He grunted. "A Najiki world. Decent enough bug-eaters."

"Yes, sir," I agreed, mildly surprised that a xenophobe like Brother Johnwould be even that complimentary toward a nonhuman race. Either he genuinely hadsome grudging respect for the Najik, or else he had business interests in theArchipelago and the Najik were doing a good job of making money for him. If Ihad to guess, I'd pick the latter. "I need to know if the organization has adealer here who can help us. And if so, how to find him."

"Yes." Brother John's eyes flicked to his right. "Just a moment."

The screen blanked. I took another deep breath, suddenly aware of the weightof my plasmic against my side under my jacket. So far, it was all lookinghopeful.

But I knew better than to risk relaxing, even for a moment. Brother John'smoods were notoriously mercurial, and with his already stated displeasure at mybeingaboard the Icarus he might suddenly decide that letting a sick crew member diewould be all to the good, either as an object lesson to me or as an extra pushto get me to walk away from the whole situation. If he looked like he wasgoingthat direction I would have to remind him that Shawn's death would only serveto raise the Icarus's profile that much higher.

He was gone a long time. Long enough that I began to wonder if perhaps he'ddecided that this had become more trouble than it was worth, that both Shawnand I were expendable, and he was off making the appropriate arrangements. I wasjust thinking about pulling out my phone and seeing if Ixil had come out ofhis coma when the screen abruptly cleared.

"All right," he said briskly. "He's a Drilie named Emendo Torsk, and he runshis business from a street music stand at Gystr'n Corner. I presume your sickcrewman can pay?"

"We should have enough, yes," I assured him. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't call here again, Jordan," he said quietly. "Not until this is all over.

Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir, perfectly clear," I said. If the Icarus was going to go down, andif I was going to be stupid enough to go down with it, he had no intention ofbeingtied in with either of us. "Thank you, sir."

"I'll talk to you when this is all over." He reached to the side, and theconnection was broken.

I swallowed, noticing only then how dry my mouth had become. Dealing withBrother John was becoming increasingly hard on me, both because of himpersonally and because of what he represented. To say I'd ever been genuinelyhappy about our arrangement would have been far too generous a statement; butlately my quiet distaste seemed to have fermented into a galloping revulsion.

And that was dangerous. Not only because of what it was doing to my own heartand soul, not to mention my stomach, but because men like Brother John have afinely honed sense of people, particularly the people closest to them. I washardly close to him, just one small employee among thousands, but theAntoniewicz organization hadn't gotten where it was by letting even smallemployees become disaffected to the point where they dribbled away money ormerchandise or secrets. Especially secrets.

Brother John was presumably under no illusions about what it was that kept meworking for him; I'd already seen how adept he was at making sure that half-million-commark debt would be hanging over my head for a long time tocome.

But if he was ever able to penetrate my mask and see the emotion swirlingbeneath it, he might very well decide I was a walking time bomb that needed tobe dealt with.

But there was nothing for it now but to continue on. I'd made my bed, as thesaying went, and now all I could do was make myself as comfortable in it as Icould.

Unfortunately, for the moment comfort of any sort was out of the question. I'dsuffered through yet another conversation with Brother John; and now I had todo what I'd been postponing for at least three worlds now.

It was time for a nice long chat with Uncle Arthur.

The call screener on Uncle Arthur's vid was female, cheerful, and if notactually beautiful, definitely edging in that direction. Following on theheels of Brother John's surly male screener with the plastic-surgeon-baiting face, it was a contrast that seemed all the vaster for the comparison.

Until, that is, you looked closely into her eyes. For all her attractiveness, for all her easy smile and aura of friendliness, there was something cool andmeasuring and even ruthless that could be seen in those eyes. Given the propercircumstances, I had long suspected, she would be able to kill as quickly andefficiently as any of the ice-hearted thugs in Brother John's household.

But then, that was to be expected. She did, after all, work for Uncle Arthur.

"It's Jordan, Shannon," I greeted her, pushing such thoughts out of my mind asbest I could. I had to prepare to talk to Uncle Arthur; and anyway, despitethe eyes, she was really quite good-looking. "Is he available?"

"Hello, Jordan," she said, her smile tightening just a bit. Unlike BrotherJohn's screener, she took my altered face in stride without blinking an eye.

"I'll see."

A superfluous comment, of course; she would have signaled Uncle Arthur as soonas she recognized me. And if the tightening smile was any indication, Isuspected Uncle Arthur was either sufficiently interested or sufficientlyannoyed with me to take the call immediately.

I was right. Even as she turned toward her control board her face abruptlyvanished from the screen and was replaced by one considerably less photogenic.

An age-lined face, framed by a thatch of elegant gray hair and an equallyelegant gray goatee with an unexpected streak of black down the middle, andtopped off with a pair of pale blue eyes peering unwinkingly at me across thetop of a set of reading glasses.

It was Uncle Arthur.

Judging from past experience, I fully expected him to get in the first word. Iwasn't disappointed. "I presume, Jordan," he said in a rumbling voice thatsomehow went perfectly with the beard and glasses, "that you have some goodexplanation for all this."

"I have an explanation, sir," I said. "I don't know whether you'll think itgoodor not."

For a moment he glared at me, and I could see his face tilting fractionallyback and forth. The glasses, I'd long since decided, were about two-thirdsnecessityfor an inoperable eye condition and one-third affectation, with the addedbenefit of giving him something he could use to subtly throw distractingflickers of light into people's eyes while he was talking to them. That was what he was doing now, though through a vid screen it was a complete waste of histime. Probably pure subconscious habit.

He finished his glaring and leaned back a bit in his chair. "I'm listening," he invited.

"I ran into Arno Cameron in a taverno on Meima," I told him. He would bewantingdetails—Uncle Arthur always wanted details—but there was no time for me to gointo them now. "He was in a jam, with a ship to fly to Earth and no crew. Heasked if I would pilot it, and I agreed."

"You just happened to run into him, did you?" Uncle Arthur rumbled ominously.

"Did I somehow forget to mention that you weren't supposed to do anything butwatch him?"

"He was the one who accosted me, not the other way around," I said. "I didn'tthink challenging him to a duel for such an impertinence would be a properresponse."

He turned the shrivel power of his glare up a couple of notches, but I'd justfaced down Brother John, and Uncle Arthur's glares didn't seem nearly aspotentin comparison. "We'll leave that aside for the moment," he said. "Have you anyidea of the furor you and that ship are causing at the moment?"

Almost the same question, and in very nearly the same tone, that Brother Johnhad asked. "Not really," I said. "All I know for sure is that there are agentsof the Patth spreading hundred-commark bills through the Spiral's sewers, withan extra five thousand for the one who fingers me for them."