Part 22 (2/2)

”It would indeed,” I agreed. ”Of course, Everett did confirm that was the diagnosis. But then, Everett apparently also didn't recognize the symptoms of either the drug dependency or the Cole's disease until Shawn really started getting twitchy. Is there anything there about Everett's medical training?”

Ixil adjusted the doc.u.ment in the reader. ”Looks like just the basic Mercantile course and certification.”

”How long ago?”

”Two years.”

”Which leaves a twenty-year gap between his throw-boxing and medical careers,”

I.

said. ”What was he doing to fill the idle workday hours?”

”A variety of different jobs,” Ixil said, scanning down the text. ”Let me see.

He did five years of throw-boxing instruction, two as a judge/referee, and six as a casino security officer. Then there was one year each as bartender on a liner, mechanics' apprentice, and tour packager/guide on the throw-boxing circuit. After that he went in for his medical certificate.”

”By my count, that leaves us two years short.”

”That's taken up by the instruction regimens for the various career changes,”

Ixil explained. ”One to eight months each.”

”I wonder what he wants to be when he grows up,” I murmured. Though to be fair, it didn't sound a whole lot worse than my own employment resume. ”All right, back to Shawn. Anything in there that might suggest he'd dabbled with any other drugs besides borandis?”

”Nothing,” Ixil said. ”Though nothing that would preclude it, either.

Something else for our wish list?”

”Right,” I agreed, making yet another mental note. ”Okay. That just leavesTera.”

”Tera,” Ixil echoed, peering at the reader. ”We start with a negative: Preliminary checks of appropriate religious-group listings fail to find anyone by that name with the description you gave. After that...”

He paused, his face going suddenly rigid. ”Jordan,” he said, his voice studiously conversational, ”would you say that Uncle Arthur has a tendency toward the dramatic?”

”Is moss slimy?” I countered, feeling the hairs tingling on the back of my neck as I swung my legs over the side of my cot and sat up. ”How dramatic is he being this time?”

Wordlessly, he handed me the reader. I took it, glanced at the indistinct photo that might or might not have been our Tera, and with a feeling of nameless but impending doom plowed my way into the final section of the Kalixiri text.

It was as if I'd been slapped across the face with a wet rag. I read it twice, sure I must have gotten it wrong. But I hadn't. ”Where's Tera now?” I asked, looking up at Ixil.

”Probably in her cabin,” he said. ”She's off-duty, and she hasn't shown much tendency to sit around the dayroom.”

”Let's go find her,” I said, making sure my plasmic was riding snugly in its holster.

I got up and headed for the door. Ixil was faster, hopping up from his place on the floor and blocking my way. ”Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

”Not really,” I said. ”But I want to find out for sure, and I want to find out now. Confronting her straight-out seems to me the best way to do it.”

”Yes, but she'll want to know how we found out,” he warned. ”That could be awkward.”

”It won't,” I said, shaking my head. ”She already knows we run cargoes for Antoniewicz, and she knows he's got his slimy fingers into everything. We can lay this at his feet, no problem.”

He still didn't look convinced, but he nevertheless stepped aside. I tapped the release pad, confirmed there was no one loitering outside in the corridor, and headed for the aft ladder. Ixil stayed behind long enough to collect his ferrets from the floor, then followed.

We reached the top deck without seeing anyone; clearly, the Icarus's antisocial atmosphere was still unsullied by anything resembling genuine camaraderie.

Tera's door was closed. Bracing myself, I tapped the release pad; and as the door slid open I dodged inside.

From my previous clandestine visit to Tera's room I knew she used the lower of the three bunks, and that supposed knowledge nearly got me killed. Even as I aimed my charge toward the lower bunk, I belatedly saw in the light filtering in from the corridor that that particular bunk was in fact empty. My eyes tracked upward, caught sight of the body and sudden movement on the top bunk-clearly, she alternated bunks, probably for exactly this purpose.

I altered course in mid-charge, nearly wrenching my back in the process, reaching for her mouth to keep her from screaming. There was a faint glint of something metallic in her hand, and I s.h.i.+fted the direction of my hands toward the object as she tried to bring it around to bear on me. I won by a thin- sliced fraction of a second, and with a twist of my wrist wrenched it out of herhand.

With my other hand I reached again for her mouth; but even as I could see her taking a deep breath Ixil's left hand closed almost delicately across it, his right taking up a supporting position behind her head.

”It's all right, Tera,” I a.s.sured her quickly. ”We just want to talk.”

She ignored me, grabbing Ixil's hand and trying to pry it away-considering Kalixiri musculature, a complete waste of effort. From the movements of her head I guessed she was also trying to bite him, another waste of effort. Behind us, the door slid shut, plunging the silent struggle into darkness. ”Really, that's all we want,” I said, stepping across the darkened room and switching on the light. ”We thought it would be better if what we had to say was kept quiet from the others for the moment.”

Tera grunted something unintelligible but undoubtedly quite rude from behind Ixil's hand, her eyes doing their best to skewer me. ”Nice to see you're armed, too,” I added, looking at the gun I'd taken from her. It was a short-barreled shotgun-style pepperbox pistol, capable of making a considerable mess of an a.s.sailant at the close range inherent in s.h.i.+pboard combat without the danger of accidentally rupturing the hull in the process. My earlier search of her room hadn't turned it up; clearly, she made a habit of carrying it around with her.

”Of course, this thing's loud enough to have brought the whole s.h.i.+p down on us.

Good thing you didn't get a chance to fire. If Ixil takes his hand away, will you promise not to make a fuss until you hear what we have to say?”

Her eyes flicked to her gun in my hand. Reluctantly, I thought, she nodded.

”Good,” I said, nodding to Ixil.

He pulled his hands away slowly, ready to put them back again if she reneged on her promise. ”What do you want?” she said in a low voice. There was a fair degree of tension in her face, I saw, but whatever panic there might have been had already disappeared.

”Like I said, to talk,” I told her. ”We want to find out what you know about this s.h.i.+p, Tera.” I lifted my eyebrows. ”Or should I call you Elaina?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. Not much, but enough to show I'd hit the bull's-eye. Uncle Arthur had indeed come through. ”Elaina?” she asked cautiously.

”Elaina,” I said. ”Elaina Tera Cameron. Daughter of Arno Cameron. The man who put all of us aboard this s.h.i.+p.”

CHAPTER 12.

FOR THE s.p.a.cE of a dozen heartbeats I thought she was going to try to play out the masquerade. She lay there on her bunk, propped up on one elbow, and stared at me, a dozen expressions flicking across her face. And then, the one hand I could see tightened into a fist, and I knew she'd given up. ”What gave me away?”

she asked calmly.

”It wasn't anything you said or did,” I a.s.sured her. ”Though now in retrospect I.

<script>