They went topside and then down the long tubular corridor to the main ship and bridge. Kincaid had been right about the work suit and shoes—there were few drafts and it was quite comfortable and flexible; and the sneakers, while feeling odd to her after not wearing shoes for so long, hugged the deck and gave her confident footing through the varying gravity field.
The bridge was almost unrecognizable. It gleamed, and everything seemed to be on and work. It looked brand new, as if nothing at all had happened. Only the body in the area behind the command chair reminded her of what had happened here only the day before.
The computer maintenance robots had prepared the dead captain’s body after running a full pathological study, then placed it in a gel-filled container. It was impossible to make the body look presentable, but at least there was a discernible human form inside and the gory parts were not obvious to the onlookers. Four small cleaner robots floating a hair above the deck by magnetic levitation held the makeshift sarcophagus.
“Would you like to say something?” Angel asked Kincaid. “Even if you did not know him, you knew his kind.”
He nodded. “Masters of spacefaring ships are the most lonely of people,” Kincaid began solemnly, “often cut off from friends and family by the time differential wherein we in space age at a rate far slower than those who never move. His family is his ship; his friends are whoever books passage from point to point. He doesn’t do it for the money, but because this is what he loves doing, what he is born to do. Captain Melak Dukodny died at his post, in his chair, doing what he loved. He certainly would have preferred it to go on longer, but he would not be sorry as to the place of his dying, nor the manner of disposition of these, his last mortal remains. I accept the temporary assignment of his commission, and bid him farewell.” Kincaid stood ramrod straight, faced the body, and saluted.
Angel began the Prayer for the Dead and the Commission of the Souls. It was a mantra less biblical than traditional, out of the sect’s book of common prayers.
“May he pass on, his soul joining the Universe of Eons, the Plane of Angels, cleansing him of all that is mortal and all that is sinful, and present himself to God bathed in the Ultimate Light. May he touch the six points of ultimate truth, and have everlasting life in the bosom of the Lord. That which cannot pass we commend to the deep, as the ashes of a fire long burning that now has passed beyond mortal ken, leaving only husks. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we return him to the stars from which all came. Amen.”
She bowed her head in silent prayer, did the sacred signs of the Hidden Truths, touching the six points and then making the cross within, then looked up. “Convey the Captain’s remains to their final destination,” she said, looking up.
The robots began to move it across the bridge, into a compartment in the rear, which then closed behind it. There was the sound of hissing as a seal was made, and then a roar, and it was over.
“Interesting ritual,” Kincaid noted. “I hadn’t ever seen that one before, although some of it is the same.”
“We have many levels to our faith. It is not as simple as most people believe faiths should be. Why should God be simple and create such complexity?”
He sighed. “Why indeed?”
“You have checked out the water breathing passengers?”
He nodded. “There are some bad sorts, and it’s clearly somebody or maybe most of them there, but the one I expected isn’t among them. I’m still having a physical inventory of all the barges ahead of us done, and that will take some time. We can’t trust anything except a true examination and analysis, and there are 311 cargo modules, including the passenger one. If something illicit in the cargo is the reason for this, it may be fairly small and be in a false compartment in just one of those. It will take a great deal of time for the probes to do their work. Days perhaps. Anybody in our area not surprised by the news?”
“It is more remarkable how really unconcerned they all were,” Angel told him, running down those who had something of a normal reaction, like Ari, and those who were unnaturally curious or equally unnaturally not curious.
He listened carefully until she was done, then said, “It may be worse than I thought. You see, of course, what the link is to many of those aboard?”
“Not exactly.”
“Jewels. Gems. The Rithians are all from the Ha’jiz Nesting, and that family’s entirely involved in the gem trade. The Kharkovs are gem cutters and also specialists in fine settings. Wallinchky is a man who likes the universality of gems both as collectibles and as commodities, and he doesn’t care about the source. I would suspect that, somewhere in that vast train in front of us, we have some very, very hot gems that are changing hands here. There is no particular reason for Wallinchky to be selling, so let’s assume he’s the buyer and that he’s brought the Kharkovs along to render the loot into something customs won’t recognize without devaluing them. The Rithians are the go-betweens who are guarantors of the deal. They will certify the transfer and ensure payment. I strongly suspect that the payment isn’t money. So what is it? What could be of such importance that this kind of crime, the murder of a starship captain, the sabotage of a ship, and the almost certain intent to do in the uninvolved passengers, would be warranted?”
She gasped. “They mean to murder us?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not in the way you think. Wallinchky, for example, has more money than any human can spend in a thousand lifetimes. He’s not really interested in that except as a means to power. Power is what drives his type. Power over just about everyone and everything. Those two women he flaunts as his companions—they are treated like property. He has them in his grip and he enjoys showing it. It could be drugs, some kind of mind control, hard to say, but he owns them.”
“Why would anybody want slaves when he could have robots do anything by snapping his fingers?”
“Robots are no fun at all to him.” He stared at her, grimly amused at her questions. “You really can’t understand that kind of thinking, can you?”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. I can understand how this happened in the past, but not in this day and age. There is no reason for it. No logic.”
“The universe is neither reasoning nor logical nor even moral,” he said grimly.
“You do not believe in God?”
“I’ve found little evidence of Him, and I’ve looked. Believe me, I’ve looked. But I believe in the devil. I’ve actually spoken with him. And I can hardly avoid his handiwork. If you cannot understand the way these people think, then at least believe in evil. It’s out there. It may be the only pure thing in all creation. Call upon your God in crisis if you wish. They will still burn you at the stake, but it may make you feel better when they do. But believe in evil. It’s all around us. It’s traveling with us, and we have to figure out a way to deal with it.”
She looked at him. “I am prepared to die battling such evil if that is God’s will, but I do not believe in suicide. Is there some way we can regain full control of the ship and keep them away from us?”
“We could. I have pretty full control of the ship, and I know what to watch for if they make a move to take it back or take something offline. Captain Dukodny could have blocked all this if he’d had the slightest suspicion something was up, but they counted on him considering everything routine, and that’s what happened. At best, I suspect we’re no more than fifty-fifty between friends and enemies. Operations like this travel with large entourages and lots of agents and hidden guards. That’s why the likes of Wallinchky can travel so openly and comfortably even though a man like him has ten thousand mortal enemies. And of the ones on our side, many will be frightened and neutral, hoping to make a deal and escape with their lives, or else put themselves into denial, and the rest probably would be lambs to the slaughter of these killers.”
“I can’t believe it’s as bad as all that,” Angel said. “Still, why not simply withdraw the tunnel here and isolate yourself?”
“It may come to that, but it wouldn’t stop them from calling me, and from executing a few people—like one of the children, or someone equally helpless—if I didn’t let them in or didn’t come down. I had to make that decision once. It is the most horrible decision a ship’s Master can make. It’s why I’ve spent most of my time since then getting close to no one, having no friends or relatives, keeping my relationships anonymous. Even then, I should not like to have to make that decision again. Once in a lifetime is too many times.”
She decided not to argue with him, knowing they’d reached a point in their relationship where the walls would be too thick to bridge even under perfect conditions in the time they had remaining aboard, and these were not perfect conditions. She decided to turn things back to the issues at hand.
“It seems so particularly awful that all this should happen over something as base as who owns some gems,” she commented.
“Oh, it’s far more than that afoot here,” he assured her. “I told you that this was the devil’s work, and that means we must look not just at who is buying whatever it is, but who the seller is, and why he is selling them. This took a lot of money and influence to set up; money, then, is the tool here, not the object. In fact, I would be surprised if this wasn’t some sort of barter. A weapon, perhaps, or something along those lines.”
She stared at him. “You mean that your enemy is going to try once more to overthrow and rule the Realm?”
“He has always thought that way. He cannot abide that which he cannot rule. The odd thing is, if he ever did rule the known galaxy, he’d probably tire of it quickly and find some new things to step on. His pride was hurt that time so long ago. It’s his pride, and his ability to hold a grudge almost to infinity, that moves him now.”
“What does the devil look like?” she asked. When he smiled, she added, “No, I’m serious.”
“No horns, no cloven hoofs, but it’s an ugly little thing. Like a lump of raw undulating meat, really, with two very mean-looking eyes protruding from the rise in the middle. Lots of tentacles beneath, making it sometimes look as if it was sitting on a nest of hair. They’re quite small, really, and can flatten out even smaller. They’re parasites in spite of the eyes; those hairs are like needles, injecting into a host and then extending within until it controls all motor and nervous system functions. But since it does have eyes, and a kind of sonar common to water creatures, and since it can extract oxygen from water through rudimentary gills, it can detach and move from host to host. What it can’t do on its own is eat. It draws what it needs from the host, and when the host gets used up, it moves on. But it has a mind that’s surprisingly close to ours, and maybe smarter. That still remains to be seen.”
“A surprising number of races are parasites, or at least symbiotic,” she noted. “Evolution almost favors it. Otherwise you get races like ours, which tend to rape landscapes and then move on until they either find an infinite supply of new resources to destroy or cause their own demise. A smart parasite knows how important it is to keep things in balance.”
“But it does tend to color the smartest ones’ views of other races,” Kincaid pointed out. “It has a vision of operating and sucking dry whole worlds.”
“Are there any Ghomas riding with us this trip?” she asked him. “It would seem logical.”
“None show up, and I’m sure I have the computers back online and all the bypasses and plants removed. They couldn’t do an in-depth job on them without jeopardizing the ship itself. Still, there are at least two races breathing pretty much the same muck—those salts are a dead giveaway, since Ghomas need to ingest them when free of the host and forced to breathe the water. The fact that it’s a near optimal Ghoma mix says to me that either they expect Ghomas to show up or, equally likely, those people in that atmosphere are used to the Ghoma mix. I think we can safely say that they probably either had a hand in this or directed it. Not a one boarded at Asswam Junction, but they boarded at three different stops before it.”
She looked around at the vast bridge, which seemed so cold and complex. “So what will you do now?”
Kincaid sighed. “Well, they have to know we’re searching the cargo and that we have full control of the ship again. That means we may well discover what’s hidden here, perhaps both sides of this transaction, and we certainly will prevent any stops where they are expecting one. I’ve locked in a very complex security plan, and it’s been extended to all of the main computers in the modules. If they kill me, they can’t get around it and may well be trapped for murder. If they don’t kill me, the same is possible. That means they will attempt to get at whatever they are after and do some kind of sabotage that will allow them to get away. They know there is nothing they can do, no matter how gut-wrenching, that would cause me to bend. You can’t go to Hell twice.”
“They could drug or torture you for the codes,” she suggested.
“I’ve thought of that. I think they are well-briefed on me. If not, then they might accidentally kill me in the attempt, but they won’t succeed. I’ve been sort of programmed myself, you see, and only I know the signals that turn it off. Torture will equal my death, and that will just result in the same thing. No, I think they will be very careful before they move. Very careful. They won’t allow anything rash. I’m counting on that, since the more time I have with the computer and the probes, the more chance I can find out what this is all about.”
She didn’t like this, but what choice was there? “What do you want me to do?”
“Be yourself, and be my eyes and ears. I’m going to be pretty much of a recluse. Also, continue to wear the crew outfits. I realize they’re revealing, certainly too revealing for someone in your profession, but because of that it will be difficult for them to improvise some device or the most common parasitic remotes without it being obvious, and I shall be able to track you easily, even visually. Be my eyes and ears with the passengers. I want to know what they are planning, and who is planning what. Use concierge services to ensure that your cabin is not bugged, that nothing is drugged, that all is normal. Think of yourself as in Eden surrounded by creatures, many of whom are serpents. Be paranoid, but be alert. And be quite free telling them what I am doing and what I intend and what their own problem is if they don’t deal with me somehow.”
“Huh?”
“If they know the usual routes are futile, they probably won’t try them. I need time. I think I have some, anyway. Remember, we are still about twelve days away from civilization, and eight from where they’d planned us to run dry and emerge into normal space.”
That was the least pleasant thought of all.
Null-Space, Six Days Out
tann nakitt was smoking his calabash in the lounge. it wasn’t something that was allowed in that area, but the little weasel-like Geldorian had been doing it regularly and nobody had registered an objection. There was a certain built-in threat the creature radiated, particularly when he thought he wasn’t going to like what you were going to say. Those beady eyes would light up as if on fire, and the multiple rows of sharp teeth behind the suddenly revealed fangs made one give pause before pressing a point.
Angel hated the smell the pipe gave off, and how it seemed to permeate everything around, but she had been trained by her sisterhood to tune out that which was personally offensive. You never knew who you might have to live and work around, or where.
She did not, however, feel particularly threatened by the Geldorian. Much of that spectacular facial stuff was for show, to avoid fights, since Geldorians were, after all, rather soft and vulnerable. Also, she’d managed to use the ship’s references to determine exactly how such a creature attacked if provoked, and was pretty sure she could handle him. The real threat was in the venom; if it got into the bloodstream it would knock most warm-blooded oxygen breathers cold; Terrans and a few other races had a worse reaction—they’d regain consciousness and agreeably do whatever a Geldorian asked them to do. The Geldorian venom had a knack for adapting to whatever form it was inside of, at least until the host rejected it. So she knew to hold one by the neck and not let it bite.
But she didn’t know if she should handle him; after all this time, most of the passengers were easy to categorize, but not this one. He didn’t seem anxious to socialize with anybody, and he did not volunteer information.
She decided he couldn’t be placed on the shelf any longer. Time was running out, and moves would be made by one side or the other.
Nakitt saw her coming right to him, and in his usual knee-jerk, pissed-off reaction, his eyes lit up and his teeth came out while he held his pipe in his hand. Almost immediately, though, he turned the display off, sensing that this strange, hairless Terran female felt no fear of him at all. That bothered Tann Nakitt; he was used to making everybody else nervous. It was more than a defensive posture—it was his hobby.
“We have to talk,” Angel said firmly, standing and facing him as he lounged on an ottoman.
Tann Nakitt took a drag and blew thick yellow smoke up and toward her face. “No we don’t,” he responded.
She looked around. There was nobody in the immediate area, certainly nobody paying attention to them or within conspicuous earshot. “You are wrong. I believe that if we do not have a talk, then there is almost no way you can survive the next full day.”
The needle-nosed snout came up, but he didn’t betray any emotion. “Are you threatening me?”