The target disappeared into crew residential territory later. Tal returned to his stateroom.
The next day Tal waited till midshift, then pushed open the hold door and found himself at the head of a steel stairway. He followed it down into a dark, rather dirty area, where swollen energy sacs bulged from the walls. A feed-station for the drive. He saw his target measuring out chak for the energy sacs, his back to the stairway, the chak dripping orangely from his hands—a mindless, low-status task, but more accurate when performed by a human than by a machine, since observation and maintenance were part of it. Tal considered shoving his target’s head between the energy sacs as a preliminary introduction, but though it would convey the upper hand temporarily, it might be better to keep things on a friendly footing. There were several more days to go till Baret One.
Therefore he said, “Excuse me.”
The man whirled around, spilling chak, which hissed as it hit the metal flooring. The voder by the mouth of the feed-station clicked twice, and the Kestrel’s drive spoke up: “I’m hungry,” said a childish, mechanical voice. “Don’t stop.”
The worker ignored this plaintive comment. He glared at Tal. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a passenger, and I’m here to offer you money.” It was always best to get that in at once.
“Get the hell out of here.” He didn’t talk like a native Republican. Maybe that was why he ate alone.
“I’m hungrysaid the drive again.
“Shut up,” said the man.
Tal pulled out two NetBank notes and held them up for inspection. The man was quiet for a moment, glaring at them suspiciously. Then, “What do you want?” he said.
“Information.”
“I don’t know anything.” He took a step back and looked, if anything, even more hostile.
“You could tell me your name.” When the man hesitated, he continued, “Surely it’s not a secret.”
“Maintenance Worker Peeskill.”
Tal handed him a note. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He help up the second one. “Now maybe you could tell me about Belleraphon.”
For a second the man looked disoriented. Then he said, “Get the hell out of here.”
“We can always raise the amount—”
“Get out!” He picked up a steel gripper and took a step toward Tal.
“Certainly,” said Tal. “I hate to be rude.” He backed up to the stairway and climbed it to the entrance, aware every second of the man standing there, violence ready to break out of him. Tal reached the top, opened the door gently, and found no one in the corridor.
And some people think that I’m unstable, he thought.
Some hours later during afternoon shift, when the fewest people were in their quarters, he entered the crew residential section. Charmingly, the administratives had put names on the crew doors. Well, it wasn’t as though the names were a secret, in a crew this size. They probably thought it did something to combat the depersonalization that was rampant in Republic life. At least, it did something without really doing anything, a strategy always popular with administratives.
Maintenance Worker Peeskill’s quarters were the farthest from the showers of anybody’s, another mark of the regard in which he was held on this ship. Tal made use of skills his search had made necessary over the years, and opened the door.
The room was drab and messy, no surprise. Used shirts were thrown in balls on the floor. The maintenance worker’s quarters were as confused as his alleged thinking processes. Tal looked though his drawers, under and around his bed, and through his duffel; then he pulled out the drawers one by one and checked the inside of his furniture. On the bottom side of one drawer he found four packages stuck with adhesive. In his own quarters, and not exactly well-hidden. The man was lower on the evolutionary scale than Tal had thought.
He checked the contents quickly; the light blue color of the powder suggested taxmal or veridh’n, the latter less likely for Baret System. He’d have to test it more thoroughly later. Taxmal was reputed to give its users, if human, a sense of power and the belief that they were telepathic. The sense of power was illusory, but the telepathy was real enough. Temporary, though, as he recalled; about four or five hours maximum. What would be the effect on an Aphean? … Might be useful to have on hand, humans being the unpredictable masses of contradictions that they were. He pocketed the four packages and left.
Now he had something to negotiate with. He spent the rest of the day in his quarters, to give Peeskill time to become nervous. The next day at midshift he climbed down to the feed-station again.
“Missing anything?” he called when he reached the bottom.
Maintenance Worker Peeskill looked up from his task, flushed a very dark red, and ran toward him with murder in his face.
Damn. Never underestimate the intelligence of a human. Tal stepped aside, grabbed hold of him, and added his own strength to Peeskill’s momentum, pushing him headfirst into the space between two energy sacs. Clearly he should have begun this way yesterday. There was a wicked crack as Peeskill hit. Tal did not wait, but pulled him out, spun him around, and delivered a blow to the other side of his head. Peeskill blinked, looking dazed, and sank to the floor, where he sat blankly. Tal squatted down beside him.
“Maintenance Worker Peeskill?” he said politely.
Peeskill did not answer at once.
“Get hold of yourself,” said Tal irritably. “You’re perfectly all right.” And he was, basically—there should be no permanent damage. Peeskill’s forehead was turning pink and his right eye should be black in a short time, but that was all. Well, aside from the bumps on his skull … “Peeskill?”
“Yeah.”
“Maintenance Worker Peeskill, I’m looking for someone named Belleraphon. I understand from a mutual friend that you’ve had some contact with a Belleraphon. Could you tell me about that?”
Peeskill looked at him blearily. “Who the hell are you?” he asked,
