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.