Besides which, I suddenly very much wanted to have Ixil at my side. Or perhapsmore precisely, to have him watching my back.

CHAPTER 4

THE PARQUET DOCKYARD on Xathru was like a thousand other medium-sized spaceportsscattered across the Spiral: primitive compared to Qattara Axial or one of theother InterSpiral-class ports, but still two steps above small regional hubslike the one we'd taken off from on Meima. The Parquet's landing pits werecradle-shaped instead of simply flat, smoothly contoured to accommodate avariety of standard ship designs.

Of course, no one in his right mind would have anticipated the Icarus'slopsidedshape, so even with half its bulk below ground level the floors still slopedupward. But at least here the entryway ladder could be reconfigured as a shortramp with a rise of maybe two meters instead of the ten-meter climb we had hadwithout it. Progress.

Nicabar volunteered to help Everett take Jones's body to the Port Authority, where the various death forms would have to be filled out. I ran through thebasic landing procedure, promised the tower that I would file my own set ofaccident report forms before we left, then grabbed one of the little runaround cars scattered randomly between the docking rectangles and headed out to theStarrComm building looming like a giant mushroom at the southern boundary ofthe port.

Like most StarrComm facilities, this one was reasonably crowded. But also asusual, the high costs involved with interstellar communication led togenerallyshort conversations, with the result that it was only about five minutesbefore my name was called and I was directed down one of the corridors to mydesignatedbooth. I closed the door behind me, made sure it was privacy-sealed, and afteronly a slight hesitation keyed for a full vid connect. It was ten times asexpensive as vidless, but I had Cameron's thousand-commark advance money andwas feeling extravagant.

Besides, reactions were so much more interesting when face and body languagewere there in addition to words and tone. And unless I missed my guess, thecoming reaction was going to be one for the books. Feeding one of Cameron'shundred-commark bills into the slot, I keyed in Brother John's private number.

Somewhere on Xathru, StarrComm's fifty-kilometer-square star-connect arrayspata signal across the light-years toward an identical array on whichever worldit was where Brother John sat in the middle of his noxious little spiderweb. Ididn't know which world it was, or even whether it was the same world eachtime or if he continually moved around like a touring road show.

Neither did InterSpiral Law Enforcement or any of the other more regionalagencies working their various jurisdictions within the Spiral. They didn'tknow where he was, or where the records of his transactions were, or how to gethold of either him or them. Most every one of the beings working those agencieswould give his upper right appendage to know those things. Brother John's influencestretched a long way across the stars, and he had ruined a lot of lives andangered a lot of people along the way.

Considering my current relationship with the man and his organization, I couldonly hope that none of those eager badgemen found him anytime soon.

The screen cleared, and a broken-nosed thug with perpetual scowl lines aroundhis eyes and mouth peered out at me. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"This is Jordan McKell," I identified myself, as if anyone Brother John hadanswering the phone for him wouldn't know all of us indentured slaves bysight.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Ryland, please."

The beetle brows seemed to twitch. "Yeah," he grunted again. "Hang on."

The screen went black. I made a small private wager with myself that BrotherJohn would leave me hanging and sweating for at least a minute before hedeignedto come on, despite the fact that fielding calls from people like me was oneof his primary jobs, and also despite what this vid connect was costing me perquarter second.

I thought I'd lost my wager when the screen came back on after only twentyseconds. But no, he'd simply added an extra layer to the procedure. "Well, ifit isn't Jordan McKell," a moon-faced man said in a playfully sarcastic voice, looking even more like a refugee from a mobster movie than the call screenerhad, his elegantly proper butler's outfit notwithstanding. "How nice of you tograce our vid screen with your presence."

"I'm amazingly delighted to see you, too," I said mildly. "Would Mr. Rylandlike to hear some interesting news, or are we just taking this opportunity to helpyou brush up on your badinage?"

The housethug's eyes narrowed, no doubt trying to figure out what "badinage" was and whether or not he'd just been insulted. "Mr. Ryland doesn't appreciategetting interesting news from employees on the fly," he bit out. The playfulpart had evaporated, but the sarcasm was still there. "In case you'veforgotten, you have a cargo to deliver."

"Done and done," I told him. "Or it will be soon, if it isn't already."

He frowned again; but before he could speak, his face vanished from the screenas a different extension cut in.

And there, smiling cherubically at me, was Brother John. "Hello, Jordan," hesaid smoothly. "And how are you?"

"Hello, Mr. Ryland," I said. "I'm just fine. I'm pleased everyone over thereis so cheerful today, too."

He smiled even more genially. To look at Johnston Scotto Ryland, you wouldthink you were in the presence of a philanthropist or a priest or at the very leasta former choirboy—hence, our private "Brother John" nickname for him. And Isuspected that there were still people in the Spiral who were being taken inbythat winning smile and clear-conscienced face and utterly sincere voice.

Especially the voice. "Why shouldn't we be happy?" he said, nothing in hismanner giving the slightest hint of what was going on behind those dark andsoulless eyes. "Business is booming, profits are up, and all my valuedemployeesare working so wonderfully together."

The smile didn't change, but suddenly there was a chill in the air. "Exceptfor you, Jordan, my lad. For some unknown reason you seem to have suddenly grownweary of our company."

"I don't know what could have given you that impression, Mr. Ryland," Iprotested, trying my own version of the innocent act.

"Don't you," he said, the temperature dropping a few more degrees. Apparently, innocence wasn't playing well today. "I'm told the Stormy Banks docked onXathru not thirty minutes ago. And that you weren't on it."

"That's right, I wasn't," I agreed. "But Ixil was, and so was yourmerchandise.

That's the important part, isn't it?"

"All aspects of my arrangements are important," he countered. "When I instructyou to deliver a cargo, I expect you to deliver it. And I expect you to takeit directly to its proper destination, without unscheduled and unnecessary stopsalong the way. That was our agreement; or do I have to bring up—again—the fivehundred thousand in debts I bailed you and your partner out of?"

"No, sir," I sighed. Not that I was ever likely to forget his largesse in thatmatter, what with him reminding me about it every other assignment. "But if I may be so bold, I'd like to point out that another of your standinginstructions is that we should maintain our facade of poor but honest cargo haulers."

"And how does that apply here?"

"I was offered a position as pilot on another ship for a one-time transportjob," I explained. "A thousand commarks up front, with another two ondelivery.

How could I turn that down and still pretend to be poor?"

That line of reasoning hadn't impressed Ixil very much back on Meima. Itimpressed Brother John even less. "You don't seriously expect me to buy that, do you?" he demanded, the cultured facade cracking just a bit.