Eternity's End (45 page)

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."

// Shall we fill 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?