Eternity's End (46 page)

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—