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."