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.