Timothy Zahn - The Icarus Hunt

I frowned, my annoyance with his bad timing vanishing into sudden newinterest.

"You've heard it before?"

"Sure," he said, some of that old Shawn arrogance creeping into his tone.

"Couple of times just while I've been lying here today. You want my opinion, it's probably something in the flush equipment in the head."

"Could be," I said noncommittally. He could have whatever opinion he wanted, but I'd been flying for half my life and there was absolutely nothing in a ship'splumbing that could make that kind of noise. "You said Tera went back to hercabin?"

"All I said was that Everett relieved her," he corrected me, his tone suddenlytesty. "She could have gone outside for a walk for all I know." He waved ahand impatiently around the strap. "Look, what does any of this have to do with mymedicine? Nothing, that's what. You are going to be able to get it, right?"

"I'll do what I can," I said, reaching down and swinging the swivel stool backinto storage again. Clearly, the obnoxious stage of Shawn's withdrawal wasstarting, and I'd already had as much of that as I needed for one trip. "I'llsee you later. Try to get some rest."

"Yeah," he muttered as I made my way to the door. "Sure—easy for you to say.

What a bunch of—"

The sliding door cut off the noun. Just as well. I started to turn toward thebridge; but as I did so I caught the soft sound and faint vibration of a heavyfootstep from behind me. I turned to see Ixil come into the corridor from thewraparound, a toolbox in his hand. "Trouble?" he murmured.

"No more than usual around here," I told him, not wanting to get into Shawn'sproblems just now. "I thought I might as well go and relieve Everett on thebridge."

Pix and Pax twitched at that, Ixil no doubt wondering what our medic was doingon bridge watch when Tera was supposed to be holding the fort there. But heclearly wasn't any more interested in holding serious conversations in opencorridors than I was, and merely nodded. "We found the problem with themodulator relay," he said, continuing on down the corridor toward me. "Allfixed."

"Good," I said, lifting my eyebrows and nodding fractionally behind me and tomyright, toward the door to the mechanics shop. He nodded back, just asfractionally. Now, when everyone seemed to have taken themselves elsewhere, would be an excellent time for him to see what kind of cutting equipmentCameron had left us.

We went the rest of the way forward together in silence, Ixil breaking off tothe left to the mechanics-room door aft of the bridge, me continuing the restof the way past the forward access ladder to the bridge door. I tapped therelease pad, and the door slid open.

For a moment I just stood there, staring in disbelief at the sight before me.

Everett, his bulk nearly filling the small space between the command consoleand nav table, was half-turned to face me, his arms and right leg lifted in what looked like a grotesque parody of some kind of ballet step.

For a moment we stared at each other, and behind those blue eyes I watched hisself-conscious embarrassment change almost reluctantly to a sort of stubbornpride. Then, very deliberately, he looked away and lowered his right foot backto the deck, his hands and arms tracing out a complicated design in the air ashe did so. Just as deliberately, he moved his left foot around behind hisright, his hands shifting again through the air.

And suddenly, belatedly, I realized what he was doing. Not ballet, not someodd playacting posturing, but a martial-arts kata.

I waited where I was, not moving or speaking, until he'd finished the form.

"Sorry about that," he said, breaking the silence at last as he straightenedupfrom his final crouch and squeezed back into the restraint chair. "I wasfeelinga little dozy, and a bit of exercise always perks me up."

"No apology or explanation needed," I assured him, stepping into the bridgebut leaving the door locked open behind me. Back when we'd first met, I rememberedthinking his face had that slightly battered look of someone who'd done timewith high-contact sports. Apparently, that snap judgment had been correct.

"What form was that? I don't think I've ever seen it before."

"It's not one usually put on display," he said, rubbing a sleeve across hisforehead. Not that there'd been any sweat there that I could see. Maybe hekeptit all inside the wrinkles. "Are you a practitioner or connoisseur of themartial arts?"

"Neither," I said. "I got a smattering of self-defense training when I was inEarthGuard, but there was no particular style involved and I was never allthat good at it. But my college roommate was a certified nut on the subject, watchingeverything he could find, and I picked up some of it by sheer osmosis." Inodded toward the empty section of deck where he'd been performing. "Actually, whatthat reminded me of most was throw-boxing."

Everett lifted his eyebrows. "Very good. Yes, that was indeed a throw-boxingtraining kata. I did a bit of the professional circuit when I was younger." Hesnorted gently. "And in better shape, of course."

"Very impressive," I said, and meant it. I'd dealt with professionalthrow-boxers once or twice in my life, and knew the kind of tough breed thosemen and women were. "How long ago was that?"

"Oh, a good twenty years now," he said. "And you wouldn't be nearly soimpressedif you knew my win/loss record." He frowned at me. "What are you doing here, bythe way? I thought you were asleep."

"I came up to check on things and happened on your patient still strapped tothe examination table," I told him. "You know what's wrong with him?"

"He told me it was a borandis-dependency problem," he said. "Coupled with achronic case of Cole's disease."

"You believe him?"

He shrugged. "The diagnostic confirmed the withdrawal aspects," he said. "Themedical database isn't complete enough to either confirm or refute the Cole's disease."

"Close enough," I told him, my last lingering suspicion that Shawn might havebeen faking the whole thing fading away. Muscle tremors and obnoxiousness wereone thing, but a med diagnostic computer wasn't nearly so easily fooled.

"Unfortunately, that leaves us with a problem," Everett went on. "According tothe database, borandis is a controlled drug. It's going to take more than justa ship's medic's certificate to get some for him on Mintarius."

"I know," I said. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out."

"I hope so," he said. "The prognosis for untreated Cole's disease isapparentlynot a very positive one."

"So he told me," I nodded. "Small wonder, I suppose, that he was at loose endson Meima." I lifted my eyebrows slightly. "Speaking of which, I've beenmeaningto ask how you wound up in that same position. At loose ends, I mean."

He made a wry face. "Caught in the middle of a jurisdictional dispute, I'mafraid. One of the crewers on my previous ship pushed the captain one time toomany and wound up rather badly injured. A troublemaker—I'm sure you know thesort. At any rate, I helped him get to the med facility at the Meima spaceportfor treatment; and while we were out, the captain apparently decided he coulddo without both of us and took off."

"Yet another Samaritan winds up with the splintered end of the stick," Imurmured.

He shrugged. "Perhaps. Frankly, I was just as happy to see their thrustersfading into the sunset. When Borodin came into the restaurant where I waseatinglooking for someone with a med certificate, I jumped at the chance."

"Well, we're certainly glad to have you here," I said, glancing around thebridge. "Look, we're not more than a few hours from landing, and I can't sleepanyway. Why don't I take over and let you go hit the sack."

"Oh," he said, sounding and looking surprised. "Well... if you're sure."

"I'm sure," I told him. "There's nothing you can do for Shawn at the moment, and you might as well be rested when we hit ground."