"You mean, we need their resources," Martin said.
"Actually, that's not strictly true," Anna said. "We'll be able to mine enough stuff around Leviathan to take us anywhere we want to go. Even add to the ship if we want."
"Psychologically, we need the Brothers," Ariel agreed. Martin was about to ask her to explain that when Patrick Angelfish came into the cafeteria, doing a bad job of looking as if he had some purpose there. Martin waved his hand to catch Patrick's eye; Patrick looked away with too much effort. Martin spread his arms and waved them in semaphore for him to join them. Ariel's face went pale and even colder.
Patrick approached cautiously, not expecting the open invitation.
"Are you spying for Hans?" Martin asked him.
"I wouldn't call it spying," Patrick said. "A Pan needs to know what's going on."
"Tell Hans I'm putting together a committee to investigate Rosa's death," Martin said. "I'm asking for volunteers now. He gave permission, and I'm acting on that permission. "
"He hasn't told me he gave permission," Patrick said, clearly out of his depth.
Martin's sudden deep anger took him by surprise. "That's because you're a lackey," he said with a grim smile. "Like Rex. Tell him if he wants to challenge me, do it in the open, himself, and not just send you to keep an eye on me."
Patrick left with a shake of his head and a grim, sidelong smile.
Donna and Anna's faces had gone pale and stiff. "You don't understand what he's capable of," Anna said.
"Maybe not," Martin said.
"Don't be a martyr," Ariel said.
"Why not?" Martin asked.
"Then don't be a fool," she added, but her chilly tone had passed.
"I'm flying on instinct," Martin said. "So is Hans. The question is, who has the better instincts?"
The roll call of the new dead. The human crew in the small schoolroom. Brothers elsewhere, preparing to transfer to Shrike. The defectors attended, breaking their isolation in the Brothers' section to honor those who had not survived.
Perhaps it was the last time they would be together.
Hans came into the schoolroom with face ashen, hair unkempt, eyes large and hungry. He seemed to look in every face, ask everyone a question: Are you happy now? Is this enough, or do you want more?
Without using his wand, Hans recited the names of the dead. Some of the crew wept. Martin closed his eyes and tried to remember Hakim's face, the calmness and deliberation, his precise way with words. Erin Eire… intense green eyes and noble balance of defiance and sense. He wished they were here now to help him.
Jeanette Snap Dragon lifted her arm in a clenched fist, and the defectors followed her example.
Hans did not look at Martin after, though he passed close on his way out. Patrick glanced in his direction, face troubled.
The delegation came to Martin's quarters in the middle of his sleep. His wand woke him, chiming insistently. He opened the door and Patrick stepped in, Thorkild Lax behind him, then David Aurora, Carl Phoenix, and last—making Martin's heart ache, for he knew what was happening—Harpal Timechaser. None of them met his eyes but Patrick, who said, "It's time to put everything behind us."
Patrick in front, Carl on one side, David on another, Harpal slightly above him, Thorkild below; a cage of men. Martin smelled their tension.
"Everything?" he said.
"It's history," Patrick said. "Besides, you'll get no support. Nobody wants to dig any more. We need to forget and get on with our lives."
"Forget what?" Martin asked mildly, but his heart pumped strong and fast. His body was very frightened, but the fear hadn't yet reached his head.
"Your investigation."
"We know who killed Rosa, and he's dead, and Hans had nothing to do with it, at least no more than the rest of us," Carl said.
"She would have stopped us," Thorkild said.
"We did the slicking Job," Patrick hissed, and Martin knew the quincunx of his danger. Patrick was the center who would radiate to the other four. "We did what we came here to do."
"Let's just give it up, huh?" Harpal asked. "We're tired."
Martin rotated in mid-air to face Harpal. Nobody would look straight into his eyes. Harpal managed to focus on Martin's cheek. "Why are you here? Power?" he asked.
"Beg pardon?" Harpal seemed to sleepwalk, only half-listening.
"I'm asking you why you're here."
"I thought we could talk some sense into you. You know as well as I what Hans did. He drew us together."
"That doesn't absolve him…"
"After what we've just done," Harpal said, pain and dismay passing over his face but not disturbing the simple, stolid exhaustion behind any expression, "you want to investigate a… what? A murder, you think? It's insane, Martin. Let it lie."
"You've got the finger of God working for you," Martin said, not too rationally. "That's all you need?"
"We couldn't have done it without Hans," Patrick said, "and now you want him punished for something he didn't do."
"I just want to know," Martin said.
"We know already," Patrick said.
"It takes five of you to tell me this?"
"We're your friends," Harpal said. "We don't want anything bad for you."
"Hans asked you to watch out for me?"
"You be careful," Carl said, but Patrick reined him in with a sharp look. Who is more stupid, Carl, Patrick— or David? I know Harpal and Thorkild… I don't know the others nearly as well. Odd some of us are still strangers. Then maybe I don't know any of them. Why are they here? They were my friends. We worked together.
"We worked together," Harpal said. "We don't want you to be the center of trouble."
"You were a Pan," Martin said.
Harpal tightened his lips, jaw working, relaxing. "I know the responsibilities, the decisions. So do you. I know what Hans is capable of. So do you. Rex was the one who went rogue, not Hans."
"Besides," Patrick said, "Rex is dead, everybody who could know is dead."
"Rex said Hans put him up to it," Martin reminded them.
"He was crazy. He fell in with Rosa's group, they twisted him…"
"All the defectors are crazy, too?"
"They're ineffective," Harpal said.
"They don't understand. They're weak links," David said.
Martin still could not tell how far they would go. Surely not all five would attack him. One or two, the others standing back, ashamed, but caught.
"We're ready to go on," Thorkild said, glancing at the others. "Get out of here and marry a planet."
Patrick's eyes were dead. He seemed half asleep.
"We don't want to dig it all up. It's the past. It's dead."
"It smells," Martin said. "It will not stop smelling. We can't cut clean from the past."
"We still have mopping up to do," Harpal said, trying to sound persuasive, reasonable. "The defectors aren't helping, and the Brothers turned out to be real liabilities."
"The Brothers helped us."
"Forget that," Patrick said. "Let's just keep it simple."
Rage colored fear, and the mix made his whole body burn. He wanted them all gone, if not gone then dead, and he could smell the same wish in their breath, their sweat.