The Icarus Hunt Part 7

"Whose, Jones's or Chort's?"

"Either one."

Ixil shrugged. "What motive does anyone here have? That's the main reason I hesitate to ascribe any of this to malice."

I sighed; but he was right. Considering the Icarus's, haphazard design, glitches could easily turn out to be the rule rather than the exception. "What about Jones's rebreather?"

Ixil hissed softly between his teeth. "That one I don't like at all," he said."I don't suppose you still have it."

I shook my head. "We had to turn over the suit and rebreather both with Jones's body."

"I was afraid of that," he said. "I would have liked to have looked it over.

Frankly, I don't know if it's even theoretically possible for a rebreather to malfunction that way on its own."

"Then you're thinking sabotage?"

"That would be my guess; but again, for what purpose? Why would anyone aboard want to kill Jones?"

"How should I know?" I asked irritably. "These people are total strangers to me."

"Exactly my point," he said. "From your description of how Cameron was hiring his crewers, all these people are supposedly also total strangers to each other."

I frowned. That part hadn't occurred to me. "You're right," I said slowly, thinking back to that first meeting back at the base of the Icarus's stairway.

"No one gave any indication of knowing any of the others. At least not when I was watching."

"Which implies that if any of this is deliberate there must be some other motivation," Ixil concluded. "The general sabotage of the s.h.i.+p, perhaps, or the systematic disabling of the crew."

"Tied in with Cameron's failure to show up at the s.h.i.+p, maybe?" I suggested.

"Could be," Ixil agreed. "The ma.s.sive manhunt we saw near the archaeology dig would support that theory, not to mention your playmates with the high-tech weaponry."

I drummed my fingers on the deck. "So where does that leave us?"

"With quite a few unknowns," Ixil said. "The key one, in my mind, being this mysterious cargo you're carrying. Have you any idea what's in there?"

"None whatsoever," I said. "There's nothing listed in the computer that I could find, and there are no access panels listed on the schematics where we could even go to take a look. When Cameron said it'd been sealed, he meant it."

"We may have to find some way to unseal it before we're done with this," Ixil said.

There was a scrabbling sound at the hatchway, and Pix and Pax appeared. "Okay, I.

give up," I asked, finally tired of wondering about it. "What exactly have they been doing out there? Neither you nor they know what any of the crew looks like."

"Given your brush with the Lumpy Brothers, as you call them, it occurred to me that someone might have the Icarus under surveillance," Ixil said as the ferrets climbed his torso to his shoulders again. "I'm watching for anyone who seems to be loitering around the area without a legitimate reason to do so."

"Ah. And?"

"If he's there, he's very good at his job," Ixil concluded. "By the way, is

one.

of your crewers about one-point-nine meters tall and bulking out at a good hundred ten kilograms, with short black hair and a face like a throw-boxer with a bad win/loss record?"

"Sounds like our medic, Everett," I said, scooting across the floor to his side.Sure enough, there he was, heading toward us with an air of brisk determination about him. "Yes, that's him," I confirmed, getting to my feet. "Be nice, now-he's probably never seen a Kalix before."

Apparently lost in his own thoughts, Everett didn't even notice us standing in the shadow of the wraparound until he was halfway up the ramp. Judging from how high he jumped, he had indeed never seen a Kalix before. "It's all right-don't worry," I said quickly, before he could turn tail and run for the hills. "This is Ixil. He's with us."

"Ah," Everett said, regaining his balance and most of his composure and peering oddly at Ixil. "So this is your partner. Ixil, was it?"

"Yes," Ixil said. "How did you know I was Jordan's partner?"

Everett blinked. "He said he would be bringing his partner in to take Jones's place," he said, looking at me uncertainly. "Just before we set down. Didn't you say that?"

"Yes, I did," I confirmed. "Any problems with the drop-off?"

"Not really," he said. "It was your basic fifteen-minute inquest. They did want to keep the suit and rebreather, though."

"I figured they would," I said. "Where's Nicabar?"

"He headed off somewhere after the inquest," Everett said. "Why, is that a problem?"

"It could become one," I said. "Did you happen to see any of the others on your way back?"

"I pa.s.sed Shawn at one of the vendor stalls a few minutes ago," he said. "I haven't seen anyone else."

"Perhaps it's time we called them," Ixil suggested. "I presume you have their phone numbers, Jordan?"

"Yes, they're programmed into list two," I said, handing him my phone. "Give them a call, will you, and tell them to get back as soon as they can. I'll make sure the refueling's been finished and get the rest of the paperwork out of the way."

"What can I do?" Everett asked.

You can tell me who out there has it in for this s.h.i.+p and its crew, the suggestion ran through my mind. But there was no point springing something like that on him. Odds were he hadn't the faintest idea anyway. "Go make sure your gear's ready for liftoff," I told him instead. "As soon as the rest get back, we're out of here."

CHAPTER 5.

THEY STRAGGLED IN over the next hour, Shawn and Nicabar clearly glad we were getting under way, Tera just as clearly annoyed that we'd cut short what had apparently been a successful shopping spree, at least judging from the number of bags she hauled aboard. Chort didn't show any particular preference one way or the other.

With the ever-looming threat of hue and cry from the Port Authority over the deaths of my two a.s.sailants-and the a.s.sociated threat that the port might be summarily shut down at any minute-I spent the entire time sweating as I foughtupstream against bureaucratic inertia, trying to finish Jones's death report and all the procedural preflight paperwork before the bodies were discovered.

To my surprise, we got cleared and headed out into s.p.a.ce without any sign of official outrage or panic over the charred remains I'd left at the loading dock.

Perhaps the spot the Lumpy Brothers had picked for my interrogation had been more private than it had looked. Either that, or someone had done a very efficient job of sweeping the whole incident under the rug.

I'd had short conversations with each of the crewers on the trip from Meima, but most of them had either concerned basic s.h.i.+p's business or were just casual chat. But now, with everything that had happened since then, I decided it was time to skip past the surface and find out what exactly these people were made of. If someone was out to get us I needed to know which ones I could trust not to buckle under pressure.

And so, as soon as we'd made our slice into hypers.p.a.ce and were on our way, I left Ixil watching the bridge and headed aft.

The Icarus's engine room was just like the rest of the s.h.i.+p, only more so. The same odd arrangement of equipment and control systems was repeated back there, as if Salvador Dali had been in charge of the layout. In addition, though, the general attempt elsewhere to keep the various cables and fluid conduits tucked out of the way in the gap between the inner and outer hulls had seemingly been abandoned here. They were everywhere: a bewildering, multicolored spaghetti tangle that brushed against sleeves and s.h.i.+ns and occasionally threatened to clothesline the unwary traveler.

And buried away at his control console near the middle of the sculpted chaos was Revs Nicabar.

"Ah-McKell," he greeted me as I successfully negotiated past a final pair of thick conduits leading to the large, s.h.i.+mmery Mobius strip that was the heart of the Icarus's stardrive. "Welcome to Medusa's Lair. Watch your head."

"And arms, legs, and throat," I added, pulling out a swivel stool from the side of his console and sitting down. "How's it flying?"

"Amazingly well, actually," he said. "Rather surprising, I know, considering that it looks like a refugee from a Doolian sc.r.a.p heap. But whoever the designer was, at least the builder had the sense to install some decent equipment."

"It's like that on the bridge, too," I said. "Good equipment, odd placement.

I'll make you a small wager that it was a working s.p.a.cer who designed it, not some so-called expert. Tell me, did you have any problems out in the port back there?"

His eyes narrowed, just a bit, and I saw his gaze flick to the side of my head where the plasmic near miss had slightly singed my hair. I didn't think the marks showed; possibly I was wrong. "None at all," he said. "Of course, I was only outside a half hour or so-up till then I was sitting on the fuelers making sure they did their job properly. I take it there was some trouble I missed out on?"

"You might say that," I allowed. "Tell me about yourself, Revs."

I'd been hoping my sudden change of topic would spark a telling reaction. What I.

got was equally informative: no reaction at all. "What do you want to know?"

hecountered calmly.

"Let's start with your background," I said. "Where you picked up your drive certification, how long you've been flying, why you were at loose ends on Meima, and how you were hired for this trip."

"I learned drive-jocking in the service," he said. "EarthGuard Marines, stationed mostly out among the settlements in the Kappa Vega Sector. I was in for ten years, left six years ago to try my hand in the private sector."

"Odd timing," I said. "Considering that by then the Patth had already swallowed up the lion's share of the Spiral's s.h.i.+pping."

"It was a gamble, but I'd had enough of military life by then and thought I could make a go of it. Mostly, I was right." He shrugged. "As to the Icarus, I got signed up more or less simultaneously with my resignation from my previous s.h.i.+p."

"Oh?"

"Yes." His face hardened. "I'd just found out my freighter was actually mask-s.h.i.+lling for the Patth."

I frowned. "That's a new one on me."

"It's the latest Patth twist to get around local protection ordinances," he said. "On some of these worlds twenty to forty percent of cargo tonnage has to be carried by local s.h.i.+ppers. So the Patth hire a s.h.i.+p on the sly, load it to the gills with as much stuff as it can carry, and send it on in. It skews the numbers, the Patth pocket the profits, and it pulls business away from the people the ordinances are supposed to protect." He shrugged. "Typical Patth connivery."

"I take it you resigned in something of a huff?"

He grinned suddenly. "I don't know if 'huff' quite covers it, but I made d.a.m.n sure I was loud enough for everyone in the taverno to hear what was happening.

Anyway, Borodin was there at the bar talking to someone else, and when I stomped out he followed and offered me this job."

He glanced around. "Though if I'd known what I was getting into, I might have looked a little harder for something else."

He looked at me, his eyes suddenly cool. "My turn for a question. Do you always carry a gun on board your own s.h.i.+p?"

I c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. I didn't realize it was so obvious."

"Ten years in EarthGuard," he reminded me. "Do I get an answer?"

"Sure," I said. "Number one: It's not exactly my s.h.i.+p. Number two: I was kidnapped in port by a couple of alien lads who wanted our cargo."

"Interesting," he murmured. "And you suspect someone aboard of complicity with them?"

"I can't imagine why anyone would be," I said. It was a perfectly true statement, even if it wasn't precisely an answer to his question.

"No, of course not," he agreed in a tone that implied he'd heard both the words I'd said and the words I hadn't said and would be mulling them over later on his own. "In which case, I presume this visit is for the purpose of judging whether or not I'll be helping you circle the wagons if and when the shooting starts?"

I had to hand it to him, the man was sharp. "Very good," I said approvingly.

"I.

hereby withdraw all the unkind thoughts I've had toward EarthGuard Marines over the years. Most of them, anyway.""Thanks," Nicabar said dryly. "The answer's a qualified yes. I've dealt with my share of pirates and hijackers, and I don't like them much. You can count on me to help fight them off. But."

He leveled a finger at my chest. "My support and my presence are conditional on the cargo being totally legit. If I find out we're running drugs or guns or that we're mask-s.h.i.+lling for the Patth, I'm out at the next port. Clear?"

"Clear," I said firmly, hoping I sounded heartily on his side on this one. If he ever found out about my connection with Brother John, I was going to have some fancy verbal dancing to do. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about on any of those scores. Borodin told me the cargo had been cleared through customs on Gamm, and one would a.s.sume they were reasonably thorough."

"Borodin told me that, too," Nicabar said darkly. "But then, Borodin's not here, is he?"

"No, he's not," I conceded. "And before you ask, I don't know why."

"I didn't think you did." He peered at me thoughtfully. "If you ever find out, I.

presume you'll tell me."

"Of course," I said, as if it went without saying, as I stood up. "I've got to get back to the bridge. See you later."

I made my way back through the wiring undergrowth, wis.h.i.+ng irreverently for a machete, and ducked through the aft airlock hatch into the wraparound. Nicabar was sharp, all right. Maybe a little too sharp. Perhaps his lack of reaction to my story about being jumped was because he already knew all about it.

In which case, unfortunately, I ran immediately and solidly into the question of why he hadn't then done something to keep the Icarus from leaving Xathru.

Unless the Lumpy Brothers were just hunting cargoes at random, maybe working strictly on their own.