The Icarus Hunt (44 page)

“Isn’t it though,” I agreed. “But it’s real.”

Absently, Ixil reached up to rub Pax’s head. “We can’t let the others know about this,” he said. “The Patth would be willing to topple whole governments if they really knew what it was they were chasing.”

“Yes, I’ve already worked through the logic,” I assured him. “Including the fact that we can’t tell Tera, either.”

The ferrets did one of their unison twitches. “Because we work for Brother John?”

“And because turning the
Icarus
over to him would more than buy our way clear of the whole organization,” I said. “She doesn’t trust us as it is—she’d spot-weld our butts to the hull if she knew the bargaining chip we held here.”

“Yes.” Ixil was silent a moment. “Which unfortunately loops us back to the question of our immediate future.”

I grimaced. “I don’t think we have any choice,” I said. “Unless we want to sit out here and watch Shawn die, we have to go get him some more borandis.”

“I wonder,” Ixil said thoughtfully. “We have only his word that he even has the disease, you know. As I recall, Everett was unable to either confirm or deny it.
What if he’s faking all this, with these seizures his way of pulling us out of hiding before we’re ready?”

“In that case, we’re back to the question of why he didn’t betray us earlier and save everyone a lot of trouble,” I reminded him.

“I suppose.” He eyed me closely. “You wouldn’t be holding out on me, would you?”

“Holding out how?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Actually considering offering the
Icarus
to Brother John without consulting me first, for example.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, putting some huff into my voice. “Though you have to admit that would be one way to keep it safe.”

“ ‘Safe’ being an extremely relative term.”

“True,” I conceded. “Still, Brother John could probably give even the Patth a pretty good run for their money.”

“And of course, turning such a plum over to him would give us a giant step up in the Antoniewicz organization,” he continued. “Don’t pretend that hadn’t already occurred to you, either.”

“Occurred, pondered, and dismissed,” I assured him. “I have plenty of faults, but ambition on that scale isn’t one of them.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Unless
you’d
like to take a shot at it.”

“What, be the first nonhuman in Antoniewicz’s direct line of command?” he asked dryly. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

I waved a hand. “Up to you. By the way, do you happen to know if Nicabar’s gotten Shawn back inside the ship yet?”

“Yes, they came in while you were inside the small sphere,” he said. “Tera will let us know when the wraparound’s been repressurized.” He cocked his head to the side. “She seemed rather annoyed you’d gotten yourself trapped on this side of the wraparound when you had work to do over there.”

“Actually, there’s very little work left to do,” I said with a shrug. “I already know where we’re heading.”

“And that is?”

I cleared my throat. “I thought we’d try the Grand Feast of Plorins on Palmary.”

The ferrets twitched again, quite impressively this time. “You
are
joking,” Ixil said. “The Grand Feast of
Plorins
?”

“Can you think of a better place to hide than square in the middle of a wall-to-wall crowd of people?” I asked reasonably.

“With half the thieves, lifters, and cons for two hundred light-years working that same crowd?” he countered. “
And
, as a consequence, half the badgemen for the same two hundred light-years there to keep an eye on them? And both groups busy looking for us?”

“Of course it’s crazy,” I agreed. “That’s why no one will be expecting it.”

He shook his head. But at least the ferrets had settled down again. He must be getting used to the idea. “ ‘Crazy’ isn’t nearly strong enough a word,” he said with a sigh. “But under the circumstances I suppose it’s as good a plan as any.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said approvingly. “Besides, they’ll be watching every port within a thousand light-years of Utheno anyway. The bigger the clog of space traffic we sneak in under, the better the chances they’ll miss us completely.”

He gave me one of his repertoire of sour looks. “And the more confusion and panic we can stir up if they don’t?”

I shrugged. “Something like that.”

The intercom clicked. “McKell?” Tera’s voice came. “Wraparound’s ready again. You feel like getting your butt in here and finding us a place to land?”

“Yes, dear,” I murmured.

“What was that?”

“I said I’ll be right there,” I said. “And tell Revs to
get back here and give Ixil a hand with the startup procedure.”

Palmary was one of those semi-independent colony worlds that, while relatively newly settled, still somehow managed to seem like it had been there forever. Part of that was the fact that, unlike most colonies, there was no dominant species controlling most of the local real estate. The Trinkians had found the world about twenty years ago and started its development, but within a few years they’d been joined by Wanch settlers, Porpyfian miners, and k’Tra foresters. Someone on some news service had touted the place, commenting favorably on its egalitarian flavor, and within a few years more the planet was starting to seem almost crowded.

The Grand Feast of Plorins was something the k’Tra had brought with them, and the rest of the egalitarians on the planet had grabbed on to the idea with both hands. Depending on who you talked to, the Grand Feast was either a deeply meaningful manifestation of esoteric historic and cultural significance, or else the greatest excuse to party the Spiral had ever known. I assumed the truth was probably somewhere in the middle, where truth has a tendency to lurk anyway, but I was certainly willing to concede the point that millions of beings who had not the slightest interest in k’Tra history or culture nevertheless descended enthusiastically on the planet every year for a three-week bash.

The Grand Feast was sometimes compared to the annual Mardi Gras celebrations that still took place in various places on Earth and its colonies. Mardi Gras invariably lost.

I had used the hull cameras to take a quick look at the changes that had been made to the ship before we ever took to hyperspace again. Chort was right: The disguise was far from perfect. On the other hand, he
and his helpers had gotten enough of the plates in place to markedly change both our visual and radar signatures, which was hopefully all we would need to get to the ground without tripping alarms from the underworld to the Patth and back again.

Once we were on the ground, of course, it would be a different story. Someone who wandered in close for a good look would easily be able to see through the gaps to the distinctive joined spheres beneath. But I had a couple of ideas for dealing with that one; and anyway, getting to the ground was the first order of business.

After the near disaster at Utheno the situation at Palmary was decidedly anticlimactic. The official start of the Grand Feast was still three days away, but the hard-core party types were already clogging the space lanes as they headed in to scope out the best celebration spots or just get a head start on the festivities. With our new silhouette, plus yet another of Ixil’s fake IDs identifying us as the
Sherman’s Blunder
, we sailed straight through the prelanding formalities. A harried-sounding controller directed me to a landing rectangle at the Bangrot Spaceport, a name that didn’t even show up on my supposedly comprehensive listing, and instructed us to have a good time.

The reason for the lack of a listing was apparent as soon as I got within visual range of the coordinates I’d been given. The Bangrot Spaceport was nothing more than a large open area stretching across the southern ends of the twin cities Drobney and k’Barch, an area that looked to me like a former condemned building development. Apparently, the Grand Feast had grown so large they were now having to park spaceships on every reasonably sized vacant lot they could find.

And the official celebration didn’t even start for three more days. Give this whole thing a few years, and they might as well declare it a permanent party and be done with it.

One might have assumed that the Bangrot Expansion
Spaceport would be only sparsely settled, with the bulk of the space still waiting for the arrival of the latecomers. But one would have been wrong. The place was crowded with ships, already crammed in practically nose to tail, with the narrow spaces between them crawling with activity. As far as this party was concerned, we
were
the latecomers.

I was also a little worried about what would happen to the definitions of “up” and “down” inside the
Icarus
as we went deeper into the Palmary gravity field. Tera had told us that on Meima the alien gravity generator in the large sphere had been able to cancel out all other gravitational effects, but that was before Cameron’s techs had gotten in and started messing around. If it failed to overcome Palmary’s gravitational attraction I was going to suddenly find myself lying on my back in my seat as I tried to pilot the ship to the ground. Or worse, our jury-rigged seating system might fail completely and I would find myself, my seat, and possibly my entire control board falling to the bottom of the sphere some twenty meters below.

That particular set of fears proved groundless. With the removal of the metal baffling that had been created by the inner hull, walls, and corridors, the alien generator had come back to full strength, and I didn’t feel so much as a flicker of change in the gravity as I eased the
Icarus
down onto the undersized plot of ground we’d been assigned.

“Now what?” Tera called to me from across the sphere, her voice echoing through the open space as I keyed the ship’s systems back to standby.

“I go scare us up some borandis,” I said, craning my neck to look up at her, watching the top of her head as she got up from her seat at the computer and walked toward the wraparound.

“What about the rest of us?” Shawn called up from a quarter of the way around the sphere, at the natural bottom point of the ship. I’d stationed everyone else
except Nicabar down there on the theory that there was no point in letting
everyone
fall to their deaths if the alien gravity failed. “I suppose we’re all going to sit around here like we did before and just wait for you? Twiddling our thumbs or whatever?”

“You’re welcome to twiddle whatever you want,” I told him, walking down the curve toward them, “since you and Everett are staying in here where he can try to keep you quiet until I get back with the medicine.”

I pointed at Chort and Tera, the latter approaching the group from the other side. “
You
two and Nicabar, on the other hand, aren’t going to have time to twiddle much of anything. I want the three of you to collect all the emergency lights we’ve got and start stringing them just inside the gaps in the shroud out there, with the lights shining outward. All nice and decorative for the Grand Feast, and with any luck the glare will keep everyone from seeing past them to the linked spheres underneath.”

“Maybe we could also get hold of some colored transparent sheeting to cover them with,” Tera suggested. “They’d look even more festive that way.”

“Probably would,” I agreed. “But I don’t know how well they’ve got this temporary spaceport equipped. I don’t want anyone wandering too far afield hunting for anything that’s not really vital.”

“They’ve got tram systems leading from the port into each of the two city centers,” Nicabar put in from the wraparound, apparently having arrived in time to hear this last exchange. “I spotted them on the monitors while you were putting us down. If they had time to set those up, they’ve surely got an outfitters’ shop or two in place. I can go check—it won’t take me long.”

“Forget it,” Shawn growled before I could answer. “He never lets anyone go anywhere except him, remember? Just him.”

“Shawn,” Everett said warningly, putting a massive hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Don’t ‘Shawn’ me,” Shawn snapped, angrily shrugging off the hand. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“If you want to make a quick check, go ahead,” I told Nicabar. “Just watch yourself, and be back in half an hour to help Tera and Chort with the lights.”

“I will,” Nicabar promised. “Don’t worry—it’s a zoo out there. I won’t even be noticed.” Turning, he disappeared back down the wraparound.

“What about him?” Tera asked, nodding toward Ixil, who was standing slightly off to the side keeping out of the conversation.

“He’ll be in overall charge here,” I told her, ignoring the glare Shawn was giving me, this particular bile probably a result of me proving him wrong by letting Nicabar go. Even at his best Shawn hated being proved wrong, and in the middle of borandis withdrawal he was a long way from his best. “He’ll also be using Pix and Pax to keep an eye on things outside the ship.”

“How do you plan to get it this time?” Tera asked. “The borandis, I mean.”

I focused on her face. She was gazing evenly back at me, her expression not giving anything away.

But then, the fact that she didn’t want her expression giving anything away spoke volumes all by itself. “Why, you feeling squeamish?” I countered. “I’ll do whatever I have to. Leave it at that.”

“Fine,” she said, not taking offense. At least no visible offense. “I just want to remind you that we can’t afford for you to get into any trouble. If you don’t make it back, we don’t lift.”

“I’ll make it back,” I assured her, brushing past her and heading up toward the wraparound. “Don’t worry about me,” I added over my shoulder. “You just concentrate on getting those lights up and running.”

The transition between the different gravity vectors
of the sphere and the wraparound was as always a bit tricky to navigate, but I managed it without any serious loss of balance or dignity. Nicabar had already opened the hatchway and lowered the ladder the ten meters to the ground; checking to make sure my plasmic was riding loose in its holster, I stepped to the top of the ladder and looked down.

Nicabar had been right: It was indeed a zoo out there. The close packing of the parked ships was funneling the prospective merrymakers down the relatively narrow lanes between them, lanes they were further having to share with fueling trucks, the occasional token customs vehicle, and about a million little two-man runaround cars that were obviously intended to alleviate the pedestrian congestion but were only succeeding in making it worse.