The Icarus Hunt

CHAPTER 13

WE LEFT TERA to get back to her sleep, or at least what sleep she would beable to manage after that immensely cheering conversation, and reconvened ourprivatecouncil of war on the Icarus's bridge. Shawn, who'd been on duty, had voicedno objection at all to being relieved, heading off toward his cabin and bunk witha sort of dragging step that suggested he still wasn't fully recovered from hisrecent bout with Cole's disease. Or from straight borandis addiction, as thecase might be.

But while the bridge provided all the privacy we could want, or at least allwe were likely to get on the Icarus, it didn't offer anything in the way ofeither inspiration or answers.

"Hard though this may be to believe," I commented to Ixil as I watched hisferrets climb nose first down his legs and scamper off to their corridor andbulkhead sentry duties, "I think this whole thing is more confused now than itwas before we talked to Tera."

"I don't see how," Ixil said. "Instead of having a mysteriousmurderer/saboteuraboard the Icarus, we now only have a mysterious murderer."

"Oh, that's a great help," I said sarcastically.

"And we've also eliminated Tera as a suspect," he continued, ignoring thesarcasm. "Which leaves us only Chort, Nicabar, Shawn, and Everett. That shouldcount for something."

"Only if everything she told us was true," I cautioned him. "Don't forget thatphoto Uncle Arthur sent was not exactly definitive. She could simply be a veryaccomplished liar with a gift for improvisation."

"Really," he said, his polite voice edging as close to sarcasm as Kalixiriever got. "And does the large sphere's gravitational field come under the liartalent or the improvisational talent?"

"Fine, then," I growled, giving up. "Tera's as pure as the driven snow. Justbear in mind that even if she is who she says she is, her goals here may notcoincide completely with ours."

"Granted," he said. "So where does the extra confusion come in?"

"It comes in the same place Cameron went out," I said. "With all due respect, I

don't think much of your kidnapping theory. If they knew enough to get in hereand snatch him, why didn't they grab the Icarus while they were at it?"

"Maybe they don't know its actual significance," Ixil said. "Maybe they stillthink the prize is in the cargo hold and didn't think they had time to get toit right then."

"Then why let us leave the planet?" I countered. "Anyway, they have to have atleast an idea of what it is they're chasing. You don't offer hundred-grandfinder's fees completely on speculation."

"That doesn't necessarily follow," he said. "Maybe all they know is that theIcarus is carrying something Cameron desperately wants to get to Earth, whichthey want to take a look at simply on general principles. Perhaps that waswhat the anonymous gem-smuggling tip was all about, to give them an excuse to getinto the cargo hold."

I ran that one a couple of times around in my mind. It was not, I decided, as ridiculous as it seemed at first blush. "If so, they've got terriblecoordination problems," I pointed out. "The Najik let us go without evenblinking an eye."

"So did Director Aymi-Mastr on Meima," Ixil said. "I don't think the Patthhave quite made up their minds just how public they're willing to make theirinvolvement with this."

"It's certainly public enough at the top levels," I reminded him darkly. "Halfthe governments in this region have already been threatened with sanctions ifthey don't find and deliver us."

"True, but that's not the same thing as working directly with localadministrators and customs agents," he pointed out. "Top-level governmentalofficials can usually be trusted not to leak that kind of information, especially when it's something that might cause economic panic among theirpeople."

I scowled at my displays. "So where does that leave us?" He shrugged. "Atleast we're not as much in the dark as most of the people looking for us," he said.

"Whatever the Patth themselves know or don't know, they most certainly haven'tgiven the details to any of their searchers. If they knew what we wereactuallysitting on here, there wouldn't be a government in the Spiral who would giveus up to them."

"I suppose I should be grateful for small favors," I said, trying to think ofhow exactly all this knowledge gave us an advantage. Offhand, I couldn't seeany. "And that brings up another point. We might want to consider makingourselves a list of governments we'd be willing to surrender the Icarus to asa last resort, just to keep the Patth from getting it."

"We could," he said doubtfully. "The problem is finding someone who'd be lessof a threat than the Patth themselves."

I cocked an eyebrow. "You are joking."

"Not at all," he said, his face deadly serious. "As far as we know, the Patthhave no real military other than their own defense forces."

"No, they subcontract the muscle jobs out to the Lumpies," I said sourly.

"Perhaps," Ixil said. "My point is that the Patth would use the Icarusstardrive to cement their stranglehold on civilian shipping. Someone else might insteadput it to military uses."

I chewed a corner of my lip. A faster stardrive certainly wouldn't help inspace-normal combat, and of course there was no combat possible in hyperspace.

It would make it easier to ferry troops, materiel, and warships around, butthat wouldn't be that much of an advantage in the small brushfire conflicts thatstill flared up now and then. Unless we got into another of the huge regionalwars that we all hoped were safely in the Spiral's past, the Icarus stardrivewouldn't gain an aggressor very much.

But then, maybe something like the Icarus stardrive was just the edge apotential aggressor was waiting for. Not a particularly pleasant thought.

"We still ought to make ourselves a surrender list," I said, getting up fromthe command chair and crossing to the plotting table. "Maybe try for a consortiumof governments, just so no one's got a strict monopoly."

"Particularly a consortium that would allow the ship's crew to live," Ixil said.

"Preferably in something less confining than a small lonely cell somewhere."

"That one's at the top of my wish list, too," I assured him, keying the tableon.

"It's always nice to have a common goal. Where exactly are we headed at themoment?"

"I don't know," I said, peering at the possibilities as they came up. "We'recurrently heading for Utheno, on the grounds that having a legitimate exitrecord from Potosi would make it easier to get in and out of another NajikiArchipelago world."

"Utheno is only, what, seventy-five hours away?"

"Seventy-three," I said. "And since that's only about half the Icarus's range, I

also thought a stop there might throw off anyone who might be tracking ourmovements."

I waved at the table. "But now I'm starting to wonder if it would be better tonot get within any single government's grasp more than once."

"Perhaps," Ixil said slowly. "Still, at this point, I'm not sure it reallymatters. The Patth have surely alerted everyone along our vector, and whetheror not we've crossed paths with any particular government agency is probably moreor less irrelevant."

"Do you think we should get off this vector, then?" I suggested. "Veer off tothe side, circle around, and try to sneak up on Earth from behind?"

"No." He was definite. "The Patth aren't going to be fooled that easily—

they'llhave the word out anywhere the Icarus can get to. All that would do isincrease the number of fueling stops we would have to make, which is where we're mostvulnerable, and give the Patth more time to learn what exactly the Icaruslooks like."

"And if they really do have Cameron, to get a complete crew list, too," Iagreedglumly. "All right; Utheno it is."

"Utheno it is," Ixil agreed, snapping his fingers to recall his ferrets. "I'mgoing back to my cabin to get some sleep," he continued as they bounded up hislegs and clawed their way to his shoulders. "I'd like to finish healing beforewe hit Utheno."

"Watch yourself," I warned. "Our murderer may not content himself with leavinghis next batch of poison gas unmixed."

"I'll have Pix and Pax on alert," he assured me. "And there are a couple ofdoor-guard tricks I know. You just watch yourself."

"What, me?" I said, snorting. "The only one we know can fly this monster? I'mthe safest person aboard."

"Let's hope our murderer remembers that," Ixil said pointedly, standing up andheading for the door. "And doesn't have too inflated an opinion of his ownpiloting skills. I'll talk to you later."

He left, leaving the door locked open behind him. I confirmed the vector andtiming to Utheno, then shut down the plotting table and returned to my commandchair. And tried to think.

Our talk with Tera had been good. It had been enlightening and, assumingalwaysthat everything she had told us was true, very useful as well.

The problem was that it had also swept away the whole fragile toothpick-houseI'd worked so painstakingly to put together since Jones's murder. Before, I'dhad a puzzle where the pieces didn't seem to fit together. Now, suddenly, not only had she swept away the pieces, she'd swept away the damn puzzle, too. Theattacks on Jones and Chort, the sabotage to the cutting torch, the anonymoustips to the various customs and port authorities—every time lightning hadstruck I had carefully added the details to the rest of the mix, making sure toinclude the locations of all the possible suspects during that time. And while Ididn't kid myself that I'd sorted it out into a neat package, at least I'd beengettinga handle on it all.

Now, suddenly, everything had changed. Half the sabotage had been done by Teraand her father, a character I hadn't even known was on this particular stageof our little drama, and for reasons far less malevolent than their results wouldhave suggested. And with that confession, my careful checklist of who had beenwhere when went straight out the airlock. In fact, about all I had left toexplain was the gem-smuggling tip to the Najik on Potosi and the poison-gascomponents and smashed release pad on Ixil's room. And, of course, Jones'smurder.

And the damnable part of it was that those were precisely the incidents thatno one had any possible alibi for. Anyone aboard could have sabotaged Jones'srebreather prior to his accompanying Chort on his spacewalk; and everyone wasout on their own during the time Ixil's room was tampered with.

Everyone. Including Tera.

Because Ixil's opinions to the contrary, I still hadn't eliminated her as asuspect. Far from it. The photo Uncle Arthur had sent wasn't nearly definitiveenough for me to accept her claimed identity, and it was for sure that if thereal Elaina Tera Cameron was running around the Spiral somewhere else we'dnever hear about it here on the Icarus. True, she'd known about the hull's alien gravgenerator; but if she was actually one of the archaeologists or techs, shewould have also known about that. Uncle Arthur had said the Ihmisits had rounded upthe whole group, but without knowing his source for that information I wasforced to consider it incomplete if not downright suspect. As to the rest ofher story, I hadn't actually seen Cameron aboard the Icarus, and I sure couldn'tconfirm that he was the one I'd chased leisurely around the 'tweenhull area.

And I couldn't help noticing the interesting timing of the Patth infiltratingthe Meima dig with a couple of Lumpies just when the Icarus was ready to fly.

It could be coincidence, or something in their own external intelligence hadcaughtthe roving Patth eye; but it could also be that they'd had an agent inside thedig itself. We had only Tera's word that she wasn't that agent.

But then, we had only everyone else's word for who they were, too. Tera hadsaid Cameron had kept her presence on Meima close to the vest. Maybe he'd done thesame with someone else as well, shielding this agent's presence even from hisown daughter. It was the sort of double-blind stunt a man like Cameron mightwell have pulled; as Tera herself had said, you couldn't tell what you didn'tknow. Perhaps it was that second string to Cameron's bow who had been subornedby the Patth, or had simply decided he was tired of a tech's salary and thatthis was his big chance to retire in comfort.

And if that was true, it might finally explain why we were still free. Eitherour traitor hadn't turned us in to the Patth yet because he was waiting forthe price to go up, or else because he suspected another of Cameron's people wasaboard and didn't want to show his hand until he'd figured out who it was.

So why was Jones murdered?

Had he known something damaging to the murderer? Or, conversely, had themurderer been afraid he might learn something that he, the murderer, couldn'tafford for anyone else to know? It had to be something that a ship's mechanicmight learn through his normal duties, or else the follow-up attack on Ixildidn't make any sense.

Unless the poison-gas threat had been just a smoke screen. Maybe all Mr. X hadwanted to do was get rid of Jones, and had pulled the cyanide threat on Ixilto make it look like he had a grudge against anyone who tried to fill themechanic post on the Icarus. After all, Ixil hadn't even come close to dying on thatone.

I scowled some more at my displays. This was getting me nowhere except dizzy.

What could a perfect stranger like Jones—a perfect stranger to the rest of theIcarus's crew, anyway—possibly know that would be worth killing him over?

Perhaps the fact that, despite his claims about his mechanical skills, Nicabardidn't actually know one end of a wrench from another? But why would even anegregious bending of the truth be worth murder? Besides, Uncle Arthur'sprofileon Nicabar had shown that he did have those skills. Was it something aboutChort, then? Or Everett, or Shawn?

A rumbling in my stomach intruded on my thoughts, an audible reminder that ithad been a long time since my last meal. Giving the displays one last check, Igot up and headed back to the dayroom just aft of the bridge. The ship couldlook after itself long enough for me to put together a quick sandwich, andmaybea liter or two of coffee would help me think. Though from the evidence todate, I doubted it.

I had assembled a sandwich from the rather unimaginative selection of ship'sstores, and was pouring coffee into a spill-proof mug, when I caught the soundof a light footstep outside the door. I turned, and to my complete lack ofsurprise found Chort framed in the doorway. "Excuse me, Captain McKell," hesaid in his whistly voice. "I did not mean to intrude."

"No intrusion at all," I assured him, waving him in. "The dayroom's commonproperty, you know. Come in, come in."

"Thank you," he said, moving somewhat hesitantly into the room. "I know thatthe dayroom is usually a common area. But here it does not seem to be so."

"The Icarus is an unusual ship," I reminded him, picking up my plate and mugand settling down at the table. So far on this trip I hadn't really had the chanceto talk with Chort, and this seemed the ideal opportunity to do so. "And we'reflying under very unusual conditions," I added. "Our crew doesn't have theusual cohesion of people who've traveled a lot together." I eyed him speculatively.

"Though maybe that doesn't mean all that much to you. You haven't been at thissort of thing very long, have you?"

His feathery scales fluttered slightly. "Is it so very obvious?"

I shrugged. "Maybe a little," I said. "I wouldn't worry about it, though.

You're a Craea; and somehow you people have space travel in your blood."

"Perhaps." His beak clicked softly twice, the first time I'd heard him makethat sound. "Or perhaps that is merely a myth."

"If it is, there are an awful lot of people who've swallowed it," I told him, taking a bite of my sandwich. "There's a terrific demand out there for Craeanspacewalkers."

"Perhaps the demand is justifiable," he said, eyeing me closely. "But perhapsit is not. Tell me, what did Ship Master Borodin tell you about this mission?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning. Mission, he'd said. Not trip or voyage.

Mission. "I was hired to fly the Icarus from Meima to Earth. Why, did he tellyou something else?"

"Not something else, exactly," he said, those pure white eyes still studyingme with a discomfiting intensity. "But he said there was something more involvedhere."

He stopped. "Go on," I encouraged him, taking another bite of sandwich so asnot to look too eager.

He gave it another couple of heartbeats before he finally went on. "Twelveothers were trying to hire me at the Craean employment site on Meima," hesaid.

"Ship Master Borodin drew me aside and told me that while he could not pay asmuch as the others were offering, he could instead offer me a chance to dosomething for my people that would never be forgotten."

"Really," I said, fighting to keep my voice casual as I took another bite tohide the sudden shiver running through me. Idiot that I was, not until thatmoment had Tera's revelation of the Icarus's true nature made even the slightestconnection in my mind with the data Uncle Arthur had sent regarding the boomthe Craean economy had been enjoying since the Talariac had hit the space lanes.

"What else did he say?"

Faced with a nonhuman audience, I'd apparently overplayed my casual act. "Youdon't believe me," Chort said, starting for the door. "I'm sorry to havebothered you."

"No, no—please," I said, gathering my feet beneath me, ready to jump out of mychair if I needed to in order to stop him. Suddenly there were a whole newraft of possibilities opening up here, possibilities I very much wanted to explore.

"I didn't mean it that way. Of course I believe you. Did he say anythingmore?"

He stood there another moment, then slowly retraced his steps. "You do notunderstand," he said. "You humans. You greatly dislike the Patth—I hear youtalking. But you do not understand."

"Help me understand, then," I invited, gesturing at the seat across the tablefrom me. "Why shouldn't we dislike the Patth?"

He hesitated again, then slowly sat down in the indicated seat. "You spoke ofspace travel being in Craean blood," he said. "Perhaps in some ways it is. Welove free fall, and thrive in space habitats. We have five in our home system; did you know that?"

I nodded. "I hear they're beautiful inside. I wish your government allowednon-Crooea to visit them."

"They are indeed beautiful," he said, the white eyes unfocusing oddly. "And itis in such places, or on our homeworld itself, that most Crooea would prefer to live if that was possible."

His eyes came back to focus on my face. "But such is not the case. We havenothing in the fields of science or technology that can compete with theproducts of Earth or Basni or J'kayrr. Yet we must continue to create wealthif we are to have the benefits of that technology, or if we are to build morespacehabitats for our people."

"You have your food exports," I reminded him. "I understand they're very muchsought after."

"But they can travel only a limited distance before spoiling," he said. "Inthe face of such a dilemma, what can the Crooea do?"

I sighed. I saw where he was headed now, all right. "They hire themselves outacross the Spiral, of course," I said. "Tell me, how much of your pay goesdirectly to the Craean government?" His beak snapped hard. "Seven-tenths," hesaid. A seventy percent tax bracket. Indentured servitude, with the twist thatthe servitude was to their own government and people. "I've never heardanythingabout this before," I said. "Why have you kept it such a secret?"

His feathers fluffed briefly. "Why would we tell it?" he countered. "It is notsomething we are proud of. To sell ourselves into service to aliens is not apleasant thing."

"Though it's really no different from what the rest of us do," I pointed out.

"None of us are selling ourselves, exactly, just hiring our services and ourexpertise out to others. It's what's called a job."

"It was never the Craean way," he said firmly. "But it is our way now."

He cocked his head to one side, a quick gesture that was very bird-like. "Buteven now that way may be changing. The Patth merchants have given us thechance to sell our foodstuffs in more markets than ever before. In only a few shortdecades, perhaps we will have the resources necessary for the habitats we yetwish to build. When that happens, we will once again be able to withdraw backto our homes, and our families, and our kind."

I shook my head. "We'll miss you," I said. I meant it, too, even as I wincedat how utterly banal the words sounded. "Why are you telling me this?"

He laid his delicate hands on the table, rubbing the fingertips gentlytogether.

"Once, it was thought that only our future freedom depended on the Patth andtheir stardrive," he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. "But now, many fearthat our very lives are solidly in their hands. In the cycles since Talariacbegan service, more and more of our resources have been devoted to the growingof foodstuffs for export. If the Patth should suddenly refuse to carry them, our economy could collapse in a single sunrise."

I felt a hard knot form in the center of my stomach. I had warned Ixil thatthe Crooea might be susceptible to Patth pressure; but I hadn't realized just howbig the economic stick the Patth were threatening them with was. "I think Iunderstand the situation," I said. "What is it you want from me?"

He seemed to draw himself up. "I want you to not aggravate the Patth."

I suppressed a grimace. Lord knew the last thing I wanted to do was upset thePatth; the Patth or their lumpy friends with the handheld crematoria.

Unfortunately, as far as that crowd was concerned, even my continued breathing probably constituted aggravation at this point. "What makes you think I wouldwant to do something like that?" I hedged.

"You dislike the Patth," he said again. "And it is the Patth who are seekingyouand this ship."

The hard knot in the center of my stomach tightened a couple more turns. "Whotold you that?"

His feathers fluttered. "No one told me. The beings whom the young humanfemale pointed out to us at the Baker's Dozen taverno were members of a Patth clientrace."

"How do you know?"

"It is common knowledge among the Crooea," he said, sounding surprised that Ieven needed to ask. "All Patth merchant starships carry Craean spacewalkers.

The Iykams also always travel with them as guardians and protectors. Unlike thePatth, they are crude and not very polite."

"As well as sometimes violent," I added, nodding. At least the Lumpy Clan hada name now. Uncle Arthur would be pleased about that. "Still, just because theIykams are mad at me doesn't mean the Patth themselves are involved."

The feathers fluttered again, this time fluffing out from his body. "Do notlie to me, Captain," he said quietly. "The Iykams do not act without Patthpermission. They do not move through these areas of space without Patthpresenceand guidance."

"I'm not lying to you, Chort," I assured him quickly, a creepy feeling runningthrough me. If he was right, that meant the two Iykams I'd killed on Xathrumust have had a Patth overseer somewhere in the vicinity. A Patth who had justmissed capturing the Icarus right off the blocks.

And running the logic in reverse, it also implied that the three Patth Cameronand I had seen in that Meima taverno had probably had a couple of Iykamslurkingin the shadows somewhere. Something to remember if I ever spotted anotherPatth out in the open.

"Perhaps it was not a direct lie," Chort said. "But you are nonethelessattempting to distract me, to lure me away from the truth." He cocked his headagain. "What is the truth, Captain?"

"You're right, Chort," I said with a sigh, gazing hard at his face and wishinglike hell I knew how to decipher that alien expression. "The Patth do indeedwant this ship. They think something aboard could be a threat to the economicempire they've carved out over the past fifteen years."

"Is that true?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. It's possible."

For a long minute he sat rigidly, his head bowed toward the table, hisfingertips pressed tightly together. That one I knew: a Craean posture of deepthought. I stayed as motionless as he was, afraid that any movement on my partmight break the spell, letting the silence stretch out and wishing even harder could read Craean expressions. Nicabar had threatened to jump ship if helearned we were carrying contraband. Would Chort make the same threat—or worse, actually carry it out—now that he knew we were in serious danger of bringing Patthangerdown on the Crooea?

With a suddenness that startled me, Chort looked back up at me. "This threatto the Patth," he said. "Could it be of benefit to the Crooea?"

"If it actually is the threat the Patth think it is—and that's the part I'mnot sure of—then the answer is yes."

"Would it be of benefit to the Crooea?"

I hesitated. "I don't know," I had to admit. "If it were up to me, you wouldcertainly be one of those to benefit, given your help on this trip. But Ican't even begin to make a promise like that."

"Ship Master Borodin implied that would be the case," he reminded me. "Is henot trustworthy?"

"Oh, he's trustworthy enough," I assured him. "But we don't know where he isright now, and the decision may be taken out of his hands. Especially ifsomeone else gets hold of the Icarus before we can deliver it to Earth."

He seemed to consider that. "And if we are able to deliver it to Earth?"

"Again, I can't make any promises," I said, feeling sweat breaking out on myforehead. With the perceived future of his entire race hanging in the balance, Chort was clearly figuring the odds and weighing his options.

Unfortunately, there were only three options I could see for him to choosefrom: jump ship, help us fly the Icarus to Earth, or betray us to the Patth thefirst chance he got in the hopes of buying economic security for his people. Onlyshort-term security, of course—in the long run the Patth were no more gratefulthan any other species. But balanced against their demonstrated ability forlong-term animosity, even a short-term gain was probably the most logical wayto go. In Chort's place, it was probably the way I would take.

And if he did...

I was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the weight of my plasmic against myrib cage. We couldn't afford to have Chort jump ship. Period. Whether heplannedto turn us in or simply hoped to vanish into the sunset before the Patth foundus, we couldn't have him running loose with what he knew about the Icarus andits crew. We would have to keep him aboard, locked up or tied up if necessary, until this macabre little hide-and-seek game was over.

Abruptly, Chort turned his head toward the back of the dayroom and the hullthat lay beyond it. "There is another hull ridge forming," he said. "You had beststop the ship."

I hadn't heard or felt anything, but I didn't doubt his judgment. I was on myfeet even before he finished talking, and was out the dayroom door and halfwayto the bridge before it even occurred to me that I hadn't doubted hisjudgment.

I was on the bridge and reaching for the red KILL button when thecharacteristic screech echoed in from the hull.

It was only much later, after the ridge had been repaired and we were on ourwayagain, that I realized he hadn't come back to finish our conversation.

Or, rather, we had finished the conversation, and I simply hadn't known it.

Just as I didn't know now which way he had decided to jump on the three choices setout in front of him.

For a while I thought about calling him on the intercom, or even confrontinghim about it in his cabin. But on further reflection I decided against doingeither.

I still couldn't offer him any of the assurances he obviously wanted, andwithout any such promise there was nothing more I could say to induce him tostick with the Icarus. Pressing him further would accomplish nothing except tomake both of us feel uncomfortable at the effort.

Anyway, we were less than three days out from Utheno. Sometime within thefirst hour after landfall, it would be easy enough to figure out which way he'djumped.