As they talked, people were crossing the platform in both directions, stepping in and out of the clear cylinders. Those who stepped into the cylinders sank out of sight through the floor; others emerged from below like slow-rising pistons.
Tracy-Ace led him to a pair of empty cylinders, side by side, and touched the two simultaneously. “We’ll be linked. Go on and get in.” She stepped into one capsule as Legroeder stepped into the other. The capsule closed around Legroeder with a puff. “You with me?” he heard.
“Yup.” His breath went out with a whoof, as the capsule dropped away from the platform. He looked down. They were falling, Tracy-Ace before him, into a glowing, golden tube of energy. It curved downward and away, seemingly to infinity. In the distance, he could see the arc of the tube intersecting with other strands like threads of a spiderweb. Tiny droplets of light were moving through the tubes; he guessed them to be other passenger capsules in transit. It was impossible to judge his velocity.
“So this—” his words came out in a gasp “—is a flicker-tube?”
Tracy-Ace’s voice was a chuckle in his ear. “This is a flicker-tube.” He could almost imagine her standing beside him. “Okay, now I can fill you in…”
“I, uh—” He cut himself off as a shower of images sprang up around him, painted on the blurred inner surface of the tube. The images changed with an almost cinematic flicker as they shadowed him in his glassy chariot. He reeled from the sheer volume and speed: strobing glimpses of faces and ships and places, and fast-changing shots of what looked like space-station construction. “What the hell is this?” he breathed.
“It’s the flicker feed,” Tracy-Ace’s voice said. “It conveys news and information to people when they’re in transit. It makes use of slack time.”
Legroeder wished he had something physical to hang onto. The motion through the tube was a blur, and the images were now a blur, too. “How is this conveying information? I can’t make out a thing.”
// We are processing… //
“If your augments are any good,” Tracy-Ace said, “they’ll be picking it up and storing it for you. Don’t worry about trying to follow it consciously—”
Thank God. Legroeder closed his eyes for a moment. He was startled to find that he was still seeing the images. (What’s going on? I thought it was being projected on the tube wall.)
// Meant to look that way. But no, it’s coming through us. //
(Oh…)
“—but you are meant to be observing sensations and context, to help you integrate it,” Tracy-Ace continued. “It would be better if I kept quiet now and let you watch.”
Legroeder breathed slowly and deeply, trying to stifle the thoughts racing through his mind. A hundred images flashed by every second. After a while, he was only dimly aware of the Flux outside the tube wall; he almost came to feel that it was normal to be surrounded by swirling patterns of light woven through with holographic images, and the murmuring of recorded voices, some in languages he could not identify. It was like listening to multiple conversations and understanding none of them—but absorbing it all, so that later, perhaps, he would be able to sort and translate and comprehend. From within, the implants murmured repeatedly…
// …relax and listen, do not concern yourself with comprehension… //
All right, then, he wouldn’t…
Several times, they passed tube intersections in a molten blur. And then, at last, he was startled to see a habitat looming over his head and drawing closer; he was ascending headfirst toward a terminus. How in the world had they flipped without his noticing? In other tubes, he could see capsules dropping away from the habitat like beads down a chute. Overhead, Tracy-Ace was disappearing into the building.
As his own capsule decelerated and entered the structure, Legroeder was aware that he had just acquired, in several minutes, considerable knowledge about this Free Kyber world known as Ivan. Not that he could put his finger on any of it this instant, but he knew that it was tucked away somewhere in his cranium. His implants were likely to be working long into the night, sorting it all out.
The capsule came to rest on a platform distinguishable only by color—blue—from the one they had left behind. As he stepped out beside Tracy-Ace, he felt an unexpected pleasure, as if he were glad to see her, an old and comfortable friend. He stopped in his tracks, stunned by the feeling. Why did he suddenly feel as if he had known her for years?
“What?” Tracy-Ace said.
He let out his breath, banishing the thought. “Nice ride,” he muttered.
She peered at him with obvious curiosity. “We go this way,” she said, pointing to the left.
As they moved on, he began to suspect that she was puzzling over him as much as he was over her. (Did you pass personal information between us during that download link?) Legroeder muttered to his implants.
// If you mean information about your past, and your true identity, no. //
(Good.)
// But there was a certain amount of handshaking involved, and personal protocol exchange. Most of it was strictly augment-exchange protocol. //
(Do I hear a “but”—?)
// But there had to be certain personal-preference exchanges to establish how and what would be transferred. To establish “trust,” as it were. That could be part of what you sense. //
He wondered uneasily just how much “personal preference” information had been exchanged. How could protocol exchanges make him feel not just warmth, but a certain actual attraction toward this pirate whom he hardly knew? These augments were beginning to scare him.
// We’re only here to serve. //
(Mm.)
“…be staying here in this sector,” Tracy-Ace was saying. “This is where we put visitors and people who are… between jobs. You know, like unemployed heroes.” She flashed a grin at him—and he flushed, realizing that he felt such a palpable attraction that he had to shove his hands firmly in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her. He countered the thought by thinking about his imprisoned comrades, and wondering when he might dare to ask about them.
Tracy-Ace had quickened her long-legged stride. They walked, rode lift-tubes, walked some more. When they finally stopped at a closed door, they might have been in the hallway of a cheap apartment building anywhere in the known galaxy. Tracy-Ace pressed her hand to the plate beside the door. “Number 7494,” she said. “Remember that.” The door paled and she ushered him into a room the size of a crew cabin on a starship. “Your new home.”
Legroeder surveyed the place. It was plain but neat: narrow bunk, tiny desk with com, table, sling chair. Perfect for a monk. Heaven, compared to what he’d lived in for seven years at DeNoble. His bag, which he had last seen in his cabin on Flechette, was sitting on the bunk. They were efficient here. He could forget about any hopes he might have had about sneaking back one day to transmit a message from Flechette.
// That was hardly a serious option, you know. //
(Well, yes, but…)
// The underground. Finding the underground is your only real option now. //