"Well, that makes us even," answered Legroeder. "I've seen Narseil riggers, but that asteroid was the first time I'd ever been on your turf."
Korken nodded, causing his neck-sail to flutter. His crest was considerably larger than El'ken's, framing a smaller and rounder face. Was it his youth, or simply a personal characteristic? Legroeder was finally becoming able to tell one Narseil apart from another. When he'd first come aboard, they'd all looked the same to him.
"Have you ever rigged?" Legroeder asked, pouring himself a small beaker of juice from the refreshment center.
Korken poured himself a larger beaker. "No, but I hope to, one day. I am—what would be the word in your language—an apprentisss to the riggerss of my ship. I study their inssstructionals—and one day, when I have passed their tests, I may be permitted to enter a rigger-net with the crew." He paused to sip his drink. "That will be a proud day for me."
"I'm sure it will," Legroeder said glumly. When Korken looked quizzical, he sighed. "Sorry, I'm just not used to being cooped up like this. Not able to see where we're going—it makes me nuts."
"Ah, I undersstand," said Korken. "I wish I could show you, but I'm afraid that my superior here—" he gestured to a Narseil officer who had just walked in "—would take away my job. Yesss?"
"Yes," said the officer. "But in fact, I came to tell Rigger Legroeder that we have made better time than expected. We will soon be entering the restricted zone, and then you'll be able to see."
"Huh? I'll be able to see the restricted zone?"
The Narseil waved a bony hand. "We're not concerned about your seeing the base itself. It's the location of it we need to protect."
Legroeder's spirits rose. "When?"
"I would think, by dinnertime. Would that be sssatisfactory?"
"That would make my day," said Legroeder.
Korken beamed, his face distorting nicely into a mask of apparent pain.
* * *
The Narseil base consisted of a chaotic array of disk-shaped structures—like an assortment of pancakes stacked in parallel planes, but shuffled out of alignment. Legroeder pressed his face to the viewport, trying to take it all in. "I'm a little surprised," he murmured to Korken.
"Why? Did you think we would have large weapons and thhhreatening battle fleetss?"
"I thought you might have a few ships. But I didn't think it would look just like a holo of typical Narseil architecture from Galacti Geographic."
"Ah," said Korken. "I guessss, when a design works, one stays with it."
Soon they were docked and Legroeder was being escorted onto the station. He wasn't sure what he was expecting—maybe something like El'ken's asteroid. Instead, he found an interior that mirrored the smoothness and asymmetry of the exterior: smoothly curving grey walls, soft greenish-white lighting, the occasional expansive viewport, and pools everywhere. Some of the pools were occupied by Narseil; others were empty and still. An air of quiet efficiency pervaded the station.
Accompanied by a pair of officers from the ship, Legroeder was whisked to a meeting room that might have been any human conference center, except for the French-curve walls and a large, brightly lit pool in which half a dozen Narseil were carrying out some sort of underwater training exercise.
"This way, please."
Legroeder followed a Narseil to the far end of the meeting room, where he was introduced to an array of officers, only three of whose names he remembered—Fre'geel, Cantha, and Palagren. He stared at each for a heartbeat, trying to fix names with faces.
"Welcome to our team," said Fre'geel—tall, green-eyed, and businesslike. He was the mission commander, dressed in a shiny, forest-green uniform that seemed all straps and belts; he was, Legroeder had learned, a veteran of several forays against Golen Space raiders. "If you're ready, we'd like to brief you immediately on the mission. You've shown great courage in joining us."
Legroeder twitched, but said nothing.
"We'd like to go over our objectives and strategy, to determine where you might best fit in. We welcome any ideas you might have for improving the chances of success."
"I'll do my best," Legroeder murmured.
"And then of course we must get you to the surgical theater to begin the alterations to your physical appearance—"
"Uh?" Legroeder blinked. "So soon?"
Fre'geel looked surprised. "Well, of course. We launch in just a few days. You knew that, didn't you? And you know we're equipping you with augmentation?"
"Well, I... did want to talk to you about that, actually..."
One of the others spoke up—Cantha, the stockiest of the Narseil. Dressed in a dull khaki uniform, he had an extremely thick neck crest, almost a ridge rather than a sail. His face was fuller and craggier, and he had greenish-brown eyes. "It's essential that you be fully equipped. As a human, you may have more opportunity to gain useful information in the stronghold than we do—but it may be necessary for you to blend with the locals—"
"Right, I understand."
"—and equally important, to record your findings."
"Yes, but—"
Suddenly they were all staring at him, as though wondering what his problem was.
He stirred, self-conscious. "Well, it's just that... I'm not really sure I can function properly with augments." Because I'm terrified of them. He gestured awkwardly. "The pirates didn't put any in me because they thought I'd have trouble functioning in the net with them." Or at least I managed to convince them of it... and I was a good rigger without...
"Ah."
Fre'geel turned to Palagren, a slender, grey-eyed Narseil who was dressed in a grey robe that shimmered with occasional iridescence—a trademark attire of Narseil riggers. Palagren answered, "I will be the lead rigger, and I will train you very carefully, to make certain that we can work together with your augments. We have considerable experience in that area, so I wouldn't worry."
Legroeder opened his mouth to answer, but Palagren continued, "In any case, it is necessary, so there's no need to discuss it further."
Legroeder closed his mouth.
"If I might add," said Cantha, "since our intent is to penetrate a raider stronghold—and, we hope, to gain useful information from their internal datanets—you'll need to be able to interact with those nets." Cantha paused, as Legroeder reflected on the fact that, in all his years of captivity, he had managed to remain quite disconnected from the raider intelnets. "Our analysis," Cantha continued, "suggests that with you assisting us with full augmentation, our chances of success rise significantly. That is to say, our chances of getting out with the information. Or at least getting the information itself out."
Legroeder cocked his head at that. "Tell me something. What do you estimate our chances are of getting back in one piece? El'ken was a tad vague on that question." And yet I listened to him. So who's the fool here?
The Narseil exchanged glances among themselves. This is the mighty human warrior come to aid us? he could imagine them thinking. Fre'geel, the mission commander, answered, "That's impossible to know, really. El'ken told you we have had contacts with people in the Free Kyber society?"
"Yes."
"That is one of our reasons for considering this mission worth attempting. But of course, there is a chance that the team will not return, that our lives will be traded... for useful information. Did you not understand that?"
Legroeder tried to conceal his annoyance... and fear. "Well, yeah—I knew there were serious risks. Obviously. But I have no interest in going on a suicide mission. I assume you have some actual plans for getting us in, and getting us out again?"
Fre'geel clapped his hands together in apparent irritation. "Of course we have plans, and we will brief you on them. Appearing to be captured will be our first challenge; penetrating a raider stronghold will be the second; gaining information, the third; and getting out again, the fourth—and most difficult. Our minimum goal is to transmit out information useful to the Narseil Navy."
"Information such as
—?"
"Information on Impris, of course. Data on the nature and location of the outpost, and information on the command structure of the enemy." Fre'geel's eyes glinted. "Understand, we have tried before to strike out at the pirates. The cost has always been greater than the reward. Three times we have seized raider ships, only to watch them self-destruct before we could learn anything from them. We have yet to locate a single raider outpost. If we enable our navy to find, and possibly neutralize, even one outpost as a result of this mission, we will have succeeded." The Narseil commander blew out a breath from his mouth. "But the risk to those of us on the mission..." He turned his long-fingered hands outward.
Legroeder tried to nod, but felt himself scowling instead. "All right, look—here's my feeling on the subject, if you care. All these noble ambitions are fine, but I've already lived as a prisoner in a raider outpost, and I don't intend to do it again. If I go into another one, I plan on coming back out. If you don't think we can do that, tell me now."
Fre'geel stiffened. It was Cantha who answered, "I have heard that is a common human approach. Our way is different. Our way is to plan on giving all, including our lives. To expect to have to give our lives. If we find that we come away alive, so much the better. A happy surprise."
Legroeder stared at Cantha. I always knew there was something wrong with you people, he thought. Finally he shrugged. "Well, at least we know where we stand with each other. But if you want my help, as opposed to just my warm body, then I trust you'll take my needs into account here. Yes?"
He saw several neck-sails flutter. Then Fre'geel bowed. "Indeed, you shall have a voice. And soon we'll discuss strategy in detail. But first we must see to those alterations you will need."
Legroeder frowned. "Why first?"
Fre'geel's mouth stretched in an expression he couldn't identify. "Because we must have your absolute commitment before we can discuss details. And what better way to show your commitment than to go ahead with the operation, yes?"
Sarcasm? Triumph? Legroeder tried to think of a good answer—or a way out. You've already committed, he thought. Finally he shrugged. "All right. Let's go..."
* * *
His Narseil hosts took him to the medical center, which looked like a cross between an aquarium and a physiological stress lab. There were sunken pools in the center of the room and raised glass tanks around two sides, several containing placidly floating Narseil surrounded by medical instruments. There were also cots and tables, and banks of unidentifiable equipment.
Legroeder was introduced to the chief medical officer, a surgeon named Com'peer, a female Narseil dressed in flowing green robes. Her neck-sail was maroon-tinged, and edged with a striking gold ridge. Legroeder found himself wondering, irrelevantly, if those colors were real. Did Narseil color their neck-sails?
Com'peer wasted no time. "This is what we'll be installing," she said, holding out a tray for his inspection. It contained four small metallic buttons and two large syringes with real needles, not sprays. "We'll implant the disks by subcutaneous insertion, but the internal wiring will be established by programmable nanoscale microsurgeons." She tapped the first syringe. "That will be phase one."
Legroeder studied the tray unenthusiastically. "What's phase two?"
"We'll alter your physical appearance—a precaution, in case your image and vital statistics have been circulated among the raider outposts. After all, you may be on—what is the term?—a 'wanted' list."
I'm sure I am, Legroeder thought.
"Do we have your permission for the changes, Rigger Legroeder?"
"Well, uh—are you planning to leave me human, at least?"
"Of course. And you will have an opportunity to preview all of the changes before they're made."
He let his breath out very slowly. "Well-l-l... all right, I guess. As long as I see every step before it happens."
"Excellent. Then let us proceed with phase one."
"Just like that?" Legroeder was startled to realize that all the others, except Cantha, had disappeared. And Cantha was examining his long Narseil fingers, pretending to ignore the entire conversation.
"We are ready. You are ready," said the surgeon. "And you will need time for adaptation and training." Com'peer studied him for a moment. "Why delay?"
I can think of a thousand reasons, Legroeder thought with a shiver. "All right..."
* * *
For the operation, Legroeder received a partial anesthesia, which left him conscious but spacey, filled with a disembodied awareness of what they were doing to him—guarded not so much against physical pain as neural disorientation. When they implanted the disks, he felt a brief stinging sensation—four times, once on each temple and once behind each ear. Within minutes of the syringe injections that followed, he began to feel an inner tickling as the microprocessors that had just been released into his bloodstream burrowed into his nervous system, building interfaces between the implants and his brain.
"Am I—" he murmured dreamily "—going to be able to have these taken out after it's all over?"
"Why would you want to?" asked the bemused surgeon, rustling about beside him. "You'll be far more intelligent with these inside you."
"Wonderful... but will I still be me? With this... stuff... I won't know who's in charge."
Com'peer made a hissing and clucking sound. "You humans—you are so insecure about your personal identities!"
"What the hell do you know about humans?" Legroeder muttered, just aware enough to be annoyed.
The Narseil gave a chittering laugh. "Quite a lot, actually. How much time have you spent on Earthhome?"
Legroeder blinked in amazement; with the anesthesia, the action occurred in slow motion. "You've been to Earth?" Earth, to him, was hardly more than a legend. He had never been within a hundred light-years of the place.
"Indeed I have. I did my post-post-training on Earthhome," said Com'peer. "Columbia Interspace Medical Center, in Old America."
"Huh..." said Legroeder. He wanted to ask more, but just then the surgeon stepped away, humming softly. A moment later, his thoughts were obliterated by a sudden rush of sensation from the inner network construction...
It was a little like feeling a spiderweb being pulled through his nerves, veins, and sinews. The sensation was partly physical, and partly an image being drawn through his consciousness. It was growing and he had no power to control it, to slow it or stop it. He had a sudden feeling of being caught in traffic in a city, trapped and choked, and forced to move where traffic moved him, or held where it held him, caught in a living web that was part of something greater than himself.
And then darkness flared over him, and all sensation flickered out, and he no longer knew whether time was passing slowly or quickly. But he knew that it was somehow altered... and he retained just enough awareness to realize that the new network was somehow integrating itself with brain centers associated with time perception...
...and then without warning there was a jarring sensation, as if his own inner system were being reset. Immediately a rush of information followed, to and from the implants. He had no idea of the actual content of the information; it was as though the system were testing itself, and felt no need to involve him in the process.
And then, just like that, the physical alteration was done. But not the readjustment; that was only beginning. There were things linked to his brain now: knowledge systems. It was a little like being hooked into a rigger-net; but the kinds of data he sensed were very different, more like a library connection.` He was dimly aware, as he lay motionless, of the Narseil medics moving around nearby, but most of his attention was drawn inward; the knowledge systems were stirring, and offering their services to him. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.
A series of connections flickered open briefly, in succession. Some were to databases, others to analysis engines. Still others, to the outside—or would be, later, when he needed to join with ship systems, or libraries. Or... the pirates' intelnet.<
br />
He became conscious of Com'peer moving around, humming. When the surgeon leaned over to peer into his eyes, he yelped involuntarily; there was a mutant iguana staring at him. His vision squirmed for a moment, then refocused to reveal the Narseil's face.
"Good," said the surgeon.
Legroeder struggled to make his mouth work. "Wha' d'y' mean, good?" he managed. "You scared... living b'jesus... out 'me."
The Narseil laughed, the sound of a zipper going up. "I was applying a small input to your vision system to see if you would react. I was not disappointed."
Legroeder closed his eyes, praying it would all go away.
"Don't worry if all this seems a bit disconcerting," Com'peer went on. "We'll have you trained before you actually go into action."
"How're you—?" Legroeder started to say, but before he could complete the thought, a new rush of inputs came over him. He was suddenly swimming in a surrealistic landscape, floating over glowing orange lava beneath a blood-red sky. He felt a rush of fear, and then annoyance and confusion. Finally it occurred to him that perhaps he could control this the way he would control a rigger-net. He tried to wish the volcanic landscape away. When that didn't help, he tried to command it away. There was still no effect, except that the lava seemed to glow hotter, rising toward him with its sulfurous fumes. With a silent mutter, he focused his thoughts more sharply. In his mind's eye, he formed his right hand into a painter's brush. He stroked at the sky. The blood-red softened to pink, and then to a pale violet. Ahh... With a sweep of his brush, he erased the lava and turned the surroundings into a cool blue place with a ceiling over his head... and finally back into the Narseil medical center.
He glared up at the Narseil surgeon.
"Very good," said Com'peer. "You seem to have a knack for this. Of course, as a rigger, you should."
"As a rigger," Legroeder growled, "I don't like having my mind messed with. If I don't know where input is coming from, and I can't control it, I can't rig. That's why I didn't want these damn things!"
Eternity's End Page 17
