"May I ask how you happened to have a forcefield around your house?" Legroeder said. "Not that I'm ungrateful, mind you."
"You can ask." McGinnis gestured toward a cluster of seats near a large stone fireplace. "Make yourselves comfortable while I fix something to drink."
Legroeder sank into a seat near the fireplace. A crackling fire billowed up with a soft rush. Legroeder closed his eyes, forced himself to try to relax... to focus on the warmth of the fire, the smell of the wood smoke, the crackle of flames. His thoughts drifted inevitably to the weapons fire of attacking pirate ships, and missiles in the air—and he winced, opening his eyes. He twisted around in his chair.
Harriet had seated herself on a small sofa facing a broad wooden coffee table. Her compad was out. She beckoned to Legroeder, and he moved to the seat opposite her. When McGinnis returned, carrying a tray with three tall drinks, Harriet lowered her glasses on their chain. "Is there some way I could make a call from here? We need to order a replacement flyer, but my signal can't seem to get past your forcefield."
McGinnis rested the tray on the table. "Of course. I'll see to it in a moment." He passed out coasters and glasses. "I think you'll like this. It's an infusion made from the leaves of the nascacia tree."
Legroeder held his glass up, peering through a reddish amber liquid and several ice cubes. He took a cautious sip, then another. The drink had a sharp tang, with a hint of sweetness. He nodded appreciatively.
McGinnis didn't respond. He was standing with his eyes closed, concentrating. "Hmph," he muttered, looking annoyed. Returning to the bar, he tapped at a control panel. "Try your transmission now," he called.
Harriet touched her earring, then typed at the pad.
"Are you getting through?"
"I'm afraid not."
McGinnis did some more fiddling, then returned to join them. "Whatever's wrong, I've got my house system checking into it. It should let me know when it finds the problem." He looked preoccupied as he took a seat at the end of the table. But rather than speaking of whatever was troubling him, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "All right, then—you've come a long way because you think I can help you. What is it you want? And why did someone want to shoot you out of the sky to keep you from getting it?"
Harriet cleared her throat. "What we want is information about an old rigger ship. As for why someone would kill us to keep us from talking to you... well, I was rather hoping you might be able to tell us."
McGinnis inclined his head. "Really. What ship are you interested in?"
"If you've seen the news reports, you probably already know. The passenger liner Impris. The Flying Dutchman of Space." Harriet paused, waiting for a reaction. McGinnis said nothing, but his eyes seemed to narrow. "Oddly enough," Harriet continued, "we've found very little information about her in either the RiggerGuild library or the public library."
"That is odd, isn't it?" McGinnis said, in a gravelly tone that suggested he didn't find it odd at all.
"But we heard—rumor, I guess you would have to say—that some of the original reports on the ship had been removed for safekeeping." Harriet scrutinized McGinnis's face. "Would you, by any chance, know anything about that?"
McGinnis's eyes closed, and an expression of pain crossed his face, unmistakable even through the synthetic skin. For a few heartbeats, he seemed removed from their company, as if his thoughts were occupied far, far away. Legroeder watched him, wondering what inner struggle was going on in this man. And what did it have to do with them? He also wondered, suddenly, what augmentation McGinnis had beneath that synthetic skin. And was that augmentation one of the reasons McGinnis lived out here like a hermit?
When McGinnis's eyes blinked open, he exhaled suddenly, as though a great tension had been released from his body. His voice sounded husky. "Why, may I ask, are you interested in this... ship?" His gaze shifted from one to the other, and came to rest on Legroeder. "You weren't thinking of looking for her, or something..."
"As a matter of fact," Legroeder answered softly, "I've already seen her."
"You—" McGinnis said with a start, and then cut himself off. "Please continue."
Legroeder nodded, feeling a band of tension in his forehead. "I've seen it. And I've heard lies about it. And I need to know the truth—to prove the truth. This has great personal importance to me. So if you—" He paused, realizing that McGinnis's hand was trembling.
McGinnis placed his half-empty glass on the table and stared at it, as if it held answers to his questions. His gaze caught Legroeder's. "Tell me," he whispered.
"If you've seen the news reports, you must know—"
McGinnis shook his head. "Tell me."
Legroeder glanced at Harriet. What nerve had they struck here? Drawing a deep breath, he told McGinnis the story. The Impris sighting. The pirate attack. His years of captivity and servitude. His escape. And finally, his framing by the RiggerGuild inquest panel. Even in brief, it was a tortuous tale. When he finished, he sat back with a sigh, trying to push the reawakened memories back into their bottle.
McGinnis rotated his glass in his hands, contemplating. "Well." He gazed up at the ceiling. "You're right about my having information about Impris. Nobody's looked at it in years. I probably have the closest thing there is to a complete record. As complete as there can be, considering that we never learned what happened to her. Except—" he paused, looking down "—you've just confirmed reports I've heard over the years, that she's being used by present day pirates as a lure for unsuspecting ships." He shot a piercing glance at Legroeder. "You might want to think about what that means, in terms of your being framed."
Legroeder opened his mouth wordlessly.
Harriet spoke sharply. "Would you be willing to share the information you have with us?"
McGinnis pressed three fingertips to his forehead, scowling. "Yes," he hissed... but as though he were speaking to someone else.
"Mr. McGinnis? Are you all right?"
Pain flickered across the man's face. "I'm... fine."
Harriet exchanged alarmed glances with Legroeder. "Is there anything we should—?"
McGinnis blinked his eyes open. "No. I'm fine now. Really." He grimaced. "I don't... know much more than you about the present state of Impris, I suspect. But if you're interested in knowing the truth of her past... I'll show you what I have." He seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. He pressed his hands to the tabletop, as if steadying himself. His chin jutted, eyes challenging them. "Not many people are interested in the truth, you know."
"The truth is what we're here for," said Harriet.
"Then I have what you need. The whole reason I've kept these documents here... is to keep the truth alive. Truths. Not just about one ship, but about a larger historical matter—" he paused, as though gathering strength "—that for over a hundred years has been nothing but a lie."
Legroeder shook his head in confusion. "What—?"
"You came here to ask about a ship. But what you really need to know about is dishonor and betrayal between worlds—in wartime and in peace." McGinnis's voice hardened to a knife edge. "A betrayal that continues to this day—unrecognized, and written right into our history books." He sighed. "The disappearance of Impris was one of a great many mysteries left at the end of the War of a Thousand Suns. Most of them remain unsolved, and forgotten. But for some—like Impris—answers were fabricated, and perpetuated, for reasons that have nothing to do with the facts. But there are real answers... if you want to know them." He glared in the direction of the crackling fire, his black eyebrows knitted together. "If you want to read them for yourselves."
Harriet seemed taken aback by his ferocity. "Yes, we do—very much. But may I ask something first? Why was this information removed from the public record? Was it deliberately suppressed? Is there some raider influence here?"
McGinnis barked a laugh. He slapped a fist into his open palm and sat trembling. His lips barely moved as he whispered, "Get... out of my... you little
shit!" With a shiver, he said a little too loudly, "Sorry—yes—it was suppressed."
McGinnis looked to Legroeder as if he were about to explode. "Who suppressed it?" Legroeder asked.
McGinnis spoke in halting words, as if against some resistance. "I cannot—tell you that—now. But I can tell you why—the lies were told—a hundred years ago, and still are, today."
"Yes?"
McGinnis's breath rasped. "Blame the enemies of the Narseil."
"Excuse me?"
McGinnis seemed to gain strength, and his voice became almost normal. "Back then, there were those who wanted the Narseil blamed for the loss of a prized ship. It could have been any ship. But when Impris disappeared, the perfect excuse presented itself. Look at the Narseil and the Centrist Worlds. They were allies against the Kyber in the War of a Thousand Suns—until the end of the war, when suddenly they weren't, anymore."
Legroeder frowned. "That's what the RiggerGuild library says. That it was suspicion that they'd destroyed Impris that ruined relations with the Narseil. But Impris wasn't destroyed—I've seen it! It's out there!" His pulse was racing now, with hope that he might finally learn what was behind the RiggerGuild lies. But why would anyone have betrayed the Narseil, and what could it possibly mean now, one hundred years later? What connection did it have to pirates using Impris as bait?
"Perhaps," said McGinnis, "this would be a good time to show you what was known, until it was buried under the lies. Would you like to see the report of the inspector who investigated the ship before it disappeared?"
It took a second for the words to register. "Before—?"
"That's right. Impris's troubles started well before the time of her disappearance. Excuse me one moment." McGinnis returned to the control console near the bar. He worked for a moment, muttering under his breath. Rejoining his guests, he said, "The materials will arrive shortly."
* * *
When the library robot rolled into the room, bearing a large carton, McGinnis quickly cleared the table. "Some of this used to be on the public library systems, but it was purged long before the originals came into my possession. I was given these materials for safekeeping—"
"Why you?" asked Harriet.
"That," McGinnis said sharply, "is something I'm not at liberty to speak about. Let's just say they were safer with me." He lifted a set of folders from the carton. "I've reloaded all of it on my own system, but these are the originals. Or as close as one can get. These are certified copies of the original investigation by the Space Commission—they were the forerunners of the present Spacing Authority—into the disappearance of Impris. And along with it, the old RiggerGuild investigation. They don't entirely agree with each other—but neither one ascribes any blame to the Narseil." McGinnis opened the top folder and took out several sheaves of mylar paper. "In fact, they don't even mention the Narseil."
Legroeder picked up the RiggerGuild document and held it gingerly, as if it might burn his fingers. What could possibly be in these old documents that would explain what had been done to him? For no clear reason, he felt a tingling sense that he was teetering on the edge of answers. Rigger intuition?
"If you're wondering how the Narseil got implicated," McGinnis continued, "it happened in a special report to the planetary governor—written by a political committee with virtually no rigging or spacing expertise. That's in here, too."
"Would you mind," asked Harriet, "if we made copies of some of these documents?"
McGinnis hesitated, his brow furrowing again. "Copies," he murmured, straining. "There are reasons... why I have not..." His breath caught, and for several heartbeats, he seemed unable to continue speaking. Then he hissed suddenly, "Yes, I'll give you the whole damned collection on a cube before you leave. "But—" his gaze caught them sharply "—be aware, your possession of the information could make you a target."
"It would seem that we're already a target," Harriet said dryly. McGinnis inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Legroeder touched an unopened folder. "What's this?"
"That's the Fandrang report."
"Fandrang. That name's familiar."
"Gloris Fandrang. He was a shipping inspector, very highly regarded, before and during the War of a Thousand Suns. Later, he went into politics, but not here on Faber Eridani. He moved to the Aeregian worlds. Died in a flyer accident about ten years after he wrote this." McGinnis shrugged. "At least, they called it an accident."
Legroeder glanced at the paper. "And his report—?"
McGinnis opened the folder and laid out a number of holos, as well as a long text document. "This was never released to the public. It was the result of his investigation into the disappearance of Impris. But not just her disappearance. Fandrang had been looking into anomalous events reported by her riggers a dozen voyages before her disappearance."
Legroeder felt a chill of fear. Why should a century-old event frighten him? "I hadn't heard anything about that," he whispered.
"I know. And when you read this, you're going to wonder why you never had access to this information. Because there was something going on—probably is still something going on—that every rigger ought to know about."
"Meaning—?"
"Dangers out there that you know nothing of. And yet you face them every time you rig."
"If you're talking about the raiders—" Legroeder heard his own voice trembling "—I think I know more about them than you'll ever know."
"Maybe." McGinnis's gaze didn't waver. "But no, I'm not talking about the raiders."
"Then what—"
McGinnis gestured to the table. "Read the report."
Chapter 7
The Fandrang Report
Robert McGinnis watched with both dread and satisfaction as his two visitors settled in to study the materials. At last, it seemed, someone had come along to whom he could reveal the truth—and perhaps, entrust its safekeeping. There was no way to be certain, but his heart wanted to trust these two. And if they were being persecuted by the Spacing Authority and the Guild, then his heart probably knew best. Let them study the facts first, and delay as long as possible opening his own thoughts to them. Of course... there was no way they could possibly understand the danger they were stumbling into, and no way he could warn them without risking a total collapse of the charade he'd been carrying on all these years.
"You can read the text here if you want—" he touched a switch under the edge of the table, and two compads opened out of the tabletop for Legroeder and Harriet "—and then compare with the documents. Afterward, we can talk. Now, why don't I go fix us a light dinner? I always eat early." Legroeder and Mahoney nodded; they were already absorbed in the materials.
McGinnis retreated quietly, not so much to prepare dinner as to prepare himself for the next attack, which surely would come. All the signs were there: the anonymous message from the Elmira library just a few hours ago, advising him that two people had been looking for information on Impris; and a separate warning, direct through his augments, that if a Rigger Legroeder and his lawyer came snooping, he was to turn them away. It had been years since he'd allowed himself to think much of the Impris investigation, and he'd found the warnings jarring at first—and then terrifying, once he'd examined the implications. Was the Impris matter about to be thrown wide open? Maybe he had insulated himself too well here in his enclave. He had indeed recognized Legroeder's name from the news, but in his determined insularity had paid little heed to the actual reports.
Now he recognized his error. It seemed likely that the confrontation he'd long dreaded was—quite without warning—at hand. Absolute caution and attention to control were essential.
He walked to the kitchen, just down the hall from the living room. He focused on his breathing, keenly aware that his thoughts could slip at any moment. He'd managed to keep his deepest intentions isolated from his augment network, but several times in the last hour, he'd almost lost the struggle. If only he weren't so dependent on the network for his own memories
and thoughts!
The other side no doubt had their suspicions, but they could not be sure. The forces testing him from within were growing stronger; the instructions from those who would be his masters came with greater and greater urgency. If he had been complacent these last years, so had they. But no longer.
He stood before the cookmate, trembling, fingertips pressed to the countertop, trying to focus on what he could cook. And then the power hit him from within, like an ocean wave—slamming and lifting him as though to hurl him head over heels. His breath went out in a terrible gasp...
Stop it, don't let it past... FIGHT IT!
The fingers of the augments were reaching downward, trying to discover his innermost thoughts...
// Let us see, let us see—!//
He fought back with a grim will, clamping his thoughts down until his mind was almost totally blank... leaving only the familiar, abstract struggle of mind against circuitry. (Out! Get out, you bastards—out!) He reeled, losing ground. The eyes and ears of the augment, and of those who controlled it, were like a tiger at his tent, clawing at the thin flap that protected him, roaring to be let in...
(You may not, they are my thoughts, you may not have them... )
Even as he hissed his protest, the barrier was shredding, the claws tearing the canvas; in a few more heartbeats he would lose the struggle. When that happened—and he could smell the tiger's breath now, almost upon him!—he would be torn open like a gutted fish. He would spill everything he knew, everything he was about to do. And then it would be over and they would have won... they would have defeated him.
OVER MY DEAD BODY!
Like a rubber band snapping, the fear gave way to utter determination. Almost as if he were a rigger, he put all of his focus into that inward battle. And suddenly the canvas of the tent transformed itself to crystalloy steel—and the tiger raged and howled, but could not get through. It clawed and hurled itself against the barrier, in vain; and finally in frustration it stalked away, leaving him gasping.
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