The Icarus Hunt

by Timothy Zahn

  “You?” Nicabar suggested.

  “Me,” I confirmed. “Ryland knew how far across the city he had sent me for the borandis, and figured the whole thing would be over and done with long before I could make it back. What he didn’t know was that the sky was going to open up and rain small mammals, and that as a result I would hire a cab instead of using the more anonymous public transports the way his employees are supposed to. At any rate, I got back in time to bluff the Najik out of a real search, and we were off again.”

  “An amazing bit of deduction,” Everett commented, shaking his head in feigned wonderment. Apparently, he still wasn’t ready to give it up. “Seriously flawed, of course, but still interesting to listen to. Tell me this, then, Mr. Detective: If I was so determined to get you or Ixil, why did I risk my life to help get you away from the Patth on Palmary? To the point of even getting shot, as you may recall?”

  “Oh, I recall, all right,” I said with a nod. “And the reason is simple, even if the rest of the details are a little murky. You didn’t hurt Ixil or me because by then you knew just how valuable the Icarus really was and that Ryland would definitely want to get hold of it himself. You needed a pilot to get off the planet; hence, the selfless volunteer work.”

  With my free hand I gestured to Nicabar. “Revs, however, was a different and more serious matter entirely. You needed a pilot and an engine specialist to fly the Icarus; but with Ixil and Revs both around, you had two engine specialists. Under other circumstances you probably would have been happy to have the duplication; but sometime in the preparation for my rescue Revs must have let it slip that he was an ex-EarthGuard Marine. That was great for getting me out, but not so great when you looked further down the line.

  “And so, when Ixil left you in the main club room as rear guard, you propped up one of the dead Iykams in a likely position behind some of the tables, picked out a spot nearby, and then shot yourself in the leg.”

  “He shot himself?” Chort whistled. “But why?”

  “Two reasons,” I said. “First, because he needed an excuse for why he was out of sight when Revs and Ixil brought me in from the back room. Remember, he had to shoot at Revs from concealment near where he’d set up the dead Iykam, then move a couple of tables away from there and shoot the corpse in the back if it was to look plausible. The only possible reason he could have for lying down on the job was if he’d been shot.”

  I shrugged. “As it happened, he wasn’t as good or as lucky as he’d hoped, and was only able to wound Revs instead of killing him. Still, for putting him more or less out of action it was good enough.”

  I was looking directly at Everett as I spoke; and so it was that I caught the flicker of relief that crossed his face just before the quiet and all-too-familiar voice came from the archway behind me. “Very clever, Jordan,” the voice said. “Very clever indeed.”

  I took a deep breath as the rest of the people around the table once again became stunned marble statues. “And the second reason he shot himself,” I added, letting the breath out in a resigned sigh, “was that he wanted an excuse to stay aboard the Icarus after the rest of us came up here to the lodge. That StarrComm call he’d made, you see, wasn’t to any doctor friend.”

  With my free hand, not turning or even looking around, I gestured to the archway behind me. “May I introduce you all to Johnston Scotto Ryland.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  “I’m impressed, Jordan, really I am,” Brother John said, his voice accompanied by the sound of measured footsteps coming toward me across the wooden floor. “So that’s why you were sitting on the portico all afternoon, was it? Waiting to see if I’d show up?”

  “Not really,” I told him. “No—don’t try it,” I added, shifting my aim toward Nicabar as he began to ease one hand toward the edge of the table.

  “Yes, do listen to the man,” Brother John agreed. “At least, if you want to live. You can put your gun down, too, Jordan, there’s a good boy. So you didn’t expect me to show up?”

  “Not while I was watching, no,” I said, laying my plasmic on the table and only then half turning to look around behind me. Brother John was standing in the archway, beaming with apparent ease in our direction, as six of the biggest and meanest-looking thugs I’d ever seen strode purposefully toward us. Their faces were without a doubt those of casual killers; the large black guns they were pointing at us made my plasmic look like a toy in comparison. “I assumed Everett was watching the cliffs behind the lodge, waiting for you to arrive.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Brother John said. His voice was still cheerful, but there was a sudden undercurrent of menace beneath it. “You don’t really think I’d have let you get here ahead of us, do you? We’ve been waiting in the back wing of the lodge for almost a day now. No, I think you were waiting for Everett to get tired of his vigil and come inside.”

  “What exactly is going on here?” Tera asked, her voice trying hard to be calm but not entirely succeeding.

  “I should think that was obvious,” Brother John said, his gaze still on me. “We’re taking the Icarus and its alien stardrive off your hands.”

  “I’m afraid I hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” I said apologetically, turning back to the table. The bodyguards had reached us now, and as four of them stood watch the other two hauled Ixil and Chort to their feet and began a quick but thorough frisking. “Everett was told to lure us here with the promise of a safe haven. Mr. Ryland and his people were, we know now, waiting in hiding here in the comfort of the lodge. As soon as the rest of us were inside out of the way, the plan was to sneak out to the ship and take off, leaving us stranded.”

  The thugs found no weapons on Ixil or Chort, pushed them back down into their chairs, and moved on to Tera and Shawn. “I’m surprised they didn’t just line us up and shoot us,” Tera bit out, glaring ice-shredders at Brother John and ignoring as best she could the hands moving over her body.

  “You underestimate Mr. Ryland,” I told her.

  “Yes, indeed,” Brother John seconded. “After all, you already owe me your lives once over. It was my people on Palmary who stood guard over the spaceport during your mad rush off the planet. As well as in the control tower, I might add.”

  “I wondered why we got away so easily,” Nicabar murmured. “The least the Patth should have done was lock down all departures.”

  “They tried,” Brother John said, beaming some more. “Indeed they did. The pressure was applied, and the governmental authorities had given the orders. Somehow, though, the controllers were able to see through to a better and more enlightened reasoning.”

  “We do owe him that,” I agreed. “But when I said you’d underestimated him, Tera, I was referring to something else entirely. Mr. Ryland would never think of killing us here. Not when he can make a little extra money by turning us over to the Patth.”

  Tera stared at me, her mouth dropping open. “Are you saying—?” She looked back at Brother John. “You are a slime.”

  “I’d warn your lady friend to be quiet, Jordan,” Brother John said, a mid-November chill in his voice. “Particularly since the value of your lives has decreased markedly in the past three minutes.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicabar asked calmly. The thugs had relieved Tera of her pepperbox shotgun pistol; and now it was Nicabar’s and my turn.

  “He means he wasn’t planning to sell us to the Patth just to pick up a little spare change,” I explained, wincing as the searching hands ran afoul of my assortment of sore muscles and joints. “It was mainly to buy him more time to get the Icarus out of here and bury it somewhere. Since none of us would know what had happened to the ship, the Patth could interrogate us until June without learning anything that would do them any good.”

  “Nice guys,” Shawn muttered, shying back as one of the thugs sent him a warning look.

  “You know, Jordan, I do believe I’ve been guilty of underestimating you,” Brother John said as one of the searchers foun
d Nicabar’s Kochran-Uzi and tucked it away. “No, no, don’t sit,” he added as they started to push the two of us back into our seats. “You and your alien partner are coming with me. You realize you never told me he was an alien?”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “Which was why Everett was able to mistake Jones for my partner in the first place. You hadn’t told him Ixil was an alien because at the time you didn’t know it yourself.”

  “I hate aliens,” Brother John said conversationally. “Almost as much as I hate alien-lovers. Everett, you might as well come with us, too. The rest of you will stay here while we decide what to do with you.”

  “You might want the girl, too, Mr. Ryland,” Everett said, gesturing toward Tera as he got to his feet. “McKell says she’s Arno Cameron’s daughter.”

  “Really,” Brother John said, and for the first time since he’d come in I saw a flicker of genuine surprise cross his face. “By all means, bring her along. After all, McKell might need extra persuasion.”

  “Persuasion?” Nicabar asked as the nearest thug hauled Tera back to her feet.

  “Yes,” Brother John said, his voice suddenly dark. “It seems our too-too-clever alien-lover did something to the Icarus’s control systems. Our people can’t get anything to work.”

  “I didn’t want you leaving without having a chance for this little chat,” I said mildly, looking over at Everett. “Everett, tell the truth. You put up a good show here; but you really did kill Jones, didn’t you?”

  He snorted. “So for all that bluster you really didn’t know for sure, huh?” he sneered. “Of course I killed him. What, you think Chort did it?”

  “Just wanted to make sure,” I murmured.

  “Glad we could clear that up,” Brother John said. “Dar, Kinrick; you stay here. The rest of you, come with me.”

  The walk back to the Icarus seemed a lot longer this time. Brother John took the lead, with Everett and one of his men at his sides. Behind them, Ixil, Tera, and I were herded along by the other three, who made sure to keep us a respectful five paces behind the others in case one of us suddenly felt the urge to commit suicide by trying to jump them.

  It was darker outside now. Darker and colder, and the light breeze that had been rustling the leaves earlier had picked up into something stiff and unpleasant. Which were, not coincidentally, words that also described Tera as she stalked along in bitter silence beside me, undoubtedly heaping full blame for the situation squarely on my head. To be fair, it was hardly a point of view I could disagree with.

  But at the moment I didn’t really care about the cold or the footing or Tera’s anger or even the gun digging into my left kidney. My entire attention was on the dice I could visualize rolling across a mental table in front of my eyes. The dice had been thrown, the gamble had been made; and in a handful of minutes I would find out whether I’d won or lost.

  There was a shadowy figure waiting in the open hatchway as we reached the Icarus and started up the ladder. Brother John went first, followed by his bodyguard and Everett, then Tera, another guard, and Ixil. The other two guards saved me for last, then sandwiched me between them as the three of us went up the ladder. Either Brother John considered me the most dangerous of the group, or else the fact that I had been the one to gimmick the ship entitled me to special handling.

  Brother John had gone on ahead, but Tera and Ixil were still waiting as I reached the wraparound, together with their guards, the shadowy figure I’d seen waiting up there, and two more of his buddies. I’d thought the bodyguards Brother John had brought to the lodge were big, ugly, and well armed, but this latter group beat them hands down on all three counts. Silently, they gestured with their guns; just as silently, we walked along the wraparound to the main sphere.

  The hatch to the sphere was closed. The leading thug opened it and stepped through, bobbling his balance somewhat as he passed through the gravity change. Tera and Ixil went next, negotiating the discontinuity with the grace of long practice. Holding my breath, I followed.

  The sphere looked more or less the way I’d left it earlier that evening, except that the inner lights were blazing cheerfully away and that there were another eight strangers glowering at us. Four of them, stamped from the same mold as our current escort, were standing in a loose group near the bottom of the sphere; three others, working diligently at my helm and nav setup up the forward side of the hull, were apparently the pilot and engine specialists who were supposed to have had the Icarus well on its way by now.

  But it was the eighth man who caught my full attention, the man waiting at the exact bottom of the sphere as if not trusting the alien gravity that pinned his tech people to the deck halfway up the side. He was a small man, at least compared to the four bodyguards grouped around him, well past middle age despite the signs of extensive rejuvenation therapy, wearing a dark and expensive suit and some muted and even more expensive jewelry. His face was old; his expression was impassive; and his eyes were as dead as a thousand-year-old corpse. He was a man I had never met, but I knew instantly who he was.

  The rolling dice had come to a halt. And I’d won.

  “You must be McKell,” the man said as Brother John led us down the hull toward him, his voice as dead as his eyes.

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. “And you must be Mr. Antoniewicz. I’m very pleased to finally meet you.”

  “Are you,” he said. Some people, or so the saying goes, can undress you with their eyes. Antoniewicz’s look was more like stripping me straight down to the bone. “Interesting. Most of those who are brought to meet me are not at all looking forward to the experience. Many of them find themselves screaming, in fact, and don’t seem able to stop.”

  I swallowed despite myself, all the stories and rumors of what happened to people brought before Antoniewicz flashing through my mind. “I understand that, sir,” I said humbly. “But if I may be so bold, I suspect none of those others were bringing the sort of gift I have to offer you.”

  The corners of his lips might have turned up, but it would have taken a micrometer to measure it. The smile, if that’s what it was, made his eyes look even deader. “Really. I was under the impression that the Icarus was now mine by simple right of possession.”

  “I agree,” I said, passing over the fact that if I hadn’t cooperatively flown the ship into his waiting arms it wouldn’t have been in his possession. Considering the size and number of his bodyguards, comments like that were quite easy for me to stifle. “I was actually speaking of something else entirely. Or, rather, someone else entirely.”

  “Wait a minute,” Everett growled, taking a step toward me. “You take credit for her and I’ll cave your face in.”

  “Ryland?” Antoniewicz invited, gesturing at Tera.

  “Everett claims she’s the daughter of Arno Cameron,” Brother John said. I could still hear the phony good humor in his voice, but it was curiously subdued. Most everything good, I suspected, humor included, would darken or wilt in Antoniewicz’s presence. “Cameron’s the man who—”

  “I know who he is,” Antoniewicz said. “Tell me why Everett thinks he deserves credit for her.”

  “I’d like to take a moment to remind everyone that I’m not anyone’s carnival prize,” Tera cut in, glaring at each of us in turn but saving her most withering look for me. I couldn’t really blame her on that count, either; if I hadn’t revealed her identity during my brilliant summing up of the case a few minutes ago, she’d be just one more anonymous prisoner back in the lodge.

  I cleared my throat. “If I might explain—”

  “Quiet,” Antoniewicz said. He hadn’t raised his voice, or changed his inflection, or even looked at me—the full force of his gaze was on Tera at the moment. And yet, my mouth clamped shut, almost of its own accord, my attempted mediation cut short as if guillotined. The sheer presence of the man, the power and evil lurking veiled beneath the surface, were almost physical qualities like his voice or face or expensive suit. For the first time, I truly understood how it w
as he’d been able to create such a huge and wide-ranging criminal empire.

  Tera wasn’t nearly as easily impressed as I was. “I don’t know who exactly you are,” she continued on into the silence, “but whatever it is you think I’m worth to you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Antoniewicz disagreed mildly. “Of all those who worked closely on this ship, only your father remains at large. You’re the lever that will pry him out of hiding.”

  “If you think that, you’re more of a fool than I thought,” Tera scoffed, clearly not caring whether she offended him or not. Across our little circle I saw both Everett and Brother John wince, with Pix and Pax giving a little twitch as well. One simply didn’t talk that way to Mr. Antoniewicz. “My father is fully aware of what this ship is worth to humanity,” Tera continued. “And he has never yet let personal considerations get in the way of what needs to be done. Whatever information he has about the Icarus, the last thing he’ll do is give it away to someone like you. Certainly not under duress.”

  “Not even with his daughter’s life at stake?” Antoniewicz asked, his voice politely incredulous.

  “No,” Tera said flatly, straightening to an almost-haughty posture as pride momentarily eclipsed every evidence of fear and uncertainty. I could imagine the true royalty of old facing the peasant mobs with the same courage and disdain.

  And with the same results. “Pity,” Antoniewicz said, sounding almost regretful. “In that case, you’re worth nothing to me at all.” He looked at the man standing behind me to my right and lifted a languid hand.

  And abruptly, the pressure of the gun muzzle on my back vanished as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him bring the weapon around to point straight at Tera’s face.

  I don’t know why I did it. Antoniewicz was bluffing, and I knew he was bluffing. He would never kill a potential hostage whose usefulness hadn’t yet been tested, not even one who’d verbally spit in his eye the way she had. I knew it was an act, and if I’d had another fraction of a second to think about it I’d have realized that I was playing directly into his hands.