once they were gone, there would be nobody to broadcast to.

"You'll learn fast," Tracy-Ace said, touching his arm. "I'm going to set you up with some study programs, to get you oriented."

He'd felt an electric tingle at her touch, and was trying to pretend he hadn't.

"We'll find things for you to do, don't worry."

He forced a nervous smile. "Okay—what's next, then?"

"What's next is I go back to work. And you—you look like you could use some sleep. When you're ready, here's where you can call up the study programs." She stepped over to the desk and showed him the controls. "Why don't I come back later to show you around?"

He nodded, covering his surprise. He couldn't deny being pleased by the personal attention. "I guess I could stand to sleep a few hours." He was exhausted, actually, and the adrenaline was starting to wear off. "What time is it? When do you sleep?"

Tiny lights sparkled at the corners of her eyes. "It's third-quarter evening. A lot of people will be on sleep cycle during the next six or eight hours. I'll be working, myself; I don't need much sleep. My programs handle REM processing right in the node, so I can pick up sleep functions while I work."

Legroeder didn't know whether to be envious or sympathetic.

"I'll be free in about ten hours. Will that give you enough time? We have to confine you to quarters until your case has been reviewed. But if you get hungry, you can call up some snack pantry items on the com here. Anything else you need?"

Yes, he thought. The com address of the underground. "I guess not. Is it okay if I play with the com system a little?"

She gave him a look. "As long as you don't try to access anything that it wants you to stay out of." She touched his arm and moved toward the door. "Bye, then." He couldn't answer; he was mesmerized by the tingle. "Oh—if you need to reach me, use this code." She turned to the desk com and placed an index finger on the reader-plate. "There, it's stored for you."

As she went out and the door opaqued behind her, he felt a pang of self-recrimination at the pleasure he'd just felt. She's the enemy, remember? What the devil are you thinking?

Sighing, he tossed his bag off the bunk and lay down. He had no idea how long it had been since he had last slept, but he knew it was way too long.

* * *

Sleep, however, did not come easily. When it did, it was a troubled affair, blurred with wakefulness. It felt as if his brain were continuing to fire at a scattergun pace— his dreams and the activities of the implants intertwined with one another, synaptic impulses rocketing up and down in a frenetic series of discharges. Even asleep, he was aware of the intense activity... dreams coming silently and escaping again, pushed out by the next, and the next, in an unending cascade. Images from the flicker-tubes, from his long-ago past, from battle, from the gazing crystals...

He awoke at one point, exhausted but unable to keep his eyes closed. Without thinking about it, he stumbled to the desk and switched on the com. He glanced briefly at the study programs, but found he was too groggy to concentrate. He idly began running searches. After noodling aimlessly for a few minutes, he narrowed his search. Prisoners... Narseil... Freem'n Deutsch... He wasn't even sure what he was looking for; he just wanted to know if there was reason to hope for their safety.

The implants flagged him briefly, asking if he really wanted to proceed. He brushed the caution aside irritably; he didn't know why the Kyber trusted him, but Tracy-Ace had said it was okay to play around.

He wasn't making much progress; but somewhere into his third attempt, he finally woke up to what he was doing. Dear God, what an idiot. Was he giving himself away, showing his concern about the Narseil? He sat back, feeling sick.

The implants spoke up. “ Our monitoring did not show you betraying any incriminating data. “

(Except my doing the search in the first place. Why didn't you stop me?)

The answering voice was clearly meant to be soothing. “ Our programming does not include interference in personal activities, barring clear and present danger. “

And I assured you it wasn't dangerous, he remembered, rubbing his forehead. What the hell time was it now? Fourth-quarter two. What the hell did that mean? He didn't understand the time-keeping system here.

“ If you like, in the future we wil note such activities as dangerous... “

(Fine.) He reached to turn off the com.

The implants stopped him with: “ You have a message waiting. “

(What? Where?)

And then he saw it, a tiny dingbat at the corner of the comspace. He blinked at it, and it expanded, and he heard Tracy-Ace's voice saying, (Sorry, Rigger Legroeder, that com-search is off limits. But I'll tell you what you need to know, next time I see you. In the meantime, if you can't sleep, why don't you give those study programs a try.)

For several heartbeats he sat absolutely still, neither moving nor breathing. And then he realized that she hadn't sounded angry or suspicious. Maybe, after all, it was okay for him to wonder what had become of his former shipmates—even if they theoretically were the enemy.

Tracy-Ace wasn't done. (Someone I know's going to want to talk to both Deutsch and the Narseil crew, by the way. So don't worry about their being executed in the near future.) She chuckled. (Now, get some sleep.)

The message dingbat closed.

Legroeder stared in dumb amazement at the com for a full minute. Then he sighed, rose, and went back to the bunk to try to follow her suggestion.

* * *

It was no use, he thought after a half hour of tossing fitfully in the bunk. Once more, he went to the com console. This time, he brought up the orientation programs, and sat for over an hour listening to droning voices and watching images of station layouts and command hierarchies as the workings of everyday life and lines of authority were explained to him. He was aware, as he followed in a semi-daze, that much more was being conveyed through the augments, and that they were going to be even busier digesting the new load of data than any of them would have guessed possible.

As he threw himself back onto the bunk for one more attempt at sleep, it occurred to him that he had just been given, with almost no effort on his part, some of the very information he had come here hoping to steal.

* * *

Amazingly, he did sleep, though not peacefully. He dreamed of mysterious machineries relentlessly thrumming, surrounding him and filling him with incomprehensible activity.

At one point he stirred to the piping of a com signal and he half-woke with the memory of the frenetic dreams fading like a half-forged, coded message. But he didn't quite make it to wakefulness before he drifted back under and this time was swept up by a wave of images and sounds like a breaker crashing in from the sea.

Memories of Golen Space. The Fortress of DeNoble. Barracks of the captives, more a warren than a human habitation. The bunk on which he rotated shifts with three other men, the mattress that smelled of things he tried not to think about. The raider flights. And between missions, days spent working on weapons arrays and flux-modulation reactors. Days spent dreaming of work stoppage, of suicide. And each day, walking past the window of the punishment center...

Stop... please... he whispered, struggling to wake; but the memories were like a surround-holo, relentless. He couldn't move, couldn't shut his eyes or his ears. Prisoners who tried a work stoppage? They were only tortured for a few days with electrosynaptic shock. But those who tried suicide or sabotage? They were strapped into chairs, gnawed by alien parasites, condemned to a lifetime of screaming agony, dying slowly... only to be resuscitated by robot life-support systems. They were the examples: suffering the boss's eternal wrath for defying the law of the fortress. According to rumor, the boss had once led a bizarre religious splinter sect, inspired to ever-higher standards of torture by ancient legends of purgatory.

Why do I keep remembering...?

And one other memory: he never knew her real name, but among the prisoners she was known as Greta the Enforcer. A woman of exquisite beauty and deadly malice. What her actual position was in the DeNoble hierarchy, Legroeder never knew, either; but in his one encounter, begun as a seeming invitation to special "favors," he'd been left shaken, dizzy, heart pounding with fear and humiliation. It was rumored that she used pheromones and charm equally as weapons, and just as no man could resist her appeal, neither did any escape the pain that she enjoyed inflicting.

Legroeder, in the depths of sleep, groaned, wondering how he had survived as long as he had at DeNoble, wondering how he'd ever found the courage—or madness —to escape.

And now, to return voluntarily to it all, to new punishments... torture and incentive, reward and punishment... all in a blur that he could only imagine, shivering... struggling to awaken... visions of Tracy-Ace/ Alfa and the pirates of Ivan strapping him into a chair alongside his Narseil comrades...

Bzzzz... bzzzzz... bzzzz...

What was that noise, like killer bees swarming—? Bzzzzzzzz...

He sat upright in bed, shaking. "What—what—?" he stammered.

The door paled and Tracy-Ace strode in.

He shuddered, the aftershocks of the final dream-quakes still rocking back and forth in his mind.

"You're alive," she said, looking as if she were surprised to find him still breathing. "Rings—you look awful! I've been trying to call you for hours. Why didn't you answer? Are you sick?"

He rubbed his forehead, struggling to fight his way out of the dream fog. "Uh—I guess I was really asleep," he said thickly, sounding as if he had marbles in his mouth. "How'd you get in?"

"I overrode the lock." Tracy-Ace squinted at him. "You don't look like you slept very well." She got him a glass of water. "Should I come back later?"

He took a few sips, choking, as he tried to process her question. He thought of his dream and wondered: Are you the one who orders the tortures here?

“ Hold, please. We're working to compile relevant information for you... “

His head reeled. But indeed, some of the information he'd gained was starting to swarm into focus. This outpost was different; they used different methods of persuasion here. He knew more about Outpost Ivan than he'd have guessed possible in such a short time. In the midst of all that dreaming chaos, his implants had been processing the info-dumps that the flicker-tube and the study programs had given him, half a lifetime ago.

“ We've been comparing past and present... “

(Wait a minute,) he thought with sudden bitterness, (are you saying that I dreamed all that stuff just so you could analyze it?)

“ It helped us to establish a perspective, yes. “

Perspective, he thought, shaking his head. Christ. Tracy-Ace was frowning. "Does that mean yes or no?" He blinked. "Huh? What did you ask? Give me a minute here, I, uh—"

Tracy-Ace cocked her head. "Are you having a flicker-tube hangover, or do you always wake up this way?"

"Flicker-tube... hangover," he mumbled. "That must be it." He squinted, looking around for the time. "How long was I asleep?"

"About fourteen hours. Look, I'll give you a few minutes to get showered. Then I think we'd better go get some breakfast into you."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. He suddenly realized that she'd changed clothes since he'd last seen her. She looked more than a little sexy, dressed in a short gold skirt over black tights, and a patchwork black-and-gold blouse. Her temple implants were flickering, drawing his eye. Now why did he think that made her look good? He drew a sharp breath, thinking of... Greta. This is the face of the enemy. Remember that.

"Great," he said huskily. "Thanks."

After she was gone, he tossed off the thin blanket and stepped into the mist-shower, aware of his nakedness as he wondered vaguely: what was one supposed to wear while touring a raider compound with a lady pirate, anyway?

* * *

Walking with Tracy-Ace, later, he discovered that the implants had done a pretty thorough job of organizing his headful of new information. He found himself with a silent guide in his head, producing tiny captions for him as they passed through the station.

“ ...To your nine o'clock, note the flicker-tubes leading to the new docking port construction site. Just under a thousand workers there... “

He glanced left. (New docking port? You mean they're expanding this place?)

“ And further to your left, a departure portal to the location of Outpost Ivan's contribution to the Free Kyber colonizing fleet... “

Legroeder staggered a little, his heart pounding. He turned to peer back at the flicker-tube portal they had just passed. The colonizing fleet. He had managed to put that out of his mind.

"Something wrong?" Tracy-Ace asked, pausing. She'd been talking all this time, he had no idea about what.

He drew a slow breath. "No," he said, forcing himself to rejoin her. "Nothing wrong."

They continued walking.

Colonizing fleet. He was dying to ask her about it. Terrified of what she might say.

He hardly noticed as Tracy-Ace tugged him faster along the promenade, while he contemplated the thought of the Kyber worlds moving out of Golen Space, colonizing... the Centrist Worlds? No, that didn't make sense.

It must be something else...

* * *

He only gradually became aware of the tingling in his arm, mostly after Tracy-Ace took her hand away to gesture toward a food-plaza. "Breakfast," she said.

Breakfast. Legroeder tried to think what he had been feeling a moment ago. She'd been touching his arm—but as a polite gesture, or a personal touch—or was she making a data connection? He cocked his head at her. "Were you reading my mind a moment ago?"

Was that a twinkle in her eye? "And if I was?" That startled him; he'd been expecting a denial. "Usually people ask first."

She gazed appraisingly at him. "What if I said I was letting you read my mind?"

"Uh?"

Tracy-Ace raised her chin slightly. The gems around her eyes glittered with reflected light from the ceiling. "I thought it might be helpful," she said. "During the download yesterday, I caught a few things about you—" He drew back.

"Nothing profound. But I sensed you didn't quite trust me. And if we're going to—" she paused "—work together... I thought it might help if you knew more about me."

Legroeder felt flattered and puzzled at the same time. Why, he started to ask, would you care if I trusted you?

Before he could voice the thought, he was startled by the appearance, inside his head, of two converging arcs of ruby light signifying new information about Tracy-Ace. She was twenty-seven years old, Free Kyber standard calendar. No immediate family, but a couple of cousins who might have been real biological relatives. Parents, from one of the old Kyber worlds: came to join the Free Kyber alliance, and died in a border dispute when she was four. (Oh.) Raised by the local childcare collective. Adept in the system; rose to the ranks of node administration before most of her contemporaries had even finished school. For three years, Node Alfa.

She was peering at him, emotions unknown.

Liked the challenge and the responsibility—and the proximity to power. Socially unattached, but willing to consider unusual liaisons. Had a fondness for rebels.

He felt his blood rise, wondering if he qualified as an "unusual liaison." Or a rebel.

“ That part of the analysis is ambiguous. Shal we probe further? “

(No, thank you.) He cleared his throat. But Tracy-Ace was talking—about him—and he'd missed the first part of it. Something about his being useful to the outpost.

"...have skills we need, and knowledge. Possibly for special operations. I believe my boss will want to talk to you, soon." Tracy-Ace was studying him again. "I see you wondering. But part of my job is to evaluate people and situations, to look for the unexpected. To make judgments for the benefit of the outpost. And the Republic." And the colonizing fleet? At the outer corner of her left eye, a tiny red bead glowed for a moment, as though she were photographing him for a security check.

A smile flashed across her face. "Besides—I rather like you."

He felt a moment of lightheadedness. Was it the implants, fracturing away all of the normal inhibitions? Everything seemed accelerated here. A momentary vision of Greta the Enforcer flickered across his mind, giving him a shiver.

If she noticed or understood his shiver, she didn't show it. He was still trying to think of a response to her statement that she liked him. The face of the enemy.

"Let's get some food," she said. "Then there's something I want you to see."

He followed her through the food-plaza. The choices were some kind of bread, some kind of curd, and some kind of soft cereal. He took a small serving of each, plus a cup of murk. Tracy-Ace led him to a line of tables looking out over a huge balcony. No, not a balcony—a holo.

Legroeder stared out at an enormous view of the Flux. In the foreground were sprawling structures that he hardly noticed, because behind them were swirling gas clouds that seemed vast, almost galactic in scope. They might have been a bright emission nebula, a star-birthing grounds. But this was something different. His rigger's intuition told him: this was a boundary layer. Not the boundary between normal-space and the Flux, which would have been impressive enough for structures to be anchored against. No, this—he felt with absolute certainty—was the transition zone between the familiar layers of the Flux where starships flew, and another place deeper and more mysterious, and far more perilous.

"You know what it is?" Tracy-Ace said.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't speak. The Deep Flux. He knew it by name only. It was an underlying region of the Flux so unstable and unpredictable that riggers avoided it, always. He had never heard of anyone flying in it and returning, though the Narseil Institute had reportedly done some experimenting along the border regions. But the Kyber—? Was this just an impression-image, a work of art?

"Is it real—this view?" he murmured.

"Oh yes," she said, gesturing to the lower part of the image, at the indistinct structures in the foreground.

He couldn't quite make out what they were. Man-made, certainly. A station? Docking ports? Ships? He shivered at the thought of man-made structures hovering on the edge of such cosmic instability.

"Let me change that view a little," said Tracy-Ace.

There was a shimmer as the perspective shifted, magnifying the foreground. His breath left him in a rush. It was a fleet of a hundred or more glittering starships, gathered around what looked like a cluster of asteroids. Long, curved limbs like sea-urchin spines arched out from the central bodies to the starships.

Legroeder felt as though his heart had stopped beating. "What is it?" he whispered.

"The colony fleet," she said.

He swallowed. "Headed toward—?" Not the Centrist Worlds, surely.

"New hunting grounds," she said softly, watching his reaction. "What do you think?"

His voice caught. I am a Kyber, unafraid of bold Kyber initiatives. Unafraid... "It's—" he said, trying not to stammer "—impressive. We, uh—don't have anything like this in—Barbados."

Tracy-Ace stared at him for a moment, then laughed out loud. "No," she said finally. "No, I guess you don't."

"Don't have what in Barbados?" asked a familiar metallic voice.

Legroeder turned.

Freem'n Deutsch was floating toward them.

Chapter 23 - THE MAINTAINERS

"Freem'n!" Legroeder cried. "Are you all right?" Deutsch floated to the table. "As all right as ever. Mind if I join you?"

"Please do," said Tracy-Ace.

"We've met before, I believe. Tracy-Ace/Alfa?" Deutsch said.

"Yes. Good to see you again." To Legroeder she explained, "I asked him to meet us here. Since you were wondering about him."

Legroeder opened his mouth and closed it. Finally he let a smile crack through. "How did you—the last time I saw you, you were frozen in some kind of—"

Deutsch waved a cybernetic hand. "Leghold trap. I saw the damn thing coming, but not in time to get out of its way."

Legroeder winced at the memory. "It looked painful."

"Infuriating as hell, I can tell you that," Deutsch said. "When they finally killed the switch, it knocked me out cold. I woke up in the infirmary. That's where I've been until about an hour ago." He nodded to Tracy-Ace.

"Thank you for bringing me out. I'm looking forward to getting back to work."

Are you? Legroeder thought. This was a danger point, when Freem'n had to make his own reentry into the Kyber world. Just how closely would his interests coincide with Legroeder's now?

Tracy-Ace was watching them both with obvious interest. Freem'n seemed to be doing an excellent job of acting. He had to persuade his superiors, presumably including Tracy-Ace, that his actions with the Narseil had been taken either under duress or in order to sabotage the Narseil mission. Had he already been debriefed? Legroeder could read nothing from Deutsch's face.

"That's what we were hoping to hear," Tracy-Ace said. "In fact, there might be another job coming your way soon." She glanced at Legroeder, who realized he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly, hoping that Deutsch wouldn't decide to explain what really had happened.

Legroeder shifted his gaze back to the holo, momentarily forgotten in the excitement of seeing Deutsch again. The Deep Flux. The waiting Kyber fleet. "Weren't you about to tell me about that?" he asked Tracy-Ace.

"The Free Kyber Republic Joint Fleet?" she said. "What would you like to know?"

"Well—for one thing, why do they appear to be poised at the edge of the Deep Flux?"

Tracy-Ace chuckled. "That's right, you don't know about this on Barbados. Well, they're poised there because they have a long way to go. I'm not free to discuss the specific destination. But as I said, new hunting grounds. Away from the Centrist Worlds."

Legroeder tried to think through the implications of a vast pirate fleet setting out to colonize new worlds. If the Kyber were going away from the Centrist Worlds...

Good riddance?

That seemed unlikely.

"But why the Deep Flux?"

Tracy-Ace's gaze was steady. "That's the shortcut our planners have chosen. Too slow, otherwise."

"But..." Shortcut? To slow death? "...the Deep Flux is unnavigable. It's unstable; it's unmappable. I've never heard of anyone rigging it and coming back alive." Or coming back at all. Where could they be going that it would be worth risking the Deep Flux? The very thought reminded him, with a shiver, of the way Impris had vanished.

Tracy-Ace cocked her head slightly. "All that used to be true."

"Used to be?" Legroeder blinked. "Are you telling me that you know how to navigate the Deep Flux? Go in and come back out again? Go where you're supposed to go?" Not possible. Was it? Dear God.

Tracy-Ace gave the slightest of nods. "There are some problems, still. But it does work."

Legroeder glanced at Deutsch. His cyborg friend was sitting silent and expressionless, easy enough to do with those damn silvered lenses for eyes. "Problems?"

"Perhaps Rigger Deutsch could explain it better," Tracy-Ace said. "Rigger Deutsch?"

Freem'n whirred for a moment. "You know some of it already, Legroeder. The differences in our rigging techniques—"

"You mean the augments?"

"Of course. In our experience, the main problem with navigating the Deep Flux is the huge range of complex sensory elements that have to be translated and decoded before they can be perceived clearly. For that, we think you need augments."

Legroeder stroked his temple, trying to consider Deutsch's words without seeming to be puzzled. He didn't want to make Barbados seem like a complete backwater outpost. He was certainly aware that the augments changed the overall look of things in the Flux;

it was one reason for his aversion to them. He didn't want the look of the Flux changed from something he could understand intuitively.

Deutsch seemed to read his thoughts. "It is one area in which the use of augments is superior." Deutsch paused. "I take it the Narseil, in your observation, haven't made much headway in this regard?"

Legroeder shook his head slowly. He was supposed to have been a spy among the Narseil. He had better be ready to convey intelligence about them. "None that they mentioned to me."

"But they do have their own areas of great strength, and versatility, when it comes to rigging, yes?" Deutsch said.

"Certainly," Legroeder answered, wondering why Deutsch was making that particular point now.

Tracy-Ace interrupted the chain of thought. "So, yes, we do have the ability to go through the Deep Flux. It's not been perfected. But it's good enough... or nearly so..." She pressed her lips together with what seemed a flash of pain, looking at the holo.

Good enough to risk an entire colony fleet? Legroeder was stunned by the thought. He wasn't sure which dismayed him more, the thought of risking a whole fleet of ships in the Deep Flux, or the thought of new colonies being started by a band—an armada—of pirates.

"Legroeder?"

He blinked, turning.

"Come back."

He exhaled slowly. "Sorry. What did you say?" He carefully lifted his cup of murk to his lips.

Tracy-Ace angled a curious gaze at him. "I was just wondering—does that view, by any chance, make you think of Impris?"

Legroeder choked on the thick, black liquid.

"Are you all right?"

He cleared his throat vigorously. "Yes—" he managed "—it does. I don't, uh, know that much about Impris, actually." He tried to control the flush in his face. "But I take it—you do?"

"Well, sure, we track it. Or rather, we don't—but we receive reports on it from time to time from the outpost whose rotation it is to follow it." She frowned. "Not very clear reports, mind you. If Kilo-Mike/Carlotta weren't so damned chary with their data, I'd be able to show you its location on a chart." Mercifully, she did not ask whether or why they did not have such information on Barbados.

He decided to head off the question anyway. "Really. I've always been interested in the ship—Flying Dutchman of the Stars, and all that—but I was never privy to that sort of information."

"Bosses," Deutsch interjected in a pleasant baritone. "Half of them won't give you the information you need. And then they complain when you don't get the job done right."

Tracy-Ace eyed Deutsch with an unreadable expression. "Careful, there, Rigger Deutsch. You never know what a boss might hear." Her cheekbone implants blinked. "Still, you do have a point. Some bosses delegate responsibility better than others. Certainly the bosses of different outposts do things in their own ways."

“ Shal we fil you in on that? “

Legroeder nodded as the internal voice provided details. The outposts of the Free Kyber Republic were joined in a loose confederation of worlds and fortresses —each with its distinctive culture and bosses. Each stronghold made its contribution to the group goals, such as the colonizing fleet; but rancorous disagreement was more common than not. The bosses made their own rules, treated their own people as they chose, and determined such things as when or how to raid Centrist shipping. Some gave their captains near-complete autonomy, with reward systems for bringing in booty such as captured ships and slaves. Others exercised tight control...

"Legroeder, are you listening?"

"Uh—yes."

"I was talking about Impris. You said you were interested."

"Yes. You say someone tracks her all the time?"

Tracy-Ace peered at him closely, which made him nervous. "Theoretically, someone keeps a ship in her vicinity at all times—though when the rotation changes from one outpost to another, things can go to hell pretty fast. She's been lost more than once."

Legroeder stared at her, wishing he had this conversation recorded.

“ You do. “

He bobbed his head, trying not to show any reaction. "Why the, uh—rotation?" he asked, trying to sound guileless. "If you don't mind my asking."

Tracy-Ace shrugged. "It's hardly a secret. When Impris is in a participating boss's territory, she makes a powerful bait for drawing in passing ships. It makes for such an easy kill." She shook her head in apparent disdain. "Especially when the captains of the target ships are on the take, as has happened more than once."

Legroeder thought of Hyutu, captain of the L.A.

"I never thought it was very sporting, myself," she added. "But some of the bosses love it so much they fight over whose turn it is—especially since Impris seems to hopscotch around a lot, for reasons I don't personally understand."

Legroeder stared at her, blood pulsing, wishing he could be standing in court on Faber Eridani right now, listening to Tracy-Ace repeat all of this under oath. He tried not to let his voice tremble. "Do you know anything about the ship itself? Her crew? Her passengers?"

Tracy-Ace gave her head a shake. "As far as I know, there's never been any contact. It's hard to imagine that anyone's alive on her, though. After all these years?"

Hard to imagine, maybe. But they are alive. I heard their voices, crying out. It was no illusion. I know what I heard. Legroeder swallowed, then said hesitantly, "Would you mind if I—researched the subject a little, while I'm here? It's a sort of... well, hobby, I guess you could call it." A hobby? Christ.

As Tracy-Ace raised her eyebrows, Deutsch began to stir. Was he uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, warning Legroeder to back off?

Deutsch pushed himself back from the table. "If you would excuse me—" a sharp glance in Legroeder's direction seemed to confirm Legroeder's fear "—I'm just about due for a meeting with my crew chief. Miss Alfa, thank you for bringing me here. Legroeder, it's good to see you. If you need me, just use my name on the com system."

Legroeder raised a hand in farewell as Deutsch floated away on his levitators. You're on your own again. Be careful. If only he knew what being careful meant.

Tracy-Ace was also gazing after Deutsch. "We have to find a place for him. Not routine flights, not after what he's been through. He did a remarkable job under the circumstances."

"Yes, he did," Legroeder said uncomfortably. He looked down and realized that the food in front of him was cold.

"Try the bread," Tracy-Ace said, spreading some syrup on a piece of her own. "It's pretty good." She tucked it into her mouth and chewed quickly.

Legroeder toyed with the bread and nibbled a piece. It was tasteless. "Yah. Listen—um—" The discussion of Deutsch had wrenched another subject to mind, one he'd been avoiding. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you about. What are you—I mean, what's going to happen to the Narseil crew?"

The augments lit up at the corners of Tracy-Ace's eyes. "What do you think we should do with them?"

"Well, I don't—I mean, I—"

Her eyes hardened momentarily. "It has been suggested that we put them out an airlock. They cost us heavily in that battle."

Legroeder felt his face turn pale. He remembered the dream...

"I didn't say I was taking the suggestion, though," Tracy-Ace said. She looked away, stroking her cheek in thought, then glanced back at him. "I get the feeling that you got to be pretty good friends with some of the Narseil during your time together..." She raised her eyebrows.

Legroeder shrugged, but his throat tightened.

"It would be surprising if you hadn't," Tracy-Ace pointed out. "I was thinking, you might be able to smooth the way to getting some information from them." Her eyes changed expression, but he still couldn't tell what the expression was. "We would be foolish to waste all that knowledge and talent, after all. And whatever else my boss is, he isn't foolish."

Legroeder nodded uneasily. "Then, I take it... it'll be your boss who makes the decision about the Narseil?" Tracy-Ace cocked her head quizzically.

"You know, they were just—fighting for their ship— and their people," Legroeder said, and instantly regretted blurting it out like that.

"That is true," Tracy-Ace said. "It remains to be seen just what their fate will be—and how the decision will be made." She frowned. "I think you just need to trust me on this."

Trust her? Could he?

"Did you get the message I sent you last night? If you weren't on the com in your sleep?"

"Uh—"

She glanced carefully around before continuing. "There are people who are interested in talking to the Narseil. Important people—who are interested in seeing some changes."

His hands froze in midair. The underground? He struggled to act as if he had heard nothing of import.

Tracy-Ace had a smile at one corner of her mouth, her finger stroking her cheekbone. One eyebrow arched slightly. "Why don't you finish eating, so I can show you around some more? My schedule is clear for the rest of the day."

Legroeder felt such a sharp tingle in his nerves, he wondered for an instant if she had a hand on his arm again. But no; her hands were folded in front of her. Legroeder took a last bite of bread and nodded as he swallowed, and whispered silently, yes, I think I'd like to do that very much. I would.

* * *

One could do a lot of walking in Outpost Ivan. Maybe that was how everyone got their exercise—although it wouldn't have surprised him to discover that he could absorb exercise impulses from the flicker-tubes, while riding like a salami from one place to another. For two hours now, they had walked—surely covering the length of the station several times over. Tracy-Ace pointed out this and that, giving him a sense of the general layout of the place. His implants were frantically integrating this new knowledge with the information they had gained during the night and in the flicker-tubes; it was probably just as well that they weren't riding the flicker-tubes again, because he thought he'd absorbed about all he could handle at one time.

For the most part, the implants stayed out of his way and let him observe at his own pace. But he always had the feeling that somewhere in the back of his mind a structure was growing, a steady accretion of bricks and mortar and grains of sand—not just a gathering of factual knowledge about the Kyber and Outpost Ivan, but a basis for understanding how it all worked together. Maybe the implants weren't such a bad thing, after all; without them, he would have spent weeks learning what he'd learned in the last twenty-four hours here.

Perhaps the strangest observation was that life here seemed considerably more like life in the Centrist Worlds than he had imagined. He caught glimpses of citizens performing the necessary work of keeping a world of eleven thousand people running: building and repairing infrastructure, growing food in culture-factories, packaging and transporting it and preparing it for consumption. At one point, they passed a troop of children being herded along by their monitors or teachers, though Tracy-Ace told him that for the most part the children were housed and educated in a different habitat.

There was one question that hadn't been answered yet; it had started as a back-of-the-mind thorn, ignored at first, but steadily growing in his thoughts. Finally he voiced it, as he stood with Tracy-Ace at an overlook to a cargo hub, a kind of indoor railway yard where pallets of food and other goods were being unloaded and sorted. He had not yet seen any visibly oppressed workers. "Where," he asked, framing his words with care, "are the... captive workers?" The slaves.

As he turned toward Tracy-Ace, he saw her expression darken. For a moment, she didn't answer; and then her voice took on a distant quality as she said, "The... nonvoluntary workers are mostly out in the fleet preparation area."

He waited for elaboration; she looked as though she had more to say. But she turned without meeting his eyes and said, "Let's go this way."

He had to hurry to catch up with her, and by the time he did, she had her outward expression firmly under control and began pointing out other sights of interest: the corridor toward enviro-controls, security, medical. Finally Legroeder interrupted to say, "Should I not have asked that, back there?"

Tracy-Ace jerked her head toward him, her implants firing rapidly. Frowning, she shook her head, her hair swinging violently back and forth. "I can't talk about that right now. This is a time for you to see what we have; it's not a time for you to ask about our policies."

"But I wasn't—" he began, and then shut up. Don't push it. "Okay," he said. "I won't ask."

She nodded sharply. "Good." She closed her eyes for a moment, and seemed to be coming to a decision. "Listen," she said, propelling him by the arm in a new direction. "I know something you'd like to see. As a rigger. Voluntary workers. Come on."

Down a lifttube and along a winding ramp.

"It's early for me to show this to you, but I think you're ready for it. But before I do, I have to tell you that this is a top security area." She stopped and turned to look him squarely in the eye. "There will be security features there that you don't even see. Their order of business is to shoot first and ask questions later. Can you observe quietly and save your questions for later?"

Legroeder's voice caught. "Uh—sure, yes." What the hell else could he say? And why was he being taken to a top security area?

"Good."

A short distance further on, they came to a door that said Maintainer Staff Only. The door was flanked by two guards bristling with sidearms. There were also various lenses in the walls. Cameras? Lasers? Legroeder opened his mouth to ask, then closed it. Tracy-Ace spoke briefly to the guards, who nodded deferentially but not without a close inspection of Legroeder.

The door paled at Tracy-Ace's touch. Legroeder followed her into an antechamber, where there were more guards and security instruments. Tracy-Ace had to establish two separate augment links with the security panels to get past this station, and Legroeder was scanned and then fitted with a security badge. It felt like a bulls-eye on his chest. With Tracy-Ace, he passed through another door into a large, semidarkened room. He blinked, looking around. The walls were dark; but in the center of the room, six heavily augmented Kyber men and women were seated around a circle of consoles. In the center of the circle, various holos were dancing and glowing, with views of the Flux. At the consoles were rapidly changing schematic readouts. Were these the riggers who kept the station anchored in the Flux?

At a nod from Tracy-Ace, Legroeder stepped forward cautiously, peering over the shoulder of the nearest crewman. One of the crew glanced up, then immediately returned her attention to her work. Legroeder could not follow all the information displayed on the screens, but he saw enough to be pretty sure: these weren't the maintainers. They were the people maintaining the maintainers, watching to ensure that whatever was happening out there in the Flux was satisfactory.

Legroeder stepped back. Tracy-Ace angled her head to indicate that he should follow her through another door. More security.

As they stepped into the next room, he was surprised to find that they were enclosed in a ghostly forcefield bubble. To protect us from what's inside? Or to protect whatever's in here from us? A glance from Tracy-Ace seemed to confirm the latter interpretation.

This was a very different sort of room: a cross between a holocinema and a medical intensive care ward. Abstract light impulses flashed around the walls of the room, in chaotic patterns, making him feel as if he were in a cinema watching the play of light, without seeing the actual images. Music filled the air; at least, he decided to think of it as music—a sort of atonal chant that he found vaguely disturbing.

In the center of the room were four—no, five—rigger¬stations, he guessed, though they resembled no rigger-stations he had ever seen. They looked like a cross between scaffolds and exoskeletons. Ensconced within them were five humans. At least, he thought they were humans. To call them augmented would have been an understatement; they looked like Christmas trees. They were encased in what looked like clear gel sacks, with spider-webs of tubes, wires, and fibop cables running in and out of the sacks.

"The maintainers?" he asked.

"The maintainers," said Tracy-Ace.

For all their apparent confinement, the maintainers were constantly in motion: small movements—hands clenching and unclenching, arms swinging a few centimeters one way and then another, heads shifting this way and that. But looking at what?

A technician walked over in their direction; Legroeder decided it was a woman, though she was heavily suited, with a strange-looking helmet encasing her head. Tracy-Ace spoke to her briefly through a private com-link, then glanced back at Legroeder.

"Do they just stay here—constantly in the Flux?" Legroeder asked in amazement. The rigger-stations looked like permanent wombs. Were the maintainers even breathing air? It looked as if they were receiving their oxygen through some kind of amniotic fluid.

Tracy-Ace nodded absently. "Constantly," she murmured. Her voice sounded oddly distracted; she was looking off toward the flashing lights on the wall, as though she had forgotten why they were here. Were those lights hypnotizing her?

The technician spoke. "They live there. It's their life."

"Mm?" Legroeder said. He suddenly realized he was fighting the same distraction he'd noticed in Tracy-Ace. "But... what about rest?" He squinted at his own words; it took him a moment to realize that he was asking not about physical rest, but regeneration of the psyche. Connection with the real world.

"It all happens right here," said the tech, waving a gloved hand around. "All this provides cortical stimulation. It's only partly random. Plus there's other input, to modulate REM phase and so on."

Legroeder suppressed a shiver; the light-stimulus and the music were sending a strange glow through him. Was that why the tech was wearing a suit, to isolate her from this? He squinted at the flickering lights. Something nagged at him about that; there was something he wasn't seeing.

"They're not all actively monitoring the station at the same time, of course... they work in rotation..."

(Are you getting a handle on this?) he asked his implants, as the tech's voice droned.

“ We are... seeking to adapt... to the unfamiliar stimulus... “ (What is it about... these lights? What am I missing?) “ Patterns... complex patterns within... “

He stopped listening, because he suddenly knew what it was. There were patterns in the lights, all right; there were whole images embedded in the patterns. If he could just see it. Let go. Let it come. His breath sighed out, and the pattern collapsed inward; and with a sudden perceptual transformation, he saw what was in there. It was a view of the Flux again. But it was a far more intimate view than the holos that the crew outside saw; it was the Flux as the maintainers saw it. The rest of his breath went out in a gasp, because he suddenly felt as though he were afloat in the Flux, stretched out in a net that extended much farther than any ship's net. It stretched out for a very long way... and down...

Far down... toward another layer... toward a network of moving shadows. It was like gazing into the depths of a fast-running river, and imagining falling in...

He drew back with a shudder, blinking.

"What is it?" Tracy-Ace asked.

"I don't—Jesus—these people are reaching all the way down—" He swallowed.

Tracy-Ace cocked her head. "Down to what?"

"Down to the Deep Flux," Legroeder whispered. "Why are they doing that? It's... it's..." He shook his head; it felt full of cobwebs.

"What did you see? Where?" Tracy-Ace demanded.

He breathed deeply, pointing vaguely into the room. "It's there—in the patterns on the walls—" He gulped for air; he was trembling, as though he'd made an emergency scram from a net. "I saw... currents down there—deep— dangerous—"

Tracy-Ace gazed at him, her face flickering. "I would not have expected you to be able to see that," she murmured. "Even the maintainers barely see it. We're not in the Deep Flux. They monitor its location, to make sure we don't drift down there."

He gulped, only faintly relieved.

"They know the area very well," the tech said. "They spend a lot of their lives keeping watch on it."

"Good," Legroeder breathed. "What do they do when they're not watching that?"

The tech shrugged. "Living in whatever worlds they make for themselves out there, I suppose."

"That's their existence?"

"They're all volunteers," Tracy-Ace said, with an aggressive edge to her voice.

Legroeder gazed at her, trying to conceal his doubt.

The tech said in a more severe voice, "They have their reasons. Some of them are just drawn to it. Some have... severe physical handicaps. This gives them a way to serve."

"But to spend their lives..."

Tracy-Ace's eyes narrowed. "It's just another reality. I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"There's a reality to it, yes. But—" Legroeder shook his head. To spend their lives in it?

"Without them," Tracy-Ace said stiffly, "the station would be adrift in the Flux. This is a duty—and an honor —that they have chosen."

Legroeder didn't answer. If you weren't an outlaw outpost that had to hide in the Flux, it wouldn't be necessary, would it? But he knew he'd already said too much.

Tracy-Ace seemed to guess his thoughts. She spoke briefly to the tech, then turned and ushered Legroeder out.

In the corridor, with the cortical stimulation and the last security checkpoint behind him, Legroeder felt as if a blessed silence had descended around him. He felt his nervous system slowly coming down from whatever state it had been in.

Tracy-Ace was clearly experiencing some of the same effect. But she recovered quickly enough to say sharply, as they walked away, "You didn't approve of that, I take it."

Legroeder opened his mouth, and shut it. He wondered why she had even shown that to him.

"What I said was true, you know—about the maintainers being honored volunteers. It would hardly be in our interest to put unwilling draftees in the position of maintaining our station in the Flux."

He kept silent.

"They do lead interesting lives, you know, while they..." She hesitated.

"While they what?" Legroeder blurted. "Live?"

Her hesitation stretched a moment longer. "Yes."

He thought of how much it took out of him to stay in the Flux for an extended period, and he wondered how well the human mind and body could hold up to that kind of immersion. "How long do they live?" he asked, trying to sound merely curious, and knowing that he failed.

Tracy-Ace picked up her pace, avoiding his gaze. He thought she was going to avoid the question, as well. Then she said softly, "On average? About ten years, on the job."

Ten years. "And... how long after they retire?"

Another hesitation. "They don't usually retire... exactly."

"You mean, they die on the job?"

When Tracy-Ace didn't reply, he glanced sideways at her. Her temples were flickering, and she was scowling. It was a moment before he realized that she was nodding.

Oh.

She turned on him suddenly, her eyes flaring, but not from the glow of augments. Was she angry? He thought she was angry. "You think we're so heartless. Come with me." She grabbed his wrist and changed direction, down a side corridor. He practically had to run to keep up. There was surprising strength in those slender arms.

Was that a connection he felt between their implants? He focused inward. (Are you connected to her?)

“ No. “

Then what the—? Her surge of anger, or passion, was so powerful he could have sworn it was a direct link. But no, it was just raw human emotion. She was boiling over with a need to do something and do it now, a burning that was working its way out from within. Was it always there, but under tighter control? Whatever it was she was burning to do, it was important and dangerous—and it involved him. Was this where Tracy-Ace the Law was going to reappear?

He swallowed back his apprehension. "Where, uh... can I ask where we're going?"

She didn't look at him, but her fingers tightened around his wrist. "Flicker-tube," was all she said. Grimly.

Chapter 24 - JOININGS

Fre'geel paused in his round of the detention cell area and peered out through the gate. Nothing, no sign even of the guards. He resumed his tireless walk among the crew. Most sat on the floor, or on benches, muttering to themselves or each other. Fre'geel gave an occasional hiss of encouragement as he passed among them. They needed it, especially those who did not understand what their human shipmate was trying to do, under the guise of betraying the Narseil.

Soon it would be time for another exercise period. Fre'geel intended to make sure they kept moving and active. It was the best he could do. It had been too long since any of them had had a proper soak in a pool. They were all drying out, and he was seeing far too much rubbing at sore and itchy skin, and scratching at neck-sails. He'd asked the Kyber guards, politely, if something could be done. The guard had laughed—a particularly ugly human laugh—and sauntered away. It had occurred to Fre'geel afterward that perhaps he should have asked to speak to a superior. He was not thinking all that clearly himself.

Cantha drifted his way, and they paused to confer. "I am told that the crew in the next compartment are becoming agitated," Cantha murmured. "Some of them are blaming Legroeder for turning us in, and they're beginning to vent their anger."

Fre'geel blinked his gritty eyes. Were his people forgetting their training? "We all knew it could happen this way," he sighed, as much to himself as to Cantha. It would only get worse if he didn't find a way to control it. "Perhaps the guards will permit me to go in and speak to them."

As he turned toward the security door, he was surprised to see it opening. Two Kyber guards stepped into the detention cell. "Where is the commander?" one of the guards called, in a barely comprehensible Kyber Anglic. Fre'geel went forward. "I'm the commander."

"Someone to see you," said the guard. He motioned to Fre'geel to follow him out of the room.

The guards left him alone in a holding room with a human Kyber female. She was standing at a one-way glass staring into the prison cell. Fre'geel allowed her a slight nod—and suddenly saw Rigger Legroeder standing on the other side of her. For a moment, he was caught speechless—overjoyed to see Legroeder alive, and apparently healthy. Then, with a mental jerk, he remembered his role. He turned toward Legroeder and hissed: "You. Traitor. Human."

Legroeder's eyes widened, and for an instant he too seemed nonplused. "Fre'geel," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm glad to see you. Are you all right? What about the others?"

"They haven't killed us yet, if that's what you mean." Fre'geel flexed a long finger threateningly. "You lying— murderous—"

"Are you the commander of these forces?" interrupted the Kyber woman.

Fre'geel bit off his words and made a head-inclining gesture of acknowledgment. "I am. And I should address you as—?"

"Tracy-Ace/Alfa." The female, dressed in gold and black, with considerable cyber augmentation on her face, appeared to be examining Fre'geel from head to toe. He wondered if she found him satisfactorily alien. "Commander Fre'geel, we are here on a courtesy call, to inquire as to your condition. I must tell you that there are others who will wish to speak to you soon. In spite of the destruction you have caused, I believe it is possible that we might find ways to work together."

Fre'geel let his breath out in a slow hiss. "We did not come here to collaborate with you. Ma'am." He flicked his eyes over to Rigger Legroeder, wishing fervently that he could read the human's mind, or speak privately with him.

"No?" she responded. "Well, then, perhaps you'll be able to explain why you did come here. In the meantime —" she crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow "—tell me—is sufficient care being extended to your people?" Her gaze seemed both to invite complaint and to challenge it.

Fre'geel refused to rise to the bait. Complain? That he would not do. Despite his determination to address the question of—

"You look all dried out," Legroeder said, interrupting his thought.

"What do you mean?" the female asked, turning to Legroeder.

Legroeder gestured toward Fre'geel. "They need a pool they can soak in, for their skin. They're amphibians, you know."

"A pool? You think we keep pools in the detention area?"

"If not a pool, then bathing areas. Showers. Something.

They'll get sick and be of no use to you, otherwise." "Is this true?" Tracy-Ace/Alfa asked Fre'geel. The Narseil nodded.

Tracy-Ace/Alfa looked thoughtful. Rings only knew what was going on in her augmented mind. But whatever it was, she astonished Fre'geel by saying, "All right, then —it will be done." She cocked her head. "Is there anything else you need, to maintain your health?"

Fre'geel overcame his surprise enough to decide he might as well take advantage of the opportunity. "A bit of room to exercise in would be helpful," he allowed. With a twitch of his eye, he glanced at Rigger Legroeder. The human was wearing a stony expression. But was that an approving twinkle in his eye?

"Exercise." Tracy-Ace/Alfa peered through the one-way pane at the crowded detention cell. It was just one of three that the Narseil were crammed into. "Very well." She turned back to Fre'geel. "You may return to your cell, Commander. You will be called when the time comes." With that, she gave a nod that was not quite dismissive, and the guards reappeared immediately.

As Fre'geel turned away, Legroeder murmured a farewell, and Tracy-Ace/Alfa said, "Think constructively, Commander. Think constructively."

Fre'geel said nothing, but was thoughtful as he walked back to rejoin his crew.

* * *

"I wanted you to know," Tracy-Ace said, biting her words as they made their way back to the flicker-tube, "that we do have some ability to take care of people here. Even our prisoners."

Legroeder had no immediate answer; he was stunned by her assertion. Is that why you were in such a rush to take me to see the Narseil? Because you were afraid of what I thought, after the maintainers?

"Thank you," he said finally. He was pleased by her concessions to the needs of the Narseil, but a little worried, too. Had he betrayed too much interest in their well being?

Tracy-Ace said nothing more about it, as they got into the tubes. She didn't speak during the ride, and Legroeder, his head already spinning, used the stop command to turn off the flicker-feed. The silence was restful.

Stepping out at the end, he rejoined a troubled-looking Tracy-Ace. "What is it?" he asked, falling in beside her as she strode away. He realized that he'd felt a sudden impulseto reach out to her. What was he going to do, take her by the hand? Put an arm around her shoulder? Jesus. He clasped his hands behind his back, to keep them out of trouble.

Keeping pace with her wasn't easy. She kept turning abruptly, and hurrying him along. Her temples were flickering madly; her mouth was pursed in concentration.

"Can I ask where we're going?" he said finally.

She stopped at an intersection, frowning. It must have been time for a shift change, because the corridors were bustling with people. "We need to talk," she said. Eyeing the crowds around them, she added, "In private."

Legroeder remained silent, wondering at the sudden urgency. Was this still about his remarks about the maintainers, or was something else going on? You can still blow this, you know.

She seemed to take his silence for assent, not that it mattered. Peering at him with sudden intense concentration, she rubbed at the corner of her mouth with a knuckle, as though to stop a tic. "Let's show you where the law lives." She grabbed his arm and pulled him along again. There was something dark in her tone that reminded him that he was a prisoner.

En route to wherever they were going, they passed a heavily guarded sector. Section 29, said a sign over the entrance. A tall, red-skinned man had walked into the area just a few seconds before, and Legroeder could feel Tracy-Ace tense up beside him. The man hadn't seen her, but she waited until he was out of sight before hurrying Legroeder along. "The command center," she muttered as they passed the entrance. "We'll get to that later."

"Who was that guy?"

Her breath hissed out. "Someone you won't need to worry about, I hope. This way."

Legroeder followed, uneasily. Some distance further on, she stopped at a food-plaza, which she picked up a carton of Asian noodles and broc, plus something to drink. A few minutes later, they were in a sector that looked more like living quarters. Tracy-Ace's hand found its way to his arm again; this time he felt the slight twinge of a data-connection, though nothing came through the connection to tell him why she was tense.

He suddenly knew where they were going, though.

The corridor outside Tracy-Ace's apartment was more decorative than the one outside his; it was rose colored and obviously more recently refinished. This was the abode of the Law? Her hand touched the door. Unlike his, it opened with a click and swung inward: a solid door. Legroeder followed her in. The room was three times the size of his, finished in a russet two-tone. The basic appointments were similar: bunk in one corner, desk in another, counter with cupboards, doorway to the bath. The bunk was larger, but more striking was the modified com-console over the head of the bed, with linkup arms folded like a spider's legs against the wall. "Do you sleep hooked up to that thing?" he asked, with perhaps more distaste in his voice than he'd intended.

Tracy-Ace grunted noncommittally and set the food cartons on the counter.

On the pillow directly under the console was a brown plush animal. Teddy bear? Legroeder turned, refraining from comment. On the wall were two pieces of framed holoart: one an alien landscape, orange and smoky-looking with a huge, luminous red sun; the other a terrestrial farmhouse standing beside a woods. He peered at the two pictures. Some intuition told him that the farmhouse had some meaning to her, and something else told him not to ask just now. Below the farmhouse holo, her lounge chair was festooned with even more cyber¬attachments than the bed; it was a smaller version of the command seat in which he'd first met her. "Is all this stuff for business or pleasure?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Her eyebrows went up halfway, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself half a grin. "Both, I suppose." Her expression darkened again. "We can talk here," she said. "It's private. It's safe." She hesitated a moment. "That's why I brought you here."

Not an attempted seduction, then. Probably just as well. Greta the Enforcer was not so far in his past. But then, Tracy-Ace didn't seem anything like Greta, or so his instincts told him. And wasn't he, as a rigger, supposed to trust his instincts? And weren't his instincts telling him...

Jesus, get a grip. He exhaled tightly. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and just being in this room with her made his groin ache. Even tense, she was surprisingly attractive. "Would this be a good time to tell me what's wrong?" he said suddenly, to take his mind off the subject. "Something is, isn't it?"

She looked at him sharply for a moment, and he had a sudden terrifying vision of her hissing, Yes, we've just figured out that you're a spy. And you know what we do with spies...

Then her gaze shifted, and she seemed to study the blank wall over his shoulder for a while. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she said finally, in a voice that was metered and precise. "I get the impression that you don't exactly approve of everything we do here at Ivan. Is that true?"

His throat constricted, until it was all he could do to manage a husky rasp. "Well, I—"

Her gaze shifted to probe his. "In addition, you seem to have a highly developed sympathy for the Narseil—and Rings knows who else, on the outside."

He swallowed. His vision was turning out to be frighteningly accurate.

Tracy-Ace pressed a finger to her lips, as one of those infuriating expressions that he couldn't identify flashed across her face. "Furthermore—when you first made your presence known here at Ivan, you were seen following a data-thread that indicated a connection to—"

He could hear nothing now except blood rushing in his ears. To the underground. Admit it. The knot in his stomach tightened. He tried not to let it show on his face. But hadn't she hinted earlier—?

Tracy-Ace seemed to be reading his thoughts. She nodded and completed her sentence: "—a connection to some of us who are dissatisfied with certain practices of this outpost, and of the Kyber Republic."

Huh? Legroeder started. "Dis... satisfied—?"

"With the treatment of certain groups of people, for example. And with the way we... pursue some of our goals."

Legroeder tried to swallow.

There was a catch in Tracy-Ace's voice as her expression softened. "As it happens, Legroeder, I am one of those people. One of those... hoping to change things."

His pulse was pounding now. He felt as if he might fall over in a faint. Was this a trap? It was, wasn't it? Tell me it's not a trap.

"You probably think I'm trying to trap you," she said. "I'm not. Really. It's no coincidence, you know, that you were brought to my attention when you explored that particular thread. And if you are looking to be put in touch with others..." She paused. "I can do that for you."

He tried to draw a breath, but someone was sitting on his chest. "I—"

"It will have to be set up carefully, of course." "Uh—"

"Which I will do. But in the meantime—"

For all the speed of their direct connection, he felt as if he could barely keep up here. He hadn't been expecting anything at all like this. And that expression on her face —he was blinking at her, trying to understand; it looked like something he'd never seen on her face before. Vulnerability. She was taking a risk. She was afraid. But of what?

"You must speak of this to no one outside this room," she continued. "Not your friends. Not even me, unless I tell you it's safe." She rubbed one of her now-darkened implants. Meaning... others might be privy to what her implants heard?

"Do you understand?" she asked, and he nodded slowly.

"Good." She sighed, her breath a long, slow whisper, and the tension seemed to drain out of her. She glanced at him with a hint of a smile, then looked away, as though embarrassed.

It seemed impossible. Legroeder frowned, caught for an instant between impulses. If she's another Greta, you are in deep, deep trouble. Without allowing himself another thought, he reached out. She met his hand halfway, took it with surprising strength. His implants came to life, and he felt a shock of surprise at the intensity of the connection. Understanding flowed through the link and blossomed in his mind; and suddenly he realized why she felt vulnerable. Tracy-Ace, the dreaded node-commander, was appalled by the Kyber methods. But any attempt to change the system could backfire at once. For an instant, he glimpsed Tracy-Ace as a troubled young woman, caught in a maelstrom of shifting currents of power. Then the glimpse was gone, replaced by the confidence of Tracy-Ace/Alfa, the node-commander. But he had seen it; it was there.

If he could believe it. If she was telling the truth.

What would she gain by lying? She already had him as a prisoner, if that was what she wanted.

He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back, hard. Then she was up, padding across the room in her bare feet. When had she taken her shoes off? "Are you hungry?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she opened a cabinet door and took out bowls and a pair of slender glasses. Legroeder watched silently as she served the noodles; his head was still ringing like a bell from that contact. What had it touched in him?

"Glass of wino?" Tracy-Ace asked.

He barked a laugh. "Glass of what?"

She brandished a semiclear carton of red liquid. "Wino. It's synthetic, but it's not too bad. What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, suppressing a chuckle. "Sure, I'd love some."

She opened the carton and poured. Legroeder accepted a glass and held it up to the light. Clear burgundy color. He sniffed at the liquid. Could it be worse than what he'd drunk at DeNoble? He held his glass up to hers. "Clink them together," he said. Tracy-Ace looked puzzled, but clinked. It felt satisfying. He took a sip, hoping it would taste as good as the gesture had felt. It didn't, not even remotely; but somehow that didn't seem to matter. Tracy-Ace was watching him for a reaction, and when he smiled, it felt genuine.

She handed him a bowl and fork and gestured to the only place for them both to sit. They perched together on the edge of the bed—not too close together, but close enough to make him wonder what he was doing here. What he was doing about his mission. Quite a lot, dammit, he snarled to himself. The Narseil are getting a bath, and we've met the underground. That's not too bad. And it wasn't, really. But it didn't answer the question of what he was doing sitting on a bed with Tracy-Ace/Alfa. What did it mean that he liked sitting on the bed with her —liked it quite a lot, now that he thought about it?

He took a quick bite of noodles, then a sip of wino, then stole a glance at Tracy-Ace. It wasn't as if it had been love, or even lust, at first sight. And yet... he was aware now, almost hungrily aware, of her physical attractiveness: her lanky grace and energy, the almost elfin delicacy of her face. The vulnerability. Funny, that a woman who controlled so many lethal weapons should seem vulnerable.

And then there was the connecting touch they had shared, not just once but several times. As he gazed at her —no longer a stolen glance, but a steady gaze—he had the dizzying feeling that he had known her for years.

She smiled, and the effect was electrifying. Putting her fork down, she stretched out a hand. He watched the gesture in detached silence for a moment, then took her hand in his. He knew at once that this was something more than a handshake. "Pleased to know you, Tracy¬Ace/Alfa," he said in a husky voice.

"Pleased to know you, Renwald Legroeder."

The tingle this time started not at the juncture of their hands, but at his toes. It moved up his body in a languid wave, more a physical sensation than a joining of minds. He felt a brief flash of fear—but a quick glance inward at his implants showed only a faint sparkling against darkness where he expected to see an active connection. This felt less like an uplink/downlink than like lowering himself into a tub of hot water, the heat flowing up his body. It wasn't exactly sexual; it was more like a rising awareness on multiple sensory levels. It was as if his connectors were being tuned, enhanced, made ready for a heightened response. But a response to what?

The wave moved up through his loins with a fleeting tingle, then into his torso. He gasped as it passed his diaphragm; Tracy-Ace let out a little sigh at the same time. He blinked and focused on her. She seemed to be staring at nothing, at space, through him or past him. Is she who she seems? She noticed his gaze then—and her eyes sharpened. Her lips turned up, in a smile that took his breath away.

The final rush came quickly, like a vapor filling his skull. He felt a sudden, euphoric clarity, as though he had breathed in a lungful of clear mountain air.

He peered down at their clasped hands and found he wanted to squeeze her hand tighter, to renew the sensation of physical touch. Her eyes brightened as he squeezed, and he felt a second wave pass through him. This time it came from his hand and went straight up his arm. It was accompanied by a strange itch.

It took him a moment to realize that the itch was a tremendous spike of uplink/downlink. They were exchanging knowledge in a great exhilarating rush...

Snippets of his childhood play, on the long rolling beaches of Claire Marie—pleasure darkened by a certain melancholy, and by his unease with the water.

Flashes of the joy and release of an unrestrained dash through the streams of the Flux...

Entwined with his flashes were hers—early memories of a farmhouse and grandparents, then coming of age in an utterly alien place, a culture in hiding. Achieving at an early age, mastering the inner life of the intelnet, of the implants and the knowledge systems...

Legroeder was filling like a vessel with her challenges and fears, and also her excursions into hopefulness. And against that, his own joys and friendships blazed into relief—Janofer and Gev and Skan—and hints of bitterly dark times...

Legroeder was teetering on the edge of a complete surrender to the exchange. He felt a sharp pang of fear; this is stupid, I'm going to betray everything! Or his implants would; or hers would somehow find everything he was hiding. But she already knew that he wanted to meet the underground; the only question was whether she was lying to him. His fear was countered by a silent reassurance from his implants: You're not an open book if you don't want to be. But his implants had slipped up before.

He was more aware of outward signals now, as he peered at her through half-closed eyes: the body language that he might otherwise have missed, or misread: her eye movements, beckoning, the pressure of her hand, the angling of her legs toward him, a certain openness, a readiness.

I don't think she's lying about this.

She wanted him. And he wanted her. He hadn't been sure before, but now he was. There was not yet a feeling of urgency, but something was happening between them, and quickly. In an extraordinary way, it did not feel rushed at all, but a naturally flowing development. In this strange communion, all of the courtship and wondering and mutual exploration were passing in a blur, a blending of pigments on a living canvas, colors glowing and shifting and fusing. And through it all a slowly rising breath of desire...

"Renwald," he heard, and wondered for a moment if he had heard the sound through the air, or through the joining. My name is Legroeder, he murmured with mock indignation, the thought slipping out through their joined hands.

"I know," she whispered, "I know." But I like Renwald, I like the way it rolls off my tongue, I like the way I feel when I say it, the way I'll feel when I hold you in my... And suddenly she broke off with an embarrassed inner laugh, as though she had not meant to let all of that slip.

You can call me Renwald, any time you want, he murmured, intending to speak it aloud... but no, it was another thought slipping through the link. There in front of him now was his hand, almost like a separate entity, moving up her arm; it paused, squeezing her shoulder, before sliding back down to clasp her hand with a tingle. Out of the blue, before he could stop it, the thought floated up out of his mind and into the connection: Are you the face of the enemy?

For an instant he feared that she had heard, and would be furious; and indeed she had heard, but her response was a soft laugh: Do you think I'm your enemy? And before he could even think that through, her other hand was running up his arm, and then kneading the back of his neck; and he wasn't really even sure how he got to this point, but they were kissing, and he was tasting her lips and shuddering a little from her tongue darting here, and there, and now his breath and hers were both coming faster.

The stream flowing through them was more than just knowledge now; it was like a song, its notes and phrases echoing round as if they had been leading up to this for a year, perfecting this song. And yet he also knew now of the three men and one woman she had made love to before, and of her desire for him; and she knew of the scattering of women he had known, only one with genuine love; and the next time he was aware of his left hand, it was stroking her bare right breast (how had it become bare?), caressing and squeezing the swollen red nipple, and feeling a tingle there between the tip of her nipple and the palm of his hand. Another pathway opened, and a memory came to him through her nipple, an image of a bright red sun breaking through a bank of clouds on the only planetary world she had ever known, as a young girl, a world called Carrie's Dream... and he squeezed again, and a new image came, this time a memory of her first trembling orgasm... and he felt slipping out through his fingers, into the firmness of her breast a memory of his own, the first time he had slipped into the warmth of a woman, a woman three years older than his nineteen years, and his own shuddering...

She sighed into his neck and pressed his head down, and he took her hard nipple in his mouth, and for an instant felt as if he were inside her skin looking out, and he reached out and touched himself, her, himself... momentarily confused as to which body he was in.

Now. I want you now...

He was aware of her augment-controlled immune protections sliding into place. It is safe... no need to worry...

He heard the sigh, and for a moment wasn't sure whose... but whichever, or both, their bodies were beginning to move in concert. Their remaining clothing was coming off, hands were darting and exploring; there was some awkwardness, and then everything was off, and they were entwined, not just in thought but in body as well; and she was holding his hardness, and he was stroking her softness; and a little later her mouth was on him hotly, and he was breathing her musky fragrance; then as he slipped into her warm center, the connecting tingle began from that piercing point and flowered outward...

*

Implants flickering, blazing with exhilaration, heart pounding, his net of awareness stretched out beyond her... but toward what? For a frozen, pulsing moment he felt as though he were joined to a far greater network, the intelnet...

*

That sensation flickered away, and in its place was something different, the web of his senses stretching out into time, into the past and future; her past and his past, and visions of the future... two futures, like thin silver ribbons interweaving toward a place that couldn't be seen...

And behind it all, the joining that was like a choir, given physical shape by sound and music, and urgent movement, joined harmonies rising and straining and falling, the sweet sounds of harp and deep thrumming of bass, all growing, building toward a climax...

*

The brightness at their center flared with desire and urgency. For an instant that seemed disconnected in time, his gaze caught her deep green eyes and there was a breathtaking, liquid connection between them. Their movements joined, growing faster. Her heat was building around him, drawing him out farther and harder, breath coming sharper and sharper... and for a moment they were suspended in time, electrified... and then they came together, in expanding circles of fire against darkness; she was squeezing him in shuddering gasping release, and around them in the darkness of space were bursts of light and sharply drawn breath, and sounds wrapped in silence; and the web blossomed out and exploded with liquid light, raining crimson and gold and pearly white, pulsing until all of the fire was gone. And then a great quilt of darkening comfort closed around them, and they collapsed in quiet release.

* * *

"Jesus, Ace," he whispered, his face against her cheek. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" She laughed softly, trying to keep him from pulling free, but it was too late.

"Fireworks?" He shifted, propping his head, and looked down at her. "I mean, really—fireworks?" He gazed appreciatively over her body, which he'd hardly had a chance to do the entire time they were making love. He drew a deep breath, awed by her long-limbed beauty. He stroked her hipbone, cupping the angles.

"I want you to know I don't do that with every new arrival who comes into my node," she murmured, kissing his ear. "Did you like it?"

"Like it?" He laughed softly, pressing his lips to her temple, beside the flickering augment. Her hair was damp with sweat. "Did I just die and go to Heaven?" He paused in reflection. (Have I just made love, with deep¬cyber augment, to the Kyber Law? What have I done?)

“ Isn't that how spies are supposed to do it, according to your folklore? “

He gazed into space, considering. Maybe so, but that was just in crazy male fantasies.

"Good," said Tracy-Ace, pushing him up with a hand on his chest so she could see his face. She grinned, kissed her own fingertip and touched it to his lips. Rolling out from beneath him, she slipped out of his reach and stood up facing him. She was breathtaking, naked, staring down at him. He thought his heart might jump out of his chest. Crazy fantasies were beginning to crowd his thoughts. Along with the fears. (You're being set up, used.) But what a way to be used.

"I'm glad you liked that," Tracy-Ace said. "Really glad. Because I like you, Renwald Legroeder." She bent down, leading with her nipples, and kissed his forehead, lips, chin. His heart pounded as she straightened up again, then almost stopped as she whispered, "I think pretty soon we're going to have to go introduce you to the Boss, don't you?"

Chapter 25 - YANKEE-ZULU/IVAN

To his relief, Tracy-Ace hadn't meant now. One thing led to another, and they were busy for a while longer after that.

They fell asleep half tangled together. Or rather, Tracy-Ace did. Legroeder drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep, his thoughts reverberating between a blissful euphoria and a terrifying conviction that he had blundered in the most appalling way. He awoke once with a start, imagining Kyber guards breaking down the door and thundering in to drag him away. His heart pounding, he peered across the room in the glow of tiny indicator lights, and saw nothing moving. Nothing except the slow rise and fall of Tracy-Ace/Alfa's breathing. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Doubts crowded in, warring for his attention. How could he have let himself do this? Was he a complete idiot? How could he know he wasn't being used? Manipulated. Set up.

He glanced in her direction. She was sound asleep with her back to him, but snuggled close. Peaceful as a lamb.

What's the matter with you? Can't you just enjoy, without wrecking it by worrying?

Enjoy what—sleeping with the enemy?

His ears were ringing as he drifted back off to sleep.

He awoke to find Tracy-Ace's arm flung over him, her face against his shoulder, her hair against his cheek. She stirred, pressing a leg against him before flickering an eye open and murmuring, and any thought he'd had of drawing away vanished instantly.

She pulled him out of bed and into the shower. Engulfed in a haze of warm mist, Tracy-Ace was just drawing him close again, sending a rush of arousal up his spine, when a memory surfaced in his thoughts, a conversation with Com'peer back at the Narseil station. The surgeon and her team had just finished changing the DNA in his gonads. "That's where raiders like to do their testing... more humiliating that way..."

He swallowed and tried to divert his thoughts, but there was no hiding the loss of arousal.

"You okay?"

"Uh, yes—fine!" he wheezed. He forced a grin, then seized her in a fierce hug. What have I done? Thinking with my gonads. What have I done?

She nuzzled his neck, but clearly wasn't fooled. "Let's get dressed and get something to eat," she said, hurrying out of the shower. "Then let's go talk business with the Boss."

"Yes, let's," he muttered, trying not to sound as if he had just been punched in the solar plexus.

* * *

The Boss. The single syllable, even in the silence of his thoughts, made him shiver.

After a barely-touched breakfast, they walked to Section 29, which they had passed yesterday. It was, she said, the nerve center of the station, and indeed of the entire Outpost Ivan organization. The security at the entrance was just as threatening as at the maintainers' facility.

Inside, though, the operations center had a surprisingly cobbled-together look, with a great deal of electronic equipment, and people sitting at stations of indeterminate function. Legroeder tried to cover his apprehension by peering over some shoulders, but Tracy-Ace pulled him onward. "This way," she said, heading to the back of the room.

This way. Legroeder kept his eyes open for anyone who looked like a Boss. Would he be a walking display case of augmentation? Tracy-Ace brought him to a semicircular alcove in back, several steps up on a kind of dais, where a swivel chair sat in the middle of a cluttered array of at least fifty tiny console monitors. The chair was facing away from them; blue smoke billowed up from it. Tobacco smoke, with a sharp, pungent sweetness. Legroeder wrinkled his nose. He hadn't smelled that since DeNoble. He hated it.

The chair rotated to face them. A bald-headed man without a trace of augmentation rose, waving a cigar in his right hand, as Tracy-Ace led Legroeder up the steps. "Legroeder, this is our Boss, Yankee-Zulu/Ivan. YZ/I, Rigger Renwald Legroeder."

"Legroeder," said the Boss. "We meet at last." He puffed from his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke upward.

At last? Legroeder wondered, staring at the Boss. Why —was I expected? And where had he seen this man before? Yankee-Zulu/Ivan was extremely pale-skinned, especially on his bald pate, slightly heavy of build, and a few centimeters taller than Legroeder. He did not seem particularly augmented. Not at first. A moment later, Legroeder's impression of that changed. The Boss's eyes were cerulean blue, glowing from within. But it was not just his eyes; his face was suddenly aglow, as well, with a pale golden light. And now his hands—and through his silken shirt and pants, the rest of his body.

An illuminated man.

Now he remembered where he had seen this man before. It was in the joe shop, where Tracy-Ace had first debriefed him. The Boss had been quietly observing, from the back of the room. And for one instant, Legroeder had seen him aglow.

Yankee-Zulu/Ivan stuck out a hand, and as Legroeder shook it uneasily, waves of light rippled up the Boss's arm, shining through the shirt sleeve as though it were gauze. Legroeder could not keep his eyes off the moving light. As it passed over the Boss's shoulder and torso, it disappeared. But a moment later, pulsing threads of green, blue, and red became visible beneath the Boss's skin.

"Are you wondering if you should run away?" Yankee¬Zulu/Ivan asked, with a rumble that grew into a hard-edged laugh.

Legroeder drew himself taller, but didn't answer. The Boss turned to Tracy-Ace/Alfa. "You didn't prepare him for our meeting," he said.

"Oh, we did some preparation," Tracy-Ace murmured, with a sideways glance at Legroeder that made him flush.

"Is that so?" said another voice, behind the Boss. A tall man, dark haired with red skin, stepped out of an unnoticed shadow in the back of the alcove. "Will you introduce me to your friend?"

Tracy-Ace tensed; her expression turned sour. This was the man they had seen walking into the command center yesterday. Someone you won't need to worry about. "Hello, Lanyard," Tracy-Ace said. "How nice to see you here. Rigger Legroeder, I'd like you to meet a colleague of mine—"

"Come on, now," said the tall man. "You can call me a friend."

Tracy-Ace ignored the comment and continued speaking to Legroeder, taking him by the wrist as though to lead him through the room. "This is Group Coordinator Lanyard, who is a member of Outpost Ivan's Ruling Cabinet."

Legroeder felt his implants flicker to life as information flowed to him through his wrist. “ Lanyard/GC is not just a member of the Cabinet, which oversees Outpost policy, but also of the current political opposition to this Boss. There may be a balance-of-power struggle here; he is considered a potential threat. Tracy-Ace was not expecting Lanyard/GC to be present, and isn't pleased. He formerly had a... relationship... with Tracy-Ace/Alfa, which ended badly. “

Legroeder did his best to hide his scowl.

"Lanyard is here as—?" Tracy-Ace paused and stretched out an inquiring hand.

"An observer," said Yankee-Zulu/Ivan at once, which seemed to bring a frown—quickly concealed—to Lanyard's face.

Legroeder's augments flashed him a quick schematic. “ The command hierarchy places Yankee-Zulu/Ivan at the top of the power structure. However, he remains in power at the pleasure of the Cabinet, which does not make day-to-day decisions, but grants him authority. YZ/I oversees the outpost from this operations center, through direct feeds to his internal augments as wel as visual information in this room. “

Legroeder nodded inwardly. Here it was, then. All this way he had come, to learn what he could about the operation of the fortress; and here was the man who ran it —if he really was a man, under all that glowing skin. Except, apparently his power was not absolute.

YZ/I was watching Legroeder with evident amusement. He puffed out three smoke rings and watched them disperse, then glanced back at Lanyard before asking Legroeder, "So—have you found our world here to your liking?"

Legroeder opened his mouth, and closed it, moving his head to avoid the smoke. He glanced at Tracy-Ace, but she had turned poker-faced.

As his gaze shifted back to Yankee-Zulu/Ivan, Legroeder drew a sharp breath. Instead of a man, he was gazing at a man-shaped holo, an image of the Kyber armada coursing through the swirls of the Deep Flux. The colony fleet. Was it underway already? Bound for...? He wanted to ask, but YZ/I the man seemed to have utterly vanished into the image. Legroeder glanced to the side and suddenly realized that all the monitors around him were filled with images of space, forming a mosaic curtain. It was a picture he recognized: the Sagittarian Dust Clouds, inbound across the galactic sea. It was a course toward the rich star clusters known by various names in the Centrist Worlds, the clusters a war had been fought over.

The Cloud of a Thousand Suns.

The Well of Stars.

"YZ/I, I already told him about the fleet," Tracy-Ace said, with an edge of impatience in her voice.

"Is hearing the same as seeing?" boomed a voice that seemed to come from the deeps of space where the pirate fleet was hurtling. The image of the fleet rotated until it seemed that the ships were flying straight toward Legroeder. The holo blinked off, and Yankee-Zulu/Ivan was standing there as a man again. He stuck the cigar back in his mouth.

Behind him, Lanyard looked annoyed. "Do you really think it's wise to show him that, as if it's your personal toy?"

YZ/I shrugged. "What's he going to do with it, Lanyard? He's here, with us. Anyway, he's going to have to know that we're serious—and why. Is that okay with you, Rigger Legroeder?"

Legroeder, unsure what to say, jerked his head toward the monitors, where the image remained. "Is that where the fleet is headed? The Well of Stars?"

"That's right." YZ/I's voice grew deeper. "It's the biggest colonizing fleet in the history of the human race! And it's going to be launched within the year!" His lips suddenly curled into what at first looked like a sneer, then seemed to be a wince of pain. "If we can solve a few little problems." He stroked his lips as though to rub away the previous expression. "What do you think of it, Rigger Legroeder?"

What Legroeder thought was that he was having trouble breathing. It was a magnificent fleet. Setting out to populate the galaxy with pirates. It would be a really fine thing if he could think of a way to stop it. But how?

YZ/I was still waiting for an answer. Legroeder moistened his lips, then asked, "Why did you show that to me? Were you thinking I might want to join up?"

YZ/I stared at him for a moment with those glowing eyes—and suddenly broke into a long, iron-hard guffaw. "No, Rigger Legroeder, I didn't really think you'd want to join up. Not after your experience at Barbados—or should I say, your seven years of captivity at DeNoble." Legroeder froze in sudden terror. YZ/I's eyes gleamed. "DeNoble. What a goddamn scum-pit of humanity. To think they're part of our Republic."

Legroeder felt paralyzed like an icecat in a spotlight.

"And you're mad as hell about it," YZ/I continued sourly, "and you've come to see what you can do to try to wipe us all out for good. Do I have it right?" He puffed smoke in a stream toward the ceiling, where a vent fan seemed to push it back downward rather than draw it away.

Legroeder struggled to draw a breath. How did YZ/I know about him and DeNoble? What else did he know? He closed his eyes to a squint, focusing inward in fury. (Did you betray that information—when I was with Tracy-Ace—?)

“ We did not. We carefuly monitored the passage of information. “

(Then—) He blinked his eyes open.

Tracy-Ace was touching his arm. He glared at her in silent indignation. He was afraid to think... didn't want to ask... or to admit...

Do you feel bad because you lied to her and then made love to her... or because you got caught?

He got his breath back at last, but felt her gaze burning back at him.

"Oh, for chrissake, Legroeder, don't try to deny it," YZ/ I said.

Legroeder jerked his eyes back to the Boss. "Legroeder," Tracy-Ace murmured in a strained voice, "I've known all along. We've known."

He jerked his eyes back to her. The world was tilting under him. How could you have known? But Tracy-Ace had already turned to YZ/I, her implants flaring. "Did you have to drop it on him like that?"

Legroeder slowly followed her gaze, and saw that the man had ripples of light flickering up in waves from his feet to the top of his head. YZ/I shrugged. "He can take it." He glanced at Lanyard, and in a voice that seemed calculatedly casual, continued, "Rigger Legroeder, there are a great many things that we know—things on the outside, in the Centrist Worlds. But you must not assume that we are like those who held you captive at DeNoble. We're not."

Aren't you? Legroeder felt his face stinging with humiliation. His cover was gone, had never been there in the first place.

But YZ/I wasn't gloating over the revelation. Instead, he was turning to speak to Lanyard. "I believe you had another appointment, Group Coordinator? Don't let us keep you."

Lanyard stiffened ever so slightly. "I think, given the circumstances, that it's probably more important that I hear—"

"What's important," YZ/I interrupted, "is that we conclude these sensitive discussions in private, for now."

Lanyard's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't try to shut us out, YZ/I. If you go too far along this course, you might find—"

"I promise to give you and the Cabinet a full report," YZ/I said soothingly. "I assure you, we will not go too far along this or any other course. But just now... well, I'm sure you understand. Rigger Legroeder is on the spot —and he doesn't need to hear about our internal concerns. Compre-hendo?"

For a moment, it looked as if Lanyard would argue further. Whatever went between them did so in silence. Lanyard closed his eyes, and a line of augments flickered on his earlobes. Abruptly, he blinked his eyes open, nodded brusquely, and strode away.

As soon as he was gone, a privacy forcefield shimmered into place, enclosing the three of them. YZ/I laughed quietly. "I wouldn't laugh too hard," said Tracy-Ace, with a distinctly unhappy look on her face. "He could cause us trouble."

"Well, you'd know that about him, wouldn't you?" YZ/ I said with a little chuckle, causing her face to darken even further. "No, Lanyard is okay; he's just fond of poking his nose where it doesn't belong. We're going to have to be careful of that." YZ/I paused, then said to Legroeder as if they had not been interrupted, "Rigger Legroeder, Tracy-Ace/Alfa did not betray you to me."

Legroeder stirred, filing the Lanyard encounter away. "Then who did?"

YZ/I rubbed his jaw. "If you must know, I'm the one who told her. We've known from the beginning about your escape from DeNoble. For Rings' sake, we brought you here. We have things to discuss with you."

"What do you mean you brought—"

YZ/I waved a hand in the air. "Our contacts with the Narseil indicated an interest in communication."

The underground. Legroeder swallowed, not speaking.

"We had things to talk about—but we couldn't be too obvious about it." YZ/I nodded to Tracy-Ace. "We have appearances to maintain. Very important. Power structures and so on."

Lanyard. The Ruling Cabinet.

"But you sent out... I mean, your ship tried to destroy us," Legroeder protested. "Destroy the Narseil."

YZ/I's breath hissed between his teeth. "That idiot, Te'Gunderlach. If he hadn't been killed in the fight, I'd do it myself. He was ordered to find you. Capture you. Not kill you. That's why Freem'n Deutsch was programmed to—"

"Deutsch? Programmed?"

"Must you interrupt? It didn't work. Deutsch was supposed to get a priority override if the captain got carried away." YZ/I shook his head. "Damn augments are probably what drove Te'Gunderlach berserk, and by then Deutsch's override was too little, too late. Fortunately, you made it here nevertheless—so everything worked out —"

"Not for the dead people we left behind," Legroeder interrupted.

"That is true," YZ/I said flatly. "I do not like losing ships or crew."

I wasn't thinking of your crew.

"In any case," YZ/I said, steepling his fingers, "due credit to you for a well-executed infiltration. We must guard our perimeter better, in the future. We had no idea that Flechette was being flown by you and the Narseil. But you came—wisely probing through the intelnet, and you triggered one of our signal points—and so we made contact. And here we are." YZ/I spread his hands.

Legroeder took a moment to absorb it all. There seemed no point in further denial. He exhaled slowly. "What about the—" he hesitated, struggling to say the word, "underground?"

White light rippled up YZ/I's shoulders and neck. He puffed from the cigar. "As I said—here we are." Legroeder's mouth opened, closed. "You?"

YZ/I extended his hands. "Us. The underground—such as it is. Ready to undertake change for the betterment of the Republic, and so on. But—" he cautioned "—not too publicly. There are people—" and for an instant, the monitors behind him filled with faces; one of them was Lanyard "—who might regard this as sedition, and use it as a pretext for attempting to seize power." YZ/I raised his chin. "Question. Are you ready to talk?"

Legroeder let his breath out, stunned. He glanced at Tracy-Ace; in her eyes there was only serious business, no sign of the playful lover. "Why did—you wait so long?" he stammered finally. "Why didn't you talk to me right away? Why are the Narseil down there in jail, while I'm—?" He didn't finish the question.

YZ/I's face flickered. "Do you feel that the Narseil are being mistreated, after what you've seen elsewhere?"

Legroeder swallowed. It was true that they, and he, were being treated far better than anything he'd ever seen at DeNoble.

"We don't accommodate everyone so well. But we needed time. Time to get to know you. Find out what kind of a man you were. TA here was entrusted with that job." He grinned, all teeth.

Legroeder felt blood rushing to his face. Tracy-Ace gave her head an almost imperceptible shake. It wasn't just that, she seemed to be saying. Or was it, You fool...

"We brought you here," YZ/I continued, "partly to talk to you and your Narseil friends on matters of common interest—and partly because we have a job we think might interest you."

Legroeder barked a laugh. "Why would you think I'd be interested in a job, if you knew what I went through at DeNoble?"

YZ/I carefully stuck the cigar back in his mouth and talked around it. "But there was also what came after, yes?"

"Meaning what?"

YZ/I shrugged. "All those attempts on your life on Faber Eridani? Who do you think was responsible for that? And for your being framed for the attack on Ciudad de los Angeles? And the attack on Robert McGinnis?"

Legroeder felt weakness and rage mixed into one. "Are you claiming responsibility?" He wanted to look at Tracy-Ace, and found he could not. Say no. At least say she wasn't involved.

"Me?" YZ/I replied. "Rings, no! Not my way of operating. Not at all. And certainly counterproductive to what I hope to do."

Legroeder slowly began to breathe again. "Then who? I take it you know."

"I know in general terms." YZ/I waved his cigar in a circle. "For starters, I imagine it was Centrists, not Free Kybers, who did the actual deeds. Kyber-sympathizing Centrists, mind you. Not connected with Ivan."

"Then who were they connected with?"

YZ/I extended a hand toward the back of his working alcove. A holoimage appeared in the wall, showing a raider stronghold. Not Ivan. It was reminiscent of the stronghold from which Legroeder had escaped, in Golen Space. "This particular outpost is run by a boss by the name of Kilo-Mike/Carlotta," said YZ/I. An image of a dark-haired, heavily augmented woman appeared, giving Legroeder a shudder. YZ/I nodded toward the image. "KM/C and I don't get along too well. But KM/C has a great many connections in the Centrist Worlds— particularly, as it happens, on Faber Eridani. She—"

"Wait a minute," Legroeder said. "Connections I could see. But why would anyone on the Centrist Worlds have the slightest sympathy for pirates? Unless they're getting a kickback—"

YZ/I snorted. "Of course, they're getting kickbacks. But that's not what turned them into sympathizers." "Then what—?"

YZ/I took a puff on his cigar. "Betrayal."

Legroeder remembered El'ken recounting the Centrist betrayal of the Narseil. But he didn't think that was what YZ/I meant. "What do you mean?"

"Betrayal of their own world's vision and purpose!" YZ/I thundered. He interrupted himself. "Christ, I'm being a poor host. TA, could you grab a couple of chairs for yourself and the rigger? Thank you." He paused again to study the burning end of his cigar. "A fanatical sense of betrayal. And they're right. The Centrist Worlds defeated the Kyber worlds—not us, but the worlds our ancestors came from—in the War of a Thousand Suns. You know that, right?"

Legroeder nodded, ignoring the implied insult.

"And then, having won among other things the right to be first out to the Well of Stars, what did they do?" YZ/I shook with rage. "You tell me!"

Legroeder hesitated. "Not much, I guess. There were some surveys." And meanwhile, drawing inward while rebuilding, regaining prosperity. And then... nothing. Isolationism.

YZ/I snorted contemptuously. "They won their racist war, then congratulated themselves and sat on their fat asses! Did they take risks to explore the worlds they claimed they were fighting for the right to colonize? NO!" He stuck the cigar back between his teeth again. "So that is what our fleet is going to do now. Seems pretty clear they've abdicated any right—" He stopped and glared. "What?"

Legroeder wondered why he was even arguing with this man. Nevertheless... "The Centrists wouldn't even have won that war—if you can call it winning—if they hadn't betrayed the Narseil. Turned their backs on an ally and made a deal with the enemy." The enemy they hated. The enemy that was more implant than human. "And if they hadn't broken up their rigging partnership with the Narseil, maybe we would be on our way to the Well of Stars right now."

YZ/I grinned. "You learned from El'ken and McGinnis. Very good. You know, I was sorry to learn of McGinnis's death. He was a worthy man."

"Yes, he was," Legroeder snapped. "And if you knew what those people were doing, why didn't you stop them?"

YZ/I stubbed out his cigar in a receptacle behind him. "I didn't say I could control them, for Almighty's sake. Just that I knew about them. KM/C has a lot more people on Faber Eridani than I do. And believe me—those sympathizers are very angry about their world's failure to act. Angry enough to collaborate with their supposed enemies, the Free Kyber. Imagine that."

Yes, imagine, Legroeder thought numbly. Imagine consorting with the Free Kyber. He met Tracy-Ace's gaze for a fraction of a second and jerked his eyes back to YZ/ I.

"Some of them are in positions of authority, where they can make a pretty good show of opposing Free Kyber activity—"

"You mean piracy?" Legroeder asked carefully.

"Whatever." YZ/I waved a translucent hand. "All the while turning a blind eye to it. How do you think the Free Kyber fleets have been assembled so quickly? These are isolated outposts—many of them embedded in the Flux as we are, with practically no access to raw materials! That's why we need to colonize! We know we're living on borrowed time!" He paused. "You know, there's an old proverb, 'Where there's no vision, the people die.' Well, all the vision has gone out of the Centrist leaders. But there are others who haven't lost it."

"You mean people like Centrist Strength?" Legroeder asked sarcastically.

YZ/I shrugged. "They're not someone we deal with, but yeah. Same principle. Lemme ask you—why do you think, for decades now, the Free Kyber have drawn their tax from the wealthy planets, almost without opposition?"

"Tax?" Legroeder echoed sarcastically.

"Let's not quibble over terminology." YZ/I waved his hand in annoyance. He looked as if he missed the cigar, now that he'd put it out. "The point is they've been helping the Free Kyber build the colonizing fleet. Most of the ships in that fleet came from the Centrist Worlds— with the help of Centrists who'd rather see Free Kyber colonists move out to the Well of Stars than no one at all. Plus—" YZ/I waggled his hand "—there's the smell of profit for them. Of course."

"Of course," Legroeder murmured.

YZ/I gazed at him for a moment. "I believe someone you once knew is among them. A Captain Hyutu, formerly of the Ciudad de los Angeles?"

Legroeder was stunned. "Captain Hyutu!"

"A captain now in the fleet of Kilo-Mike/Carlotta. A nasty, mendacious son of a bitch, by reputation." Legroeder swallowed back bile.

YZ/I's eyebrows went up. "You know, neither Hyutu— nor, for that matter, KM/C—will much like what I'm going to suggest. I suspect there could be some personal satisfaction in it for you, though."

Legroeder raised his chin. "What are you going to suggest?"

"Oh, nothing much." YZ/I focused on his fingertips for a moment. "Just that I thought you might want to go out and find Impris for us and see if you can bring her back in one piece."

Legroeder stopped breathing. He heard blood pounding in his ears and felt suddenly detached from reality. Was his heart still beating? Had this man just said what he thought he'd said?

"You okay there?" said Yankee-Zulu/Ivan, in a voice that seemed to echo in Legroeder's skull.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in... yes, I am okay. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I was afraid I'd given you a heart attack or something."

You damn near did, Legroeder thought.

"What do you think? Want to do it?"

Legroeder cleared his throat. "You want me to find Impris—"

"Find her, see if anyone's still alive on her, make contact, do a full investigation. Bring her back, if you can."

The feeling of dizziness was passing, but slowly. "I didn't, uh, realize that Impris was lost. From your point of view, I mean."

"Well, not completely. KM/C knows more or less where she is, no doubt. They're the ones currently using her as a siren lure to bring in ships. But I don't know where she is... precisely. And even KM/C can't reach her."

"Then why—"

"Because I want, very badly, to know why she disappeared."

Legroeder stared at him. "Why do you care?"

Yankee-Zulu/Ivan rose from his seat and stretched out a hand. The image of the fleet reappeared behind him. "See this fleet?" he rumbled. "This fleet is the pride of our Republic!" He was actually breathing hard from the apparent intensity of emotion, and it took him a moment to get his breath back. "And I don't want this fleet disappearing the way Impris did!"

Legroeder shook his head. "Why would it?"

YZ/I's face turned into a glowing network of veins and arteries. "Because... we have suffered losses. Unexplained losses. Not just Ivan, but other outposts." He turned his hands palm up.

Tracy-Ace tapped her feet impatiently. "Why don't you just tell him, YZ/I?"

Legroeder looked from one to the other.

YZ/I seemed annoyed. "Well, all right—for one thing, ships have been lost that were shadowing Impris too closely."

And you want me to fly close to her? Legroeder thought. He drew a breath, stretching his lips over his teeth. "Maybe you guys have just been shooting each others' ships up. Anyway, why don't you just stop flying so close to her?" And why don't you stop using her for piracy, while you're at it?

"Well, the shooting part isn't as far-fetched as you might think," YZ/I said thoughtfully. "But no—we're pretty sure whatever's happened to them is related to what happened to Impris. And we need to find out what the hell that is."

This time Tracy-Ace looked annoyed. "Tell him, YZ/I."

YZ/I sighed and rubbed his jaw, setting off little sparkles of color in his cheeks. "All right, it's not just ships near Impris. In the last three years, we've lost four probe ships headed to the Sagittarian Clouds. Advance ships for the fleet..." His voice trailed off, as he waved a hand back at the monitors. "I'm used to losing ships, but... with the whole fleet getting ready to go..."

"Tell him about your brother," Tracy-Ace said.

A flash of light went up YZ/I's face. With obvious irritation, he said, "And men who are like brothers to me are commanding ships in that fleet. All right?" Tracy-Ace stared, and he growled. "Anyway, it's not just that. We're going to commit an entire fleet to the Deep Flux. We need to know what's going on."

The Deep Flux...

Tracy-Ace continued staring at YZ/I. "Tell him about your brother!"

YZ/I put his fingertips to his temple, as his face flashed dark and light. "All right," he said, as though suppressing a pain. "Come on." Rising, he led them across the dais and down the steps to a large holotank monitor. It took him a few seconds to get the image he wanted: an outpost floating in the reddish mists of the Flux. Not Ivan, not DeNoble, not KM/C. It was shaped rather like a skyscraper tower, but with its lower end simply fading into the Flux. "This is... was... Outpost Juliette."

"Was?" Legroeder asked.

"Yeah. It was anchored in the Flux, like Ivan. Only it had its foundation in the slow layers. They thought it would be safer that way, keep it anchored better."

"Only it didn't," Legroeder guessed.

YZ/I changed the image. "This holo was taken by a ship coming in from patrol, just as this happened." As he spoke, the image suddenly began to quiver and dance, as though they were looking at it through heat waves rising off a desert floor.

"What's that? What's happening?"

"Watch."

The quivering worsened, and the recording became jerky, as though the camera were moving. The surrounding mists flickered and then darkened, and in that moment the tower suddenly became transparent. One heartbeat it was solid; the next it was a ghost. And then it vanished altogether, leaving behind the blood-red mist.

"Just like that," YZ/I said. "It was gone before the ship could approach for docking. They felt turbulence in the Flux, and sheared off. And then the outpost was just... gone." YZ/I suddenly looked old and care-worn. "Never found so much as a trace of it. And my pain-in-the-ass kid brother was on it at the time." He rubbed his forehead, wincing, then straightened as Legroeder absorbed that blow. "I can tell you, no other outposts are anchored in the lower layers now. Impris, as far as I know, is the only one of these ships that's ever reappeared where we can see it."

Legroeder regarded him in horror and fascination, thinking of all those people caught, perhaps for all of eternity, in a ghost realm that no rigger knew how to navigate. Impris had been... half a legend, and half a terrible, isolated reality. Just one. But now... So many ships? And an outpost?

"If I knew where to look, I'd send you after my own ships," YZ/I said.

"But you think they all somehow strayed into the Deep Flux, and couldn't get out?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask you to go find out, would I?"

"I guess not. But why me?"

"Why not you?"

Legroeder stirred angrily. "Give me a reason!"

YZ/I raised his eyebrows. "All right. You're a rigger, and you've seen the ship, and you have good reason to want to find it again. Don't you?"

Legroeder shook his head stubbornly. "Maybe I do. But why did you bring me here to do this? It wasn't for my benefit. Why don't you send your own riggers to find it?"

YZ/I took a deep, hoarse breath. "Do you think we haven't tried?" His voice softened to a growl. "And we've lost two more ships trying. So no, we didn't go to all this trouble just for the fun of it."

"You still haven't answered my question. What do you think I can do that your riggers can't? I told the Narseil that your riggers have tricks we could learn from."

YZ/I looked pained. "Our rigging may be different from yours. But that doesn't necessarily make it better."

Legroeder was startled by the admission. "All right, then—different. I don't know how your people function with all that augmentation, to be honest." Legroeder rubbed the implant on his right temple. "I'm lucky these things didn't ruin my ability to function in the net. I'm sure it's only because they stayed in the background."

"Exactly," said YZ/I.

"Huh?"

"Sure, we have AI augmentation that can run rings around yours, and it's very useful. We couldn't take on the Deep Flux without it. But we also have riggers who are dependent on it, who I think have lost skills that you take for granted. The intuitive element, the human element. They're starting to lose it." YZ/I jabbed a thumb at himself. "You think I'm crazy, saying that? I'm just telling you what's happening."

He paused. "So let's talk about Renwald Legroeder— who not only has had an encounter with Impris, but escaped from Fortress DeNoble, escaped through a passage that to anyone else would have been suicide alley. We had a ship visiting there at the time—they saw the whole thing. Do you remember it? What do they call it, the Chimney?"

Legroeder shivered at the memory: the frantic, terrifying dash through the minefield, and then the Chimney, the Fool's Refuge... chased by raiders and flux torpedoes and fear, and somehow finding his way. He hadn't thought much about how he had gotten through, except to be grateful that he'd been so monumentally lucky.

"You think other riggers could have done that? I understand quite a few have tried, and died."

Tracy-Ace, Legroeder realized, was gazing at him with a strangely penetrating expression, and a hint of a smile on her lips. He shrugged, not to her but to YZ/I.

"And according to Rigger Deutsch's report, you led a pretty good chase through the bottom layers of the Flux when you were engaging Flechette. Well, okay—maybe some other riggers could have done that." YZ/I was staring unblinking at him now, ripples of light running down his arms and torso. "But I don't know any riggers— except maybe a couple of our maintainers—who could have seen those features of the Deep FLux that you picked out in the maintainers' net. And you weren't even in the net! You were just watching an image on the wall!"

Legroeder felt a sudden dizziness, remembering. Yes, he had seen those features. But so what? What did that mean?

"You don't even know that you're unusual, do you? At DeNoble, they were too dumb to recognize what they had." YZ/I cocked his head and gestured to Tracy-Ace. "Why do you think she took you into a high-security area like that? For your health?"

Open-mouthed, Legroeder turned to Tracy-Ace. "I thought it was—I don't know—that you were trying to gain my trust."

She inclined her head. "Yes, I was. But that part didn't work so well, did it?"

YZ/I chuckled. "Of course she wanted to gain your trust. But I also wanted to know what you would see there. And what you saw... tells me you're worth taking a gamble on." His voice became almost solemn. "You have the vision. You see deeper than my people. Or at least, differently. That's why I want you to go."

"Well, I—"

"And I want you to take some of your Narseil friends with you."

Legroeder closed his open mouth. For a few seconds, he was speechless. "You want the Narseil to go?"

"Yes, because they'll see things that no human will see. Don't you get it? I want to send out the full spectrum— my people with their augments, you, the Narseil. Everyone together."

Legroeder's voice caught. "I'm having just a little trouble believing this. You want to work with the Narseil?"

"That's what I said, didn't I? Do I have to repeat everything?" YZ/I reached into a compartment on his chair. "Do you want a cigar?"

"No. Thank you."

Looking disappointed, YZ/I withdrew his hand. "Anyway, yes—I think it's time we and the Narseil talked. It might be very useful for us to exchange information."

Legroeder gave a harsh laugh. "And it might be useful if you stopped raiding innocent shipping!"

YZ/I grimaced and reached into his cigar compartment again. His hand seemed to war with his mind for a moment, before he snapped the compartment shut, empty handed. He drew himself up. "As a matter of fact... that could be on the table, too."

Legroeder blinked, startled.

YZ/I looked pained and angry, and not eager to say more. Tracy-Ace looked as if she wanted to kick him. Instead, she turned to Legroeder. "The free ride. YZ/I, unlike some of the other bosses, has begun to recognize what some of us have been saying for a long time—the free ride may be coming to an end. The raiding. The tax. We've been living on it so long now—"

"It's made us soft," YZ/I growled. "Soft and lazy. And we're supposed to go out and colonize the Well of Stars?" He snorted.

"I think what YZ/I is trying to say," Tracy-Ace said slowly, "is that, in addition to making us soft, all the raiding has made us vulnerable."

Legroeder didn't hide his confusion.

"Look, we know that there are some, like the Narseil, who are getting ready to come looking for us. With guns. The ship you came on was just a start."

"Well—"

"We know you came here to talk, if you could," Tracy-Ace said. "But you also came to gather intelligence to wipe us out, if you could. We're not idiots."

"Oh hell," YZ/I muttered. "If you're going to tell him everything. Don't get cocky, Legroeder. We could fight your fleets. But sometimes—" sparks of light shot through his face, as though it hurt to say it "—sometimes, it makes more sense to talk. And that's what I want to do with the Narseil. Talk. And... go after something of mutual benefit. So, are you interested?" He rocked back in his chair.

"I'm interested," Legroeder said. "But what are you offering in return? Besides some vague promise to talk?"

"Why, you—" YZ/I cursed in a tongue Legroeder didn't recognize, but there was no mistaking the tone. He reached into his seat compartment, grabbed a cigar, and snapped the end of it alight. He blew an enormous cloud of smoke into the air. "Isn't Impris enough? I send you home with your friends, and you get to clear your name. Plus we open lines of talk. Isn't that enough?"

Legroeder held his breath until the smoke cleared, thinking, it wasn't as if he was in a position of power here; but on the other hand, YZ/I had gone to a lot of trouble to enlist him. "Seems to me," he said, with a cough, "that there's more at stake here. You mentioned a willingness to end the piracy."

"Rings!" YZ/I shouted. "I didn't say I would discuss it with you!"

Legroeder shot back, "You didn't say you wouldn't." He took a breath, gestured with one hand. "Look, you're telling me all about how you want to talk with the Narseil, and share with the Narseil, and give up the free ride."

YZ/I waved the burning tip of his cigar. "Your point?"

"And you've told me all about Carlotta conspiring with the Centrists, and Carlotta this and Carlotta that, but you haven't said a word about yourself. How do I know you're not as involved in piracy as she is? Not to mention slavery." A rush of memories from DeNoble threatened to overwhelm him. He forced them back down, and glanced at Tracy-Ace out of the corner of his eye. How do I know you aren't involved in it, too? he wanted, and didn't want, to say.

YZ/I shrugged. "We keep our ear to the deck on the Centrist Worlds, if that's what you mean. But we don't have our hooks in their governments, like KM/C. The raiding—okay. I see it can't last. Carlotta, she doesn't see it. Neither do some of the other bosses. We've got a disagreement in that regard." YZ/I raised his right hand and held it so that he could look into his own palm, as though studying the threaded pattern of light there. "With all the things we don't agree on, it's a wonder we've gotten this fleet assembled at all."

He eyed Legroeder. "So if we do this thing, KM/C isn't going to like it. And she isn't going to like our collaborating with the Narseil. These are things I have to think about. I don't live in isolation. Carlotta likes her cozy arrangement."

"But wouldn't it be to everyone's benefit to find out why ships are disappearing?" Legroeder asked. And wouldn't it also be to the benefit of that Kyber fleet that I want to stop? Hell and damnation.

"Yeah, but it wasn't Carlotta's probe ships that got lost, so what's she care? You rescue Impris and that'll interfere with a lucrative raiding setup." YZ/I shrugged. "Couldn't happen to a nicer person."

Legroeder thought about getting KM/C even angrier at him than she was already...

"So needless to say, I'm taking one hell of a risk just underwriting the mission. So don't give me a lot of crap about what other risks I ought to be taking on."

Legroeder closed his eyes. Had he pushed as far as he could push? Probably he would be smart to stop here, and just agree to it. Bring Impris back, clear his name, get people talking. What were Harriet and Morgan up to now? And Maris? They seemed a universe away, another lifetime. He was supposed to ask about Bobby Mahoney. Jesus Christ, he'd almost forgotten. But this wasn't the time...

"And yet," he found himself saying, "you continue to fly, and fight, with forced labor."

YZ/I glared in astonishment. "Christ, you don't give up, do you, boy?" He coughed on the cigar smoke; the stench was making Legroeder dizzy. "Yeah, we fly with captives. It's part of our history. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Give it up."

YZ/I gave a long, sputtering laugh. "Give it up!" He snapped his fingers. "Just like that!"

"You said you were the underground. You want things to change."

"Yeah, we're the underground," YZ/I said slowly. "And the reason we're the underground is you don't just change things overnight. People like Lanyard—they've got friends."

Legroeder felt as if he were sliding on ice, unable to stop. "You're getting soft and lazy, preying on the innocent."

YZ/I stood up and shouted, "Fuck... you... boy! Don't you talk to me that way!"

Legroeder realized he had involuntarily raised an arm to ward off a blow.

YZ/I stood before him, his face a meteor shower of fury. Then he shifted his glare to Tracy-Ace. "What are you looking at?" he shouted.

Tracy-Ace raised her eyebrows.

"Rings." YZ/I chomped his cigar and turned his back to them for a moment. Then he sat and shook his head. "You have to understand some history here, for chrissake. Jesus! You don't know what it was like."

But I'm about to find out...

"The Centrists cut us off. Treated us like scum, like nonhumans. Sure, they made peace. Peace." YZ/I snorted. "Peace with no future, peace as long as no one with hardware in their brains had a planet to live on, or worlds to conquer. They cast us off, cut us off, and sent us to live in Golen Space. And you wonder why the Free Kyber started raiding shipping, three generations ago? What else were they supposed to do?"

Legroeder opened his mouth, closed it. "But you said you want to change it."

"Yes! We need each other! I know that! But it can't be done overnight. There's just no way."

Legroeder leaned forward. "So make a start. Start it here. This is your chance to make history."

YZ/I glared, his anger clearly rising.

Tracy-Ace rubbed the flickering augments by her left eye, and said softly, "He's saying what I've been saying, YZ/I."

"Do me a favor," Legroeder said, "and put up that image of the fleet again. The colony fleet."

The monitors changed to the fleet image.

"Big fleet. Must be hundreds of ships."

"Over a thousand," YZ/I said.

Legroeder nodded. "And it means a lot to you to have the fleet get through safely. A lot of effort. Resources. Lives." Legroeder pressed his lips together. What am I talking about trading here? His head was pounding.

YZ/I stared at him furiously.

"End the piracy."

YZ/I spat to one side. "We'll talk about it later."

"You're asking me to risk my life. And you want me to trust that we'll talk about it? Send me and the Narseil home with Impris. You can have all the information we get from her. It could save your fleet."

YZ/I snarled and blew smoke at him.

Legroeder let the smoke pass. "If we're going to deal, make it real."

YZ/I flung down his cigar. "Guards!" he shouted.

Before Legroeder could finish drawing a breath, there were four heavily armed and augmented Kyber soldiers surrounding him on the dais. Tracy-Ace was staring at YZ/I, wide-eyed. Legroeder's heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear YZ/I's next words.

"You think you can just waltz in here and tell me what to do! Guards, take this man to—" YZ/I suddenly broke off and jerked his gaze over to Tracy-Ace. They stood facing each other with silent glares, joined as though by a high-voltage charge. Legroeder watched them in numb bewilderment, trying not to think about the neutraser muzzles that were pointing at his chest. Tracy-Ace's implants were pulsing at a frantic rate; YZ's face looked like a contained explosion. What the devil was going on between them?

Suddenly Tracy-Ace cried out in pain, staggering. YZ/I turned with a curse to one of the soldiers. "Stand down your men. I'll call you if I need you."

The soldiers melted away. Tracy-Ace rubbed her temple and stood straight again, scowling.

YZ/I looked down at the floor where his cigar lay smoldering. Then he looked up at Legroeder. "I will negotiate—not with you, but with the Narseil commander —on a timetable for ceasing hostilities. If we come to agreement—and I think we will—you'll do the mission. Agreed?"

Legroeder forced himself to draw a breath. "One more thing."

YZ/I's eyes danced with fire. "What, damn it?"

"A small thing—to you. There's a boy..." He told YZ/I about Bobby Mahoney and Harriet. "Would you try to find him? See if he's okay? Release him?"

YZ/I's gaze softened and he sighed. "All right. I'll see what I can do."

Legroeder nodded thanks, his head spinning.

"Any agreement we reach is for Ivan only," YZ/I continued. "I can't speak for the other bosses."

Legroeder nodded again. "What about information about Impris, and a ship?"

"You'll go with the best we've got. KM/C could cause us trouble, so we'll have to send some escort." YZ/I rubbed his temple in thought. "Not too much, though. Can't have it looking like an armada."

Legroeder's heartrate was slowly easing. "Who are you sending with me?"

"I think... two or three Narseil riggers of your choice, and—Freem'n Deutsch, as well. He will represent our own rigger force. You, however, will be the lead rigger."

"Me?"

"You have the experience and the will to see the job done right. Don't you want it?"

Legroeder shrugged. "All right."

"Good. We'll begin preparations immediately." YZ/I called an aide from the ops room and began muttering in the man's ear.

Tracy-Ace stepped closer and squeezed Legroeder's hand. He felt a surge of the link, and a bewildering array of emotions, triumph and gratitude among them. This struggle had been as much between her and YZ/I as between the Boss and Legroeder. He found himself wishing he were alone with her.

"Oh, yes," YZ/I said suddenly. "In case you're wondering, Tracy-Ace/Alfa will not be flying with you. I have other things I need her for. But what the hell—it'll give you something to look forward to when you get back, eh?"

Legroeder felt his face redden.

YZ/I laughed in satisfaction. "You'd better get going, if you want to be the one to break the news to your Narseil captain."

Tracy-Ace gave Legroeder a tug. It took no further persuasion to get him moving from YZ/I's presence.

* * *

They finally got a chance to talk, on the way to the detention area. "I misled you about what I knew," Tracy-Ace said, when they were in a corridor with no one around. "I'm sorry." She turned to face him.

He swallowed, licking his lips. "You, uh, weren't the only one to do that, I guess."

"No." A smile flickered across her face. "But, you know, we might not have gotten a chance to know each other... the same way... if we hadn't."

Legroeder remembered the anger he'd felt when he first realized that she had deceived him. He took her hand. "I guess not. I'm glad, anyway... about last night."

As their hands joined, he felt a tingle, and a flickering of augments. And... not quite a voice, but a presence. Did it because I wanted you... couldn't help it... not just a job. Do you believe me? I believe you, he thought; want to believe you. How could so much have happened, in such a short space of time? The answer was flowing through his fingertips, of course; it might otherwise have taken years. He felt a knot in his stomach, a vague dizziness. Like a lovesick puppy. Memories of a few hours ago were popping like camera flashes in the juncture between them, and his blood pressure was starting to rise.

"Let's get going to see Fre'geel," he said raspily, afraid he would lose all ability to control his thoughts.

She drew a slow breath and they turned and continued down the corridor.

Legroeder could not help chuckling as they hurried toward the detention center. Fre'geel and the others, he guessed, were going to be very, very surprised.

Chapter 26 - FABER ERIDANI: HARRIET

"Peter, you are such a sight for sore eyes!" Harriet exclaimed, as the PI was conducted into the meeting room at the Narseil embassy.

The Clendornan seemed aglow with pleasure. "It is good to see you, too! Both of you."

"It feels like forever since we left," Harriet said. "Since we got back," said Morgan. "We've been holed up in this embassy way too long."

The Clendornan chuckled. "It's only been a couple of weeks. Of course, by the time we finally get you out of here, it might really feel like forever." He chuckled at Morgan's groan, and then became serious. He looked as he always did when he had something important to say; his wedge-shaped head was slightly tilted, and his mouth was crinkled in a smile on one side, and tight and expectant on the other. "Are you ready for some encouraging news?"

Harriet laughed. "Believe me. We're ready."

"I thought you might be." The Clendornan opened his compad on the table, and as he looked up, his grin seemed almost human. "We finally got our hands on the preliminary McGinnis site report. It wasn't easy; it seemed to me that someone really didn't want us to see it."

"North?" asked Harriet.

Peter shrugged. "Hard to say for certain. But that's my guess."

"Why? What did it say?" asked Morgan. "If they didn't want us to see it, that must mean the results were in our favor."

The Clendornan nodded. "Nothing's official yet, but I think you can quit worrying about the arson charges against you. It turns out the house fire was caused by built-in incendiary devices."

Harriet drew back, stunned.

"What do you mean, built-in devices?" Morgan asked quietly.

Peter's eyes glimmered with purple fire. "Precisely as I said. Self-destruct devices, apparently. I didn't believe it, either, until I read the whole report. Why would a man build such things into his own home? It made no sense. But the investigators were most thorough, and that's what they found— along with evidence in the com logs that McGinnis triggered them himself."

Harriet lowered her eyeglasses, trying to find words. "Let me understand this. McGinnis booby-trapped his own home? Why would he—unless—"

"—unless he felt deeply threatened," Peter said. "A longtime threat, so grave that he was prepared to destroy himself, his home, and all of his records, rather than... what?" Peter gazed steadily at Harriet. "Of course, he didn't destroy his records. He gave them to you instead."

Harriet drew a deep breath, trying not to succumb to dizziness at the implications. "But what was the threat? Why was it so great that he was willing to take his own life?" She pinched her brow, thinking of the records now in their possession. She was more grateful than ever that they had secured copies in various safe locations. She looked at Peter again. "There's something you're waiting to tell me."

Peter gave a lopsided grin. "Not tell you. Show you. Remember the dog?"

"What dog?" asked Morgan.

"McGinnis's. Harriet remembers, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Harriet shuddered at the memory of the dog convulsing outside McGinnis's house, and then bursting through the security forcefield to flee the fire. She still felt guilty for leaving it. But then, she'd left McGinnis, too.

"Well, one of my people has found it. Brought it back, alive and well."

Harriet felt her heart race, without quite knowing why. Morgan clapped her hands and cried, "And we get to adopt it?" Harriet eyed her, and Morgan shrugged. "Well, why not?"

Peter eyed Morgan balefully. "I'm pleased that I could amuse you. Perhaps, if all works out, you will get to adopt it. But as a matter of fact, the dog turns out to be carrying some extremely useful information. I brought a vid to show you." He pulled a cube from his pocket.

Harriet pointed to the player the Narseil had provided them. Popping in the cube, Peter said, "This first one was shot at a safe house outside the city, where we first brought the dog."

The recording was of moderately amateurish quality. It showed the brown dog, Rufus, in a sparsely furnished room, with two of Peter's assistants—one apparently controlling the camera, none too steadily. Harriet watched in silent fascination. The dog looked gaunter than she remembered, but seemed unharmed.

"That's my assistant Norman," Peter said, pointing to the man on screen who was crouched in front of the dog, trying to calm it. "Irv's doing camera. He's the one who caught it. Irv's afraid of dogs. I was proud of him."

Harriet nodded, fascinated by what was developing on the screen. The dog was clearly terrified, and growing more so every time it opened its mouth to bark. The reason quickly became obvious. Instead of a bark, what came out were garbled, but almost human, sounds. "What is that?" Harriet asked, leaning closer to hear. It was a husky, hissing voice. "It sounds like words!"

"Mhhusssst rrrr t-hhelll..." rasped the dog.

"Is the dog talking?"

"Hrrrrr... musssst trrrrelll..."

"Must tell?" Harriet looked at Peter and demanded, "Is that what it's saying?"

Morgan was shaking her head. "You can't be serious." But the look of skepticism on her face was evaporating as the dog strained to be heard—and then cringed, as though from the sound of its own voice.

"Very good, Harriet!" Peter said. "It took us much longer to figure it out. But look at this—" He pointed to the screen, where the dog was now pawing at something on the side of its head. The camera zoomed in, and something twinkled behind the dog's ear.

"An implant! I remember now, Legroeder noticed it."

"Exactly." Peter fast-forwarded the playback. "There's more of this stuff, which you can watch later if you want. But once we realized that it was trying to get us to notice the implant, then we started getting somewhere." The playback resumed, with Norman whispering soothingly to the dog and gently touching the implant. He murmured, almost inaudibly, "—get you hooked up. We'll get some equipment on you, boy." With those words, the dog's ears perked up and he began licking Norman's hand frantically.

"The dog understood," Morgan said in astonishment.

Peter stopped the playback and changed cubes. "Exactly. We didn't have the right equipment on hand, so we had to do some hunting around. Once we had him hooked up to the right implant com-gear, this is what we heard."

The second vid started with the dog being connected, with some difficulty, to a modified headset. Rufus remained calm during the hookup procedure, but as soon as the equipment was turned on, he became excited. He barked sharply, twice. And then—not from the dog but from the speaker on the nearby console—came a human voice. Strained and distorted, it was nonetheless recognizable as the voice of Robert McGinnis.

"If you can hear these words, know that the information I am about to give you is extremely urgent— and extremely dangerous. If possible, forward it to Rigger Renwald Legroeder, or attorney Harriet Mahoney—or failing that, anyone looking for the historical truth of the lost starship Impris. Be aware— this information concerns not just Impris, but also present-day interference in local spacing affairs by agents of the so-called Free Kyber Republic.

"Time is short..."

Harriet felt her breath tighten, as Peter paused the playback. "McGinnis must have been recording this at the same time he was getting you out of the house," Peter said. He unpaused the vid. As the dog sat utterly still, with a strange look of intense concentration, McGinnis's voice continued:

"I do not know if I will survive the next minutes or hour. I am... under heavy attack from the Kyber pirates who installed these damnable implants in my skull. Thirty years ago they tried to make me their agent on Faber Eridani, and nearly succeeded. I have endeavoured to make them believe that they succeeded, while safeguarding the Impris records that they wanted destroyed or altered. With great difficulty, I have managed to deceive my own implants. But no longer.

"I repeat: I am under attack from within—possibly driven by external transmission. The implants have discovered my deception. I am... resisting... under great duress... an almost irresistible command... to kill... Rigger Legroeder and Mrs. Mahoney, to whom I have just released the Impris records. I made a hurried judgment as to their trustworthiness, and I pray I made the right decision. I must resist long enough to let them get clear. I wanted to tell them so much more. But I may have only minutes now before I must end this battle... for good... if I am to keep from destroying them.

"I'll upload what I can into Rufus's implants, and hope that it may do some good, if it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. But if it does... to hell with... what can you do to me that you haven't done already?" The voice became terribly strained. "You... bastards!"

For a moment, there was silence, and then he seemed to regain strength.

"Do not allow this recording to fall into the hands of the Spacing Authority or the RiggerGuild. Both are under the influence of the Free Kyber, the Golen Space pirates. Insidious bastards! For years, they've distorted the events of history, betraying their own people to the Kyber. I do not know who to trust in positions of authority—or if you can trust anyone. I only know, the infestation goes very high..."

There was another break in the recording. The dog's ears twitched, and he seemed about to whine. Peter raised a finger to wait, and then came a last, gasping sentence.

"I will now upload the data log. Take care of Rufus for me..."

His voice trailed off, and there was a rasp of static. Rufus emitted a long howl. Then he lay down and rested his chin on his forepaws, seemingly oblivious to the com set strapped to his head.

Peter turned off the recording. "That was recorded yesterday. My people are working now to see if they can retrieve the data upload. It's some kind of neural-net recording—very difficult to decipher."

Morgan's eyes were wide. "There are some pretty damning statements in there."

Peter's eyes glimmered. "Yes, indeed. But no names, no dates, no events. Not yet. That's what I'm hoping we can get from the recording."

Harriet nodded, listening with only half her mind, as she remembered: ... pray I made the right decision. She heard a voice, and only slowly became aware that it was her own. "He killed himself... so he wouldn't kill us..."

* * *

Peter was preparing to leave when a call came on his collar-com. It was Pew, his Swert associate. "What have you got?" Peter asked. And to Harriet and Morgan: "I sent him up to Forest Hills, near the Fabri preserve. Remember the car that took Maris O'Hare was spotted there... some sort of traffic thing?"

Harriet nodded, as Pew reported in a foghorn voice, distorted by the com. "Nothing from the traffic incident, Peter. But it transpires they made a fueling stop here. An attendant remembers them—that two people got out and walked around the car—the attendant does not recall looking inside the vehicle." But the attendant did remember their being joined by a local, someone new in town, who lived up in the hills nearby. The attendant was suspicious of newcomers and outsiders, including Pew. "But I persuaded him to tell me which way they headed."

"Do you have the location?" Peter asked.

"General area. Going to check further, now. I wanted to apprise you."

"Don't get too close," said Peter. "I'm going to send some backup. Where are you now?"

"At the hydrostop." Pew gave him the address and number.

"Stay put until I contact Georgio. I'll call you back."

Peter smacked a fist into his hand and gazed at Harriet and Morgan. "The rental car was returned two hundred kilometers west of here. But only after it went north to a rendezvous in this little town. Does that suggest anything to you?"

"It certainly does," said Harriet. "That's near the Fabrinative lands. I wonder if Vegas has any connections there."

"I don't know about that. But it suggests to me that I'd better go with Georgio," Morgan said.

"Why, in Heaven's name?" asked Harriet, a knot tightening in her stomach. "You're not a detective."

"We've been over this before, Mother. If we find the people holding Maris, we're going to have to line up the legal case fast. You can't be there, but I can. I'll start by producing the hospital documentation showing that they claimed they were taking her to this other hospital in— wherever it was. Arlmont?" Morgan paused only momentarily as Harriet frowned at her. "Then we can call in the local or provincial police. If they're honest, we can at least get Maris into protective custody in another hospital." Morgan hesitated. "Assuming she's still alive, of course."

Harriet's heart sank as she thought of the attempt on her life and Legroeder's. And yet, Morgan was right. They just might have a chance to save Maris, after all.

"All right," she muttered at last. "You win. Go with Georgio—but you by God be careful!"

* * *

Adaria kept her wings close about her as she scurried from the Elmira Public Library, satchel held tightly in her arms. She blinked a trace of a tear from her eyes. She was going to miss the library, and her work. She would miss the friends she had made here. She would miss living in the company of interesting humans.

She would not miss the intimidation and fear, however.

She would not miss the insidious presence of Centrist Strength, and government officials who meddled in the business of truth preservation, which was a proper business of libraries.

It is not good, that people should be driven from such a calling—that the preservation of truth should be interfered with. But what can I do? One Fabri?

It seemed hopeless, and that was troublesome in itself. Adaria had never been one to give up hope. Her mentor would be sorry to hear that it had come to this. Perhaps there was some way to maintain hope. Some way.

As she stepped off the transit platform near her apartment, the chill of memory set in. The memory of the night, ten days ago, when the agents of Centrist Strength had come calling. Terrorist agents, as far as she was concerned. Come to her home. Why hers?

The knock was not loud, but sharp. It was foolish of her to open the door, but somehow the knock seemed commanding. The two men who stood there spoke softly at first, and then with veiled threat in their voices: "...know that there are people you care for, back in the forest... it would be sad if evil came to them. But what you are doing, information you are giving to people who have no right to it, trying to make political gold out of a foolish legend—it has cost one man his life, already. How unfortunate if it cost more lives..."

Even that might not have been enough to cause her to leave her job. No, it was the change at work, her own boss acting as though Adaria had somehow done wrong to provide information to a patron, to Mrs. Mahoney. The chill had set in, not long after Mrs. Mahoney had come to the library asking about Impris; and it had grown steadily deeper, until Adaria simply could stand it no longer.

She let herself into the apartment with a whuffing sigh. Letting down her satchel, she turned and relocked the door with great deliberation. For a moment, she could not move, but just stood back from the door, arms and wings wrapped around herself, shivering. Then she went to the kitchen and put tea water on to heat. While she waited for the water to boil, she went to the com.

"Vegas..."

"Ffff—Adaria. Hello." Mrs. Mahoney's housekeeper sounded subdued, but pleased to hear from her. They were more kefling—acquaintances—than truefriends; and yet, in a city with so few Fabri natives, the distinction seemed less important.

Adaria fluttered her wings, trying to think what to say. She'd simply had the impulse to call, without knowing what she would say. "I've left my job at the library. It's just become too... uncomfortable." Dangerous.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Vegas, who'd lived with her own share of danger in recent weeks. "Are you going to move back home?"

Back with our own people? "Perhaps later," Adaria admitted, trying not to feel it as a defeat. Driven from human society by racist elements. Was it racism? Or a simpler evil? "Have you heard anything from your employer?"

"Ffff—Mrs. Mahoney and Morgan have returned, and taken refuge in the Narseil embassy."

"The Narseil?" Adaria asked in surprise. "That's... most unusual, isn't it? I was not aware that the Narseil were prone to such hospitality."

"Unusual, indeed. But there are strange things happening at the Spacing Authority, apparently, and they cannot come home. Plus, there's the missing woman I told you about before. Mrs. Mahoney just called me, in fact. They think this woman might have been taken to a place up in the home province. They'd like us to put the word out... they don't know who's behind it..." The concern, edged with fear, was audible in Vegas's voice.

Adaria's own fear was rising again. Centrist Strength... meddling in our land again? "Are you all right, Vegas?"

"Yes—yes, I think I'm safe enough here. Mrs. Mahoney's people are looking out for me."

"Good." Adaria was silent a moment, thinking. "You know, maybe I should think about returning home sooner, rather than later..."

"Will you take word about the woman? Mrs. Mahoney is very worried."

"Of course. Yes. Send me all the details."

"I will. And Adaria? Ffff—take care."

* * *

Major Jenkins Talbott read the intelligence reports with a curled lip. He still hadn't gotten over the way someone had snatched this woman Maris O'Hare out of the hospital before his people could get to her. And he still didn't know who the hell they were, or why they had done it. Someone trying to muscle in on Strength? But who else would care, or want to put the squeeze on Rigger Legroeder? Not that that mattered now, since Legroeder had fled the planet. But Command—and especially, it seemed, the Kyber affiliates—were even more upset than he was. They wanted her found. It seemed the affiliates didn't take well to people getting away from their outposts, even podunk backwater outposts.

But at last he had some good news. His people—well, okay, Colonel Paroti's people, but they were all part of the same division—had tracked her down. It seemed her abductors had gotten a little careless in their driving, and run someone off the road, way up north of here. They'd fled the scene, but a tracker on the other car had made the ID. So now Talbott knew where they were: basically in the middle of nowhere. Which was fine with him. All the easier to get in, make a snatch, and get out—without any hassle from the police or need to involve North and the planetary authorities.

Talbott looked up with a frown as the agent who'd brought him the report entered his cubicle. "Good work, Corporal," Talbott said, slapping the report down. "Give yourself a pat on the ass for it."

"Thank you, sir," said Corporal Sladdak, with a crisp nod.

Talbott chuckled. A loyal Strength soldier, this one. Might make good officer material, some day—if he ever, for chrissake, learned to loosen up a little. So goddamn earnest. Talbott squinted at the wall above Sladdak's left shoulder, then blinked and picked up a document wafer. "Corporal, I need a message taken over to field ops. We're asking them to lend us a field action agent. I don't figure we need the extra body, but Command's got a bee in their bonnet about it." He paused, then yanked his gaze back to his man. "Corporal, how'd you like to join me on a little mission? We need to liberate this woman from captivity and take care of her ourselves."

"I sure would, sir," the corporal said, without blinking.

"Good. Damn straight. Well, after you deliver this message for me, you go home and get yourself ready for a little field operation. It's an important one, you hear?"

"Yes, sir..."