The half-metal man nodded, his glass eyes glowing momentarily. “I look forward to the opportunity.”
Legroeder remembered Deutsch’s previous ambition to escape from Ivan altogether. Was this a happy compromise? He tried to imagine how the average citizen of Faber Eridani would react to the half-metal man.
“You will admit Rigger Deutsch into your Narseil Institute?” YZ/I asked Fre’geel, with only a hint of an edge to his voice.
Fre’geel assured him that Deutsch would be welcomed. All three interests—Narseil, Centrist, and Kyber—would be entitled to representation in the study of the data.
Over the last three days, they’d met several times to discuss such matters as future espionage and piracy. The Narseil promised not to attempt to lead ships back to Ivan as long as its location remained secret. In return, YZ/I would end piracy as far as Outpost Ivan was concerned. In fact, the time was coming, he said, when the Free Kyber might be interested in trying to normalize relations with the outer worlds. That time was not yet here, perhaps, but equal participation in the Impris data was a step in the right direction.
Legroeder finally had a chance to bring up the subject of Harriet’s grandson. “Remember the matter I asked you to look into? The boy—Bobby Mahoney?”
“What boy?”
Damn. “Have you forgotten? The boy who was captured at the same time I was, on the Ciudad de los Angeles.”
YZ/I focused inward for a moment. “Oh yes—six or seven years old, wasn’t he?”
“At the time. He’d be about… fourteen now, I guess.” Legroeder leaned forward. “This is important, YZ/I. He’s the only grandson of someone I owe a lot to. Can you find him? Find out if he’s still alive? Get him released, if possible?”
YZ/I raised an eyebrow. “Tracy-Ace?”
Tracy-Ace was already working at the console. “I began a search when you asked before. There was nothing in our system about him.” She looked up at Legroeder. “But you were captured by DeNoble. YZ/I?”
The Boss rubbed his chin. “We have some connections on DeNoble. It’ll be awkward, what with your having escaped from there and all—but sure, we’ll make some discreet inquiries for you. If we can help the boy, we will. Fair enough?”
Legroeder felt the knot in his chest ease. “Fair enough. And thank you.”
“Anytime,” said YZ/I.
While Impris was studied by Kyber techs, her passengers and crew were treated as guests of Outpost Ivan. For many of the passengers, it was almost irrelevant where they were; the mere fact of emerging a century and a quarter in their future was clearly disorienting. Quite a number opted to remain on the ship, venturing out only for short exploratory trips into the outpost. Captain Friedman was among those who spent more time aboard the ship than not.
Freem’n Deutsch, during the voyage back, had developed a friendship with the Impris riggers, and also with Pen Lee, the one-time assistant to Inspector Gloris Fandrang. Lee, having been trapped years ago in his vain effort to understand what was happening to Impris and her crew, now seemed trapped in another kind of incomprehensible world, inside his own mind. Deutsch had somehow made an empathic connection where others had failed. If anyone was going to be able to help Pen Lee find his way back out of that interior world, Deutsch was a good candidate, Legroeder thought.
Legroeder himself was growing increasingly anxious, waiting for departure. He had no trouble imagining all the things that might go wrong and interfere with his return to Faber Eridani. Every passing hour seemed an invitation to trouble. Tracy-Ace was extremely busy overseeing much of the activity around Impris, and in her absence Legroeder spent most of his time with the Narseil, or Freem’n Deutsch, or the Impris crew. His H’zzarrelik shipmates now had a certain degree of freedom to move about the outpost. An elaborate story was going around the outpost, a web of lies and truths and near-truths, about how the Narseil had come here under cover to collaborate with the Kyber in going after Impris, and only a terrible misunderstanding had resulted in the battle with Flechette. The story made Legroeder uneasy, but he wasn’t about to contradict it.
As for Tracy-Ace, he was at a loss as to what to think. She remained his primary helper and guide; she was still his friend, but he wasn’t sure if she was still his lover. His implants remained silent, and without the implant connection, it seemed impossible to know her mind or her desires. They hadn’t made love since his return, and he felt awkward and frustrated, and even more disconnected. Half the time Legroeder felt helplessly in love with her, and half the time he feared that he had fallen into a hopeless infatuation. Could he hope to share a life, really, with a pirate? It seemed unlikely.
Over dinner in her quarters, one evening, Tracy-Ace seemed to be reading his thoughts, as she produced a bottle of wine—real wine, apparently—and began to open it. “Legroeder, you’re tense. You’ve been tense.”
“Well—”
She popped the seal and squinted at him. “Let me guess. You think there’s a contradiction between the person you thought I was, and the person you’re afraid I am. Is that it?”
Legroeder didn’t answer. He took the wine bottle from her and studied it instead. The label was in an unfamiliar language. Where’d they get real wine here on Fortress Ivan? Did they have their own vineyards? It seemed unlikely. He handed it back and sat beside her on the edge of the bunk.
“Well, you’re right,” she said, pouring a glass and holding it up to the light. The wine had a robust claret color. Heaven knew what it was going to taste like, if it was home grown. She handed it to him.
Nervously, he took a sip, and at once felt depressed. It was much too good to be locally made. He was drinking the booty of piracy.
“YZ/I did all of the things you’re thinking of,” Tracy-Ace said. “And I’m guilty of complicity.”
“Yes?” he whispered, his voice choked off by pain.
“I’m no angel,” she said pointedly.
“But—” his voice caught “—you didn’t order—”
“Fleets out to raid shipping? No. But I worked with him; I’ve sentenced people to captivity; I can’t say I wasn’t involved.”
Guilty, Legroeder thought silently. He stared at the floor, his heart aching. And what were his needs, his secret agendas? What would he hate to admit to her?
For a moment, he wished desperately for the implant connection, so that he could get it all over with in one big exchange of confessions. A moment later, he was deeply, fervently grateful for the lack. Bad enough this way, he thought.
“YZ/I hates to admit it, Legroeder—but he’s tired of living this way. And I’m more than tired of it. Legroeder? I want the raiding to stop! YZ/I does, too—it’s just that his reasons are more pragmatic.” She waved her wine glass. “He’d say something like, ‘It makes us lazy—we’d be stronger if we made do for ourselves.’ ” She sniffed, and he couldn’t quite tell what emotion she was feeling.
“Do you believe that?” he asked.
“Sure, I believe it. But I also just want out of it. I’m sick of it.” She pressed her lips together, then said more softly, “It’s wrong and I’m sick of it. Never mind the fancy reasons.” She gazed at him, and he suddenly realized that her implants were dark and her eyes were welling with tears. For a moment, she sat crying silently, her wine glass quivering in her hand. Wiping an eye on her sleeve, she whispered, “Before you came, I didn’t like it—but I wasn’t sure why. Then I caught a glimpse of how you see it, what you went through.”