GHOST: SEVEN
«So there you have it,» I told Ander. «Carlos is dead. I saw Feather shoot him before she shot me. Sharrol and the children must have gotten away. Feather stayed to put me in the 'doc, then used the other boat.
«She left me marooned on a desert island. I think she'd already given up on catching Sharrol. Otherwise, why would she need me for a hostage? I can't guess where they all are now, but if Feather was holding Sharrol, I think I'd know it.»
«How?»
«By now she must know I'm gone. She could advertise on the personals net. There hasn't been anything like that.»
Ander held his peace. No point in his telling the poor crashlander that his story leaks like a NASA spacecraft. From the way I'd told it, Ander could only guess that Feather had covered her back trail. Sharrol and the children must be as dead as Carlos, and Beowulf Shaeffer didn't have the courage to face it.
If he bought it, Ander would be hunting Feather, not Carlos.
«And I live in Pacifica because anywhere else I'd need pills to protect me from sunlight. Feather might trace that. Ander, can you do something about Feather? I keep expecting her to pop up behind my ear.»
«I'll see what I can do. She's ARM responsibility. Could she be dead?»
«For all I know. Carlos cut her. I don't know how bad, but I saw blood.»
«Carlos … yeah. Sigmund isn't going to like that. What do I give him for proof?»
«You might find traces of him on the island, but I doubt it, Ander. I think Feather dumped him in the hopper for biomass. The closest you'll get to any remains of Carlos Wu is right here.» He didn't understand. I stretched my arms, flexing my still not quite familiar body. «Not the fish, Ander. Me.»
«Stet. Which island?»
«On another matter,» I said. «Carlos Wu's experimental autodoc is a very valuable item. I propose to sell it to you.»
Ander studied me, mildly amused. His hands wandered into pockets and came out with a silver match and a box of fat green cigars. He said, «Your bargaining position isn't that terrific.»
Was he really going to fire up that thing? Tobacco, it had to be tobacco.
I tore my eyes off his hands. «Cheap,» I assured him. «I can't touch it myself, after all, and you can't afford to lose it. Look at me! That thing rebuilt me from a severed head!»
«Buying up your trash is not exactly in my job description.»
«I'll sell you the location. You collect it and do with it as you will. One hundred thousand stars.»
Ander smiled at the number, conveying that it was too high even to be funny. He said, «They wouldn't let me smoke on the ship. Want one?»
«No,» I said, watching all my problems solve themselves. Well, half my problems. I could run clear off the planet while Ander worked at getting himself out of a cell. But he'd chosen the wrong restaurant, and I didn't believe it, anyway. He'd delayed too long; his body language was wrong.
I said, «Wait up. Don't light that.»
He sat there with the cigar poking out of the center of his grin. «I thought you'd let me do it.»
I said, «I toyed with the notion. If it was just a matter of you going to jail, Ritz, that might improve my leverage. I could make you an offer you couldn't walk away from.»
«You used to have the tobacco habit yourself.»
«But I gave it up to make Sharrol happy, and tanj if my sense of taste didn't come back. Ander, put those things away. Pacifica is a big spaceship.»
«Make you nervous?»
«Ander, don't tease the kzinti.»
The breath caught in his throat. The match and cigar disappeared with minimal motions of his hands. Then his head turned casually.
They looked at him, three big males with glossy orange coats and carefully closed mouths. Looked away again. They weren't doing anything threatening. Maybe they hadn't even noticed. Riiight. Kzinti living in Pacifica might never have smelled tobacco, but any who had would not forget.
Ander seemed calm, almost sleepy, except that his breathing was a little ragged and there was sweat trickling down his neck. The cigar had been for my benefit, but he really hadn't noticed the kzinti. Mankind had claimed this world, hadn't we? Kzinti didn't belong here, did they?
He sought the thread of conversation. «You don't know where Feather Filip is, and you last saw the magical autodoc a year and a half ago.»
«Exactly. I don't know that Feather hasn't been watching for me to come back and get it. There were lamplighter islands in line of sight. She could be watching for me with a pair of mag specs.»
«Or she could be anywhere on Fafnir. But if I find her, she can take me to the island.»
I kept silent.
«I can reach some funds. Tell you what,» Ander said. «Take my entire expense credit. Five thousand and change. I'll have to live on credit till Sigmund can send me more.»
«No, no, Ander. I want a hundred thousand.»
«I'd have to beam Sigmund. I'd have to tell him what it is for. Where does that leave me?»
«Tell him I want two hundred thousand. Keep half yourself.»
«Beowulf, what you have to sell is a tool that's been left under seawater. The technology is in records left behind by Carlos Wu.»
«Did he leave records of his research? You don't know that. Encrypted? You don't know. I don't, either. Could the Fafnir government get the techniques by studying the autodoc itself? We don't know.»
Ander laughed at that. «What are you going to tell the Fafnir bureaucrats? You stand five ten, maybe, but you can produce records that show you seven feet tall? Records can be faked, Beowulf. I'm your only customer.»
This was fun. I had his attention, finally. «What if we take a stunted kzinti — there are a few — and skin him, and before he suffers too much trauma, we shove him in Carlos Wu's 'doc. Would it rebuild him into a passable human? A perfect spy?»
He guffawed. «That is really ridiculous.»
«Oh, maybe. But there are wealthy kzinti families on Fafnir.»
«They don't know how tall you used to be, either! Anyway, dealing with kzinti is crazy dangerous. Beowulf, I've got nearly six thousand, and you can have it all. Otherwise you'll have to wait while I tell Sigmund Ausfaller what you're selling, and Sigmund makes a counteroffer, and you settle, and he finally sends credit, all by hyperwave across ten light-years. And if I find Feather while you're waiting, you get nothing.»
«Good enough. Tell him two hundred thousand stars —»
«One.»
«One. Half in advance, half when you've got the 'doc. I'll be here at the Pequod until the money comes in.» I stood up. «It's midnight. Pay my consultant's fee at the hotel desk.» I walked out, thinking I'd timed that nicely.
I stopped at the desk to learn my room number. I told them there would be a payment entered against room charges.
My backpurse was hanging in the sleeping plates. I checked through it. Someone might have searched it … someone had. Sharrol, looking for what might identify me as a family man. She'd found and removed my two holos of her, one with Tanya and Louis but not Carlos, the other more recent, pregnant, with Jeena at her breast.
Twenty minutes between the plates would do me a world of good, I thought. Four hours would be even better.
No time.
I rode an elevator to the roof. There I paused, gazing idly up into the black oceanic night.
Sanity check: Was I being watched? In what fashion?
ARM cameras are little transparent disks you apply with a thumb to a flat surface. They don't cost that much and are impossible to spot. My room would be a good place to scatter a few. So would the lobby doors and the line of transfer booths behind me on the Pequod's roof. But Ander had had no chance to set them … had he?
I wished that I'd known Ander Smittarasheed better. I hadn't learned much today. He had the instincts of a cop; he'd treated me as a felon ready to escape. He remembered me fairly well. Strong as hell. What else?