Part 15 (1/2)
There were apparently no more questions that anyone wanted answers to. ”That's settled, then,” I said into the chilly silence. ”Revs, call and get someone out here to fuel up the s.h.i.+p-hopefully, we can get the tanks properly topped off this time. Don't forget that we're the Sleeping Beauty now. Everett, keep an eye on Shawn. Keep him quiet until I get back.”
Everett's lips compressed again. ”I'll do what I can.”
”What about Mechanic Ixil?” Chort asked. ”Is he all right?”
”He's resting in his cabin,” I told them, deliberately bending the truth a bit.
If our saboteur didn't already know about Kalixiri healing comas, I had no intention of enlightening him. ”Don't worry, he'll come out when he's ready.
I'll be back in two hours.”
They were still standing together in the wraparound as I headed down the ramp, looking for all the world like hapless waifs watching the last bus leaving for the orphanage. I hoped they wouldn't still be standing there like that when the fuelers came by to start filling the tanks. It would look a little odd.
The slideways here were similar to the ones on Dorscind's World, only better maintained, as well as being equipped with transparent half-cylinder s.h.i.+elds overhead to ward off the elements. At the moment the protection wasn't necessary, but judging by the dark clouds beginning to gather on the horizon it likely would be soon.
The port itself was neat, efficient, and as clean as a port could be, not a great surprise with the Patth directly running three-quarters of it and having a strong say in the operation of the rest. The civilian area just outside theport, though, wasn't under even their nominal control and was likely to be just as dark, sinister, and vice-ridden as any other s.p.a.ceport environs in the Spiral. There I would find the dealers in happyjam and other forms of misery, at least one of whom-I hoped-would have borandis in stock.
The problem, of course, was finding the right needle in the correct haystack.
Under normal circ.u.mstances that would take a great deal of time, time neither Shawn nor I nor the Icarus had to spare at the moment. I had to cut through the danger and tedium of the search process and go straight to the source.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I had the source's phone number.
The screen lit up to show the same broken-nosed thug who had answered Brother John's line the last time I'd called. ”Yeah?”
”It's Jordan McKell,” I said. ”I need some information.”
The scowl lines around his eyes deepened as he frowned at me. ”McKell?”
”Yes; McKell,” I said, striving mightily for patience. I'd already lost twenty minutes of my promised two hours, ten in getting to the StarrComm building and ten more waiting for a free booth, and I wasn't interested in playing Greek chorus to one of Brother John's housethugs. ”I'm disguised, all right? I need some information-”
”Hang on,” he interrupted me. ”Just hang on.”
The screen went black. I glared at my watch, suddenly very tired of Brother John and his vicious yet stupid people. The next one on the line would probably be that moon-faced thug in the butler's outfit, who by now had probably figured out what badinage was and would waste more of my time trying to come up with some.
The screen cleared; but to my surprise it wasn't the butler. ”h.e.l.lo, Jordan,”
Brother John said. The voice was as smooth as ever, but the usual cherubic smile was nowhere to be seen. ”Do you have any idea what kind of stir you've been creating out at that end of the Spiral?”
”Have I, sir?” I asked.
The chill visibly surrounding him abruptly dropped into the subzero range.
”Don't play innocent with me, McKell,” he snarled, his veneer of civility cracking like a cheap packing crate. ”A s.h.i.+p from Meima, they're all saying-a rogue freighter the Patth are panting like sick dogs to get their calloused little hands on. Are you going to sit there and tell me that's not you?”
”Yes, sir, it's me,” I said hastily. It was impossible to grovel properly in a StarrComm booth, but insofar as vocal groveling was possible I was groveling for all I was worth. ”I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I just didn't realize how much of a stir we were actually causing.”
The temperature stayed where it was. ”I don't like commotions, McKell,” he warned. ”I don't like them at all. Commotions draw attention, and I don't like attention. You don't like attention, either.”
”I know, sir,” I agreed humbly. ”Believe me, I'm trying as hard as I can to get out of the spotlight.”
”Trying how?” he demanded. ”It's not your s.h.i.+p or your problem-just walk away from it. Where are you? I'll have you picked up.”
He had a point, all right. Half of one, anyway. It wasn't my s.h.i.+p; but it was my problem. ”I can't do that, sir,” I said, bracing myself for another burst of his anger. ”I accepted a contract to fly the s.h.i.+p out. A poor but honestindependent s.h.i.+pper can't just break contracts that way. Not and continue to look like a poor but honest s.h.i.+pper.”
”Who would know?” he countered. His voice was still hard and cold, but at least he hadn't started screaming at me. Maybe I'd gotten him to start thinking it through.
”Too many people,” I told him. ”A lot of people-some of them s.p.a.ceport officials-have seen my ID in connection with it. People who might start wondering how an independent s.h.i.+pper could afford to break a contract that way.
People who might start wondering if that independent s.h.i.+pper had another source of operating funds.” I shrugged, a brief twitching of my shoulders. ”And if they did, I wouldn't be very effective as an employee anymore.”
For a long minute he just stared at me, breathing heavily, his face unreadable.
I gazed back, visually groveling now, wondering uneasily if I'd pushed my hand too far with that last one. Cutting me loose from our agreement would lose him most of the five hundred thousand in debt I still owed him, but the Antoniewicz organization probably blew that much a month just on paper clips. If, on the other hand, he decided that I had become too much of a liability to be trusted on my own, I would be summarily snuffed out like an atmosphere-test candle.
And it would be the height of irony if it turned out I was the one who had talked him into doing it.
”You keep trying to force these decisions on me, Jordan,” he said at last. His voice was still cold, but I thought I could detect a slight thawing of the chill factor. ”These faits accomplis. There are to be no more of them.”
”Yes, sir,” I said. ”I'm really not trying to do that. It's just that things keep happening too fast, and I keep having to improvise.”
”No more of them, Jordan,” he repeated in the same tone. ”I make myself clear?”
”Yes, sir,” I said. ”Perfectly.”
”Good. Now, why did you call?”
I took a careful breath. ”I need to find a dealer, sir.”
He blinked at that, the blink turning into an even deeper frown. ”A dealer?”
he repeated, the chill factor diving into arctic territory again. For all the misery he caused with his happyjam, Brother John was almost puritanical when it came to his own people using the stuff.
”One who carries borandis,” I said hastily. ”One of my crew is ill with Cole's disease, and borandis is the treatment for it. It's also called jackalspit.”
”Yes, I know.” For a few more seconds those soulless eyes gazed into mine, his face still unreadable but almost certainly wondering if I was telling the truth or simply spinning a line. I held my breath, trying to look as simple and honest as I possibly could.
And then, to my relief, he shrugged. ”Why not? Where are you?”
I got my lungs working again. ”Potosi,” I said. ”Kacclint s.p.a.ceport.”
He grunted. ”A Najiki world. Decent enough bug-eaters.”
”Yes, sir,” I agreed, mildly surprised that a xenophobe like Brother John wouldbe even that complimentary toward a nonhuman race. Either he genuinely had some grudging respect for the Najik, or else he had business interests in the Archipelago and the Najik were doing a good job of making money for him. If I had to guess, I'd pick the latter. ”I need to know if the organization has a dealer here who can help us. And if so, how to find him.”
”Yes.” Brother John's eyes flicked to his right. ”Just a moment.”
The screen blanked. I took another deep breath, suddenly aware of the weight of my plasmic against my side under my jacket. So far, it was all looking hopeful.
But I knew better than to risk relaxing, even for a moment. Brother John's moods were notoriously mercurial, and with his already stated displeasure at my being aboard the Icarus he might suddenly decide that letting a sick crew member die would be all to the good, either as an object lesson to me or as an extra push to get me to walk away from the whole situation. If he looked like he was going that direction I would have to remind him that Shawn's death would only serve to raise the Icarus's profile that much higher.