But why smash the pad at that point? What did it gain him?
Unless he'd already gotten into the cabin and wanted to make sure no one wasable to get in to interrupt him. With the inside release pad intact, he wouldhave had no trouble leaving whenever he wanted to.
So what had he done in there?
There was a clumping of heavy footsteps, and Ixil reappeared, carrying a largeobject wrapped in a folded cloth in his hand. "Have you checked with Pix andPax since you woke up?" I asked. "I'm wondering if they might have seen someoneelse in there with you."
"Yes, I have; and no, they didn't," he said, sitting down again. He set theobject in his lap and started to unwrap it. "Except for seeing you come in forthe ship's schematics, of course. On the other hand, they were both asleepmuch of the time, so I can't absolutely state that no one else got in."
Dead end. "You need to train them to sleep one at a time."
"If I'd been more alert before I went under I would have tried," he said.
"Though it might not have worked. Instructions like that often get lost when Idon't have any neural contact with them for a few hours and can't reinforcethe orders."
I gestured toward the object in his hand. "What's that?"
"Exhibit A." He pulled back the last fold of cloth, and I found myself lookingat what had to be the biggest universal wrench on the ship, the kind used forunbolting thruster casings.
"Ah," I said. "And the significance of it is...?"
"Look closely, right here," he said, pointing at a spot about midway along therectangular cross-sectioned handle. "See the black streak?"
I leaned forward. It was there, all right: a faint black vertical mark, with awider and fainter echo beside it as if a charcoal line had been smeared. "Let me guess," I said, leaning back again. "A mark from the rubber edge of your cabindoor?"
"Very good," he said, lifting the wrench up by the cloth for a closer look ofhis own. "Those doors hit pretty hard when the buffer doesn't engage. Myassumption is he hit the release pad, then shoved this into the gap when itopened."
And it was still moving as the door hit it; hence, the smeared streak. "Thatwould have left enough of an opening for the bottles, but not enough to gethis arm through," I pointed out. "Probably why they weren't farther from the door.
Unless he was hoping someone would kick them on the way in or out."
"That wouldn't have done him any good," Ixil reminded me. "You have to ignitethe mixture, remember?"
"None of this does him any good," I growled, mentally giving the whole thingupas hopeless. There was some vital information we didn't yet have—I was sure ofit. And until we found out what it was all we were going to accomplish bychasing our meager data around was to make ourselves dizzy.
Apparently, Ixil had figured that out, too. "As you suggested in an earlierconversation, it all makes perfect sense," he said, starting to wrap up thewrench again. "We just don't yet know what that sense is."
I nodded to the wrench. "You planning to check it for fingerprints?"
"I was thinking of it," he agreed. "Knowing the Icarus, though, I suspectwe'll need to use it before we ever get within hailing distance of a properfingerprinting expert."
"Knowing the Icarus, I'd say you were right," I agreed. "So what now?"
"I thought I'd see about fixing my door," he said, tucking the wrench underone arm and snapping his fingers as he reached for the remains of his sandwich.
The two ferrets came at his call, scampering up his body to his shoulders. "Yourdoor, rather, since your outer pad's on my cabin now. I can take the pad offthe empty Number Two cabin on the top deck and replace the whole thing."
"What if we want to get in there?" I asked.
"What for?" he asked reasonably. "Anyway, we can always move a pad from one ofthe other cabins temporarily if we need to."
"Point," I conceded. "Okay, go ahead."
"Right. I'll see you later." Stuffing another large corner of his sandwichinto his mouth, he headed out.
For a couple of minutes, ignoring my own resolve not to waste time and effortdoing so, I chased our meager data around in a couple more circles. It didn'tget me anywhere.
And then, behind me out in the corridor, I heard the steady tread ofapproachingfootsteps. Two pairs, from the sound of it, neither of them Ixil's.
It was probably something totally innocent, of course. But I'd had enoughunpleasant surprises for one day, and I wasn't interested in having any moreof them. Folding my arms across my chest, I slid my right hand out of sightbeneath my jacket and got a grip on my plasmic, then swiveled my seat around to facethe open doorway.
The first in line was Tera, stalking onto the bridge like she owned it.
"McKell," she said in terse greeting. There was nothing the slightest bitfriendly about her expression. "We need to talk to you."
Before I could reply, the other half of the "we" stepped into sight behindher: Nicabar, looking even less friendly than she did. Not a good sign. "Come in," said mildly, ignoring the fact that they were already in. "Revs, aren't yousupposed to be on duty in the engine room?"
"Yes," he said, his eyes flicking once to my folded arms. If he suspected I was holding my gun, he didn't comment on it. "I asked Chort to watch things for afew minutes."
Strictly speaking, that was a violation of the Mercantile Code, me being thecaptain and not being informed and all. But so far this trip I'd been fairlycasual about the duty roster, and there didn't seem much point in complainingabout it now. "Fine. What can I do for you?"
Tera glanced at Nicabar, who glanced in turn out into the corridor and thenunlocked the release, letting the door slide shut beside him. "You can startwith some honesty," Tera said as they both looked back at me. "This Mr.
Antoniewicz whose name scares off customs inspectors. Who exactly is he?"
It was a trap, of course. And with someone else, it might have worked. ButTera didn't have the facial control or sheer chutzpah to pull it off. "You alreadyknow the answer," I said. I shifted my gaze to Nicabar. "Or rather, you knowit.
I see you've already given Tera your version; how about doing the same forme?"
"He's a dealer in death and misery," Nicabar said, his voice as dark as hisexpression. "He buys and sells drugs, guns, customs officials, governments, and people's lives."
His eyes bored into mine. "And we want to know what exactly your relationshipis to his organization."
"Nice speech," I complimented him, stalling for time. I'd known from the startthat the relative ease with which I'd obtained Shawn's borandis would inevitablygenerate speculation among the others as to how I'd pulled it off. But Ihadn't expected that speculation to turn into full-blown suspicion so quickly or sobluntly. This could be very awkward indeed. "Did you work it up specially forthis occasion? Or is it left over from the last ship you worked that had tiesto Antoniewicz? Or the one before that, or the one before that?"
"What exactly are you implying?" Nicabar asked, his tone the unpleasantstillness of the air when there's a thunderstorm brewing in the distance.
"I'm saying that you and everyone else aboard the Icarus has worked forAntoniewicz at one time or another," I told him. "You had no choice.
Antoniewicz's fingers stretch into so many nooks and crannies across theSpiralit's practically impossible to engage in any business that doesn't touchsomething he's involved with."
"That's not the same," Tera protested.
"What, if you don't know what you're doing it doesn't count?" I scoffed.