Hellspark (35 page)

Tocohl turned to look again at Megeve. “Tell me,” she said, “what was the problem with the transceiver? Since it almost killed me, I’d like to know the cause.”

“You’re not the only one,” Om im said. He moved smoothly to blade right of her, deftly interposing himself between Megeve and Tocohl without any hint of rudeness.

The Maldeneantine twisted his hand down his wrist, then leaned back and said, “There’s not much to tell: it was the usual for Flashfever.—Do you know much about electronics?”

“Not a lot,” Tocohl said, omitting to mention that Maggy’s data stores made her an expert on the subject, “but tell me anyway. I’m always willing to learn.”

Megeve explained in technical terms and then said, “All of which, in simple terms, means we had fungi growing on the ’plate. It cooked and shorted out one of the freeloader diodes. Until I found which

one, cleaned up the fungus so it couldn’t happen again, and replaced it, you were all on your own.”

Maggy pinged and pinged again.

“I see, I guess,” Tocohl said, careful to imply that she had no idea what he was talking about, then she gave a yawn that cracked her jaw. “Sorry, I’m drowsing off again. Thanks for the company, Timosie,” she added, “but now if you’ll forgive me…?” She yawned again.

“Oh, of course!” Megeve took it as a dismissal, rose so hastily the chair tipped behind him. Om im caught it, drew it to him; bowing deeply to Tocohl he said, “I’ll keep silent company, I
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promise, until you wake. A bored Hellspark is a blot on my honor as a Bluesippan.” The grin he gave her was pure deceit:

he sat blade right.

Megeve glanced frowning from one to the other but could clearly see no cause for alarm. To all appearances, Om im was merely in one of his gallant moods. Megeve said a few polite good-byes and started for the door.

Tocohl left him to the wary eyes of Om im and layli-layli

. (What is it, Maggy?)

(Probability of sabotage now ninety-nine percent; equal probability that Megeve is responsible.) That was as high a probability as Maggy would ever commit herself to, and Tocohl said, (What caused the jump?)

In her spectacles, Tocohl saw Megeve open the transceiver. The image froze abruptly, then expanded, until she could see an area of the ’plate in microscopic detail. (That,) said Maggy, adding an indicator arrow to the still, (is the diode he spoke of. There is no evidence of fungus, no evidence of a short.)

(You’re sure?) said Tocohl, knowing that it was unnecessary to ask.

(I’m sure,) said Maggy, just as unnecessarily. She added, replacing the first image with another, (This is what a shorted freeloader diode looks like. It’s unmistakable.) (I’d have said spectacular—but unmistakable it certainly is. I grant you the rise in probability.) Maggy said aloud, “Om im, you’re going to cut yourself if you’re not careful.” Her inflection made it as much a question as a statement.

Tocohl turned her head to look—Maggy cleared the taped images from her spectacles—and saw that Om im pressed the hilt of his blade to his forehead. His hand grasped the blade so tightly that he was, as Maggy warned, close to letting his own blood.

“Don’t you dare,” Tocohl snapped in GalLing’, then instantly followed it up with the proper phrase in

Bluesippan: “I have need of that hand, undamaged.”

By degrees, Om im loosened his hold on the blade. At last he turned it in his fingertips and sheathed it. Tocohl breathed a sigh of relief.

“Buntec thought to search the daisy-clipper hangar,” he said. “I stood watch for her. I’m sorry to say she found nothing of interest.” The knife was out abruptly, once more he touched the hilt to his forehead in apology; this time Tocohl had no fear that he would cut himself for penance.

“If you want to sleep,” he went on, “I pledge to stand watch myself. We left John the Smith to watch

Megeve—he was the one who warned layli-layli

—and swift-Kalat was here…”

“

Maggy was here,” Tocohl said, eyeing the handheld at his belt meaningfully. “She waked and warned me—and called on you for assistance, as you expected her to, or you wouldn’t have taken the handheld.”

“Yes.”

“Then you can hardly claim to have left me without a watch. Maggy never sleeps—for which I am very grateful, because she now gives a ninety-nine percent probability that Megeve tried to kill us once already.”

His gilded brows shot up. “How…?” He glanced at the arachne to address the question in retrospect to Maggy herself.

Tocohl said, “Let’s get it all over with at once.” Painfully, she eased herself to a sitting position.

“Would you mind lending a shoulder, Om im? Now we have something specific to tell Kejesli.”

From across the room, layli-layli calulan said, “Lie down, Tocohl; you’re still under my care.

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Kejesli can perfectly well come to you.

He has no broken rib.” It was mildly said but the look which accompanied it was a command.

Tocohl inclined her head, acquiescing, but remained erect. In response to Om im’s worried look, she drew her legs to one side to favor her injured rib. His look did not change—but Tocohl had to be able to see, to speak face-to-face with Kejesli.

Passing to the comunit, layli-layli paused once, to touch her fingertips to swift-Kalat’s temples.

His eyes came open and he rose to scan the room, as if seeking to learn what had startled him awake.

Finding nothing but layli-layli at her comunit coding a call, he returned his attention to Alfvaen.

“Captain,” said layli-layli calulan

, “you wished to speak to Tocohl. You may do so in the infirmary.

She is awake now.” She broke the connection, then made two more calls in swift succession, to ask both

Buntec and John the Smith to join them in the infirmary as well. To Tocohl, she explained, “We may have need of some we trust.”

Tocohl, as layli-layli drew near, saw her features set in disapproval and set her own in stubborn opposition. The threatened chiding never reached the shaman’s lips; in its stead, a smile of resignation turned the corners of the broad mouth wryly up. Without a word, layli-layli calulan laid a gentle hand against Tocohl’s injured side. Realizing the layli-layli meant to ease her pain, Tocohl closed her eyes and did what little she could to help herself, a Methven ritual against the sharpness in her chest. After a moment, breathing seemed less difficult.

She opened her eyes, only to find them caught and held by the dark intensity in layli-layli calulan

’s own.

The shaman’s voice was no less intense: “Will you pronounce judgment on Megeve?”

Tocohl had forgotten that complication. Looking at the faces around her, she realized that swift-Kalat had joined the group as well. The phrasing reliability demanded was expedient to her own purposes as well. “No,” she said, “I would not. I have good reason to believe that he disabled the transceiver to keep you from contacting us, yes—but Alfvaen tried to kill me.”

Before swift-Kalat could begin to object to her phrasing, she went on, “There was a physiological reason for that. I’d ask no judgment on her, nor offer one. Perhaps Megeve is the same; perhaps the stress of the ionization…” She fixed her gaze on layli-layli

, attempting to match the shaman’s intensity.

“Yes, perhaps. We have, none of us, been behaving normally.”

Layli-layli calulan lowered her eyes to study her hands, still bare of rings. “Even I—”

She did not finish, but Tocohl knew she meant her attempt to curse van Zoveel. “Even you,”

Tocohl agreed quietly. It was not accusation, only a statement of fact.

The Yn shaman was quiet for a long moment, then she turned her dark gaze on the arachne. “

Maggy-maggy

… what is the probability that Megeve sabotaged Oloitokitok’s equipment as well?”

Alarmed, Tocohl began, (Ma—) She had no chance to complete her intended warning. “I’m still gathering data,” Maggy said without hesitation. “The probability is insignificant without sufficient information.”

Tocohl, who had been about to instruct Maggy to say just that, whatever the truth might be, was startled. (True, Maggy?) she demanded privately.

(Yes and no,) Maggy said, in the same mode, (did I do right?) (Yes, oh, yes!)

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Kejesli burst dripping into the infirmary, braids a-chatter. He reached for the roof, found none, and lurched toward them. Behind him followed Buntec and John the Smith. “So what’s up?” said Buntec.

(—Later,) Tocohl added, and silently blessed Maggy’s understanding of verbal shorthand.

Aloud she said, “Give me a hand to the console.—Maggy, bring the arachne. We have something we need your opinion on, Buntec.”

The arachne scurried past. By the time Buntec and John the Smith had helped Tocohl to the console and eased her into the chair Om im brought, the arachne was ready to display. To the arachne’s right, Om im placed a second chair. Tocohl patted it. “Sit, Captain. It’s a long story and you’ll need a surface to clutch.”

He sat and gripped the edge of the console. “You’ve found a language… ?”

“That I’m still working on. This is somewhat more pressing a problem.”

His face darkened. Tightening his grip until Tocohl could almost count his pulse in the risen veins, he said, “Tell me.” The rest crowded in to watch over their shoulders, John the Smith carefully choosing the

“high status” side of Om im.

“Maggy, we’ll start with Timosie Megeve’s explanation of the transceiver failure.”

Maggy obliged with the tape she’d recorded from Tocohl’s spectacles, adjusting it slightly to avoid the usual distracting jumpiness caused by minute movements of Tocohl’s head. Megeve’s image was only halfway through the technical part of his explanation when Buntec grunted and muttered something under her breath.

(Should I stop?) Maggy asked.

(No, go on.) Tocohl sat, patient against the ache in her side. Having finished that tape, Maggy said, (Now the tape of the transceiver, right?)

For the benefit of Kejesli and the rest, Tocohl answered aloud: “Now the tape you made when

Megeve tried to contact us because you and swift-Kalat were concerned about our safety.” She watched again as Megeve tried the transceiver, claimed it did not work, opened the service panel—

Buntec stamped her foot, and pushing between Tocohl and Kejesli to address the screen over the arachne, she began, “You barefoot—”

Layli-layli

’s plump hand caught her shoulder in so firm a grasp that Buntec stopped in mid-bellow.

“Curse all you want, Buntec, but do it quietly. Remember Alfvaen.” Buntec resumed her cursing in a fierce whisper.

As she had done for Tocohl, Maggy froze the image of the ’plate and enlarged it. “He lied!” said John the Smith, then immediately repeated it in a harsh whisper.

For a brief moment, everyone muttered and whispered at everyone else simultaneously; then, as one, they deferred to Buntec for an explanation of what they were seeing.

Buntec gave it, right down to the polished toenails. Then she leaned toward the screen. “Maggy, can you run the tape back to where Megeve ‘tried’ to contact us?—Yes, there,” she said as Maggy obliged.

“Now give me a close-up of his hands.” Maggy did just as she was instructed. Buntec stamped her foot—but quietly.

“I don’t understand,” Maggy said.

“It’s a kid’s trick, Maggy. Watch carefully. He’s got a strip of plastic, he edges it under before he switches on. It looks like the transceiver’s switched on, but the contact isn’t made.”

Kejesli stood so abruptly that his chair struck Buntec’s shin.

Buntec grunted but caught his elbow. “There’s more,” she said, grimly; she reached into
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her overpocket with her free hand. Still gripping his elbow, she turned him face on, opened her palm scant inches from his nose to display the Hayashi jammers. Well past obscenity, she told him only what they were and how they had been used.

As if to test its reality, Kejesli plucked one of the jammers from Buntec’s palm and squeezed it.

His face turned grim. Dropping the jammer back into her palm, he brought his hand sharply up to the pin of remembrance he wore on his vest.

Then he spun and punched at the console’s keyboard. Maggy released it to him immediately.

Edge-of-Dark appeared on the display. “Get Dyxte,” Kejesli snapped at her. “The two of you draw weapons from supplies and report to the infirmary at once. Not a word to anyone else.”

As shocked as she was, Edge-of-Dark snapped back, “We’re on our way,” and was gone.

Kejesli, gripping the console, turned on Tocohl. “Why?” he demanded. “Why would he do it?”

Tocohl laid her pouch across her thigh and drew it open. The piece of moss—still a vivid red—curled within like some small comfortable animal. “For this, I think,” Tocohl said, taking it gently in her hand to lay it on the table before him. “Megeve’s sprookje gave me this just before we set out: the four of us—and Megeve—were the only witnesses.”

“That’s what thought,” Maggy said.

he

“Said with just the right emphasis,” Tocohl told her. “Why don’t you show the captain that bit of tape.”

The display remained blank. “You’ve seen it, Tocohl, or you can watch it on your spectacles—but

you shouldn’t be sitting up. It hurts you to sit up. If you’ll go back to bed, I’ll show Kejesli the tape. Fair trade?”

Tocohl stared down at the arachne. “No,” she said, “it’s pure, unadulterated blackmail, but you’ve got yourself a deal.” When she held out an arm for assistance, she found John the Smith ready and waiting.

“Wait,” said Kejesli. “A gift? This?” He brushed the tuft of moss.

“Looked like more of a trade, actually,” Om im said. “Megeve’s sprookje was hoping for a piece of

Tocohl’s cloak in return.”

“But to keep the sprookjes from being found sentient—”

Tocohl rose to her feet; pain that had gone unnoticed in the excitement returned to drain the blood from her face. “The Inheritors of God want this world, Captain. I don’t know why. You’ll have to ask one. And I’d say Megeve’s a likely candidate.”