Eternity's End (71 page)

"The Guild," Corellay/McGinnis continued, "has collaborated with a raider organization known as Carlotta. It was Carlotta who salvaged me when I was shipwrecked in the Sargasso, and Carlotta who put these accursed implants into me..." The Kell interpreter spun a new hologram, this time of McGinnis's face twisted with pain as shiny implants appeared in his temples. "It was Carlotta who planted me on Faber Eridani as one of their agents. It is Carlotta who preys upon ships and their crews near the edges of Golen Space, sometimes using the lost ship
Impris
as a lure." Harriet shut her eyes, suddenly feeling physically ill. Through the rushing of blood in her head, she thought,
This is exactly what I need. Finally
. But the thought gave her no pleasure.

"...and it is Carlotta who for years has been wielding her influence over the Guild of Riggers and the Spacing Authority of Faber Eridani." The image changed to a sketch of RiggerGuild headquarters on the left, and Spacing Authority headquarters, on the right. McGinnis's voice softened. "I don't accuse all who work for these organizations—or even the majority. Most employees probably know nothing of the crimes, many of which were carried out through intermediaries. One of those intermediaries is the paramilitary organization that tried to control me. Its name is Centrist Strength."

Harriet drew a sharp breath.
Centrist Strength
.

The Corellay/McGinnis voice became hollow and strained: "They had visions of using my military expertise..."

The story that emerged was a confusing one. But after all she had learned from El'ken and McGinnis, Harriet was able to fit the pieces together fairly readily.

Centrist Strength was building an underground military force on Faber Eridani. No surprise; they seemed bent on achieving power through intimidation masquerading as self-defense. Their stated motives were ambiguous: they claimed to be working for the destiny of the Centrist Worlds, reawakening the leaders of Faber Eridani and other worlds to the once-common vision of a grand-scale exploration of the galaxy. So far, so good. But for a group dedicated to the destiny of the Centrist Worlds, they had far too many surreptitious dealings with a pirate group called the Free Kyber Republic—a group diametrically opposed to the expansion of the Centrist Worlds. According to McGinnis, Centrist Strength had decided that any human expansion—and the power and profit that would flow from it—was better than none. And any means would do to achieve it.

But who was behind their secret military buildup here? Over a period of some years, McGinnis had made cautious investigative forays into the system to which his implants were connected. And he'd learned some names.

It was a long list, funneling down into data-storage as McGinnis spoke them aloud. Some individuals were clearly implicated; others were connected to Centrist Strength only through shadowy intermediaries and front organizations. It was through those indirect connections that the more familiar names appeared, just at the periphery of clear culpability. Among them were officials of the RiggerGuild and Spacing Authority.

It had taken many careful traceroutes, but McGinnis had found the chain of evidence. The Spacing Commissioner's office had quietly signed off on a transfer of retired Spacing Authority armaments—not directly, but through carefully laundered transactions—to the private arsenal of Centrist Strength.

Harriet found herself holding her breath. Was Commissioner North involved in a paramilitary conspiracy? If so, who were his real bosses?

Corellay stroked her wand through the air, leaving a ghostly image of McGinnis's face, surrounded by a curtain of emotional fire—and in the fire the faces of his enemies, an image of the forces assailing him through his implants.

"This is their final attempt to coerce me," said McGinnis with a strained voice. "
'Kill the visitors. Destroy the
Impris
records. Do not let them leave!'
This is the order I finally had to openly disobey."

Corellay urged Harriet and Dendridan back into the holo, as the images intensified: indistinct faces barking commands at McGinnis. Harriet felt McGinnis's anger, held back and masked as long as humanly possible. "For thirty years," McGinnis whispered, "I've kept my true thoughts hidden from my implants. For thirty years, I've deceived them." Harriet felt the rage pounding in her own temples as she saw McGinnis painstakingly ignoring the orders to destroy the
Impris
records while seeming to comply with them.

Harriet prayed she would never have to face such a battle. She could not imagine how the man could deceive implants lurking right inside his own skull. The control that must have taken...

But the images were slipping now toward the fatal end. The implants had learned of McGinnis's deception, and were using all their power to regain control. The voice grew short and raspy.
"Not much time—Jesus, it hurts! They're trying to make me kill you! Take this information. Use it!"
Harriet felt her own breath grow ragged with fear.

"I must destroy this place now! Disconnect—forever—!"

Corellay cried out, and Harriet felt a shocking blow of pain as real flames erupted from the walls, and then emptiness as McGinnis's face dissolved in a sparkling cloud of glitter.

Corellay waved them out of the holo. As Harriet and Dendridan staggered away, Corellay's voice became her own again. "Here ends that section of the data-upload. But there are images that follow—of explosion, fire—" flames engulfing the holo "—and the vision now is from the viewpoint of the dog, Rufus, outside the house."

On the cot, the real Rufus was whimpering now, his legs twitching as he tried to run.

The last image Corellay painted was of the dog running in terror from the burning house. Then the holo faded, and she spoke soberly into the recording equipment. "This concludes the Robert McGinnis reading. I present this interpretation with a confidence level of nine. This is Counselor Corellay." The Kell lowered the wand and stood swaying, her eyes closed. "You may turn off the recording."

Harriet groped for a chair, overcome with emotion. There was a great emptiness in her, from McGinnis's death. For a time, she felt as if nothing could change that emptiness; it was so real, so painful.

And then the details of the revelations began to filter back into place in her mind. And she began to recoil with horror at what the conspirators had done...

Riding back in the Narseil van, Harriet and Peter debated where to go next with the information. A notarized copy of the recording had already been placed for safekeeping on the worldnet. Another copy had been transmitted to El'ken, the Narseil historian.

"I think," said Dendridan, glancing thoughtfully out the window, "that if there was any doubt about whether you still need our protection at the embassy, it is gone now. You've just implicated one of the most powerful officials on this planet in a conspiracy to conceal the truth. About
Impris
—and about the Narseil." He turned to Harriet, and there was a sharp gleam in his eye. "We'll most certainly grant you every protection we can."

Harriet nodded her thanks. A certain satisfaction was starting to settle in. She now had an important piece of evidence that would help to exonerate Legroeder, if he ever returned. The interpreter's confidence rating of nine was very high, almost as strong in court as direct verbal testimony. But the evidence against North and the other officials was still shy of what they would need to convict anyone.

"We've got to go after North," said Peter. "If we unmask North, the whole conspiracy will unravel."

Harriet agreed. But how to go after him? North was in power, and she was in hiding. Whose word would carry the greater weight? Still, it was all recorded and notarized, and ready to be released on a moment's notice. Perhaps it could be used to force North's hand.

"Excuse me," said Dendridan, craning his neck suddenly to look behind the van and up. "But I think we're about to have an emergency. Driver, could you speed up, please?"

Peter angled a glance into the security monitors. "What's that? Is this your time sen—? Hold on. Yes, I think someone's following us from overhead. It's a flyer."

Dendridan seemed to look inward. "And they're about to give chase. Begin evasive driving, please."

Peter grimaced as he tied his compad into the security monitors. "I'm trying to get a registration on it. It's too far away."

"It won't be for long," Dendridan murmured.

Peter seemed to read the Narseil's tone of voice. He glanced at Harriet with eyes aflame, then said to the driver, "You might want to speed up a
lot
."

Harriet shut her eyes and held her breath as the sudden acceleration slammed her back into her seat.
Dear God
.

"Don't worry, Harriet. I'm sure we can shake them," said Peter, in a voice that was not at all reassuring.

Chapter 35

Maris

The local airbus left a cloud of dust as it disappeared around the bend of the old road. Adaria, watching the bus vanish, gave a whistling sigh of relief. She stretched her flightless wings, picked up her bag, and started down the path into the woods.

It had been a long journey, but Adaria was nearly home now, back with her own people, the Fabri. In the end, there was nothing like the company of the homefolk. Especially after the last few months of life among humans. Adaria still shivered at the memories of the coolness and fear that had insinuated their way into her life at the library, and that late-night visit by Centrist Strength, with their half-veiled threats. Centrist Strength made her extremely uneasy, even at a distance—with their known caching of weapons on Fabri land, their proclamations of Destiny Manifest...

Better to leave all that behind, if one could.

The path was not long, but it wound in serpentine fashion through the woods. She felt her own inner tensions unwinding as she followed the path's twisty course among the penalders and fragrant ellum trees to the village. Someone called out to her as she approached, and she whistled a greeting in return. She didn't go straight to the village center, though; instead she detoured to a cabin at the edge of the village. She had someone to visit, an old friend.

Adaria paused, gazing with a shake of her feathers at her friend's house, a low wooden structure. It seemed in poorer repair than she remembered, the bark clapboard cracked and desiccated. "Telessst?" she called through the bead curtain that hung over the front door. She ducked her head and entered, the beads brushing back over her wings. The room was dim; the only light came from two small windows with curtains drawn. It was a modest den, with a raised wooden floor, cushions, and a low table. Adaria whistled.

"Adaria? Is that you?" cried a voice from the shadows of the back room. An old female Fabri stepped out to greet her with a feathery embrace. "
Iiiirrrrrrlllll
," Telest sighed, squeezing her with pent-up affection. "It is good to see you, my friend!"

Adaria didn't answer for a moment, but just held the old Fabri's arms. So much to think about, so much to say. "I am back," she said finally.

"So you are. And how are you?"

Adaria gazed at her old mentor before answering. Telest's curving neck, which the humans might have called swanlike, was a little more bent, a little frailer than when she'd last seen her. Telest's eyes were bright, though the fine feathers covering her cheeks looked thin and worn. It was so good to be back. But there was no time for sentiment just yet.

Adaria drew a breath. "There is trouble, Telest. Word from Vegas and the Mahoney people. They need our help if we can give it. They need it now..."

I am Maris O'Hare. I may be a prisoner, but I am not without control
.

Maris opened her eyes and leaned forward in the living room recliner. With a glance at her two captors, she raised her cup of tea from the side stand and took a tiny sip. The pain in her shoulder and neck was lessening; she could manage a teacup now. She set it down with trembling hands and rested her head back. "You still haven't told me who you're working for," she murmured. Moving only her eyes, she glanced around the living room. She was still getting used to the idea of being planetside, in a house. But in the hands of pirates. Right where she'd started.

The woman turned from the security console she was always checking. "We told you. Ivan. That's all you need to know."

"Who is
Ivan?
"

"A friend," the woman grunted, and walked out of the room.

The man put down a beam rifle he'd been cleaning and peered out the window. "Don't worry about it. Just work on getting better."

Maris pressed her lips together. For perhaps the twentieth time, she surveyed what she could see of the house: Living room. Kitchen. Short hallway with bedrooms. And two captors. Dennis and Lydia. Dennis, who hardly talked. And Lydia, the bitch. They didn't seem like lovers, just partners—though Maris could have sworn she'd heard grunting and moaning in the other room last night. Why the hell wouldn't they tell her what was going on? Maris sighed and closed her eyes against a rush of lingering dizziness. Coma. She'd been in a coma. She'd woken, what—three days ago? Four? She could walk a little now, from room to room, or into the shower—but always with help. She thought she could probably walk unassisted if she had to. But maybe she didn't need to advertise that—at least until she knew more.

Dennis had promised to fill her in when she was stronger. Right now he was rubbing at his temples, as though waiting for some instruction. He didn't have visible implants, but Maris was pretty sure he had them. Lydia, too. Maris closed her eyes, picturing the back of her neck where her own implants were mercifully silent. Dennis claimed to have deactivated them. Crude things they were, used only for sadistic control by her captors at DeNoble.

But they have implants, these two. They're pirates. What more do I need to know about them?

She couldn't stop the hatred from welling up; couldn't stop the memories. The slavery, the rapes and attempted rapes, the degradation. She couldn't stop any of it from coming back. But she could keep it inside. Her hand shook on the teacup, and she put her hand in her lap and held one fist clenched tightly together with the other. She waited until the wash of nausea subsided and she could breathe again.