Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

“We’ll have to decide later on the proper disposition of the Narseil prisoners,” Tracy-Ace/Alfa continued, an unreadable shimmer moving across her face. “Execution… or whatever. After interrogation, of course.”

Legroeder drew a slow breath; he was certain she was watching him for any sign of reaction. “I’m sure,” he said carefully, “that they can prove valuable as prisoners.”

“No doubt,” she said. “Meanwhile—for our planning purposes—I need to learn what you can tell me about the Narseil and their treachery. Then, if your debriefing is satisfactory, I will arrange for you to be integrated into our world here.”

Integrated? he thought grimly. Or assimilated? But that’s what he was here for, wasn’t he? To gain information. And how better to do it? He felt the implants suppressing his involuntary shiver.

He thought he heard a cold chuckle. The flickering on Tracy-Ace/Alfa’s face began to subside, along with the coal-fire glow of her eyes. “Renwald Legroeder,” she said softly, and this time the voice seemed to come from her mouth rather than speakers around him. “I think we can speak face to face.” Her natural voice was strong, though mild in comparison to the reverb she’d been using until now.

She reached up and gripped both sides of her face mask, pushing it up and over the top of her head. She blinked her real eyes for a moment and peered at Legroeder. Without the mask, she looked like a fairly normal young woman: with human skin of a pale tan hue, eyes, nose, mouth. Her eyes flared green, just for an instant, before she shifted her head, putting them in shadow. Her face was bejeweled with augments: an array of tiny ones clustered around the outer corners of her eyes, and slightly larger ones stretched back like gemstones along her temples.

Legroeder blinked, his breath catching. He was staring; he glanced away for a moment, then back. There was a hard-edged look to the young woman, and yet in a way, she was curiously attractive. There was a chameleonlike quality to her eyes, her mouth, her entire face. Every little movement seemed to reveal a different quality: one moment, an inquisitor; the next, a potential ally in finding his way in this strange place; the next, something more personal, a… what? Friend?

Don’t be an idiot.

“In case you think I trust you a little too much,” Tracy-Ace/Alfa said casually, “you should be aware that there are no fewer than twelve security lasers focused on the interior of this chamber. All under my direct control.”

“Ah,” he said, keeping his voice equally casual. “Well—pleased to meet you, Tracy-Ace/Alfa.”

She produced a wry smile and leaned forward in her chair to shake his hand. Her grip was wiry and strong. “You may call me Tracy-Ace.”

“Tracy-Ace,” he echoed. “Is Alfa your last name?”

“Alfa is my node designation.” She gestured with one hand toward the profusion of consoles and God-knew-what arrayed around the room.

“Then” he said carefully, “it is through this node, Alfa, that you connect to the intelnet? And through that you—?”

Tracy-Ace laughed, a short bark.

Legroeder swallowed the rest of his question. “What did I say?”

“I do not connect through node Alfa,” Tracy-Ace said. “I am node Alfa. It is a part of my being, and without me , that portion of the intelnet would not exist.”

Legroeder absorbed that in silence. A part of the intelnet…

// It is a logical extension. If you wished, we could help to expand you in the direction of such capabil—” //

He cut off the inner voice with an image of a hand closing into a fist.

“If we have been sufficiently introduced,” Tracy-Ace said, “then let’s go complete a proper interview. But not here, I think. Are you hungry?”

Legroeder started. This wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

“Although we have no insect life here, I suggest that you close your mouth,” Tracy-Ace said with dry sarcasm. She stepped out of her high-backed chair. He saw for the first time that she was dressed in black sim-leather pants and tunic, with various belts and attachments in silver. Her black hair was clipped with bangs in front, and to the mid neck in back. He was startled by her height, a good three centimeters taller than he was. “All right,” she said with a shrug. “But don’t blame me for what you swallow.” She beckoned him as she turned and strode toward a door on the far side of the room.

Legroeder closed his mouth and followed.

Tracy-Ace led him down a deserted corridor lined with a panoramic holo of the open Flux. It was a far broader view of the outpost than he had seen from the ship’s net: a sprawling array of glowing and shadowy structures, each apparently separate, but joined together by a spiderweb of luminous, arcing threads that looked more like thought than matter.

Legroeder paused, squinting. He thought he saw movement in those threads, but couldn’t be sure. He recalled what Deutsch had told him, about maintainers who kept the outpost anchored and stabilized in the Flux. A swarm of questions rose in his thoughts, but Tracy-Ace was already gesturing impatiently.

“Sandwich and murk okay?” Tracy-Ace asked, turning a corner away from the view.

Murk? Moke? He suddenly realized how hungry he was. “Uh, sure,” he said. “Fine. Um, where are we going to do the debriefing?”

She glanced back at him, without breaking stride. “Well, we can do it in an inquisitor’s cell, with the truth enhancements of your choice—” she paused as he scowled “—or we can do it in a joe shop I like. Which would you prefer?”

He wondered if she was mocking him. He decided to treat it as a straight question. “Given that choice, I’d prefer the latter.”

“So would I. Here it is.”

They turned another corner and were suddenly walking along a row of small shops—with people moving about, in and out of storefronts. The joe shop was third on the left. Through the door, it was dark; and as Legroeder’s eyes adjusted, he saw that it was also dingy and nearly empty. Tracy-Ace chose a booth off to the right, three steps up from the main floor. She slid onto a bench seat facing the entrance, and motioned him into the other.

Legroeder glanced around. What a strange place this outpost was, nothing like the stronghold of DeNoble. That had been more like a military encampment, with a large population of prisoners. This seemed a real city, for people with human needs. And yet, evidence remained that it was a pirate stronghold. Here and there, he had noticed electronic monitors winking out of recesses in walls. Nearly everyone he’d seen was visibly fitted with augmentation, and many of them carried sidearms. Judging from this joe shop, creature comforts were minimal, but not altogether absent. There was only one other person in the shop, a man sitting in the shadows near the back.

Legroeder faced Tracy-Ace across the table. “Do you mind if I ask a question?” he said, placing his hands on the table.

Tracy-Ace waited, silent.

“Why bring me here for a debriefing?”

“Why? Isn’t it good enough?”

“I don’t mean that. But it seems more… informal… than I expected.” To put it mildly.

Tracy-Ace seemed to be assessing him. “Let’s just say, I like to get a personal sense of people before I download.”

“Download?”

“Put out your hands,” Tracy-Ace said. “Palms up.” As he turned his hands, Tracy-Ace examined them, then grunted in dissatisfaction. Her own palms glittered with connectors. “How the hell do you do it?” She looked up at his face, then leaned sideways to inspect his temples. “There?”

“Do wh—?” he began, and then realized what she was talking about. “This isn’t going to be verbal—?”