Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

The dog gouged his lap with its nails as it sprang into the flyer, scrambling over him to get into the righthand seat. It sat there, panting like a steam locomotive, peering around wildly. It gave a long whine.

Irv stared at it, mouth open. He gulped and yanked the door closed. “You want a sandwich? Wait a minute.” As he rummaged through his pack, conscious of the dog’s hungry stare, he remembered the com and thumbed the key. “No problem here. Look, I’m bringing the dog in, Peter. Just like you said. I’ll see you soon.”

Finding a half-eaten roast beef sandwich, he tossed it to the ravenous animal. Then, taking a deep breath, he fired up the motors and took to the air before either of them could change their minds.

For several shipdays, intensive repair efforts had been underway on both H’zzarrelik and Flechette . On the pirate ship only a bare skeleton of the original crew remained; the rest were in confinement aboard H’zzarrelik , undergoing interrogation. Nine Narseil had died in battle—a spiritually significant number in the Narseil Rings religion—and the atoms of their bodies were cast to the interstellar winds with ceremony and mourning. Of the raiders, something on the order of forty were dead; and the atoms of their bodies were scattered, too, with considerably less ceremony.

For a time, it was unclear whether the mission would be able to proceed. Flechette was badly shot up, and no one knew if it could be made to fly again. If not, H’zzarrelik would return to base with prisoners and no doubt a great deal of useful information from a thorough examination of the Kyber ship—but with the primary mission unfulfilled. On the other hand, Legroeder had seen the Narseil engineers at work, and had a healthy respect for their capabilities. Even so, he was amazed when, three days after the surrender of the pirate ship, he was ordered to report to Flechette to help test its rebuilt rigger-net. It was Cantha who brought the news, and when Legroeder rose to follow, thinking he might be gone for a few hours, Cantha chuckled. “You must bring all your things, my friend. We are moving aboard, you and I. Fre’geel has called a strategy session for later in the day.”

Legroeder blinked with astonishment, followed by a chill of apprehension. They were going forward with the original plan, then. He ought to have been prepared, but it was a jolt to realize that it was really happening.

Gathering his gear, he joined Cantha at the main airlock. Enveloped in a forcefield silversuit, he hooked his tether to a cable that joined the two ships and jetted toward the pirate ship, weightless and reeling from vertigo. He had never felt quite so exposed to space as he did during that crossing, surrounded by an awesome myriad of stars, suspended untold light-years from the nearest world. The net felt nothing like this, even when he was looking at the same view. In the net, he was anchored and secure; here, he could fall forever. He floated into the airlock of the raider ship with a gasp, and when the airlock door sealed behind him, he uttered a silent prayer of gratitude.

The air on the pirate ship assaulted him with the residual stink of smoke and burned insulation. But walking through the ship, he was struck by the ubiquitous repair work—fiber panels and plasteel patches and jury-rigged pumps and field generators. He peered down a corridor sternward and saw a maze of cables snaking through a blown-out wall. Shaking his head, he followed Cantha forward to a meeting room amidships, where he found Fre’geel, Palagren, and much of the crew he’d worked with on H’zzarrelik . They had all moved into quarters on the pirate ship.

“Rigger Legroeder,” said Commander Fre’geel, “there is someone you need to meet, as soon as you’ve gotten settled.”

“I thought you wanted me to work on the net.”

“I do. As soon as you’ve spoken with—”

“Their rigger crew—?”

“I would be pleased to have you not interrupt me. Yes, with their lead rigger and acting captain. Deutsch is his name. I want you to establish a relationship with him.”

Legroeder let out a silent breath. “Excuse me?”

“You are to establish a relationship. Make friends, if you can,” said Fre’geel. “And you might as well get used to the idea,” he added, noting Legroeder’s incredulous reaction. “Everything’s going to be different now.”

“You cannot be serious!” boomed the synthetic voice of the pirate rigger, Deutsch.

“But we are,” said Commander Fre’geel, sitting tall on the other side of the meeting room table. “You are to lead us back to your base.”

Legroeder watched the exchange with confused emotions. Curiosity, trepidation, hatred of what the pirate stood for, and, to his own surprise, sympathy. Freem’n Deutsch was a stocky man-machine. Legless, he moved around by floating in the air; a round, brushed-titanium housing where his hips should have been apparently contained the levitators. Around his chest was a complex assortment of armor and cyborg-augmentation, including speakers for his voice. His round face was one-third chrome, with glowing cyberlink connectors on his temples, and four lenses—two hemispherical mirror lenses over his eyes, and two smaller ones mounted on the sides of his cheekbones. Presumably the four eyes gave him enhanced peripheral vision; they also made it nearly impossible to read his emotions.

Legroeder suddenly realized that Fre’geel was waiting for him to say something. “We’d have thought you’d be glad to go back,” he said, with a shrug.

Deutsch made a low ticking sound. He rotated one way and then another, as though to see who was listening. “I am not eager to return to the outpost with a chain around my neck,” he said finally. “Truthfully, I would prefer not to return at all.”

Legroeder frowned, realizing what his opening question should have been. “Were you—how shall I say?—not a volunteer in the raider fleet?”

The pirate made a metallic cawing sound, which Legroeder took to be laughter. “Volunteer? Are you mad? I am a captive! Can you understand that?” Tick tick tick . “It has been so long that I sometimes have trouble remembering. But having been forced to serve, I—” there was a slight catch in his voice “—well, I have tried, I suppose, to serve well.”

Legroeder replied softly. “You might be surprised what I can understand.” He didn’t care at all for this man’s looks, or for the memories that Deutsch’s presence stirred up; but he found himself unable to hate him, either. A fellow captive, impressed into pirate service—apparently far more assimilated into the raider culture than Legroeder had become. But what would he be like, if he hadn’t had the opportunity to escape, or if his captors had forced him to take implants?

“I was planning to ask for asylum when you took us back to your worlds,” Deutsch said.

Fre’geel’s eyes contracted to narrow, vertical slits. “That will not be an option,” he said. “Unless, of course, you help us in the completion of our mission, and come away with us.”

Rigger Deutsch gazed at the Narseil commander for a long moment. “Why do you want to do this? You will be killed—or if not killed, taken prisoner and forced into service.” He lowered his voice. “There are not many live Narseil captives in the Republic. I… understand they don’t incorporate well into the system.” Deutsch looked at Legroeder as if to say, you’re human, you at least should have some sense.

Legroeder sat silent, his stomach churning.

Fre’geel answered, “It is not our intention to be taken prisoner… exactly.” He seemed to consider his next words carefully. “Tell me something. Are you aware of a movement within the Kyber organization—a movement that wishes to make contact with the outside worlds?”