"Five thousand commarks, did you say?" Uncle Arthur asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"That's what I was told a few hours ago on Dorscind's World," I saidcarefully.

Uncle Arthur had a latent dramatic streak in him, which generally surfaced atthe worst times. The fact that he had now slipped into that mode was a badsign.

"Have they upped the ante since then?"

"Considerably." He picked up a sheet of paper, holding it up to the camera asif to prove he wasn't just making it all up. "The Patth Director General haspersonally been in contact with at least fifteen different governments alongyour projected route in the past twelve hours," he read from it in theprecise, clipped tone he always used when delivering bad news. "They have been informedthat a ship called the Icarus, with a human male named Jordan McKell incommand, is to be detained immediately upon identification. It is then to be held untila representative of the Director General arrives, at which point it is to beturned over to him."

I felt a shiver run up my back. "Or else?"

"Or else," he added, in that same clipped tone, "the Patth will imposemercantile sanctions on the offending governments, the severity of thesanctions to be determined by the offending government's perceived complicity in theIcarus's escape. Up to and including a complete embargo against that species'cargoes."

He laid the paper back down again. "As you say, the ante has been upped," hesaid quietly. "What in God's name did Cameron's people dig up out there, Jordan?"

"I don't know, sir," I said, just as quietly. "But whatever it is, it's sittingin the Icarus's cargo hold."

Dramatically, it was the moment for a long, heavy silence. But Uncle Arthur'sdramatic impulses didn't extend to wasting time. "Then you'd best find a wayto learn what it is, hadn't you?" he said.

"Actually, I think I already have," I said. "Found a way, that is. Can you gethold of a personnel list from that archaeological dig?"

"I have it right here," he said. "Why?"

"Because I suspect one of them is aboard the Icarus," I told him.

"Masqueradingas a member of the crew."

The beard twitched slightly. "I think that very unlikely," he said, "since allof them are currently in custody on Meima."

I felt like the floor had just been pulled out from under me. "All of them?

You're sure?"

"Quite sure," he said, holding up another sheet. "Everyone involved was pickedup in that one single night, even the crew of the private ship Cameron flew inon a few days before this all started. Cameron himself is the only one stillat large, and the Meima authorities say it's only a matter of time before theyrun him to ground. They think they spotted him at a Vyssiluyan taverno last night, in fact, but he gave them the slip."

"Wait a minute," I said, frowning. "If they've already got the whole team, whydon't they know what the cargo is? For that matter, why don't they have anaccurate description of the ship? And they don't, because otherwise the fakeIDs Ixil and I keep churning out sure wouldn't fool them."

"Good—you're using fake IDs," Uncle Arthur said. "I'd hoped you were being atleast that clever."

"Yes, but why are they working?" I persisted, passing over the question ofwhether or not there was an insult buried in there. "I trust you're not goingto tell me that a bunch of plunder artists like the Patth are squeamish about theclassic forms of information gathering, are you?"

"In point of fact, the archaeologists are still in Ihmis hands," Uncle Arthursaid. "The Patth are trying to get them, but so far the Ihmisits are resistingthe pressure." He grimaced. "But at this point it hardly matters who has them.

Cameron took the precaution of having hypnotic blocks put on everyone's memoryof certain aspects of the operation. Including, naturally, the Icarus'sdescription and details of its cargo."

I nodded. Obvious, of course, once it was pointed out. Not especially ethical, and probably illegal on Meima to boot, but it was exactly the sort of thingCameron would have done. "And without the release key, all they can do isbatter at the blocks and hope they crack."

"Which I'm sure they're already doing," Uncle Arthur said darkly. "Not apleasant thing to dwell on; but the point is that the maneuver has bought yousome time."

"Yes, sir." So much for my embryonic theory that it was one of Cameron'speoplewho had been trying so hard to keep us out of the Icarus's cargo hold.

"Unfortunately, it's also bought someone else some time, too."

"Explain."

I gave him a quick summary of the jinx that had been dogging us ever sinceleaving Meima. Or since before our exit, actually, if you counted Cameron's failure to make it to the ship. "The incident with Chort and Jones mightconceivably have been an accident," I concluded. "But not the cutting torch orthe lad skulking between hulls with the handy eavesdroppers' kit. Having thePatth on our tail would have been plenty; but having this added in is way toomuch of a good thing."

"Indeed," Uncle Arthur said thoughtfully. "You have a theory, of course?"

"I have one," I said. "But I don't think you're going to like it. You said theIhmisits thought they spotted Cameron on Meima yesterday. How certain are theyof that?"

"As certain as any of these things ever are," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Which is to say, not very. Why, do you think you know where Cameron is?"

"Yes, sir," I said. "I think there's a good chance he's dead."

There was another twitch of the beard. I was right; he didn't like it at all.

"Explain."

"It's clear that someone doesn't want us getting a look at the cargo," I said.

"I thought that that someone must be one of the archaeologists, but you've nowtold me that's impossible. So it's someone else. Someone who does know what'sin there, and who furthermore has decided that having sole proprietorship of thatknowledge will be valuable to him."

"It couldn't be Cameron himself?"

"I don't see how," I said, shaking my head. "When I first arrived at theIcarus there was a time lock on the hatch, which didn't release until after most ofthe crew had already assembled. I examined the lock later, and it had definitelybeen set the previous afternoon, well before the Ihmisits threw everyone outof the spaceport and locked it down for the night. There was no way for Cameronto have gotten aboard before the gates opened again, and he certainly didn't geton after we were there."

"And you think that was because he was already dead?"

"Yes," I said. "One of the people he hired to crew the Icarus either knewsomething about it already or was sufficiently intrigued to take Cameron intoa dark alley somewhere and find out exactly what was aboard."

"That would have taken some severe persuasion," Uncle Arthur murmured.

"Which is why I suspect he's dead," I said. "An interrogation that would havegotten him to talk would have left him either dead or incapacitated ordrug-comatose. In either of the latter two cases, the Ihmisits or Patth wouldcertainly have found him by now. In the first case..." I didn't bother tofinish.

"You may be right," Uncle Arthur said heavily. "You will identify this person, of course."

"I certainly intend to try," I said. "It would help if I had some moreinformation on this crew I've been saddled with."

"Undoubtedly. Their names?"

"Almont Nicabar, drive specialist, onetime EarthGuard Marine. Geoff Shawn, electronics. Has Cole's disease and a resulting borandis addiction. Any chanceyou can get some borandis to me, by the way?"

"Possibly. Next?"

"Hayden Everett, medic. Former professional throw-boxer twenty-odd years ago, though I don't know if it was under his own name or not. Chort, Craea, spacewalker. Nothing else known."

"With a Craea almost nothing else needs to be known," Uncle Arthur put in.