The Icarus Hunt

CHAPTER 11

IT WAS AN eighty-four-hour flight from Potosi to Morsh Pon, eighty-four hoursthat went both smoother and more annoyingly than I'd expected them to. We hadto make only two stops along the way for Chort to repair more hull ridges, whichconsidering the Icarus's haphazard construction was not a bad showing at all.

Perhaps the main hull's spherical design, unlovely though it was, actuallystood up better against hyperspace pressure than the lean, graceful lines that I wasmore used to with starships. Or maybe it was just that all of our good luckwas being unidirectionally expended on our hull.

There were no more attempts at sabotage, at least none that came to light, butwe had plenty of other trouble. Successive doses of borandis were able tobringShawn back from the edge and ensure that he wouldn't have any permanent neuraldamage, at least this time around. Unfortunately, he'd apparently been farenough along that it took more of the medicine than normal to get him properlystabilized. Everett thought we would be okay to Morsh Pon and probably the stopafter that, but we were going to have to get hold of a new supply sooner thanI'd hoped.

Our archaic computer was another problem that reared its ugly head shortlyinto the flight. The glitch Tera had mentioned with her display turned out to benothing as simple as an adjustment problem. Once she opened the computercasingthe trouble was instantly obvious: thin layers of almost microscopic dustinside, dust that apparently had just enough electrical conductivity to createflickers of random havoc as the cooling fans blew it across the various boardsand components.

It was equally obvious, at least to Ixil and me, how it had happened. Shovedoff to the side somewhere in one of the underground chambers on Meima whileCameron's techs put the Icarus together, it had had plenty of opportunity tocollect dust through its various apertures. But of course none of the rest ofour crew knew the ship's history, and dodging the constant stream of questionsand complaints—most of the latter from Shawn, despite the alleged civilizingeffects of his medicine—wore pretty thin after a while. Ixil bore the brunt ofthat one as he spent the better part of seventy hours helping Tera and Shawndisassemble the system, clean it thoroughly, and put it back together again.

That all by itself scored as both a plus and a minus on my mental tally sheet.

A

plus because Ixil closeted with Shawn and Tera meant neither of those twowould be skulking around crimping torch nozzles or tapping into intercoms; a minusbecause it meant that for those same seventy hours I was robbed of Ixil'sassistance in anything I might want to do.

Which meant that by the time we had a chance to send Pix and Pax into the openarea between the two hulls for a thorough exploration, there was no longeranything in there for them to find. No footprints in whatever dust might havebeen present before the multitude of vibrations redistributed it; no leftovertool lying behind one of the supports where its owner might have missed it; notrace of the short-circuited intercom power lines, which had apparently beencarefully and unobtrusively fixed. About all the ferrets could come up withwas the odd fact that the outer hull didn't feel, smell, or taste like anythingelse they'd ever come across. It certainly wasn't any standard hull metal. At onepoint I actually wondered if perhaps the Potosi customs people hadn't been asfar off the mark as I'd thought, that all Cameron was doing was smuggling goldor iridium or some other exotic metal plated along the inside edge of theouter hull. But that seemed both too complicated and too petty for someone withCameron's reputation and resources. Besides which, it didn't even start toexplain the increasingly obsessive Patth interest in us.

Earlier I had also taken advantage of Tera's and Shawn's preoccupation withthe computer to do a quiet check of their cabins, but both searches came up empty.

Neither of them had a cache of hidden weapons, secret Patth code books, orinstruction manuals on how to sabotage a starship. On the other hand, I foundnothing in Tera's cabin to confirm that she was a member of any of thosefirst-name-only religious sects, either. Perhaps she was just the cautioustypewho didn't like giving her full name to strangers.

Overall, crew morale didn't fare very well during that leg of the trip.

Everett's private reservations about going to a criminal hellhole like MorshPon didn't stay private very long, and starting about two hours into the trip Ihad him, Shawn, and Tera all campaigning for me to find someplace else for ournext fueling stop. Nicabar and Chort didn't join in the chorus, but in Nicabar'scase I had the distinct feeling he was wondering if I'd chosen Morsh Pondeliberatelyto make sure he and Tera couldn't find anyone more trustworthy to replace me.

In short, it was a frustrating, aggravating three and a half days for all ofus.

And with Morsh Pon waiting, I wasn't expecting it to get any better at the farend.

It was late afternoon and early evening across the main Morsh Pon colony areawhen we arrived over the planet, with the sunset line probably an hour pastthe Blue District that was our destination. We were the only ship incoming, thoughI spotted a couple of other freighters on their way out, all of them running IDsthat were probably as phony as ours. I gave the control center our destinationport, got a rectangle assignment, and eased the Icarus down into the darkness.

The others were all waiting in the wraparound by the time I'd secured theship, called for a fueling team, and made my way aft. The entryway hatch wasunopened; by common consent, apparently, they'd all decided I should get the honor ofbeing first in line for any stray shots that might be flying around out there.

Leaving my plasmic in its holster—Nicabar aside, none of the others knew aboutthe weapon, and I didn't feel the need to enlighten them—I keyed the hatch andwaited tautly as it swung ponderously open. This particular spaceport didn'thave any of the nice concave landing cradles we'd had at our last couple ofstops, with the result that I was looking out over the landscape from avantagepoint ten meters up.

I'd never actually been on Morsh Pon before, but I couldn't imagine the viewwas any better up here than it would be at ground level. Even in the admittedlybad street light, the tavernos, flophouse brothels, and other assorted dives thatcrowded into the spaces between the various landing-pad clusters looked dingyand unfriendly. Most of the buildings had darkened windows and doorways, addingtheir individual bits to the overall gloom. Across the strip of buildingsfacingus was an empty pad cluster, looking rather like a bald spot amid the unevenrows of buildings encircling it. A few stars were visible in the darkeningsky, but even they seemed subdued, as if they didn't really want to look down atthe Blue District, either.

"Interesting," Ixil murmured from beside me. "Where is everyone?"

I frowned, looking at the scene with new eyes. He was right. I'd already notedthe dark buildings and empty landing-pad cluster directly in front of me; now, leaning partially out of the entryway, I could see that none of the nearestlanding clusters was occupied. In the distance I could see what might have been the curved hulls of a pair of ships, and a couple hundred meters off to myrightI could see a single taverno with its doorway lights on. But that was it.

Virtually no ships, virtually no open businesses, no vehicles except for thefueler I could see heading our way along an access road, and no pedestrians atall. It was as if we'd landed in a ghost town.

"Hey, Everett, I thought you said this place was crawling with murderers andpirates," Shawn said accusingly. "So where are they?"

"I don't know," Everett muttered behind me. "Something's wrong. Something'sverywrong."

"Did Landing Control say anything when you checked in?" Nicabar asked.

"Disease, plague, quarantine—anything?"

"Not a word," I said, studying the single lit taverno I could see. We were toofar away for me to read the nameplate, but knowing Uncle Arthur I was willingto bet it was the Baker's Dozen, the place he'd named in our last conversation.

"Maybe they can tell us something in there," I suggested, pointing to it.

"Anyone want to join me for a little stroll?"

"Not me," Everett said firmly. "If there's some disease out there, I don'twant to catch it."

"Landing Control's legally required to alert incoming ships about medicaldangers," I reminded him.

"And this is Morsh Pon, where they use laws for place mats," Everett counteredfirmly. "Thanks, but I'll stay here."

"Me, too," Shawn seconded.

"I'll go with you," Tera said. "I need to get out of this ship for a while."

"Count me in, too," Nicabar added.

"Sure," I said, completely unsurprised by this one. Neither Tera nor Nicabarwould be nearly as concerned about possible germs as they would be that Imightsneak off and do something they wouldn't approve of. "Chort? Ixil?"

"I will come," Chort said. "Perhaps the taverno will have a bottle of komprifor sale."

"They might," I said, wondering what kompri was. Some Craean drink, probably.

"What about you, Ixil?"

"I want to get the fuelers started first," he said. "I'll try to join youlater."

"Okay," I said, pretending to believe him as I swung around and started downthe ladder. He most certainly would not be joining us; he would be staying hereand watching Everett and Shawn like an iguana-faced hawk. "We won't be long."

It was an eerie walk down the deserted access walkway, our footsteps soundingunnaturally loud in the silence. I looked into each doorway and alley as wepassed it, half expecting to see dark men or aliens waiting in the darkness toambush us. But the doorways were just as deserted as the rest of the place.

We reached the taverno without incident, to find it was indeed the Baker'sDozen. The others close behind me, I pulled open the door and looked inside.

The place was quite large, a bit on the dark side, but otherwise surprisinglyhomey, with heavy wooden tables and chairs, a traditional Earth-style woodenbar running the length of the left-hand wall, and even a sunken fireplace, currentlyunlit, in the center of the room. It was also severely underpopulated. Therewas a group of a dozen scruffy-looking aliens gathered around three of the tablesnear the bar, a pirate gang if ever I'd seen one; a pair of young humanfemales sitting together at a table near the right-hand wall; and three robed andhooded figures with faces hidden hunched over a table in the far back corner. Andthat was it. Behind the bar, a furry-faced Ulkomaal was leaning on the countertopgazing morosely at the dead fireplace. He looked up as I walked into the room, his bony eyebrow crest turning a faint purple with surprise. "So that wasanother ship I heard," he said, straightening up. "Welcome, patronae, welcome."

"Thanks," I said, glancing around at the other customers. The pirates hadlooked up as we entered, but after a quick assessment had turned back to theirdrinks.

The two women were still eyeing us; the robed threesome in the back hadn'teven bothered to turn around. Maybe they were already too drunk to care, though thecollection of empty glasses traditionally associated with sleeping drunkswasn't in evidence. On the other hand, I could see that none of the tables had menuselectors, which meant the barkeep also doubled as a waiter, and from thelooks of things he certainly wasn't too busy to keep the place tidy. "You stillserving?"

He sighed. "For what good it does," he said. "Everyone else has already fled."

"Fled from what?" Tera asked from behind me. The barkeep sighed again. "TheBalthee," he said in a tone that managed to be both angry and resigned at thesame time. "We received a report late this afternoon that they were on theirwayfor another spraymarker raid."

"A what?" Tera asked.

"It is an example of Balthee guilt-by-association law," Chort spoke up as Iled them to a table near the door and away from the other patrons. I took thechair that put my back to the wall, where I could watch the entrance and also keepthe rest of the customers at least within peripheral vision. Nicabar chose thechair to my left, which would put the pirates in his direct line of sight, whileTera took the seat to my right, where she couldn't see much of anything except thedoor and me. If the two of them had been deliberately planning to corral me, they couldn't have done a better job of it. "Consorting with known criminalsis itself a crime under Balthee law," Chort continued, easing himself delicatelyinto the remaining chair.

"You are very knowledgeable," the barkeep complimented him. "Knowing MorshPon's reputation—which is wholly unjustified, I assure you—they periodically comeand spray a molecularly bonded dye over all ships on our landing pads. Any such marked ship that enters a Balthee-run spaceport is immediately impounded andsearched and its crew held for questioning."

"I can see why your clientele wouldn't want that," I agreed, nodding towardthe pirate gang at their tables. "They not get the message?"

"Their captain tells me they do not fear the Balthee," he said, lowering hisvoice as he glanced their direction. "However, another crew member confidedthat they plan to have all their hull plates replaced soon anyway."

He gestured to the other two occupied tables. "As to the females, they areemployees of one of the guesthouses, Shick Place. And, when the word came, thegentlebeings in back were already too inebriated to try to leave."

He straightened up and cocked his head at me. "And what is your story?"

I frowned up at him. "What do you mean?"

"You are here," he said, waving a hand at us. "Yet there is word of animpendingraid."

"Which we obviously didn't know about, did we?" I said.

"Were no other ships leaving as you arrived?" the barkeep countered. "Somemust still have been on their way out. Did no one transmit a warning to you?"

"Yes, there were other ships leaving," I said, putting some impatience into myvoice even as a quiet warning bell went off in my ear. I'd never been on MorshPon before; but the criminal hangouts I had had occasion to visit had not beenknown for overly inquisitive waiters. This kind of interrogation was way outof character, even given that the barkeep was probably bored out of his skull.

"And no, none of them bothered to give us a warning. Why do you think this is anyof your business?"

"Don't mind him," a soprano voice came from my side.

I turned. One of the two women at the far table had gotten to her feet and wascoming toward us. She was medium height and slender, and her step was just abit unsteady. I wondered briefly if she could be Uncle Arthur's informationcourier, but the skintight outfit she was wearing couldn't have concealed a spare pokerchip. At least, I thought incongruously, that also meant we didn't have toworryabout her being an assassin. "I'm sorry?" I said.

"I said don't mind him," she repeated, flipping her hand toward the Ulkomaalin the more or less universal gesture of contemptuous dismissal, the dim roomlightglinting momentarily off the large gaudy rings she was wearing. Now that shewas facing us, I could see she was wearing the display scarf of a bar girl knottedaround her neck, the particular tartan pattern advertising what services sheoffered and the charge for them. I wondered distantly whether Tera would knowabout such things; I rather hoped she didn't. "Nurptric the Nosy, they callhim," the woman continued. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Business slow?" Tera asked, her voice frosty. Apparently, she knew all aboutthe scarf.

The woman gave her a smile that was a good eighty percent smirk. "Yours too?" she asked sweetly, snagging a chair from the next table and hauling it over.

With a hip she deftly shoved Tera over, to Tera's obvious consternation, and planted her chair squarely between the two of us. "I'm just being sociable, youbeing strangers here and all," she added, dropping into the seat and swivelingto put her face to me and her back to Tera. "Any law against that?"

"Not too many laws against anything here," Tera countered pointedly.

"Obviously."

"And like you say, business is slow," the woman added, wiggling her hips andshoulders to carve a bit more room for herself. "I'm sure not going to get anydecent conversation out of anyone else in here. My name's Jennifer. How aboutbuying me a drink?"

"How about you going somewhere else?" Tera said, starting to sound angry.

"This is a private conversation."

"Noisy, isn't she?" Jennifer commented, an amused smile playing around herlips.

"Unfriendly, too. You come here often?"

Tera half rose to her feet, sank reluctantly back into her seat as Chort put agentle hand on her arm. "I'm afraid we're pretty much broke, Jennifer," I saiddiplomatically. "We've got barely enough money for the fuel we need. Nothingleft over for incidentals."

She eyed me speculatively. "Gee, that's too bad," she said, looking over atthe Ulkomaal still hovering expectantly behind Chort. "Give me a small vodkaline, Nurp."

His eyebrow crest turned a brief magenta, but he nevertheless nodded. "Ofcourse. And for the rest of you?"

"Have you kompri, by any chance?" Chort asked.

"No, nothing like that," Nurptric said. "We have no Craean drinks."

"We might have some back at Shick Place," Jennifer volunteered. "We cater toall sorts of vices there," she added, giving Chort a sly smile. "It's not far awayif you want to go see."

Chort looked at me uncertainly. "If we have the time—?"

"No," Nicabar said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "As soon asthe ship's fueled, we're out of here."

"He's right," I seconded. I didn't especially like the thought of spending anymore time out in the gloom than I had to, and I certainly wasn't going to letany of the group go wandering off on their own. "We'll take three caff colasand a distilled water," I added to the barkeep.

His eyebrow crest went a little mottled, either a sign of resignation orpossibly contempt for such miserliness. "Yes, patronae," he said and turnedback to his bar, muttering under his breath as he went.

"Three colas and a water, huh?" Jennifer said, shaking her head. "You reallyare the big spenders."

"As he said, we're short on cash," Tera said firmly. "So you might as wellstopwasting your time."

Jennifer shrugged. "Fine. You know, though, there's an easy way to make somefast money."

She leaned in toward the middle of the table, beckoning us inconspiratorially.

"There's a ship out there somewhere—no one knows where," she said, droppingher voice to a murmur. "You find it, and it's worth a hundred thousand commarks to you. Cash money."

A matched set of Kalixiri ferrets with cold feet began running up and down myback. "Really," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. "How come it's worththat much? And who to?"

"I don't know why they want it," she said, half turning and snagging a foldedpiece of paper from the next table over that had apparently been left behindduring the earlier mass exodus. "But it's all right here," she said, handingit to me.

I unfolded it. To my complete lack of surprise, it was the same flyer JamesFulbright had waved in my face back on Dorscind's World.

With two unpleasant differences. First, as Jennifer had said, the reward hadbeen jumped from the original five thousand to a hundred thousand. And second, instead of my old Mercantile Authority photo, there was a much more up-to-datesketch. An extremely good sketch.

"Sounds like a con to me," I commented offhandedly as I folded the paper againand dropped it on the table in front of me, my skin crawling beneath the fakescars on my cheek. So that was why the Patth agent on Dorscind's World hadsurrendered without even token resistance. Letting me get off the planet hadbeen less important in his eyes than making sure he stayed alive to take backa proper description to his masters. Suddenly my disguise didn't seem quite socomforting and impenetrable anymore. "So why show it to us?" I asked.

She waved a hand around. "You can see how it is," she said, her eyes and voicestarting to drift toward the seductive. "I'm stuck down here. But you're not.

You might run into this Icarus out there."

Chort made a strange sound in the back of his throat. "What ship did you say?

The Icarus?"

"I guess no one knows what it looks like," she said, ignoring him, her eyesstill on me and growing ever more seductive. "But they say that guy on theflyeris aboard it. You might spot the ship; you might spot him."

"And then?" I prompted.

She leaned close to me. "Then you could call me here," she said, breathing thewords straight into my face now. The perfume mixed with the alcohol on herbreath was definitely from the lower end of the price spectrum. "I know who toget the word to, and who to collect the bounty from."

"You say they just want the ship?" Tera spoke up. She had picked up the flyernow and was looking at it, and in the admittedly inadequate light I thoughther face had gone a little pale.

"They want the ship and crew both," Jennifer said, still gazing at me. "What, can't you read?"

"What for?" Tera persisted, handing the flyer off to Nicabar. "What do theywant them for?"

Reluctantly, Jennifer leaned back again and looked at Tera over her shoulder.

"I don't know," she growled, clearly annoyed at the interruption in her salespitch. "And I don't care, either. The point is that there's money to be made, and we could be the ones who make it."

"And how would you propose we split it?" I asked.

She smiled at me again. The seductress role was apparently all she knew how toplay. "All I want is passage back to Earth and a couple thousand to help megetset up there," she breathed, leaning toward me again. "That's all—you'd getall the rest. Just for one little StarrComm call. I'd even pay you back for thecall."

"Why do we need you at all?" Nicabar put in, looking up from the flyer. "Whycan't we just call this number ourselves?"

"Because I know how to get you an extra fifty thousand," the woman said, breathing her words into my face again. "Private money. Revenge money. Seethose three in the back?"

I turned my head. The three robed figures were still hunched over their table; but as we all looked that direction, as if on cue, one of them stirred, rollinghis shoulders to the sides as if adjusting them in his sleep, then fallingsilent and still again. But the movement had been enough to drop his hoodpartially back, revealing his face.

It was another of the Lumpy Clan.

From my left, from Nicabar's direction, came a faint but sharp intake of air.

I turned to look at him, but by the time I got there he had his usual stolidexpression back in place.

But the stifled gasp alone was very enlightening. Clearly, somewhere along theline, Nicabar had run into these lads before.

"They passed the word that they were putting another fifty thousand into thepot," Jennifer continued. Like Chort's reaction earlier to the name of thehunted ship, she'd apparently also missed Nicabar's reaction to the Lumpies.

Either she was drunker than I'd thought, or else she was putting so mucheffort into her attempted seduction of me that she didn't have any attention to sparefor anyone else. "I hear the guy on the flyer smoked a couple of their pals."

"Not a very friendly thing to do," I said, peering with some difficulty intoher face, not because she was unpleasant to look at but because she'd once againmoved to a position bare centimeters away from me. Maybe she was counting onher perfume to seal this deal for her.

Inside my jacket, my phone vibrated. "Excuse me," I said, half turning awayfrom her and digging into my pocket, glad for an excuse to break away from thatgaze, even temporarily.

It was, as I'd expected, Ixil. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Just fine," I told him as Nurptric returned to our table with our drinks. "Wefound out why everyone else is gone."

"Good," he said. "Whatever the reason, they're coming back."

"It seems—" I broke off. "What?"

"I'm reading fifteen ships on landing-approach vectors," he said. "At leastfive of them are heading for our spaceport."

I looked up at the Ulkomaal. "Nurptric, do the Balthee ever actually land topick up prisoners?"

He seemed shocked. "Of course not. They wouldn't dare—this is Ulko sovereignterritory."

"Then you're right, they're coming back," I confirmed to Ixil, trying to keepthe sudden tension out of my voice. A whole crowd of returning pirates, smugglers, and cutthroats; and probably every one of them with a Patth sketchof me folded neatly in his pocket. Just what we needed. "What's the fuelingstatus?"

"About half-done," he said. "We should be topped off by the time the firstwave arrives. I presume we'd like to be buttoned down and ready to fly by then?"

"If not sooner," I told him. Whatever Uncle Arthur had cooked up for us, he'dbetter hit the road with it, and fast. "We're on our way."

I clicked off and returned the phone to my pocket. "Trouble?" Jennifer asked.

"Just the opposite," I assured her, lifting my glass to my lips but notdrinkingany of it. The barkeep might have recognized me and slipped in somethingspecial, and I didn't want to find out about it the hard way. If I hadn't beena raving paranoid before, I reflected, this trip would very likely do the trick.

"Our ship's almost fueled up, and it looks like we can be out of here beforethe rest of your clientele start tying up all the perimeter grav beams."

Her face fell, just a bit. All that effort, and now we were about to leavewithout letting her finish her presentation. "Think about my offer, okay?" shesaid, a note of pleading in her voice. "There could be extra benefits, too, not just the money."

"Oh?" I said, resisting the temptation to look suggestively up and down hertight-fitting outfit. It would have been a cheap shot, and I imagined she gotenough of that from the Baker's Dozen's usual denizens. "Such as?"

Cheap shots, apparently, were Jennifer's stock-in-trade. Putting her righthand behind my head, the corners of her ring catching momentarily on my hair, shepulled me the last thirty centimeters still separating us and kissed me.

There was nothing tentative or perfunctory about it, either. It was afull-mouth, full-pressure lip dock, with all the desperate strength of someonefacing her absolute last chance. I thought about how she'd spoken of beingstuck here, of how she'd asked for passage to Earth for putting us onto the Patthhunt, and for the first time since we'd met I actually felt a little sorry forher. Of all of us at that table, I could empathize most strongly with thefeeling of being caught inside an ever-shrinking box.

And then the tip of her tongue pushed between my lips; and abruptly, my twingeof sympathy vanished in a sudden flush of surprise and cautious excitement.

It seemed like a long time before the pressures fore and aft slackened off andshe pulled away, though it was probably no more than a few seconds. As herhead moved out of my line of sight, I saw that Tera was looking at me with acast-granite expression on her face. Irreverently, I found myself wonderinghow many other expressions of surprise, outrage, or disgust she'd gone throughwhile I wasn't looking. Even a scoundrel as low-class as I was shouldn't act thatwayin the presence of a lady.

"Just remember, there's a lot more where that came from," Jennifer said, usingher seductive voice again as she rose leisurely to her feet. Clearly, she wasfeeling very pleased with herself. "If you spot the Icarus, call the Morsh PonStarrComm exchange and leave a message for Jennifer at Shick Place." With onelast smile all around, plus a smirk for Tera, she sauntered away.

The others were all looking at me, varying degrees of expectation on theirfaces. "Well, don't just sit there," I said. To my perhaps hypersensitive earsmy voice sounded a little slurred. "Drink up, and let's get out of here."

They did so without comment. I let my own cola sit where it was, keeping a surreptitious eye on Jennifer as I sorted out the proper number ofsmall-denomination coins. She returned to her table and spoke briefly with herfriend there; but as the four of us stood up she left that table and wanderedoff again, this time heading in the general direction of the three Lumpies.

"Let's go," I told the others, putting a hand on Tera's back to encourage herforward, a friendly gesture I instantly abandoned at the glare she flashed me.

We headed to the door; and as I ushered the others through, I took one finallook behind us. The pirates were looking back at us, with the universalsuspicious expressions of men permanently on the run. Nurptric the barkeep wasbusily puttering around the bar, his eyebrow crest fairly glowing with theeageranticipation of customers on their way in. Jennifer's friend had a smallmirror out and was checking her makeup, with much the same air of anticipation.

And Jennifer herself was at the back table leaning over one of the Lumpies, speaking solicitously to him as if trying to wake him up, her ring againcatching the light as she patted him soothingly on the back of his neck. Hereyes caught mine; and though she didn't smile, I knew we understood eachother.

The trip back was very quiet. After what had happened back at the taverno, noone seemed interested in talking to me, and I certainly wasn't going to startany conversations myself.

We reached the Icarus to find Ixil in the process of paying off the fuelers. Iordered everyone to their stations, then waited in the wraparound until Ixilwas finished so that I could personally retract the ladder and seal the hatch.

Heading up the now deserted mid-deck corridor to the bridge, I sealed the doorbehind me and sat down in the command chair.

And only then, with no one around to see, I pulled from its resting placebetween my gum and cheek the poker-chip-sized object that Jennifer hadtransferred from her mouth to mine during our kiss. Unscrewing the top, Icarefully extracted the folded microprint document nestled inside, and the sixsmall borandis tablets that had been packed tightly together beneath it.

Uncle Arthur had come through.

THE DOCUMENT, ANNOYINGLY but not surprisingly, was written in Kalixiri.

"I hate it when he does that," I sighed, handing the reader over to Ixil andflopping onto my back on my bunk. "Here, you do it. I'm not up to decipheringKalixiri right now."

"Certainly," Ixil said, resettling himself comfortably against the door of mycabin and showing the good sense not to lecture me yet again as to why UncleArthur did things this way. Kalixiri was probably one of the least-knownlanguages in the Spiral, which made for automatic security if the wrong personhappened across one of his missives, though it was surprisingly easy fornon-Kalixiri to learn. Furthermore, the way the alphabet was laid out, thewords themselves were generally much shorter than the English equivalents, whichmeant he could cram in more text per square centimeter.

And from what I'd seen of this one, he had those square centimeters very wellcrammed indeed.

"We start with Almont Nicabar," Ixil said. "We have a photo. Slightlyout-of-date... but yes, it does appear to be him. Certificate in starshipdrive and unofficial training in mechanics—the dates and details are here; you'llwant to look them over later. Ten years in the EarthGuard Marines, just as he said, achieving rank of master sergeant... Interesting. Had you ever heard of anattempt six years ago by EarthGuard to get hold of a Patth Talariac Drive?"

"I hadn't until Uncle Arthur mentioned it," I told him, wondering why themention of six years sounded familiar. "Was Nicabar involved with that?"

"I would say so," Ixil said dryly. "He was on the commando team thatpenetratedthe Patthaaunutth Star Transport Industries plant on Oigren."

I turned my head to look at him. "You're kidding. Our Almont Nicabar?"

"So it says," Ixil assured me. "Furthermore, from the listed dates, it appearshe resigned from the service barely three months after the mission's failure."

A funny sensation began to dig into my stomach. That was when I remembered sixyears being mentioned: Nicabar had said that was how long ago he'd resignedfrom the Marines. "Is there any mention of why the mission failed?"

Ixil gave me an odd look. "As a matter of fact, there's a note that suggestsinside information might have been leaked to the Patth. Are you seeing aconnection?"

"Could be," I said grimly. "Three months is just the right length for aprivateconfidential court-martial."

"You sure?"

"Trust me," I assured him. "I went through one, remember? One other thing. Itold you about seeing three more of the Lumpy Clan back in that taverno. WhatI didn't tell you was that Nicabar reacted rather strongly when we got our firstglimpse of one of them. Strongly for Nicabar, anyway."

For a moment Ixil digested that in silence. "Still, there must not have been areal case against him, or he wouldn't have been allowed to resign and leavegracefully."

"But there must have been enough of one for them to hold him for court-martialin the first place," I pointed out.

"Unless there was no court-martial involved," Ixil also pointed out. "It mighthave just been three months of general debriefing."

"And he then picked up and left a promising ten-year career just for the hellof it?" I shrugged. "Well, maybe. Still, bad feelings might explain why he jumpedhis last ship just because they were mask-shilling for the Patth. Is thereanything else?"

"Various details of his life," Ixil said, scanning down the text. "Nothing allthat interesting, though again you'll want to look them over when you're up todeciphering Kalixiri again. Mostly public and official-record material—UncleArthur must not have had time to have anyone dig deeper than that."

"I'm sure he'll have the really juicy details later," I said. Uncle Arthur'sknack for getting his hands on supposedly confidential information waslegendary. "The trick will be how we get hold of it. Who's next?"

"Hayden Everett," he said. "He was indeed a professional throw-boxer for twoyears, leaving the ring twenty-two years ago."

"Was he any good?"

Ixil shrugged. "His win/loss record would say no. Still, he did last two yearson the circuit, so he must at least have had stamina."

"Or was just a glutton for punishment," I said. "I wonder if the circuit backthen went into Patth space."

"I don't know," Ixil said. "However, you might be interested in knowing thathis last fight was a contested loss to Donson DiHammer. That name sound familiar?"

"It certainly does," I said, frowning. Twenty years ago DiHammer had been at the epicenter of one of the biggest scandals ever to hit organized throw-boxing.

"He was wholly owned and operated by one of the partners in the Tr'darmishSpiraciashipping conglomerate, wasn't he?"

"You have a good memory," Ixil confirmed. "We have the highlights listed here.

Plus the interesting fact that Tr'darmish Spiracia was one of the firstcompanies to go bankrupt when the Talariac came onto the scene."

"Interesting," I murmured. "You sure it wasn't just a case of bad managementor overextension?"

"Not sure at all," Ixil said. "Spiracia's directors certainly had a reputationfor corporate edge-walking. Don't forget, too, that the Talariac didn't evenappear until a good six years after that fight and four years after theDiHammer scandal broke. If Everett was partially owned by the Patth, and if they tookhis defeat that personally, it would imply a long grudge on their part."

"As grudges go, six years wouldn't even be a regional record," I told him.

"Another question to put on our next wish list for Uncle Arthur. Who's next?"

"Chort," Ixil said, peering at the reader. "Full name... never mind, it'sunpronounceable. He's been in the spacewalking business only four years, whichputs him barely into journeyman status. That might explain why he wasavailable for Cameron to hire on Meima."

"Not to me it doesn't," I said. "Crooea are still the cream of thespacewalkingcrop; and just because Chort hasn't got twenty years' experience is no reasonwhy he should have been free in the middle of nowhere like that."

"Have you asked him about that?"

"Not yet," I said. "Come to think of it, I never got around to getting Tera'sstory, either. I'll have to remedy that soon. Anything else on him?"

"No indication of any direct ties between him and the Patth, if that's whatyoumean." Ixil frowned suddenly. "Hmm. Interesting. Did you know that the Craeaneconomy has been expanding at an annual rate of nearly sixteen percent overthe past twelve years?"

"No, I didn't," I said. Considering the Spiral average, that kind of sustainedgrowth was practically unheard-of. "Does it say what it was pre-Talariac?"

"Yes," he said after a brief search. "Between one and two percent. And thatwas in their better years."

I shook my head. "The stuff Uncle Arthur comes up with. Does he include anexplanation for this remarkable economic boom?"

"Apparently, the Crooea grow and export a considerable range of perishablefood delicacies that can't handle normal preservation methods," Ixil said. "Thegreater speed of the Talariac has vastly increased their potential market."

I grimaced. "Which puts them right at the top of the list of governments ripefor Patth pressure."

"Yes," Ixil said. "Fortunately, I doubt they know a Craea is aboard theIcarus."

"Unless they've gotten to Cameron and made him talk," I said. "He's presumablythe only one who knows the whole crew list."

Ixil frowned again. "I thought your current theory was that Cameron was in a shallow grave somewhere back on Meima."

"I have no current theories," I told him sourly. "All I have are useless, outdated ones that couldn't hold glue with both hands."

Ixil didn't say there, there, but from the expression on his face he mightjustas well have. "Next on the list is Geoff Shawn," he said instead. "For someoneonly twenty-three years old, he's compiled a remarkable record: a long stringof academic awards and honors, plus an almost equally long list of legaltroubles."

"Serious ones?"

"Not particularly. Traffic citations, semi-vandalistic pranks, some pettytheft of university electronics property—that sort of thing."

I grunted. "Typical hotshot student genius. Brilliant and knows it, andfiguresnone of the usual rules apply to him. Does it mention anything about his jauntout to Ephis?"

"Not a word," Ixil said. "Of course, he did say no one knew about that, didn'the?"

"That's what he implied," I agreed doubtfully. "But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if he and his buddies could really have pulled it offwithout at least being noticed."

Ixil pondered that a moment. "In which case," he said slowly, "it would raisethe question of whether his borandis dependence is really a medical matter atall."

"It would indeed," I agreed. "Of course, Everett did confirm that was thediagnosis. But then, Everett apparently also didn't recognize the symptoms ofeither the drug dependency or the Cole's disease until Shawn really startedgetting twitchy. Is there anything there about Everett's medical training?"

Ixil adjusted the document in the reader. "Looks like just the basicMercantile course and certification."

"How long ago?"

"Two years."

"Which leaves a twenty-year gap between his throw-boxing and medical careers,"

I said. "What was he doing to fill the idle workday hours?"

"A variety of different jobs," Ixil said, scanning down the text. "Let me see.

He did five years of throw-boxing instruction, two as a judge/referee, and sixas a casino security officer. Then there was one year each as bartender on aliner, mechanics' apprentice, and tour packager/guide on the throw-boxingcircuit. After that he went in for his medical certificate."

"By my count, that leaves us two years short."

"That's taken up by the instruction regimens for the various career changes,"

Ixil explained. "One to eight months each."

"I wonder what he wants to be when he grows up," I murmured. Though to befair, it didn't sound a whole lot worse than my own employment resume. "All right, back to Shawn. Anything in there that might suggest he'd dabbled with anyother drugs besides borandis?"

"Nothing," Ixil said. "Though nothing that would preclude it, either.

Somethingelse for our wish list?"

"Right," I agreed, making yet another mental note. "Okay. That just leaves Tera."

"Tera," Ixil echoed, peering at the reader. "We start with a negative: Preliminary checks of appropriate religious-group listings fail to find anyoneby that name with the description you gave. After that..."

He paused, his face going suddenly rigid. "Jordan," he said, his voicestudiously conversational, "would you say that Uncle Arthur has a tendencytoward the dramatic?"

"Is moss slimy?" I countered, feeling the hairs tingling on the back of myneck as I swung my legs over the side of my cot and sat up. "How dramatic is hebeingthis time?"

Wordlessly, he handed me the reader. I took it, glanced at the indistinctphotothat might or might not have been our Tera, and with a feeling of nameless butimpending doom plowed my way into the final section of the Kalixiri text.

It was as if I'd been slapped across the face with a wet rag. I read it twice, sure I must have gotten it wrong. But I hadn't. "Where's Tera now?" I asked, looking up at Ixil.

"Probably in her cabin," he said. "She's off-duty, and she hasn't shown muchtendency to sit around the dayroom."

"Let's go find her," I said, making sure my plasmic was riding snugly in itsholster.

I got up and headed for the door. Ixil was faster, hopping up from his placeon the floor and blocking my way. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked.

"Not really," I said. "But I want to find out for sure, and I want to find outnow. Confronting her straight-out seems to me the best way to do it."

"Yes, but she'll want to know how we found out," he warned. "That could beawkward."

"It won't," I said, shaking my head. "She already knows we run cargoes forAntoniewicz, and she knows he's got his slimy fingers into everything. We canlay this at his feet, no problem."

He still didn't look convinced, but he nevertheless stepped aside. I tappedthe release pad, confirmed there was no one loitering outside in the corridor, andheaded for the aft ladder. Ixil stayed behind long enough to collect hisferrets from the floor, then followed.

We reached the top deck without seeing anyone; clearly, the Icarus'santisocial atmosphere was still unsullied by anything resembling genuine camaraderie.

Tera's door was closed. Bracing myself, I tapped the release pad; and as thedoor slid open I dodged inside.

From my previous clandestine visit to Tera's room I knew she used the lower ofthe three bunks, and that supposed knowledge nearly got me killed. Even as Iaimed my charge toward the lower bunk, I belatedly saw in the light filteringin from the corridor that that particular bunk was in fact empty. My eyes trackedupward, caught sight of the body and sudden movement on the top bunk—clearly, she alternated bunks, probably for exactly this purpose.

I altered course in mid-charge, nearly wrenching my back in the process, reaching for her mouth to keep her from screaming. There was a faint glint ofsomething metallic in her hand, and I shifted the direction of my hands towardthe object as she tried to bring it around to bear on me. I won by a thin- sliced fraction of a second, and with a twist of my wrist wrenched it out of her hand.

With my other hand I reached again for her mouth; but even as I could see hertaking a deep breath Ixil's left hand closed almost delicately across it, hisright taking up a supporting position behind her head.

"It's all right, Tera," I assured her quickly. "We just want to talk."

She ignored me, grabbing Ixil's hand and trying to pry it away—consideringKalixiri musculature, a complete waste of effort. From the movements of herhead I guessed she was also trying to bite him, another waste of effort. Behind us, the door slid shut, plunging the silent struggle into darkness. "Really, that's all we want," I said, stepping across the darkened room and switching on thelight. "We thought it would be better if what we had to say was kept quietfrom the others for the moment."

Tera grunted something unintelligible but undoubtedly quite rude from behindIxil's hand, her eyes doing their best to skewer me. "Nice to see you'rearmed, too," I added, looking at the gun I'd taken from her. It was a short-barreledshotgun-style pepperbox pistol, capable of making a considerable mess of anassailant at the close range inherent in shipboard combat without the dangerof accidentally rupturing the hull in the process. My earlier search of her roomhadn't turned it up; clearly, she made a habit of carrying it around with her.

"Of course, this thing's loud enough to have brought the whole ship down onus.

Good thing you didn't get a chance to fire. If Ixil takes his hand away, willyou promise not to make a fuss until you hear what we have to say?"

Her eyes flicked to her gun in my hand. Reluctantly, I thought, she nodded.

"Good," I said, nodding to Ixil.

He pulled his hands away slowly, ready to put them back again if she renegedon her promise. "What do you want?" she said in a low voice. There was a fairdegree of tension in her face, I saw, but whatever panic there might have beenhad already disappeared.

"Like I said, to talk," I told her. "We want to find out what you know aboutthis ship, Tera." I lifted my eyebrows. "Or should I call you Elaina?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. Not much, but enough to show I'd hit thebull's-eye. Uncle Arthur had indeed come through. "Elaina?" she askedcautiously.

"Elaina," I said. "Elaina Tera Cameron. Daughter of Arno Cameron. The man whoput all of us aboard this ship."