Our archaic computer was another problem that reared its ugly head shortlyinto the flight. The glitch Tera had mentioned with her display turned out to benothing as simple as an adjustment problem. Once she opened the computercasingthe trouble was instantly obvious: thin layers of almost microscopic dustinside, dust that apparently had just enough electrical conductivity to createflickers of random havoc as the cooling fans blew it across the various boardsand components.
It was equally obvious, at least to Ixil and me, how it had happened. Shovedoff to the side somewhere in one of the underground chambers on Meima whileCameron's techs put the Icarus together, it had had plenty of opportunity tocollect dust through its various apertures. But of course none of the rest ofour crew knew the ship's history, and dodging the constant stream of questionsand complaints—most of the latter from Shawn, despite the alleged civilizingeffects of his medicine—wore pretty thin after a while. Ixil bore the brunt ofthat one as he spent the better part of seventy hours helping Tera and Shawndisassemble the system, clean it thoroughly, and put it back together again.
That all by itself scored as both a plus and a minus on my mental tally sheet.
A
plus because Ixil closeted with Shawn and Tera meant neither of those twowould be skulking around crimping torch nozzles or tapping into intercoms; a minusbecause it meant that for those same seventy hours I was robbed of Ixil'sassistance in anything I might want to do.
Which meant that by the time we had a chance to send Pix and Pax into the openarea between the two hulls for a thorough exploration, there was no longeranything in there for them to find. No footprints in whatever dust might havebeen present before the multitude of vibrations redistributed it; no leftovertool lying behind one of the supports where its owner might have missed it; notrace of the short-circuited intercom power lines, which had apparently beencarefully and unobtrusively fixed. About all the ferrets could come up withwas the odd fact that the outer hull didn't feel, smell, or taste like anythingelse they'd ever come across. It certainly wasn't any standard hull metal. At onepoint I actually wondered if perhaps the Potosi customs people hadn't been asfar off the mark as I'd thought, that all Cameron was doing was smuggling goldor iridium or some other exotic metal plated along the inside edge of theouter hull. But that seemed both too complicated and too petty for someone withCameron's reputation and resources. Besides which, it didn't even start toexplain the increasingly obsessive Patth interest in us.
Earlier I had also taken advantage of Tera's and Shawn's preoccupation withthe computer to do a quiet check of their cabins, but both searches came up empty.
Neither of them had a cache of hidden weapons, secret Patth code books, orinstruction manuals on how to sabotage a starship. On the other hand, I foundnothing in Tera's cabin to confirm that she was a member of any of thosefirst-name-only religious sects, either. Perhaps she was just the cautioustypewho didn't like giving her full name to strangers.
Overall, crew morale didn't fare very well during that leg of the trip.
Everett's private reservations about going to a criminal hellhole like MorshPon didn't stay private very long, and starting about two hours into the trip Ihad him, Shawn, and Tera all campaigning for me to find someplace else for ournext fueling stop. Nicabar and Chort didn't join in the chorus, but in Nicabar'scase I had the distinct feeling he was wondering if I'd chosen Morsh Pondeliberatelyto make sure he and Tera couldn't find anyone more trustworthy to replace me.
In short, it was a frustrating, aggravating three and a half days for all ofus.
And with Morsh Pon waiting, I wasn't expecting it to get any better at the farend.
It was late afternoon and early evening across the main Morsh Pon colony areawhen we arrived over the planet, with the sunset line probably an hour pastthe Blue District that was our destination. We were the only ship incoming, thoughI spotted a couple of other freighters on their way out, all of them running IDsthat were probably as phony as ours. I gave the control center our destinationport, got a rectangle assignment, and eased the Icarus down into the darkness.
The others were all waiting in the wraparound by the time I'd secured theship, called for a fueling team, and made my way aft. The entryway hatch wasunopened; by common consent, apparently, they'd all decided I should get the honor ofbeing first in line for any stray shots that might be flying around out there.
Leaving my plasmic in its holster—Nicabar aside, none of the others knew aboutthe weapon, and I didn't feel the need to enlighten them—I keyed the hatch andwaited tautly as it swung ponderously open. This particular spaceport didn'thave any of the nice concave landing cradles we'd had at our last couple ofstops, with the result that I was looking out over the landscape from avantagepoint ten meters up.
I'd never actually been on Morsh Pon before, but I couldn't imagine the viewwas any better up here than it would be at ground level. Even in the admittedlybad street light, the tavernos, flophouse brothels, and other assorted dives thatcrowded into the spaces between the various landing-pad clusters looked dingyand unfriendly. Most of the buildings had darkened windows and doorways, addingtheir individual bits to the overall gloom. Across the strip of buildingsfacingus was an empty pad cluster, looking rather like a bald spot amid the unevenrows of buildings encircling it. A few stars were visible in the darkeningsky, but even they seemed subdued, as if they didn't really want to look down atthe Blue District, either.
"Interesting," Ixil murmured from beside me. "Where is everyone?"
I frowned, looking at the scene with new eyes. He was right. I'd already notedthe dark buildings and empty landing-pad cluster directly in front of me; now, leaning partially out of the entryway, I could see that none of the nearestlanding clusters was occupied. In the distance I could see what might have been the curved hulls of a pair of ships, and a couple hundred meters off to myrightI could see a single taverno with its doorway lights on. But that was it.
Virtually no ships, virtually no open businesses, no vehicles except for thefueler I could see heading our way along an access road, and no pedestrians atall. It was as if we'd landed in a ghost town.
"Hey, Everett, I thought you said this place was crawling with murderers andpirates," Shawn said accusingly. "So where are they?"
"I don't know," Everett muttered behind me. "Something's wrong. Something'sverywrong."
"Did Landing Control say anything when you checked in?" Nicabar asked.
"Disease, plague, quarantine—anything?"
"Not a word," I said, studying the single lit taverno I could see. We were toofar away for me to read the nameplate, but knowing Uncle Arthur I was willingto bet it was the Baker's Dozen, the place he'd named in our last conversation.
"Maybe they can tell us something in there," I suggested, pointing to it.
"Anyone want to join me for a little stroll?"
"Not me," Everett said firmly. "If there's some disease out there, I don'twant to catch it."
"Landing Control's legally required to alert incoming ships about medicaldangers," I reminded him.
"And this is Morsh Pon, where they use laws for place mats," Everett counteredfirmly. "Thanks, but I'll stay here."
"Me, too," Shawn seconded.
"I'll go with you," Tera said. "I need to get out of this ship for a while."
"Count me in, too," Nicabar added.
"Sure," I said, completely unsurprised by this one. Neither Tera nor Nicabarwould be nearly as concerned about possible germs as they would be that Imightsneak off and do something they wouldn't approve of. "Chort? Ixil?"
"I will come," Chort said. "Perhaps the taverno will have a bottle of komprifor sale."