She glanced back at him, without breaking stride. “Well, we can do it in an inquisitor’s cell, with the truth enhancements of your choice—” she paused as he scowled “—or we can do it in a joe shop I like. Which would you prefer?”
He wondered if she was mocking him. He decided to treat it as a straight question. “Given that choice, I’d prefer the latter.”
“So would I. Here it is.”
They turned another corner and were suddenly walking along a row of small shops—with people moving about, in and out of storefronts. The joe shop was third on the left. Through the door, it was dark; and as Legroeder’s eyes adjusted, he saw that it was also dingy and nearly empty. Tracy-Ace chose a booth off to the right, three steps up from the main floor. She slid onto a bench seat facing the entrance, and motioned him into the other.
Legroeder glanced around. What a strange place this outpost was, nothing like the stronghold of DeNoble. That had been more like a military encampment, with a large population of prisoners. This seemed a real city, for people with human needs. And yet, evidence remained that it was a pirate stronghold. Here and there, he had noticed electronic monitors winking out of recesses in walls. Nearly everyone he’d seen was visibly fitted with augmentation, and many of them carried sidearms. Judging from this joe shop, creature comforts were minimal, but not altogether absent. There was only one other person in the shop, a man sitting in the shadows near the back.
Legroeder faced Tracy-Ace across the table. “Do you mind if I ask a question?” he said, placing his hands on the table.
Tracy-Ace waited, silent.
“Why bring me here for a debriefing?”
“Why? Isn’t it good enough?”
“I don’t mean that. But it seems more… informal… than I expected.” To put it mildly.
Tracy-Ace seemed to be assessing him. “Let’s just say, I like to get a personal sense of people before I download.”
“Download?”
“Put out your hands,” Tracy-Ace said. “Palms up.” As he turned his hands, Tracy-Ace examined them, then grunted in dissatisfaction. Her own palms glittered with connectors. “How the hell do you do it?” She looked up at his face, then leaned sideways to inspect his temples. “There?”
“Do wh—?” he began, and then realized what she was talking about. “This isn’t going to be verbal—?”
“Verbal? For a debriefing?” She peered at him incredulously, with silver-green eyes. “Why in blazes would we talk, instead of downloading?”
His face burned, as he realized that he was doing a poor job of impersonating a Kyber. He decided, again, to tell the truth—part of it. “Sorry. I’m not used to all this.”
Tracy-Ace’s eyebrows went up. “What the hell do you do with those augments, then?”
“Well, I didn’t have them at the other outpost. I got them from the Narseil, so I’d fit in with their crew. I haven’t quite mastered them yet.”
Tiny lights flickered at the corners of her eyes. “So you’re not prepared to give me the download?”
“Uh—” He focused inward. (Can we?)
// Certainly. We’ll be ready in a moment. //
“Yes,” he said uneasily. “I can do it.”
Tracy-Ace looked vaguely relieved. “All right. Where shall I connect?”
// Ask her to wait a moment longer. We’re preparing something. //
Legroeder blinked, raised a finger to ask Tracy-Ace to wait, then thought: What’s that tingling in my arms? Now it was in the palms of his hands.
“Where shall I connect?” she repeated impatiently.
“Sorry. One second.” Legroeder focused inward. (Are you making connectors in my goddamn hands?) He saw an interior image of a glowing red ribbon snaking, branching, reaching out into a skeletal hand; suddenly it turned green.
// Yes. Try making contact, hand to hand. //
(How the hell did you do that?)
// We simply directed the microrobots. //
The microrobots! For godsake, were they still in his body?
Tracy-Ace was scowling. “Look, if you can’t—”
Legroeder took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.” He opened and closed his hands a few times, then stretched them out, palms up. “Let’s give it a try.”
Tracy-Ace looked at him curiously, then placed her palms onto his. “All right?”
He blinked, with a heightened awareness of her touch. A few minutes ago, she’d touched him; but this time it was different. A tingle of his inner senses…
// We are establishing contact. Do you wish us to filter out the emotional component? //
(What emotional component?)
// Your reaction to the contact. //
(I don’t know what you—yes, dammit, filter it out.)
Tracy-Ace was scowling again. “Relax, will you? I’m getting a confusing interface.”
He drew a long, slow breath and let it out.
Something was flickering inside him; he couldn’t tell quite what. It glimmered twice, three times, then for several seconds was much brighter. Something was stirring in his thoughts, but he couldn’t identify it. Then it stopped.
Tracy-Ace lifted her hands and rubbed them together, frowning thoughtfully.
“Couldn’t you make contact?” he asked.
For a moment, she simply looked at him. With what: Curiosity? Disdain? Humor? Legroeder experienced a sudden flush of what felt like attraction, as though something meaningful had passed or grown between them, without his knowledge. He felt dizzy. The feeling faded, as her expression changed to one of puzzlement. “I got what I needed,” she said finally. “Is something wrong?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, took a silent poll of the implants. (What did she get?)
// Our report. Exactly as we intended. // There seemed to be a slight air of cockiness in the answer. He clucked silently; he didn’t approve of cockiness among implants.
Focusing on Tracy-Ace, he forced a smile. “No, no—it’s just that it was very quick. I could hardly feel it. I wasn’t sure if you’d made contact.”
“You,” she said, resting her chin on one hand, “are an odd one.” She stared at him hard for a few seconds, perhaps processing the information he’d uploaded to her.
He started to answer in his own defense, then realized he didn’t know if she’d meant it as an insult or a compliment.
“Would you like something to eat?” Tracy-Ace flicked at the air with her fingertips. A stout, half-bald waiter seemed to appear from nowhere, wiping his hands on a soiled white apron. After reeling off a list of specials in a bored voice, he took their orders for sandwiches and moke, or rather, murk. Legroeder stared at the man, thinking he was the only one around here who didn’t look like a pirate. But was that a faint glimmer around the edges—?
The waiter belched and winked out.
No wonder he’d appeared out of nowhere. Legroeder looked at Tracy-Ace with raised eyebrows. She shrugged. “Just our way of remembering the home worlds.”
Legroeder cleared his throat and looked around the joe shop while they waited. The lone man on the other side of the shop seemed to be watching him. For a moment, Legroeder thought he saw the man glow. He rubbed his eyes and the impression was gone. He looked back at Tracy-Ace. She seemed preoccupied, and didn’t speak again until a panel suddenly slid open in the wall next to the table.
“Sandwiches and murk,” Legroeder heard, and bent to peer through the open panel. The waiter’s face was peering back. A tray slid out onto their table, bearing two plates and two mugs. The panel slammed shut.