"Yes, I did," I confirmed. "Any problems with the drop-off?"
"Not really," he said. "It was your basic fifteen-minute inquest. They didwant 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 aproblem?"
"It could become one," I said. "Did you happen to see any of the others onyourway back?"
"I passed Shawn at one of the vendor stalls a few minutes ago," he said. "Ihaven't seen anyone else."
"Perhaps it's time we called them," Ixil suggested. "I presume you have theirphone numbers, Jordan?"
"Yes, they're programmed into list two," I said, handing him my phone. "Givethem a call, will you, and tell them to get back as soon as they can. I'llmake sure the refueling's been finished and get the rest of the paperwork out ofthe way."
"What can I do?" Everett asked.
You can tell me who out there has it in for this ship and its crew, thesuggestion ran through my mind. But there was no point springing somethinglike that on him. Odds were he hadn't the faintest idea anyway. "Go make sure yourgear'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 weregetting under way, Tera just as clearly annoyed that we'd cut short what hadapparently been a successful shopping spree, at least judging from the numberof bags she hauled aboard. Chort didn't show any particular preference one way orthe other.
With the ever-looming threat of hue and cry from the Port Authority over thedeaths of my two assailants—and the associated threat that the port might besummarily shut down at any minute—I spent the entire time sweating as I fought upstream against bureaucratic inertia, trying to finish Jones's death reportand all the procedural preflight paperwork before the bodies were discovered.
To my surprise, we got cleared and headed out into space without any sign ofofficial outrage or panic over the charred remains I'd left at the loadingdock.
Perhaps the spot the Lumpy Brothers had picked for my interrogation had beenmore private than it had looked. Either that, or someone had done a veryefficient 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 ship's business or were just casualchat. But now, with everything that had happened since then, I decided it wastime to skip past the surface and find out what exactly these people were madeof. If someone was out to get us I needed to know which ones I could trust notto buckle under pressure.
And so, as soon as we'd made our slice into hyperspace and were on our way, Ileft Ixil watching the bridge and headed aft.
The Icarus's engine room was just like the rest of the ship, only more so. Thesame 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, thegeneral attempt elsewhere to keep the various cables and fluid conduits tuckedout of the way in the gap between the inner and outer hulls had seemingly beenabandoned here. They were everywhere: a bewildering, multicolored spaghettitangle that brushed against sleeves and shins and occasionally threatened toclothesline the unwary traveler.
And buried away at his control console near the middle of the sculpted chaoswas Revs Nicabar.
"Ah—McKell," he greeted me as I successfully negotiated past a final pair ofthick conduits leading to the large, shimmery Mobius strip that was the heartof 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 theside of his console and sitting down. "How's it flying?"
"Amazingly well, actually," he said. "Rather surprising, I know, consideringthat it looks like a refugee from a Doolian scrap heap. But whoever thedesignerwas, 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 spacer who designed it, notsome so-called expert. Tell me, did you have any problems out in the port backthere?"
His eyes narrowed, just a bit, and I saw his gaze flick to the side of my headwhere the plasmic near miss had slightly singed my hair. I didn't think themarks showed; possibly I was wrong. "None at all," he said. "Of course, I wasonly outside a half hour or so—up till then I was sitting on the fuelersmakingsure they did their job properly. I take it there was some trouble I missedout 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 got was equally informative: no reaction at all. "What do you want to know?" he countered calmly.
"Let's start with your background," I said. "Where you picked up your drivecertification, how long you've been flying, why you were at loose ends onMeima, 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 infor 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 alreadyswallowed up the lion's share of the Spiral's shipping."
"It was a gamble, but I'd had enough of military life by then and thought Icould make a go of it. Mostly, I was right." He shrugged. "As to the Icarus, Igot signed up more or less simultaneously with my resignation from my previousship."
"Oh?"
"Yes." His face hardened. "I'd just found out my freighter was actuallymask-shilling for the Patth."
I frowned. "That's a new one on me."
"It's the latest Patth twist to get around local protection ordinances," hesaid. "On some of these worlds twenty to forty percent of cargo tonnage has tobe carried by local shippers. So the Patth hire a ship on the sly, load it tothe gills with as much stuff as it can carry, and send it on in. It skews thenumbers, the Patth pocket the profits, and it pulls business away from thepeople the ordinances are supposed to protect." He shrugged. "Typical Patthconnivery."
"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 damnsure 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 Istompedout he followed and offered me this job."
He glanced around. "Though if I'd known what I was getting into, I might havelooked a little harder for something else."
He looked at me, his eyes suddenly cool. "My turn for a question. Do youalwayscarry a gun on board your own ship?"
I cocked 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 ship. Number two: I waskidnapped in port by a couple of alien lads who wanted our cargo."
"Interesting," he murmured. "And you suspect someone aboard of complicity withthem?"
"I can't imagine why anyone would be," I said. It was a perfectly truestatement, 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 thewords I'd said and the words I hadn't said and would be mulling them over later onhis own. "In which case, I presume this visit is for the purpose of judgingwhether 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 Marinesover the years. Most of them, anyway."
"Thanks," Nicabar said dryly. "The answer's a qualified yes. I've dealt withmyshare of pirates and hijackers, and I don't like them much. You can count onme to help fight them off. But."