by Timothy Zahn
I inclined my head at him. “Unfortunately for you, both attempts failed.”
“I underestimated you,” he murmured. “Very well. What are my options?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Options?”
“You wouldn’t have come here merely to gloat,” he said. The anger and shock were gone now, replaced with something cold and calculating. “What do you want? Wealth? Power?”
“Ah, so we’re going with the three wishes thing,” I said, pulling out a comm.
“As many wishes as you choose,” he said, his voice smooth and seductive and utterly sincere. “I can give you anything you want.”
“I’ll settle for a promise,” I said, my finger poised over the comm’s power switch. “That you’ll bring all the rest of your outposts back here, and that you’ll let the colonies inside your walkers die. You can live here in peace, but that’s all you can do.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Very well,” he said. “If there is no other way.”
“There isn’t.” I gestured to the man. “You can start by releasing this one.”
The walker’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then, with another sigh, he nodded. “As you wish.” He took a deep breath, and suddenly the man gave a violent twitch, blinking in obvious confusion. “What—?” he said, glancing around and then looking back at me. “Did you—I’m sorry; were you saying something?”
“No,” I assured him. “It’s all right now.” Nodding, I turned to go.
Hooking his gloved hands into talons, he leaped.
I jumped away, but not far enough. His outstretched hand slapped hard, knocking the comm out of my hand. “You fool,” he bit out savagely, grabbing my wrist with one hand and yanking me toward him with unexpected strength. “And now you will die.”
He was reaching his other hand toward my throat when the thundercrack of a gun came from the open door of my torchcruiser, the impact of the shot throwing him flat onto his back. He skidded a meter across the ice and lay still.
I staggered a bit as I stepped over to him, trying to avoid the bright blood spreading out over the whiteness, my ears ringing with the sound of the gunshot. “Thank you,” I said to the Modhri inside him. “That was what I needed to know.”
McMicking had joined me by the time I retrieved my comm. “I thought we agreed to use snoozers,” I said.
“You agreed to use snoozers,” he corrected me calmly. “I didn’t think it would be smart to take that chance. Besides, the Modhri would have had to kill him anyway once he’d used him to murder you.”
“I suppose,” I conceded, grimacing down at the dead man.
“Casualty of war,” McMicking said. “You ready?”
I nodded, and keyed on the comm. “This is Grounder,” I said. “Alpha code beta code omicron. Commence attack.”
“Acknowledged,” a terse voice came back.
McMicking and I were back in the torchcruiser and starting to lift off when the fire began raining onto the ice and the hidden coral below.
TWENTY-FIVE
Bayta was waiting for me when I arrived at our agreed-upon Terra Station restaurant. “Well?” she asked anxiously as I sat down across the table from her.
“It’s done,” I told her. “They hit it, did a second scan, hit it again, and did one final scan. It’s all gone.”
She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed,” I assured her. “So what happens now?”
She gave me a wistful smile. “I fulfill my part of the bargain, of course.”
“No, I meant what happens with the rest of the Modhran mind,” I said. “The outposts and the walkers. What are you going to do about them?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “If the mind goes dormant, we can probably leave everything as it is. If not—if what’s left continues trying to grow and spread his influence—I suppose we’ll have to try to stop it.” Her lip twitched. “I mean … they’ll have to try to stop it.”
“You won’t be helping?”
“I doubt I’ll be of much use to them anymore,” she said, her gaze dropping to the table. “I’m not even sure how much will be … you know. How much of me will be left.”
“You’re very close, aren’t you?” I asked quietly. “I mean, the two of you.”
She gave a little shrug. “I don’t know how to describe it,” she said. “The goal of the Modhri was to bring all things into himself. The goal with me was to create someone composed of two separate beings who could yet genuinely act as one. It’s going to be like losing half of what I am.”
“Then why do it?” I asked. “You’ve gotten what you wanted from me. If this melding and this combined person are so important, why not just renege on your promise?”
“Because this person is only one of my friends,” she said, looking up at me again. “You’re my friend, too. And friends don’t do that to each other.”
I felt a lump forming in my throat. “You told me once I wasn’t your friend.”
She winced. “I couldn’t afford to be, then.”
“Couldn’t afford to be?”
“That’s why I couldn’t tell you everything the night before the raid,” she said tiredly. “I couldn’t let you trust me. Not completely. If I did, or if I’d allowed even a spark of friendship between us—” Her throat tightened. “That Saarix in your carrybags wasn’t for you, Frank. The Spiders hid it there because it was safer than hiding it in mine. But it wasn’t for you. It was for me.”
“I see,” I said, a creepy feeling whispering through me. That possibility had never even crossed my mind. “So you were willing to give up your life for your people.”
She nodded. “For my people, and for the rest of the galaxy.”
“And now you’re willing to do the same for me?” I persisted. “Even now that the biggest danger is gone?”
“To make amends, yes.”
“Even though you don’t think the woman is worse off than she would have been without your interference?”
“I made a promise,” she said simply.
“Suppose I released you from that promise?”
The stiffness of her expression cracked, a flicker of hope peeping through. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve thought it through a little since then,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Like I said, you could have reneged, laughed in my face, and walked off onto the next Quadrail. But you didn’t.”
“Because you’re my friend.”
“Because you have integrity,” I corrected. I wasn’t entirely ready to accept her friendship. Not yet. “Besides, what’s left of the Modhri may not be considerate enough to simply roll over and die. If he doesn’t, we’ll need all the resources we can get to defeat him.”
“We?”
“I still have my Quadrail pass,” I reminded her. “And with Hardin still steaming, the less time I spend in the Terran Confederation, the better.” I consulted my watch. “The next Quadrail to the Bellidosh Estates-General will be hitting the platform in fifteen minutes. This morning’s news said another coral display on Bellis had been mysteriously vandalized, so I presume Fayr and his commandos are still alive and kicking. I thought I might head over there and try to reestablish contact with him.”
“Good idea,” she said, getting to her feet. “Would you—I mean—”
“Like a little companionship?” I finished for her as I stood up as well. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She paid the bill, and we headed for the platform. “There’s something I never got around to asking you,” she said as we skirted around a drudge carrying a piece of oversized luggage toward one of the other platforms. “Back on the Quadrail, McMicking said something about Mr. Hardin protecting his investments. What did he mean by that?”
“He meant me,” I told her. “Hardin had hired me for a private job. Just hired me, in fact—we’d only just finalized the details when your messenger showed up with that Quadrail ticket.”
“I didn’t know that,” sh
e said, her voice suddenly sounding wary. “You never said anything to Hermod about another job.”
“I thought it might have been a little awkward,” I said with a shrug. “You know these ultra-rich people—always looking for new challenges, new vistas, new business conquests. And always in dead secret, of course, lest some competitor get wind of the plan and beat them to it.”
“I suppose,” she said doubtfully. “What were you supposed to do for him?”
I smiled as I gazed down the Tube. In a universe awash in irony, this was the best one of them all. “He wanted me to find a way for him to take over the Quadrail system,” I told her. “I think that’s our train coming now.”
Turn the page to continue reading from the Quadrail series
ONE
From the Stars’ End sector of the Filiaelian Assembly to the Darmisfar colony worlds of the Bellidosh Estates-General, the one thing everyone in the galaxy agrees on is that the best thing about traveling between the stars via Quadrail is the food. The Spiders who operate the vast system of trains and Tubes and stations have made a point of seeking out the very best recipes and cuisine from each of the twelve star-spanning civilizations and making them available for their passengers’ enjoyment. It’s like visiting the Alien Quarter of any of a thousand cities, only you get to travel while you do it.
Even in the second/third-class dining cars the food was delicious, intriguing, and eclectic. Here, in first class, where it was now my privilege to ride, it was all that and more.
And I was ready. More than ready. I’d suffered through a wearying twenty-day round-trip torchcruiser voyage across the Yandro system, living on ship’s rations the whole time, followed by the much shorter fourteen-hour Quadrail ride from Yandro to Terra Station, most of which I’d spent sleeping. Now, with a sizzling plate of artistically arranged Shorshic pili tentacles in front of me, I was finally going to get a decent meal.
“Mr. Frank Compton?”
I sighed. And the other thing everyone in the galaxy agrees on is that one of the greatest frustrations of Quadrail travel is some overly jovial fellow passenger interrupting you in the middle of your meal.
Reluctantly, I looked up. The man standing over me was Human, in his fifties, with blue eyes and white-streaked brown hair. As befit his first-class Quadrail passenger status, he was dressed in a quiet but expensive traveling suit that had been tailored within a millimeter of its life. Also as befit the average first-class passenger, he had the steady gaze and solid manner of someone used to having his every word listened to and obeyed.
And his expression was anything but jovial. The man was worried. Seriously worried.
“Yes, I’m Compton,” I confirmed. “And you?”
“My name’s Smith,” he said. His voice carried a slight central EuroUnion accent. “I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”
I glanced across the table at the dark-haired young woman seated there. Bayta had been my sort-of-informal partner for the past several months, ever since I’d gotten myself involved in this strange twilight war between the Spiders and the group mind known as the Modhri. She was looking up at Smith, her face showing her usual wariness of strangers but nothing that might indicate she knew anything more ominous about the man. “Fine, but only a moment,” I told Smith. “As you can see, we’ve just started dinner.”
“My apologies for that,” Smith said. Pulling over a chair from the unoccupied table beside us, he sat down. “To put it bluntly, I’m on my way into a situation that might require a man of your abilities and experience. I thought I might be able to persuade you to join me.”
“What specific abilities and experience are you referring to?” I asked.
He smiled. “Come now, Mr. Compton, let’s not be modest. Your record of service in Western Alliance Intelligence speaks for itself.”
“You might possibly have missed the last page of that record,” I suggested. “The page where Westali summarily booted me out.”
Smith snorted in a genteel sort of way. “For your very proper attempt to alert the world to the Yandro colonization boondoggle,” he said. “Personally, I consider that a point in your favor.”
“Nice to see someone appreciates it,” I said. “Unfortunately, as to your job, I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged at the moment.”
“This would take very little of your time,” he assured me. “I’m on my way to Bellis to negotiate the purchase of a small but very valuable item.”
I felt my ears prick up. As it happened, Bayta and I were also on our way to Bellis, the capital world of the Bellidosh Estates-General. “What sort of item?”
“A piece of artwork,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say anything more right now. I assure you, though, the transaction will be completely legal.”
“I’d certainly hope so,” I said. “And my part in this transaction would be …?”
“I merely want someone competent and trustworthy at my side,” Smith said.
I nodded toward his fancy suit jacket. “It seems to me a man of your means should be able to hire carloads of extremely competent people.”
His lip twitched. “The competency part isn’t the trick,” he said. “And you come highly recommended.”
“Really,” I said, intrigued in spite of myself. There were very few people out there these days who would recommend me for any job higher than that of chief sewage handler. “May I ask by whom?”
He considered, then shrugged. “I suppose it’s not really a secret. Deputy UN Director Biret Losutu.”
I looked again at Bayta, saw my own surprise reflected in her eyes. “Interesting,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” Smith agreed. “Especially since I would have expected your part in the Yandro affair to have earned you a certain degree of hostility from him. You must be very special for his opinion to have turned around that completely.”
He had that right, anyway. My whistle-blowing on the Yandro affair three years ago had made me an enemy in Losutu’s eyes. A few months ago, when we’d next met, that status had eroded to the point where I merely qualified as an irritant.
But that was before Losutu himself had been dragged into this quiet war.
The fact that Smith had dropped Losutu’s name made this a shade more intriguing. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing whether or not he was telling the truth about Losutu having recommended me to him.
Even if he was, there was the whole question of whether I was willing to trust either of them. “You and Director Losutu are very kind,” I said. “But as I said, I’m otherwise engaged.” I picked up my fork, trusting Smith would take the hint.
He didn’t. “Mr. Compton, let me put my cards on the table,” he said, making no move to get up. “I postponed my trip to Bellis in hopes of linking up with you. In fact, I ended up staying on Terra Station for an extra six hours waiting for you to get back from wherever it was you were.”
I eyed him closely, the hairs at the back of my neck doing a gentle tingle. I had in fact been almost exactly six hours off my original timetable in returning to Terra Station, a timetable Losutu was very much aware of. That part, at least, checked out.
Problem was, Losutu wasn’t the only one who would have known the timing on that mission. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” I said.
“Oh, I wasn’t blaming you,” Smith hastened to assure me. “I was simply pointing out that the delay made the whole thing a bit more awkward. Especially since Losutu wouldn’t tell me where you were coming in from, but only when you were expected back. That meant I had to keep an eye on every incoming train.”
“You’re lucky you found me at all,” I said. If, of course, it had been luck.
“Yes, indeed.” He nodded to Bayta. “I’d just spotted you and your lovely companion and was on my way to talk to you when you got up and headed to the platform for this train. I was barely able to get a reservation in time to make it aboard myself.”
“You’re obviously a very lucky man,” I commented.
>
“In my experience, luck comes to those who don’t rely on it,” he said. “The point is that I want your help.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “And as you suggested earlier, money’s no object.”
There it was: the end point I’d been waiting for. Eventually, if you waited long enough, it always came down to money. “I’m sure it’s not,” I said. “But as I said, we’re busy.”
For a moment he studied my face. “May I at least ask you to think it over?” he said. “Feel free to drop by my compartment if you’d like more details.” He glanced around. “With more privacy, I can be a bit more open.”
“We’ll see,” I said noncommittally.
“Please do,” he said, finally standing up. “Compartment eleven. Drop in anytime.”
With another nod at Bayta, he returned his chair to the other table and made his way through the room to the corridor bordering the dining area. Turning left, he disappeared toward the first-class car in front of us and the compartment car beyond that. “His compartment’s right across from yours,” I commented to Bayta, finally slicing off a piece of pili. “Handy.”
“I wonder if that’s a coincidence,” she said, scooping up a bite of her own meal. “What do you think?”
“About Smith? Or about Smith’s offer?”
“Either. Both.”
I shrugged. “He personally is probably legit. His little transaction is more doubtful. Either way, it’s kind of irrelevant.”
“Why?” she countered. “If it is a genuine offer, it might be a good cover for us.”
I took another bite, mulling it over. She had a point. The Modhri homeland had been destroyed, but the Modhri himself was unfortunately still very much alive.
It was, without a doubt, the most bizarre enemy anyone had ever faced. The Modhri was technically a single entity, a group mind composed of the telepathically linked polyps that lived in the decorative and highly prized Modhran coral. He’d been created as a last-ditch weapon of the Shonkla-raa, a vicious race of conquerors, during the last stages of a revolt that had wiped them out sixteen hundred years ago.
