Part 7 (1/2)

”Whose, Jones's or Chort's?”

”Either one.”

Ixil shrugged. ”What motive does anyone here have? That's the main reason I hesitate to ascribe any of this to malice.”

I sighed; but he was right. Considering the Icarus's, haphazard design, glitches could easily turn out to be the rule rather than the exception. ”What about Jones's rebreather?”

Ixil hissed softly between his teeth. ”That one I don't like at all,” he said.”I don't suppose you still have it.”

I shook my head. ”We had to turn over the suit and rebreather both with Jones's body.”

”I was afraid of that,” he said. ”I would have liked to have looked it over.

Frankly, I don't know if it's even theoretically possible for a rebreather to malfunction that way on its own.”

”Then you're thinking sabotage?”

”That would be my guess; but again, for what purpose? Why would anyone aboard want to kill Jones?”

”How should I know?” I asked irritably. ”These people are total strangers to me.”

”Exactly my point,” he said. ”From your description of how Cameron was hiring his crewers, all these people are supposedly also total strangers to each other.”

I frowned. That part hadn't occurred to me. ”You're right,” I said slowly, thinking back to that first meeting back at the base of the Icarus's stairway.

”No one gave any indication of knowing any of the others. At least not when I was watching.”

”Which implies that if any of this is deliberate there must be some other motivation,” Ixil concluded. ”The general sabotage of the s.h.i.+p, perhaps, or the systematic disabling of the crew.”

”Tied in with Cameron's failure to show up at the s.h.i.+p, maybe?” I suggested.

”Could be,” Ixil agreed. ”The ma.s.sive manhunt we saw near the archaeology dig would support that theory, not to mention your playmates with the high-tech weaponry.”

I drummed my fingers on the deck. ”So where does that leave us?”

”With quite a few unknowns,” Ixil said. ”The key one, in my mind, being this mysterious cargo you're carrying. Have you any idea what's in there?”

”None whatsoever,” I said. ”There's nothing listed in the computer that I could find, and there are no access panels listed on the schematics where we could even go to take a look. When Cameron said it'd been sealed, he meant it.”

”We may have to find some way to unseal it before we're done with this,” Ixil said.

There was a scrabbling sound at the hatchway, and Pix and Pax appeared. ”Okay, I.

give up,” I asked, finally tired of wondering about it. ”What exactly have they been doing out there? Neither you nor they know what any of the crew looks like.”

”Given your brush with the Lumpy Brothers, as you call them, it occurred to me that someone might have the Icarus under surveillance,” Ixil said as the ferrets climbed his torso to his shoulders again. ”I'm watching for anyone who seems to be loitering around the area without a legitimate reason to do so.”

”Ah. And?”

”If he's there, he's very good at his job,” Ixil concluded. ”By the way, is

one.

of your crewers about one-point-nine meters tall and bulking out at a good hundred ten kilograms, with short black hair and a face like a throw-boxer with a bad win/loss record?”

”Sounds like our medic, Everett,” I said, scooting across the floor to his side.Sure enough, there he was, heading toward us with an air of brisk determination about him. ”Yes, that's him,” I confirmed, getting to my feet. ”Be nice, now-he's probably never seen a Kalix before.”

Apparently lost in his own thoughts, Everett didn't even notice us standing in the shadow of the wraparound until he was halfway up the ramp. Judging from how high he jumped, he had indeed never seen a Kalix before. ”It's all right-don't worry,” I said quickly, before he could turn tail and run for the hills. ”This is Ixil. He's with us.”

”Ah,” Everett said, regaining his balance and most of his composure and peering oddly at Ixil. ”So this is your partner. Ixil, was it?”

”Yes,” Ixil said. ”How did you know I was Jordan's partner?”

Everett blinked. ”He said he would be bringing his partner in to take Jones's place,” he said, looking at me uncertainly. ”Just before we set down. Didn't you say that?”

”Yes, I did,” I confirmed. ”Any problems with the drop-off?”

”Not really,” he said. ”It was your basic fifteen-minute inquest. They did want 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 a problem?”

”It could become one,” I said. ”Did you happen to see any of the others on your way back?”

”I pa.s.sed Shawn at one of the vendor stalls a few minutes ago,” he said. ”I haven't seen anyone else.”

”Perhaps it's time we called them,” Ixil suggested. ”I presume you have their phone numbers, Jordan?”

”Yes, they're programmed into list two,” I said, handing him my phone. ”Give them a call, will you, and tell them to get back as soon as they can. I'll make sure the refueling's been finished and get the rest of the paperwork out of the way.”

”What can I do?” Everett asked.

You can tell me who out there has it in for this s.h.i.+p and its crew, the suggestion ran through my mind. But there was no point springing something like that on him. Odds were he hadn't the faintest idea anyway. ”Go make sure your gear'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 were getting under way, Tera just as clearly annoyed that we'd cut short what had apparently been a successful shopping spree, at least judging from the number of bags she hauled aboard. Chort didn't show any particular preference one way or the other.

With the ever-looming threat of hue and cry from the Port Authority over the deaths of my two a.s.sailants-and the a.s.sociated threat that the port might be summarily shut down at any minute-I spent the entire time sweating as I foughtupstream against bureaucratic inertia, trying to finish Jones's death report and all the procedural preflight paperwork before the bodies were discovered.

To my surprise, we got cleared and headed out into s.p.a.ce without any sign of official outrage or panic over the charred remains I'd left at the loading dock.

Perhaps the spot the Lumpy Brothers had picked for my interrogation had been more private than it had looked. Either that, or someone had done a very efficient job of sweeping the whole incident under the rug.