The Icarus Hunt (50 page)

And then I took my first look at his face, and felt an icy cold begin to seep into my heart. It was a graveyard face, the look of a man who’s been backed into a corner by his enemies with nowhere else to go and no more tricks left to use. The look of a chess master down to his king and one pawn, with the painful knowledge that that pawn is about to be sacrificed.

“Jordan,” he said, his voice studiously neutral. “We were just talking about you. What’s the situation?”

“Mine’s not so hot,” I said. “How’s yours?”

“Not very good, I’m afraid,” he conceded. “Where are you now?”

“In the middle of the Grand Feast celebration on Palmary,” I told him. “And hoping to get the hell out as fast as we can.”

“I take it you had some trouble?”

“You might say that,” I agreed tartly. “The Patth caught up with me and let their Iykami underlings play a brief drum solo on my head. My crew was able to spring me, but two of them took plasmic burns on the way out. I know you don’t like getting overtly involved with my life, but we need some backup. And we need it now.”

His expression, if anything, went a little more neutral. “Do you have a destination in mind after you leave there?”

“One of the crew has a friend on Beyscrim with an isolated lodge he’s not using,” I said, feeling the cold dread settling a little more deeply into me. He hadn’t
responded to my call for reinforcements; and now the mention of Beyscrim should have had him busily punching his off-screen computer keys for data. But he wasn’t. “It’s supposed to be a five-day flight from here, which I figure should put it within reach of at least some of your people.”

“Yes, it would,” he agreed heavily. “Jordan … I’m afraid there won’t be any backup.”

I stared at him. “May I ask why not?”

“To be blunt, because Earth has caved,” he said, his voice suddenly bitter. “Not fifteen minutes ago Geneva issued a formal notice that no public, governmental, or private organizations or persons with citizenship ties to Earth or Earth-allied worlds are to offer information, personnel, matériel, or any other assistance to the outlaw starship flying under the name
Icarus
.”

His lip twitched. “You were also specifically mentioned in the order, Jordan. Along with Ixil and two or three others of your crew for whom they have names.”

“This is nonsense,” I said, my voice sounding unreal through the noise of my suddenly pounding heart. Uncle Arthur had been my absolute last chance. “They can’t do that. The stakes here—”

“The stakes are precisely what they’re thinking about,” he said with a grimace. “I didn’t tell you the other part. Approximately ten minutes before Geneva issued their order the Patth issued one of their own. The entire Kalixiri populace has been declared anathema.”

I stared at him, Nask’s parting-shot curse against Ixil and his people echoing through my mind. “That was fast,” I said. “It wasn’t even an hour ago that the Patth ambassador made that threat.”

“Yes,” Uncle Arthur said. “Whatever you did to irritate them, it would seem the Patth have suddenly decided to stop playing games.”

I exhaled loudly. “I liked it better when they were skulking around not telling anyone who or what they
really wanted. Has Geneva forgotten that Arno Cameron’s involved here?”

He shrugged. “I presume not. If Cameron himself were there I’m sure he’d be pulling strings and cashing out favors all over the city. But as far as I know he’s still missing, and those kinds of strings don’t pull themselves.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Unless
you
know where he is.”

“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t tell
you
,” I countered sourly. “At least not in the hearing of whoever the high-nosed flacks are back there who are listening in.”

He glanced down at his clothing. “I suppose this outfit
is
something of a giveaway, isn’t it?” he conceded. “Yes, Geneva was thoughtful enough to send a pair of representatives to deliver to me a personal copy of their edict. However, they are not, in fact, listening in on us.”

“I suppose I should be thankful for small favors,” I grumbled. “So much for our private little arrangement.”

“So much for it, indeed,” he agreed. “I’m somewhat surprised the authorities hadn’t forgotten about me after all this time.”

“A pity they hadn’t,” I said, probing carefully at the lump on the back of my head. It felt about the size of a prize-winning grapefruit. “All right, so you’ve been ordered not to deal with me, along with everyone else in the Spiral with ten toes and red blood. What exactly does that mean?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid it means exactly what it says. I can’t have anything whatsoever to do with you.”

I snorted. “Oh, come
on
. Since when have you worried about what anyone says you can or can’t do? Especially anyone in Geneva?”

He shook his head. “You still don’t understand, Jordan. This isn’t some strategic or political decision on the part of reasoned statesmen. This is the panic reaction of people who are terrified of what the Patth might
do to us if any human in the Spiral—
any
human—is seen to be assisting you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I insisted. “The Patth are bluffing—they have to be. Human-owned and -associated shipping must make up four to six percent of Patth cargoes. They can’t afford to lose all that with the stroke of a pen.”

“They did it with the Kalixiri,” he reminded me. “And yes, I know the Kalixiri total is minuscule compared to ours. But no one in Geneva is ready to call that bluff.” He hesitated. “And to be quite honest, I’m not convinced it
is
a bluff. Not when you consider that the Patth economic future could hinge on what the
Icarus
contains.”

For perhaps half a minute neither of us spoke. Uncle Arthur broke the silence first. “What about Ryland or Antoniewicz?” he asked. “I doubt Geneva has been able to deliver to
them
a personal copy of the edict.”

“They didn’t have to,” I said, frowning as a sudden thought struck me. “The Patth ambassador told me Brother John had already disavowed any connection between us.”

“Too bad,” he murmured. “No matter what you think of Antoniewicz, his group might have had the resources to help you out.”

“Oddly enough, Tera made a similar suggestion,” I said, thinking furiously as yet another layer of the Jones murder peeled away, onionlike, in my mind. “Though unlike you, she didn’t care for the idea of turning the
Icarus
over to criminals.”

“I can’t say I care for it myself,” Uncle Arthur admitted. “But if it comes to a choice of Antoniewicz or the Patth having the
Icarus
 …” He shook his head.

I took a deep breath. This was it. All the pieces were finally in place, and it was time to make my pitch. “What if you could have it all?” I asked. “The
Icarus
, and everything else? Everything you’ve always wanted. How far would you go to get it?”

For a long moment he didn’t speak, his pale blue eyes gazing at me in that way that always made me feel like he was trying to drill his way down through the various layers of my psyche to my soul. “You’re serious,” he said at last. It wasn’t a question.

“Deadly serious,” I agreed. “I can do it. Bear in mind, too, that if we don’t do something, we
will
lose the
Icarus
. Either to the Patth or—”

“All right, you’ve sold me,” he cut me off. “What do you need?”

And for the next ten minutes, in great detail, I told him.

There were, predictably, none of the little runabout cars available as I left the StarrComm building, which meant another long walk. Mindful of the hour’s grace time I’d given Ixil before he was to try his hand at piloting the
Icarus
, I hurried as quickly as my throbbing head and the need to remain reasonably inconspicuous would permit.

None of the others was visible outside the ship as I finally dragged myself into view of it. But then, I wasn’t really expecting to see anyone, not with Ixil and Nicabar in charge of arranging guard duty. It wasn’t until I was nearly to the foot of the ladder that I spotted Pix crouched in the shadow of one of the ship’s landing skids, staying clear of the press of spacers wandering around even at this hour. I whistled, and he bounded away from his spot and scampered over to me. I managed to catch him before he could try his tree-climbing act with my shin and scritched him briefly behind his ears. “Ixil?” I called quietly.

“Here,” a voice answered from above and to my left. I looked up, just as Ixil appeared from behind the festively glowing lights that had been set up as per my orders in the gaps of our camouflaging cowling. “Any trouble?”

“None,” I said, watching as he eased his way through one of the larger gaps and dropped to the ground. “You?”

He shook his head. “It’s been very quiet,” he said, waving somewhere behind me. I turned to look, saw Chort detach himself from a parked fueler and head toward us. “You like the job Chort and Tera did with the lights?”

“Very nice,” I agreed, looking up at the lights again. “Nice little sniper’s position you found up there, too.”

“Chort’s idea, actually,” Ixil said as he took Pix back from me and set him on his shoulder. “He was up there on guard when Nicabar and Everett and I got back. Since Kalixiri are slightly more conspicuous than Crooea, I took it over and set him up in the more visible spot over at that fueler.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “How’s Shawn doing?”

“Bad, but not critical. At least this time he didn’t get loose. Tera made sure he was securely strapped down before she set up her own guard position just inside the hatchway.” He peered up. “She should still be there, in fact—neither Everett nor Nicabar was in any shape to take over from her. Be sure to announce yourself before you step inside the wraparound; I get the feeling she’s still a little nervous.”

“I know exactly how she feels,” I said dryly as Chort came up beside us. “You all right, Chort?”

“Quite well, Captain McKell, thank you,” he whistled, peering closely at me. “I understand you have not had such fair fortune, however.”

“I’ve been worse,” I assured him. “Looks like Ixil will be on engine-room duty for lift; I’d like you to stay back there with him in case he needs assistance. We
did
get fueled, didn’t we?”

“Loaded and topped off and paid for,” Ixil assured me. “Easily enough to get where we’re going.”

“Good,” I said, putting one foot on the bottom rung
of the ladder and taking one last look around. There were no Patth or Iykams anywhere to be seen. Nor, for that matter, were there any police or customs officials visible, either. But then, now that the last onion layer had been peeled away, that didn’t especially surprise me. “Let’s do it.”

The five-day trip to Beyscrim was the longest jump at one stretch that we’d tried yet with the
Icarus
. We paid the price for such daring, too, to the tune of three hull ridges and a pair of hairline cracks. Each required from two to six hours of outside work; together, they added nearly a full day to our travel time.

The most frustrating part, at least to some of the more impatient members of the crew, was that it was no longer clear whether such repair work was even necessary, given what we now knew about the true nature of the
Icarus
. The cracks and ridges were only in the outer-hull plating that Cameron’s people had layered over the artifact sphere, and there was no indication that the alien metal beneath was being affected in the slightest by the hyperspace pressure it was being subjected to. There were several lively discussions about that, in fact, most of them occurring while Chort and Ixil were busy outside with the latest repair job. But the arguments presented were for the most part completely moot. I voted to continue stopping for repairs,
whether they were necessary or not, and no one else got a vote.

It wasn’t simply caution, though, or even a lack of faith in the
Icarus
’s original designers. Despite Everett’s assurance that his doctor friend was above reproach, we were heading into a largely unknown situation on a completely unknown world. With three of us qualifying as walking wounded—four if you counted Shawn’s medical problems—I figured the more recovery time we had along the way, the better.

Still, I had to admit that our first pass by Beyscrim showed the place to be pretty much as advertised. The planet boasted just five public spaceports, none of them up to even Meima’s casual standards, with the coordinates Everett’s friend had supplied reading halfway up a mountain and very literally in the middle of nowhere. The automated landing system guided us in to a group of five pads about three hundred meters west and slightly downslope from the mansion-sized lodge itself, the pad cluster edged in turn on its downslope side by an extensive range of bushy blue-green trees. I chose the pad closest to the trees, setting us down parallel to them and as close to their outstretched branches as I could manage, remembering first to rotate the ship so that the hatchway was on the open, non-tree side facing the lodge.

Tera questioned my choice of placement, pointing out that resting so close to the edge of an artificially built-up landing area was an invitation to disaster should the
Icarus
’s weight cause the edge to collapse. Everett was equally critical of my landing site, except that his argument was that I’d chosen the pad farthest from the lodge, thereby putting us an extra hundred meters from the comforts we all hoped were waiting for us up there. I pointed out to Tera that the idea was for the trees to provide us at least a little bit of visual cover from any aircraft that happened to pass overhead; to Everett, I rather ungraciously suggested that if
after several days of rest the walk was still too much for him, he was welcome to stay aboard while the rest of us checked the place out.

That was exactly what he did, though he phrased it more along the lines of standing guard over the ship than of anything so childish as a fit of sulking or pique. I accepted his offer, pretended also to accept his rationale for it, and together the rest of us trooped on up through the cool afternoon air to the lodge.