Eternity's End

by Jeffrey Carver

  Keeping pace with her wasn't easy. She kept turning abruptly, and hurrying him along. Her temples were flickering madly; her mouth was pursed in concentration.

  "Can I ask where we're going?" he said finally.

  She stopped at an intersection, frowning. It must have been time for a shift change, because the corridors were bustling with people. "We need to talk," she said. Eyeing the crowds around them, she added, "In private."

  Legroeder remained silent, wondering at the sudden urgency. Was this still about his remarks about the maintainers, or was something else going on? You can still blow this, you know.

  She seemed to take his silence for assent, not that it mattered. Peering at him with sudden intense concentration, she rubbed at the corner of her mouth with a knuckle, as though to stop a tic. "Let's show you where the law lives." She grabbed his arm and pulled him along again. There was something dark in her tone that reminded him that he was a prisoner.

  En route to wherever they were going, they passed a heavily guarded sector. Section 29, said a sign over the entrance. A tall, red-skinned man had walked into the area just a few seconds before, and Legroeder could feel Tracy-Ace tense up beside him. The man hadn't seen her, but she waited until he was out of sight before hurrying Legroeder along. "The command center," she muttered as they passed the entrance. "We'll get to that later."

  "Who was that guy?"

  Her breath hissed out. "Someone you won't need to worry about, I hope. This way."

  Legroeder followed, uneasily. Some distance further on, she stopped at a food-plaza, which she picked up a carton of Asian noodles and broc, plus something to drink. A few minutes later, they were in a sector that looked more like living quarters. Tracy-Ace's hand found its way to his arm again; this time he felt the slight twinge of a data-connection, though nothing came through the connection to tell him why she was tense.

  He suddenly knew where they were going, though.

  The corridor outside Tracy-Ace's apartment was more decorative than the one outside his; it was rose colored and obviously more recently refinished. This was the abode of the Law? Her hand touched the door. Unlike his, it opened with a click and swung inward: a solid door. Legroeder followed her in. The room was three times the size of his, finished in a russet two-tone. The basic appointments were similar: bunk in one corner, desk in another, counter with cupboards, doorway to the bath. The bunk was larger, but more striking was the modified com-console over the head of the bed, with linkup arms folded like a spider's legs against the wall. "Do you sleep hooked up to that thing?" he asked, with perhaps more distaste in his voice than he'd intended.

  Tracy-Ace grunted noncommittally and set the food cartons on the counter.

  On the pillow directly under the console was a brown plush animal. Teddy bear? Legroeder turned, refraining from comment. On the wall were two pieces of framed holoart: one an alien landscape, orange and smoky-looking with a huge, luminous red sun; the other a terrestrial farmhouse standing beside a woods. He peered at the two pictures. Some intuition told him that the farmhouse had some meaning to her, and something else told him not to ask just now. Below the farmhouse holo, her lounge chair was festooned with even more cyber-attachments than the bed; it was a smaller version of the command seat in which he'd first met her. "Is all this stuff for business or pleasure?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

  Her eyebrows went up halfway, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself half a grin. "Both, I suppose." Her expression darkened again. "We can talk here," she said. "It's private. It's safe." She hesitated a moment. "That's why I brought you here."

  Not an attempted seduction, then. Probably just as well. Greta the Enforcer was not so far in his past. But then, Tracy-Ace didn't seem anything like Greta, or so his instincts told him. And wasn't he, as a rigger, supposed to trust his instincts? And weren't his instincts telling him...

  Jesus, get a grip. He exhaled tightly. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and just being in this room with her made his groin ache. Even tense, she was surprisingly attractive. "Would this be a good time to tell me what's wrong?" he said suddenly, to take his mind off the subject. "Something is, isn't it?"

  She looked at him sharply for a moment, and he had a sudden terrifying vision of her hissing, Yes, we've just figured out that you're a spy. And you know what we do with spies...

  Then her gaze shifted, and she seemed to study the blank wall over his shoulder for a while. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she said finally, in a voice that was metered and precise. "I get the impression that you don't exactly approve of everything we do here at Ivan. Is that true?"

  His throat constricted, until it was all he could do to manage a husky rasp. "Well, I—"

  Her gaze shifted to probe his. "In addition, you seem to have a highly developed sympathy for the Narseil—and Rings knows who else, on the outside."

  He swallowed. His vision was turning out to be frighteningly accurate.

  Tracy-Ace pressed a finger to her lips, as one of those infuriating expressions that he couldn't identify flashed across her face. "Furthermore—when you first made your presence known here at Ivan, you were seen following a data-thread that indicated a connection to—"

  He could hear nothing now except blood rushing in his ears. To the underground. Admit it. The knot in his stomach tightened. He tried not to let it show on his face. But hadn't she hinted earlier—?

  Tracy-Ace seemed to be reading his thoughts. She nodded and completed her sentence: "—a connection to some of us who are dissatisfied with certain practices of this outpost, and of the Kyber Republic."

  Huh? Legroeder started. "Dis... satisfied—?"

  "With the treatment of certain groups of people, for example. And with the way we... pursue some of our goals."

  Legroeder tried to swallow.

  There was a catch in Tracy-Ace's voice as her expression softened. "As it happens, Legroeder, I am one of those people. One of those... hoping to change things."

  His pulse was pounding now. He felt as if he might fall over in a faint. Was this a trap? It was, wasn't it? Tell me it's not a trap.

  "You probably think I'm trying to trap you," she said. "I'm not. Really. It's no coincidence, you know, that you were brought to my attention when you explored that particular thread. And if you are looking to be put in touch with others..." She paused. "I can do that for you."

  He tried to draw a breath, but someone was sitting on his chest. "I—"

  "It will have to be set up carefully, of course."

  "Uh—"

  "Which I will do. But in the meantime—"

  For all the speed of their direct connection, he felt as if he could barely keep up here. He hadn't been expecting anything at all like this. And that expression on her face—he was blinking at her, trying to understand; it looked like something he'd never seen on her face before. Vulnerability. She was taking a risk. She was afraid. But of what?

  "You must speak of this to no one outside this room," she continued. "Not your friends. Not even me, unless I tell you it's safe." She rubbed one of her now-darkened implants. Meaning... others might be privy to what her implants heard?

  "Do you understand?" she asked, and he nodded slowly.

  "Good." She sighed, her breath a long, slow whisper, and the tension seemed to drain out of her. She glanced at him with a hint of a smile, then looked away, as though embarrassed.

  It seemed impossible. Legroeder frowned, caught for an instant between impulses. If she's another Greta, you are in deep, deep trouble. Without allowing himself another thought, he reached out. She met his hand halfway, took it with surprising strength. His implants came to life, and he felt a shock of surprise at the intensity of the connection. Understanding flowed through the link and blossomed in his mind; and suddenly he realized why she felt vulnerable. Tracy-Ace, the dreaded node-commander, was appalled by the Kyber methods. But any attempt to change the system could backfire at once. For an instant, he glimpsed Tracy-Ac
e as a troubled young woman, caught in a maelstrom of shifting currents of power. Then the glimpse was gone, replaced by the confidence of Tracy-Ace/Alfa, the node-commander. But he had seen it; it was there.

  If he could believe it. If she was telling the truth.

  What would she gain by lying? She already had him as a prisoner, if that was what she wanted.

  He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back, hard. Then she was up, padding across the room in her bare feet. When had she taken her shoes off? "Are you hungry?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she opened a cabinet door and took out bowls and a pair of slender glasses. Legroeder watched silently as she served the noodles; his head was still ringing like a bell from that contact. What had it touched in him?

  "Glass of wino?" Tracy-Ace asked.

  He barked a laugh. "Glass of what?"

  She brandished a semiclear carton of red liquid. "Wino. It's synthetic, but it's not too bad. What's so funny?"

  "Nothing," he said, suppressing a chuckle. "Sure, I'd love some."

  She opened the carton and poured. Legroeder accepted a glass and held it up to the light. Clear burgundy color. He sniffed at the liquid. Could it be worse than what he'd drunk at DeNoble? He held his glass up to hers. "Clink them together," he said. Tracy-Ace looked puzzled, but clinked. It felt satisfying. He took a sip, hoping it would taste as good as the gesture had felt. It didn't, not even remotely; but somehow that didn't seem to matter. Tracy-Ace was watching him for a reaction, and when he smiled, it felt genuine.

  She handed him a bowl and fork and gestured to the only place for them both to sit. They perched together on the edge of the bed—not too close together, but close enough to make him wonder what he was doing here. What he was doing about his mission. Quite a lot, dammit, he snarled to himself. The Narseil are getting a bath, and we've met the underground. That's not too bad. And it wasn't, really. But it didn't answer the question of what he was doing sitting on a bed with Tracy-Ace/Alfa. What did it mean that he liked sitting on the bed with her—liked it quite a lot, now that he thought about it?

  He took a quick bite of noodles, then a sip of wino, then stole a glance at Tracy-Ace. It wasn't as if it had been love, or even lust, at first sight. And yet... he was aware now, almost hungrily aware, of her physical attractiveness: her lanky grace and energy, the almost elfin delicacy of her face. The vulnerability. Funny, that a woman who controlled so many lethal weapons should seem vulnerable.

  And then there was the connecting touch they had shared, not just once but several times. As he gazed at her—no longer a stolen glance, but a steady gaze—he had the dizzying feeling that he had known her for years.

  She smiled, and the effect was electrifying. Putting her fork down, she stretched out a hand. He watched the gesture in detached silence for a moment, then took her hand in his. He knew at once that this was something more than a handshake. "Pleased to know you, Tracy-Ace/Alfa," he said in a husky voice.

  "Pleased to know you, Renwald Legroeder."

  The tingle this time started not at the juncture of their hands, but at his toes. It moved up his body in a languid wave, more a physical sensation than a joining of minds. He felt a brief flash of fear—but a quick glance inward at his implants showed only a faint sparkling against darkness where he expected to see an active connection. This felt less like an uplink/downlink than like lowering himself into a tub of hot water, the heat flowing up his body. It wasn't exactly sexual; it was more like a rising awareness on multiple sensory levels. It was as if his connectors were being tuned, enhanced, made ready for a heightened response. But a response to what?

  The wave moved up through his loins with a fleeting tingle, then into his torso. He gasped as it passed his diaphragm; Tracy-Ace let out a little sigh at the same time. He blinked and focused on her. She seemed to be staring at nothing, at space, through him or past him. Is she who she seems? She noticed his gaze then—and her eyes sharpened. Her lips turned up, in a smile that took his breath away.

  The final rush came quickly, like a vapor filling his skull. He felt a sudden, euphoric clarity, as though he had breathed in a lungful of clear mountain air.

  He peered down at their clasped hands and found he wanted to squeeze her hand tighter, to renew the sensation of physical touch. Her eyes brightened as he squeezed, and he felt a second wave pass through him. This time it came from his hand and went straight up his arm. It was accompanied by a strange itch.

  It took him a moment to realize that the itch was a tremendous spike of uplink/downlink. They were exchanging knowledge in a great exhilarating rush...

  Snippets of his childhood play, on the long rolling beaches of Claire Marie—pleasure darkened by a certain melancholy, and by his unease with the water. Flashes of the joy and release of an unrestrained dash through the streams of the Flux...

  Entwined with his flashes were hers—early memories of a farmhouse and grandparents, then coming of age in an utterly alien place, a culture in hiding. Achieving at an early age, mastering the inner life of the intelnet, of the implants and the knowledge systems...

  Legroeder was filling like a vessel with her challenges and fears, and also her excursions into hopefulness. And against that, his own joys and friendships blazed into relief—Janofer and Gev and Skan—and hints of bitterly dark times...

  Legroeder was teetering on the edge of a complete surrender to the exchange. He felt a sharp pang of fear; this is stupid, I'm going to betray everything! Or his implants would; or hers would somehow find everything he was hiding. But she already knew that he wanted to meet the underground; the only question was whether she was lying to him. His fear was countered by a silent reassurance from his implants: You're not an open book if you don't want to be. But his implants had slipped up before.

  He was more aware of outward signals now, as he peered at her through half-closed eyes: the body language that he might otherwise have missed, or misread: her eye movements, beckoning, the pressure of her hand, the angling of her legs toward him, a certain openness, a readiness.

  I don't think she's lying about this.

  She wanted him. And he wanted her. He hadn't been sure before, but now he was. There was not yet a feeling of urgency, but something was happening between them, and quickly. In an extraordinary way, it did not feel rushed at all, but a naturally flowing development. In this strange communion, all of the courtship and wondering and mutual exploration were passing in a blur, a blending of pigments on a living canvas, colors glowing and shifting and fusing. And through it all a slowly rising breath of desire...

  "Renwald," he heard, and wondered for a moment if he had heard the sound through the air, or through the joining. My name is Legroeder, he murmured with mock indignation, the thought slipping out through their joined hands.

  "I know," she whispered, "I know." But I like Renwald, I like the way it rolls off my tongue, I like the way I feel when I say it, the way I'll feel when I hold you in my... And suddenly she broke off with an embarrassed inner laugh, as though she had not meant to let all of that slip.

  You can call me Renwald, any time you want, he murmured, intending to speak it aloud... but no, it was another thought slipping through the link. There in front of him now was his hand, almost like a separate entity, moving up her arm; it paused, squeezing her shoulder, before sliding back down to clasp her hand with a tingle. Out of the blue, before he could stop it, the thought floated up out of his mind and into the connection: Are you the face of the enemy?

  For an instant he feared that she had heard, and would be furious; and indeed she had heard, but her response was a soft laugh: Do you think I'm your enemy? And before he could even think that through, her other hand was running up his arm, and then kneading the back of his neck; and he wasn't really even sure how he got to this point, but they were kissing, and he was tasting her lips and shuddering a little from her tongue darting here, and there, and now his breath and hers were both coming faster.

  The stream flowing through them was more
than just knowledge now; it was like a song, its notes and phrases echoing round as if they had been leading up to this for a year, perfecting this song. And yet he also knew now of the three men and one woman she had made love to before, and of her desire for him; and she knew of the scattering of women he had known, only one with genuine love; and the next time he was aware of his left hand, it was stroking her bare right breast (how had it become bare?), caressing and squeezing the swollen red nipple, and feeling a tingle there between the tip of her nipple and the palm of his hand. Another pathway opened, and a memory came to him through her nipple, an image of a bright red sun breaking through a bank of clouds on the only planetary world she had ever known, as a young girl, a world called Carrie's Dream... and he squeezed again, and a new image came, this time a memory of her first trembling orgasm... and he felt slipping out through his fingers, into the firmness of her breast a memory of his own, the first time he had slipped into the warmth of a woman, a woman three years older than his nineteen years, and his own shuddering...

  She sighed into his neck and pressed his head down, and he took her hard nipple in his mouth, and for an instant felt as if he were inside her skin looking out, and he reached out and touched himself, her, himself... momentarily confused as to which body he was in.

  Now. I want you now...

  He was aware of her augment-controlled immune protections sliding into place. It is safe... no need to worry...

  He heard the sigh, and for a moment wasn't sure whose... but whichever, or both, their bodies were beginning to move in concert. Their remaining clothing was coming off, hands were darting and exploring; there was some awkwardness, and then everything was off, and they were entwined, not just in thought but in body as well; and she was holding his hardness, and he was stroking her softness; and a little later her mouth was on him hotly, and he was breathing her musky fragrance; then as he slipped into her warm center, the connecting tingle began from that piercing point and flowered outward...