The Icarus Hunt Part 25

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 the Icarus's crew, anyway-possibly know that would be worth killing him over?

Perhaps the fact that, despite his claims about his mechanical skills, Nicabar didn't actually know one end of a wrench from another? But why would even an egregious bending of the truth be worth murder? Besides, Uncle Arthur's profile on Nicabar had shown that he did have those skills. Was it something about Chort, then? Or Everett, or Shawn?

A rumbling in my stomach intruded on my thoughts, an audible reminder that it had been a long time since my last meal. Giving the displays one last check, I got up and headed back to the dayroom just aft of the bridge. The ship could look after itself long enough for me to put together a quick sandwich, and maybe a liter or two of coffee would help me think. Though from the evidence to date, I doubted it.

I had a.s.sembled a sandwich from the rather unimaginative selection of ship's stores, and was pouring coffee into a spill-proof mug, when I caught the sound of a light footstep outside the door. I turned, and to my complete lack of surprise found Chort framed in the doorway. "Excuse me, Captain McKell," he said in his whistly voice. "I did not mean to intrude."

"No intrusion at all," I a.s.sured him, waving him in. "The dayroom's common property, you know. Come in, come in."

"Thank you," he said, moving somewhat hesitantly into the room. "I know that the 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 mug and settling down at the table. So far on this trip I hadn't really had the chance to talk with Chort, and this seemed the ideal opportunity to do so. "And we're flying under very unusual conditions," I added. "Our crew doesn't have the usual 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 this sort 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 s.p.a.ce travel in your blood."

"Perhaps." His beak clicked softly twice, the first time I'd heard him make that 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 Craean s.p.a.cewalkers."

"Perhaps the demand is justifiable," he said, eyeing me closely. "But perhaps it 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 tell you something else?"

"Not something else, exactly," he said, those pure white eyes still studying me with a discomfiting intensity. "But he said there was something more involved here."

He stopped. "Go on," I encouraged him, taking another bite of sandwich so as not to look too eager.

He gave it another couple of heartbeats before he finally went on. "Twelve others were trying to hire me at the Craean employment site on Meima," he said.

"Ship Master Borodin drew me aside and told me that while he could not pay as much as the others were offering, he could instead offer me a chance to do something for my people that would never be forgotten."

"Really," I said, fighting to keep my voice casual as I took another bite to hide the sudden shiver running through me. Idiot that I was, not until that moment had Tera's revelation of the Icarus's true nature made even the slightest connection in my mind with the data Uncle Arthur had sent regarding the boom the Craean economy had been enjoying since the Talariac had hit the s.p.a.ce lanes.

"What else did he say?"

Faced with a nonhuman audience, I'd apparently overplayed my casual act. "You don't believe me," Chort said, starting for the door. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No, no-please," I said, gathering my feet beneath me, ready to jump out of my chair if I needed to in order to stop him. Suddenly there were a whole new raft 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 anything more?"

He stood there another moment, then slowly retraced his steps. "You do not understand," he said. "You humans. You greatly dislike the Patth-I hear you talking. But you do not understand."

"Help me understand, then," I invited, gesturing at the seat across the table from me. "Why shouldn't we dislike the Patth?"

He hesitated again, then slowly sat down in the indicated seat. "You spoke of s.p.a.ce travel being in Craean blood," he said. "Perhaps in some ways it is. We love free fall, and thrive in s.p.a.ce habitats. We have five in our home system; did you know that?"

I nodded. "I hear they're beautiful inside. I wish your government allowed non-Crooea to visit them."

"They are indeed beautiful," he said, the white eyes unfocusing oddly. "And it is in such places, or on our homeworld itself, that most Crooea would preferto live if that was possible."

His eyes came back to focus on my face. "But such is not the case. We have nothing in the fields of science or technology that can compete with the products of Earth or Basni or J'kayrr. Yet we must continue to create wealth if we are to have the benefits of that technology, or if we are to build more s.p.a.ce habitats for our people."

"You have your food exports," I reminded him. "I understand they're very much sought after."

"But they can travel only a limited distance before spoiling," he said. "In the face of such a dilemma, what can the Crooea do?"

I sighed. I saw where he was headed now, all right. "They hire themselves out across the Spiral, of course," I said. "Tell me, how much of your pay goes directly to the Craean government?" His beak snapped hard. "Seven-tenths," he said. A seventy percent tax bracket. Indentured servitude, with the twist that the servitude was to their own government and people. "I've never heard anything about this before," I said. "Why have you kept it such a secret?"

His feathers fluffed briefly. "Why would we tell it?" he countered. "It is not something we are proud of. To sell ourselves into service to aliens is not a pleasant thing."

"Though it's really no different from what the rest of us do," I pointed out.

"None of us are selling ourselves, exactly, just hiring our services and our expertise out to others. It's what's called a job."

"It was never the Craean way," he said firmly. "But it is our way now."

He c.o.c.ked his head to one side, a quick gesture that was very bird-like. "But even now that way may be changing. The Patth merchants have given us the chance to sell our foodstuffs in more markets than ever before. In only a few short decades, perhaps we will have the resources necessary for the habitats we yet wish to build. When that happens, we will once again be able to withdraw back to our homes, and our families, and our kind."

I shook my head. "We'll miss you," I said. I meant it, too, even as I winced at how utterly ba.n.a.l the words sounded. "Why are you telling me this?"

He laid his delicate hands on the table, rubbing the fingertips gently together.

"Once, it was thought that only our future freedom depended on the Patth and their stardrive," he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. "But now, many fear that our very lives are solidly in their hands. In the cycles since Talariac began service, more and more of our resources have been devoted to the growing of foodstuffs for export. If the Patth should suddenly refuse to carry them, our economy could collapse in a single sunrise."

I felt a hard knot form in the center of my stomach. I had warned Ixil that the Crooea might be susceptible to Patth pressure; but I hadn't realized just how big the economic stick the Patth were threatening them with was. "I think I understand the situation," I said. "What is it you want from me?"

He seemed to draw himself up. "I want you to not aggravate the Patth."

I suppressed a grimace. Lord knew the last thing I wanted to do was upset the Patth; the Patth or their lumpy friends with the handheld crematoria.

Unfortunately, as far as that crowd was concerned, even my continued breathingprobably const.i.tuted aggravation at this point. "What makes you think I would want to do something like that?" I hedged.

"You dislike the Patth," he said again. "And it is the Patth who are seeking you and this ship."

The hard knot in the center of my stomach tightened a couple more turns. "Who told you that?"

His feathers fluttered. "No one told me. The beings whom the young human female pointed out to us at the Baker's Dozen taverno were members of a Patth client race."

"How do you know?"

"It is common knowledge among the Crooea," he said, sounding surprised that I even needed to ask. "All Patth merchant starships carry Craean s.p.a.cewalkers.

The Iykams also always travel with them as guardians and protectors. Unlike the Patth, they are crude and not very polite."

"As well as sometimes violent," I added, nodding. At least the Lumpy Clan had a name now. Uncle Arthur would be pleased about that. "Still, just because the Iykams are mad at me doesn't mean the Patth themselves are involved."

The feathers fluttered again, this time fluffing out from his body. "Do not lie to me, Captain," he said quietly. "The Iykams do not act without Patth permission. They do not move through these areas of s.p.a.ce without Patth presence and guidance."

"I'm not lying to you, Chort," I a.s.sured him quickly, a creepy feeling running through me. If he was right, that meant the two Iykams I'd killed on Xathru must have had a Patth overseer somewhere in the vicinity. A Patth who had just missed capturing the Icarus right off the blocks.

And running the logic in reverse, it also implied that the three Patth Cameron and I had seen in that Meima taverno had probably had a couple of Iykams lurking in the shadows somewhere. Something to remember if I ever spotted another Patth out in the open.

"Perhaps it was not a direct lie," Chort said. "But you are nonetheless attempting to distract me, to lure me away from the truth." He c.o.c.ked his head again. "What is the truth, Captain?"

"You're right, Chort," I said with a sigh, gazing hard at his face and wishing like h.e.l.l I knew how to decipher that alien expression. "The Patth do indeed want this ship. They think something aboard could be a threat to the economic empire they've carved out over the past fifteen years."

"Is that true?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. It's possible."

For a long minute he sat rigidly, his head bowed toward the table, his fingertips pressed tightly together. That one I knew: a Craean posture of deep thought. I stayed as motionless as he was, afraid that any movement on my part might break the spell, letting the silence stretch out and wishing even harder I.

could read Craean expressions. Nicabar had threatened to jump ship if he learned we were carrying contraband. Would Chort make the same threat-or worse, actuallycarry it out-now that he knew we were in serious danger of bringing Patth anger down on the Crooea?

With a suddenness that startled me, Chort looked back up at me. "This threat to the Patth," he said. "Could it be of benefit to the Crooea?"

"If it actually is the threat the Patth think it is-and that's the part I'm not sure of-then the answer is yes."

"Would it be of benefit to the Crooea?"

I hesitated. "I don't know," I had to admit. "If it were up to me, you would certainly be one of those to benefit, given your help on this trip. But I can't even begin to make a promise like that."

"Ship Master Borodin implied that would be the case," he reminded me. "Is he not trustworthy?"

"Oh, he's trustworthy enough," I a.s.sured him. "But we don't know where he is right now, and the decision may be taken out of his hands. Especially if someone else gets hold of the Icarus before we can deliver it to Earth."

He seemed to consider that. "And if we are able to deliver it to Earth?"

"Again, I can't make any promises," I said, feeling sweat breaking out on my forehead. With the perceived future of his entire race hanging in the balance, Chort was clearly figuring the odds and weighing his options.

Unfortunately, there were only three options I could see for him to choose from: jump ship, help us fly the Icarus to Earth, or betray us to the Patth the first chance he got in the hopes of buying economic security for his people. Only short-term security, of course-in the long run the Patth were no more grateful than any other species. But balanced against their demonstrated ability for long-term animosity, even a short-term gain was probably the most logical way to go. In Chort's place, it was probably the way I would take.

And if he did...

I was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the weight of my plasmic against my rib cage. We couldn't afford to have Chort jump ship. Period. Whether he planned to turn us in or simply hoped to vanish into the sunset before the Patth found us, we couldn't have him running loose with what he knew about the Icarus and its crew. We would have to keep him aboard, locked up or tied up if necessary, until this macabre little hide-and-seek game was over.

Abruptly, Chort turned his head toward the back of the dayroom and the hull that lay beyond it. "There is another hull ridge forming," he said. "You had best stop the ship."

I hadn't heard or felt anything, but I didn't doubt his judgment. I was on my feet even before he finished talking, and was out the dayroom door and halfway to the bridge before it even occurred to me that I hadn't doubted his judgment.

I was on the bridge and reaching for the red KILL b.u.t.ton when the characteristic screech echoed in from the hull.

It was only much later, after the ridge had been repaired and we were on our way again, that I realized he hadn't come back to finish our conversation.Or, rather, we had finished the conversation, and I simply hadn't known it.

Just as I didn't know now which way he had decided to jump on the three choices set out in front of him.

For a while I thought about calling him on the intercom, or even confronting him about it in his cabin. But on further reflection I decided against doing either.

I still couldn't offer him any of the a.s.surances he obviously wanted, and without any such promise there was nothing more I could say to induce him to stick with the Icarus. Pressing him further would accomplish nothing except to make both of us feel uncomfortable at the effort.

Anyway, we were less than three days out from Utheno. Sometime within the first hour after landfall, it would be easy enough to figure out which way he'd jumped.

CHAPTER 14.

I DIDN'T FIND out within the first hour after landfall on Utheno. I didn't find out for the simple reason that we never made landfall on Utheno. Though I didn't know it then, it was going to be a long time before we made landfall anywhere.

My first hint of trouble should have been the cacophony of radio transmissions that lit up the official-frequencies section of my comm board as the hypers.p.a.ce cutter array sliced the Icarus back into s.p.a.ce-normal. I couldn't read any of it through the encryption, of course, but the sheer volume of messages should have told me something big was happening.

At the same time the comm board was lighting up with chatter, the visual displays were also listing out a horrendous tangle of ship traffic wrapped around the planet in a hundred different holding orbits. A recorded message on the main inbound-information channel apologized for the delay, cited a pair of collisions and a ground-station sensor failure as the cause of the backup, and promised to speed things up as quickly as possible.

And in an uncharacteristic burst of credulity, I believed them. Given that official confusion was made to order for us, I keyed in the orbit slot I was given and headed in.

"Crowded," of course, was a relative term when applied to planetary holding orbits. Our designated slot was a good fifty kilometers from anything else, with the only two ships at even that distance being a Najiki freighter fifty kilometers to port and a bulky Tleka cargo hauler the same distance to starboard. More from habit than anything else, I keyed for mid-range magnification and had a good look at both ships. And it was as I was looking at the Tleka cargo hauler that the warning bells belatedly started going off in the back of my head.

I keyed the intercom for the engine room. "Revs, what's status on the stardrive?"

"Down and green," he said. "Why?"

"Get it up and green," I told him shortly. "Fast."

There was just the barest hesitation. "Startup procedure begun," he said."What's the trouble?"

"We're being directed into a slot fifty klicks from a Tleka cargo hauler," I told him, still studying that display. "I can't be certain, but it looks to me like there's something lurking around the side of the hauler where I can't see it."

"As in a Najiki Customs cruiser?"

"Or something even bigger," I agreed tightly.

"So why head in at all?" he asked. "Turn around and get us out of here."

"And let them know we know they're there?" I countered. "And that we've got guilty consciences to boot?"

"You're right," he conceded reluctantly. "So we act innocent?"