"Maybe he's having a drink with Borodin," Shawn said acidly. "Look, this isstupid. Are you sure that entryway's sealed?"
"You're welcome to try it yourself," I told him, waving at the keypad andwishing I knew what our next move should be. I certainly didn't want to leaveCameron behind, particularly not with a murder charge outstanding against him.
But if the Ihmisits had already picked him up, there wasn't much point in ourhanging around, either. Maybe I should give Ixil a call over at the StormyBanks and have him do a quiet search.
From above me came the ka-thunk of released seals and the hissing ofhydraulics, and I spun around to see the entryway door swinging ponderously open. "Whatdid you do?" I demanded, looking at Shawn.
"What do you mean, what did I do?" he shot back. "I pushed the damn OPENbutton, that's what I did. It was unlocked the whole time, you morons."
"Borodin must have had it on a time lock," Jones said, frowning. "I wonderwhy."
"Maybe he's not coming," Tera suggested. "Maybe he never intended to in thefirst place."
"Well, I'm not going anywhere without the advance he promised," Shawn saidflatly.
"Besides which, we don't know exactly where we're supposed to go," I remindedthem, stepping past him and peering up the stairway. It canted to the right ata slight angle, one more example of slightly shoddy workmanship to add to mygrowing list. I could see a glowing ceiling light over the hatch inside the wraparound, but nothing else was visible from this angle.
"He told me we were going to Earth," Chort offered.
"Right, but Earth's a big place," I reminded him. "With lots of differentparking spaces. Still, we might as well go in." I picked up my bag and startedtoward the stairway—
"Hang on a second, Jordan," Jones cut me off. "Someone's coming."
I turned around. From around the stern of one of the nearby ships a large, bulkyman was jogging toward us like a trotting hippo, a pair of travel bagsbouncingin his grip. "Hold on!" he called. "Don't leave yet. I'm here."
"And who are you?" I called back.
"Hayden Everett," he said, coasting to a stop beside Tera and taking a deepbreath. "Medic certificate. Whew! Had some trouble at the gate—didn't think Iwas going to make it."
"Don't worry, you're not the last," Jones said. "Our employer hasn't shown upyet, either."
"Really?" Everett said, frowning. He had short black hair and blue eyes, andthe slightly squashed features I usually associated with professional high-contactsports types. Up close, I could see now that, unlike Jones and Nicabar, mostof his impressive body mass ran to fat, though there were indications there'dbeen a fair amount of muscle there once upon a time. He was also crowding fifty, considerably older than the rest of our group, with an impressive network ofwrinkles around his eyes and mouth.
I could also see that despite the implication that he'd jogged along theslideways all the way from the gate, there was no sheen of sweat on his face, nor was he even breathing all that hard. Despite his age and surface fat, hiscardiovascular system was apparently in pretty decent shape.
"Really," Jones assured him. "So what do we do now, McKell?"
"Like I said, we go inside," I told him, starting up the steps. "Revs, you getto the engine room and start your preflight; I'll find the bridge and getthingsstarted from that end. The rest of you, bring your luggage and find yourstations."
Given the Icarus's iconoclastic design I knew that that last order was goingto be a challenge. To my mild surprise, someone had anticipated me. Thewraparoundtunnel curved around the smaller sphere to a pressure door at the surface ofthe larger sphere—apparently, the whole wraparound served as the ship's airlock—
and attached to the wall of the corridor on the far side of the pressure door wasa basic layout of the ship.
"Well, that's handy," Tera commented as the six of us crowded around it, Nicabar having already disappeared in the other direction along the wraparound to theengine room. "Where's the computer room?—oh, there it is. Odd placement."
There was a murmur of general agreement. The interior layout was fully as oddas the exterior design, with the three levels of the sphere laid out in possiblythe most arbitrary fashion I'd ever seen. The bridge was in its standardplace, nestled just behind the nose cone on the mid deck; but the computer room, instead of being connected to the bridge as usual, was at the opposite end ofthe sphere, pressed up against the wall of the smaller sphere on the starboardside of the centerline, directly behind the wall we were currently looking at.
The machine shop, electronics shop, and EVA prep area were slapped together onthe port side, where vibrations and electronic noise from one would inevitablyslop over into the other, with the sick bay and galley/dayroom across thecorridor from them just forward of the computer room.
The top deck consisted of six cracker-box-sized sleeping cabins and an onlyslightly larger head, plus two main storage rooms; the lower deck was two moresleeping cabins, another head, the main bulk of the ship's stores, and theair- and water-scrubbing and reclamation equipment. There were other, smallerstoragecabinets scattered around everywhere, apparently wherever and however thedesigner's mood had struck. The three decks were linked together by a pair ofladders, one just behind the bridge, the other aft near the wraparound.
I also noticed that while the wraparound and engine section were drawn with acertain minimal detail, the smaller sphere was drawn as a solid silhouette, labeled simply CARGO, with no access panels or hatches shown. When Cameron hadsaid the cargo was sealed, he'd meant it.
"This has got to be the dumbest ship I've ever been on," Shawn declared inobvious disgust. "Who built this thing, anyway?"
"It'll be listed on the schematics," I told him. "Tera, that'll be your firstjob after you get the computer up and running: Pull up the plans so we can seewhat exactly we've got to work with. Everyone else, go get settled. I'll be onthe bridge if you need me."
I headed up the corridor—literally up it; the Icarus's floors were sloped atthe same ten-degree angle as the ship itself—and touched the release pad set intothe center of the door.
Considering all the extra space the Icarus had over the Stormy Banks, I mighthave expected the bridge to be correspondingly larger, too. It wasn't. Ifanything, it was a little smaller. But whatever other corners Cameron and hiscronies had cut with this ship, at least they hadn't scrimped on vitalequipment. The piloting setup, to my right as I stood in the doorway, consisted of a full Wurlitz command console wrapped around a military-style full-activerestraint chair, a half-dozen Valerian monitor displays to link me to the restof the ship, and a rather impressive Hompson RealiTeev main display alreadyactivated and showing the view out the bow of the ship. To my left, the otherhalf of the room was dominated by a Gorsham plotting table connected to aKemberly nav database records system.
And sitting in the center of the plotting table were an envelope and a largemetal cash box.
I stepped over to the table and crouched down, giving the box a long, carefullook. There were no wires that I could see; no discolorations, no passivetriggers, nothing that struck me as an obvious booby trap. Holding my breath, picked it up and eased it open a crack.
Nothing snapped, flashed, hissed, or blew up in my face. Perhaps I was gettingparanoid in my old age. Exhaling quietly, I opened it the rest of the way.
Inside was money. Crisp one-hundred-commark bills. Lots of them.
I looked at the cash for another moment, then set the box back on the plottingtable and opened the envelope. Inside were a set of cards, the originals ofthe registration and clearance papers Cameron had showed me in the taverno last night, plus a single sheet of paper with a hand-printed message on it: To the captain: Due to circumstances beyond my control, I will not be able to accompany youand the Icarus after all. I must therefore trust in your honor to take the shipand its cargo to Earth without me.