"Glum and glummer. We're keeping a suicide watch on him."
"Good thinking." I told him about the Fake Emily debacle back on Earth, and about our speculations, and hopes, that Lee and Matsukawa might also be demiclones. "I'll probe your boy Lee as soon as we get him aboard. We've had to postpone the interrogation of Matsukawa due to a suspiciously convenient illness. Maybe poison."
"Ah."
"He's in pretty dire shape and our diagnostic equipment failed to spot what was wrong. The gear could have been sabotaged. I think you might be right about us having a fink aboard."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"What I hoped to avoid. When you and your people are here to reinforce us, I'll probe Joe Betancourt and Ildiko Szabo. It's got to be one of them. Or nobody."
"You coming down to fetch us, or you want me to take care oftransport?"
"I've arranged for a medical gig to rendezvous with us in Torngat orbit a little under two hours from now. Matsukawa needs professional care."
"So you're transferring him landside for treatment?"
"No way. We'll be carrying the local sawbones crew and their space-going hospital along with us to Earth. I'm going to make certain that all of us arrive in good shape."
"Wowie!" He hoisted his bushy brows in appreciation of the costly operation. "So you want me and my group to come aboard with the medics?"
"That's an affirm. You can get details from Torngat Tower on the gig's takeoff. Go over there right away. We don't want to waste a minute getting our show back on the road. Crazy things are happening on the Rampart scene."
"The repairs to Plomazo will be complete in a week," Karl said. "Shall I arrange to have her ferried to Earth?"
"Hold off. We'll see what Mimo thinks."
"All right. By the way, I've used our down-time here on Torngat to make a rough precis of relevant data abstracted by Lotte from Garth Lee's ship computer. You won't have to wade through the raw dump like poor Evie did—not that she has any reason to complain. The material we sent her is prima facie evidence of Galapharma's conspiracy to engage in illicit trade with the Haluk. Nothing about demiclones in the dump, though. And nothing to help Rampart's civil case."
"Don't be too sure of that. My brother Daniel and his overpaid flock of legal eagles might just find a way to tweak that data to Rampart's advantage. Dan's a helluva lawyer. A regular Wile E. Coyote. Matter of fact, Eve used to call him that when we were kids to tease him."
Karl looked puzzled, then nodded in sudden comprehension. "Wile E. Coyote! Classic movie cartoon character. Wasn't he always being outwitted by some speedy desert bird?"
"The Roadrunner. There really is such a thing. They're fairly common in Arizona. I haven't thought about them in years." Or about the way Wily Dan Frost earned his nickname.
Karl Nazarian said, "Helly, I'd better get this outfit of mine over to the starbase. See you soon."
When he was gone, I sat staring at the dead SS display, carried away—as seemed to happen too often lately—to the wild western lands where my Frost ancestors carved out the first Sky Ranch in the late 1800s.
Where my mother and father had honeymooned. Where I'd been accidentally born, a bit prematurely, attended not by the high-priced Toronto obstetrician as my parents had planned, but by the ranch's horse wrangler, who knew all about birthing baby animals. Where Dan and Eve and Beth and I spent marvelous early childhood holidays, pretending we were regular kids, not wealthy and overprivileged Frost offspring who'd someday inherit an interstellar corporation.
I thought about how we camped and played cowboy with Pop, learned about minerals and wild animals and Native American history from Mom. I thought about canyons and rimrock and arid high-plateau forest beneath a blazing sun, tiny elf-owls peeking from holes dug out of tall saguaro cactuses, and roadrunners dashing along primitive dirt trails ahead of a lumbering four-wheeler.
I thought about Mom and Dad together, before the estrangement and divorce that had turned them into Katje and Simon; and all of us kids, laughing and scrapping and liking each other. I thought about the way my family had been.
The way it could never be again, especially if what I suspected was true.
Matt Gregoire finally came to tell me that we'd reached the Torngat solar system and were ready to go subluminal.
"How's Matsukawa?" I asked her.
"Slightly worse."
"Who's guarding Ollie Schneider?"
She gave me a look. "At the moment, no one. He's still sleeping off the morning interrogation session. I've looked in on him once or twice and hooked the breath monitor alarm to my wrist unit. You told Mimo to keep Joe on the bridge. I thought it would be prudent if Ildiko stayed with me and Ivor."
"You're right, of course." I shook my head. "Let me grab a cup of coffee before we go aft."
After I'd helped myself at the wardroom dispenser, we went together to sick bay. The crossover flash gave us a split second of disorientation and momentarily whited-out the view through the corridor port. Then the stretched stars of hy-perspace turned back into steady colored lights on black velvet. In a few minutes we'd be in a parking orbit half a million kilometers above Torngat. The place was supposed to be a winter wonderland. Macrodur Concern, notorious for working its employees like serfs, also provided them with the most opulent vacation spots in the galaxy. The tactic was supposed to be very successful in promoting company loyalty...
Ivor was bending anxiously over the patient when Matt and I got to sick bay. An appalling stench filled the room.
"Jim suffered another convulsion and a violent bout of diarrhea," Ivor said. "He's unconscious. I administered medication as the computer ordered. Just a few minutes ago the Doc-in-the-Box advised that his respiration is faltering. As you can see, he's receiving oxygen, but the computer advises that he may need to be put on a ventilator. This is a highly technical procedure and I'm not sure that I—"
"No," I said. "We'll hold off until a real doctor gets here with the proper equipment to diagnose Jim. It won't be long."
"How about taking him to the transport bay?" Ildiko suggested. "Let the medics treat him right there, as soon as they dock. We have an antigrav gurney."
"All right, that's a go," I decided. "Matt, get on your intercom and tell Mimo to notify the medical crew about the respiration problem."
"Let me clean the poor man up before we try to move him," Ivor said, pulling on protective gloves. "Ildy, get a fresh gown from the locker for him and fix up the gurney. Helly, pull that wastebasket closer."
The treatment couch allowed sluicing of the patient in situ. Ivor performed the task very efficiently, cutting off Jim's clothes and washing his soiled nether regions with a hose that sprayed warm water and disinfectant. The nearly liquid excrement swirled away as Ivor carefully turned the sick man's inert body.
"Wait!" I shouted abruptly. "What the hell's that?"
One of them got away down the drain, but Ivor's gloved hand, moving fast as lightning, snared the second. As we all came close, oblivious of the lingering stink, Ivor carefully washed the object.
Ildiko provided a kidney dish to receive it. "It must have been in his rectum," she said. "Eeyuk!"
"And not just one," I noted. "Two of them."
Instructing Ivor to finish the wash job and place the patient on the gurney, I carried the kidney dish and its unusual contents to a table with a strong light. Ildiko furnished me with a face shield, gloves, forceps, and a pointed probe. Gingerly, I began to pull the thing apart.
Matt, who had gone into the hall to take care of the message to Mimo, reentered the room to see what the fuss was about. "We're in orbit. The gig is on its way . .. Helly? What in the world have you got there?"
"It looks like leaves!" Ildiko said. "Is it some alien organism?"
The swollen, distorted roll was slightly over thirteen centimeters long. Slowly I took it apart, pulled off a piece, and held it against the light. It was part of a leaf, all right.
"An alien from Havana,
" I said.
Jim Matsukawa had prudently removed the bands before inserting two of them into his body, but I knew without a doubt that the object in the kidney dish was the sodden remains of one of Mimo's premium-quality Cohiba Robusto cigars.
"Matsukawa is suffering from nicotine poisoning," I said, pulling off my gloves with a triumphant snap. "Administered nonorally. I should have remembered. It's one of those legendary prisoner dodges. A single cigarette makes you conveniently sick as a dog so you get a nice vacation in the hospital, and the evidence gets flushed."
"That would have been what happened yesterday," Ivor said. "When I helped him to the toilet."
"He used only one cigar then," I remarked thoughtfully. "He must have kept the unused ones in their plastic tubes, stashed up his exhaust pipe. The question is, why did he use two cigars today?"
"To be sicker," Matt stated. "Hoping we'd evacuate him to Torngat, where his confederate might help him escape."
Ivor said, "But Mimo keeps his cigars in a locked humidor."
"Don't look at me," Ildiko said. "You know I smoked mine after dinner on our first night out of Cravat."
Mart's face stiffened with sudden realization. "Joe Betan-court took three cigars in Terence Hoy's office. I don't remember him smoking any of them."
"He could have slipped them to Jim in one of the coffee mugs," Ildy said. "Robustos are fairly short—when they're dry."
Ivor's huge, gentle face was twisted with dismay. "Joe is the secret traitor? But that's not possible!"
"Yes, it is," I said grimly. "And he's on the bridge with Mimo." I lifted my wrist intercom, then cursed my stupidity. "No. We can't warn Meem that way. Joe would hear it. We'll have to get some Ivanovs from the arms locker and take him by surprise."
All of the portable weaponry had been secured for the duration of the voyage. Only Matt, Mimo, or I had access to the arsenal.
I said, "Ivor, take Matsukawa to the transport bay anteroom. You two gals come with me."
We dashed off down the long corridor, through the galley and the dining saloon, past the locked wardroom and the open crew lounge, where large ports on the starboard side showed Torngat, half lit, a lovely world with ice-dotted indigo seas and sparkling polar continents.
A heavy door opened into the boarding vestibule, the midships excursion bay, and a cluster of equipment storage compartments. The arms locker was located in the forward section, not far from the short companionway leading to the flight bridge.
Suddenly I froze in my tracks, and Matt and Ildiko crashed into me.
The door to the bridge, about eight meters away, was sliding open. Joe Betancourt stood there, holding Mimo in a hammerlock. His right hand pressed a Henckels 14cm chef's boning knife into the soft area just above the old man's Adam's apple.
I thought: A friggin' kitchen knife? Sweet Sue!
But the low-tech weapon, honed sharp as a razor, was doing its job. Blood streamed down Mimo's neck and soaked the front of his white cashmere turtleneck. His dark eyes were wide and glazed and his mouth taut against the pain.
"Hold it!" Joe shouted. "All of you stop right there or I'll kill him now!"
"Okay, Joe. Whatever you say." I held up both hands in surrender but continued oozing slowly forward. The arms locker was less than three meters away, on my right.
"Stand still! I mean it. I'll slit the old fucker's gizzard!"
Blood was flowing freely from the wound in my friend's throat, but there was none of the deadly spurting that would have signified a cut artery. His eyes lost their fixed stare and focused on me. Very slowly, one of them closed.
Yes!
A hoarse groan from Mimo. "I'm sorry, Helly. He took me by surprise at the instant of hyperspace crossover. Ay, dios mio—que pendejada!" He began to quiver and slump, as though he were fainting.
Joe gave the old man's locked arm a vicious wrench. "Stand up, you bastard! Keep walking! And shut your mouth. One more word and you're dead."
Mimo obeyed, and winked at me again. He certainly wasn't as badly injured as he seemed to be.
I was still moving. "Take it easy, Joe. Don't hurt him any more. We'll do whatever you want—"
I feigned tripping over my own feet, falling headlong to the deck and twisting to the right. Mimo's knees gave way and he and his captor lurched precariously. Joe was a powerful little guy, but the veteran smuggler was a full head taller, gangly as a stork and an awkward burden when he was a dead weight.
Joe screamed, "Goddamn you!" and pulled Mimo backward, cussing a blue streak. As I'd hoped, he thought I was trying to get close enough to jump him. But my actual goal was the arms locker. There was no time to open it and grab a gun. All I could do was prevent Betancourt from obtaining a more efficient weapon, praying he wouldn't make good on his threat to slaughter his sagging captive. I rolled, bounced to my feet, and ended up with my face plastered against the iridocontrolled lock, a mechanism that only Mimo, Matt, or I could open... or close.
Eyeballing the lock, I said, "Emergency code alpha-three-one-one."
The thing chimed loudly five times. I sprang away, waiting for Joe's next move.
"Cocksucking sonuvabitch!" he roared. "What've you done? What?"
I hoped he'd drop Mimo and come at me with the knife. If he had, I'd have booted his teensy testicles up between his ears and cracked his wrist like a celery stalk. But he caught himself in time, still spewing obscenities, and maintained a firm grip on his hostage's locked arm, which he'd pulled so high that I feared it might be dislocated.
Mimo was on his knees, head down, moaning loudly. Joe had shifted the thin, sharply pointed knife from his throat to the base of his skull.
A shuddering inhalation, then Joe spoke almost in a whisper, squelching his fury with a heroic self-control I had to admire.
"If I stab Mimo in this spot, he's gone. With a slashed throat, he might have a chance if you overpower me—but not with a cut brainstem. Understand? Understand?"
"Yes." I straightened and slowly placed my hands on top of my head.
"What did you do to the arms cabinet?" he asked me. "An emergency lock-down?"
I nodded. "Twenty-four hours. No override."
"You're lying! I'll kill Mimo right now. I mean it!"
"I'm telling the truth," I said. "And if you kill him you'll lose the only edge you have. So quit with the bullshit and ease up before he has a heart attack."
Joe Betancourt glared at me, breathing roughly. Then he relaxed the pressure on Mimo's hammerlocked arm. The old man gave a sob of relief and looked at me with a crooked smile. "I tried, amigo." "Shut up," Joe said. "On your feet, gramps!" Mimo complied, wincing. The knife was still pointed at the nape of his neck.
"You two!" Joe jerked his head at Matt and Ildiko, who had remained unmoving at the far end of the compartment. "Into the excursion bay. Now!"
I went rigid. Properly sequenced, the chamber opened onto airless space. "You sawed-off asswipe! If you intend to—"
Joe's voice was almost weary. "I don't kill people without a reason, Frost, believe it or not. I just want to get 'em out of the way." To the women: "Move it, bitches!"
They sidled into the bay, their faces expressionless. I said, "What about me?" "I need you. Close 'em up."
There was nothing I could do but obey. He had me disable the safety control that would have let the women free themselves.
"Okay," he said. "Now back to the equipment maintenance compartment. Make it quick."
Above one of the workbenches was a supply cabinet, and residing therein was my nemesis of old—duct tape. This roll was in a dispenser with a clipper, very handy. Joe ordered me to rig my ankles with improvised shackles, leaving a twisted length of tape about forty centimeters long as a connecting hobble. My wrists were next. I bound them loosely but effectively in a web of sticky stuff until Joe was satisfied. I wasn't helpless, but I sure was mightily discommoded.
"Carry the tape with you," Joe commanded. Then we headed aft.
"Satisfy my curiosity,
" I said as I ambled along. "Were you a Galapharma plant from the beginning, or did they recruit you somewhere along the way?"
"The latter." He'd regained his composure. "When you sent me to destroy the Haluk starship approaching Dagasatt, I screwed up. Misjudged my ULD micromaneuvering capability during the initial hostile intercept. The Haluk ship was a real schusser, damn near as good as mine. I did him some damage, but then he got a fix on me and I knew I was dead meat. But instead of wiping me out, the bandit wanted to make a deal. Talk about a shocker! He was a human, just like I told you. And he recognized Chispa as his own stolen star-ship. I guess that's why he got the drop on me. He knew the crate's capabilities better than I did."
"Did the pilot of the Haluk ship identify himself?"
"It was Erik Skogstad, like you thought, a guy with a big blond mustache. He offered me a heap of Galapharma boodle—twenty times what you were paying me—if I'd help get Ollie Schneider away from you. Alive. He had to be alive. Old Erik was really worried that you'd kill Schneider rather than give him up. After I accepted the deal, Skogstad made the transfer of funds to my account right then and there. Hey! I was in no position to refuse, was I?"
"Mercy, no!" I said disgustedly. "And did you set up Karl Nazarian for the chop, too?"
"Skogstad wanted to know what happened to Garth Lee, the guy who'd been driving his ship when you swiped it. On the way to Nogawa-Krupp, I eavesdropped on you and Mimo when you were talking about that in the messroom. You hadn't been completely up-front about the mission during the briefing earlier on, and I wanted to know what we were up against. I had a right, dammit!"
"So you told Skogstad what you knew about Lee?"
"Yep. That he was being taken to Earth by a guy named Karl Nazarian, in a Bodascon Y660 that belonged to Ber-mudez, and that Nazarian probably left Seriphos the same time we did."
Galapharma, using its multitudinous contacts in the Orion Arm, had tracked Karl's ship down and tried to destroy it. Their failure had led to an even more fortuitous chain of circumstances.
I said, "So you made your deal and returned to Dagasatt. And Skogstad limped back to his Haluk base."