by Timothy Zahn
I know that …
I'd thought I'd been accepted into Bayta's inner circle. Apparently, I'd made it inside that circle a little farther than I'd realized.
"Bayta, this has nothing to do with you," I said quietly. "It's me."
"I know that," she said. "That's what has me worried. You've closed yourself off from people for so long that …well, it all just seems to be happening too fast. For anyone, but especially for you."
"And especially with someone like Penny?"
Her lip twitched. "I just don't want you to get hurt."
"Hurt is my middle name," I told her, trying to strike a little lighter note. "I can handle it." I stood up. "Come on."
"What are we going to do?" she asked, standing up, too.
"We start by getting the Lynx," I told her. "The fire should have burned down enough by now."
"What about Ms. Auslander and Mr. Morse?" she asked.
"Well, we can't just leave them here," I said reasonably. "Much as I'm tempted in Morse's case."
"So again, what are we going to do?"
"Whatever it takes," I said. "Come on. I want the Lynx in hand before Stafford gets back."
NINETEEN :
Fayr had said earlier that Ghonsilya was a relatively poor world, as these things went, with only a few of the utterly obscenely wealthy that formed the upper crust on many other planets. Still, the place clearly boasted at least a fair representation of the only moderately obscenely wealthy.
And judging from the crowd still flowing into the Magaraa City Art Museum's auditorium, it looked like every one of them had turned out for the auction.
I was seated in one of the aisle seats about three-quarters of the way back from the stage when Bayta returned from her reconnoiter and sat down beside me. "Anything?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I saw three Halkas, but they weren't the Modhri's soldiers. At least, they weren't either of the two we've met. You?"
"I've collected a lot of dirty looks for hogging the aisle seats," I told her. "Other than that, nothing."
She peered up over the heads of the people, mostly Tra'ho'seej, seated around us. "What if he doesn't come?"
"He will," I assured her. "The big question is what kind of backup he'll have with him."
"He doesn't want the local police authorities in on this," she reminded me.
"Unless he's brought in walkers high enough in the pecking order to keep the cops under control."
Abruptly, Bayta craned her neck upward a little. "Frank—that Tra'ho in the back of the room in the rider chair," she said. "Is that one of the oathlings from last night?"
I studied the distant alien face. "Could be," I said. "Especially in that chair. He's probably still having trouble with his balance."
"But he is now able to see," a gruff Halkan voice said from above me.
I looked up. It was Gargantua, standing in the aisle beside me, glaring intimidatingly down his bulldog snout at me. There was no sign of his sensor cane, so apparently his eyes had recovered, too. "There you are," I said conversationally. "How's it going?"
"You have the item?" he asked, ignoring the attempt at small talk.
"You have our friends?" I countered.
His eyes flicked to my jacket, then to the empty area beneath my chair. "Where is it?"
"Nice and safe and easy to get to," I assured him. "When we see our friends."
He studied my face a moment. "They await in a car out front."
"Good," I said. "Bring them here."
"You have my word they're unharmed."
"Glad to hear it," I said. "Bring them here anyway. The trade's going to happen in this room."
Gargantua's gaze lifted almost furtively to the crowd around us …and with a sudden and unexpected flicker of empathy I had a glimpse of just how vulnerable the Modhri truly was. His main body was composed of lumps of coral, helpless against a determined attack, while his only allies were co-opted beings who had no loyalty to either him or his cause, but who had to be literally forced to do his bidding.
The Modhri had been designed by the Shonkla-raa as a secret weapon, someone who would operate in the shadows. Now, with the truth of his existence out in the light, he was fighting not only for conquest, but for survival.
Ruthlessly, I crushed back the flicker of sympathy. Sympathy of any sort was a weakness the Modhri could turn to his advantage, exerting limited influence through telepathically planted thought viruses that traveled the lowered mental resistance lines that existed between friends and trusted associates.
Fortunately, unlike the irresistible control he had over his walkers, thought viruses could be successfully fought, provided you didn't let them get a foothold. "We're still waiting," I reminded him.
"They have arrived."
I turned around in my seat. Flanked by two more Tra'hok oathlings in rider chairs, Penny and Morse were standing in the back of the room. They were steady on their feet, looking around the room, and seemed to be all right.
Morse's scanning eyes found me. I raised my eyebrows in wordless question, got a subtle thumbs-up in wordless response.
"The Lynx." Gargantua said.
"Certainly." Turning back around, I nodded to the stage. "It's right there."
He looked that direction, the wrinkles in his snout deepening. "Where?"
"Right there," I said again, pointing. "Peeking out from behind that green and blue landscape painting. See it?"
He turned startled eyes on me. "You entered it in the auction?"
"You got it," I said. "Lot one hundred thirty-five, I believe. Afraid you're going to have to make an evening of it—late donation, you know. Anyway, the point is that all you need to do is wait for it to come up, buy it, and it's yours."
He looked back at the stage. "We agreed to a straight trade."
"I changed my mind," I said. "Mr. Stafford spent a lot of money coming here, and I thought he should at least get some of it back. Besides, it was your fault the museum was damaged. It's only right that you help pay to put it back together."
"I see," he said, sounding calmer. "Only half the monies collected go to the museum. How will the Human Stafford receive his share?"
"That's the best part," I said. "We'll have a couple of hours to get safely hidden away before you take possession, just in case you have something nasty up your sleeves—"
"I have given you my word."
"And as I said before, I've seen how well you keep it," I reminded him. "Meanwhile, the museum will hold our share until we're ready to come get it."
He cocked his head to the side. "Our share?"
"I'm charging a small commission for services rendered," I said. "Not that that's any of your concern. Do we have a deal?"
Gargantua looked at the Lynx again. "Take the other Humans and go," he said.
"Good," I said, standing up and motioning for Bayta to do the same. "See you around."
His eyes glittered. "Absolutely," he promised.
"What's going on?" Penny asked as Bayta and I reached her and Morse.
"We're getting out of here," I said, watching the two oathlings out of the corners of my eye as I took her arm. Neither was paying any attention to us. But then, I doubted either had the faintest idea that he was on guard duty. "Your luggage still back at the transport depot?"
Morse nodded. "The Halkas wouldn't let us go get it."
"Good enough," I said. "It can stay there until we're ready to leave the planet. Come on—your friend Daniels waiting."
"Her fiancé Daniel," Morse corrected pointedly as the four of us headed for the nearest exit.
I grimaced as I glanced sideways at Penny's profile. Out of sight, out of mind, and over the past day I'd almost been able to bury my feelings for her. Now, with her right here beside me. they were flooding back with a vengeance.
Even knowing how it was hurting Bayta, they were still flooding back with a vengeance. It was like high school all over again. "Whatever," I said to Morse. "Regardless, we need to make
tracks."
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"You'll see."
There was a line of autocabs pulled up beside the curb. We piled in and I gave the vehicle the address of the Artists' Paradise. "What about the Lynx?" Morse asked as we set off through the evening darkness.
"We're leaving it here," I told him.
"The hell we are," Morse bit out. "That's evidence in a grand theft case. Possibly also a homicide." "Sorry, but I made a deal," I said.
"With whom?" Morse countered. "The gang, or Stafford?"
"Pick one," I said. I'd also nearly forgotten how annoying Morse could be.
The autocab let us out at the Paradise's main entrance, and I led us inside. Halfway down the tunnel, I found that the five Tra'ho'seej juvenile delinquents had taken up their old posts. They seemed considerably more subdued than they'd been the previous night. "Evening," I greeted them. "I trust we're not going to have any trouble from you?"
[No,] the leader said, his ears twitching nervously. [But he's gone.]
"What?" I asked, letting my voice drop half an octave.
[He's gone,] the Tra'ho repeated, holding out a data chip. [He said to give you this.]
Wordlessly, I pulled out my reader and plugged in the chip.
The message was very brief. Compton: I can't wait this out. I thought I could, but I can't. You can have my share of the auction money—I just want out. See you when I see you.
It was signed Daniel S.
"Terrific," I growled, handing the reader to Morse and Penny. "Just terrific."
"He can't do this," Morse growled. "He's still under suspicion for grand theft."
"Maybe he doesn't realize that," I said.
"Or maybe he does," Morse shot back. "Maybe that's why he ran."
"He didn't even mention me," Penny murmured.
I looked at her, my heart aching in sympathy with the quiet pain in her voice. I wanted to tell her the truth, but of course I couldn't. "He didn't know you were here," I lied instead. "I never told him."
"Time stamp's only three hours ago," Morse pointed out, handing back the reader. "If he's headed for the spaceport, we might still be able to catch him."
"Worth a try," I said. "Let's see if our autocab's still there."
Unfortunately, it had already driven off. "Doesn't matter," I said. "The subway's not far."
I set off at a brisk walk. "Wait a minute," Penny said as she worked to keep up with me. "Shouldn't we call the spaceport first?"
"And say what?" I countered, pulling up the torchliner schedule on my reader. "We have no authority to ask them to hold him."
"I could start extradition proceedings," Morse offered, sounding doubtful. "But that would take time."
"Way too much time," I agreed. "Besides, the police may still be mad at me over that hotel incident. We'd do better to keep our heads down."
"I could try to call him," Penny offered. "I know his comm number."
"Except that the Halkas never gave us back our comms," Morse reminded her. "We'd have to find a public."
"No time for that now," I said, handing Morse my reader. "If I'm reading these schedules right, we're going to reach the spaceport with less than an hour to book passage on that torchliner and get ourselves aboard."
"We're leaving?" Penny asked. "We don't even know if Daniel's aboard."
"The next one doesn't leave until tomorrow," Morse told her as he flipped through the schedule. "Compton's right—he'll definitely be making for this one. But we should be able to book our staterooms on the way from one of the comms in the suborb."
"Good idea," I said. "Ms. Auslander can also try calling Mr. Stafford from there. The trick will be to catch the next suborb before it leaves. Otherwise, we won't make that liner."
"Then let's stop talking and hurry," Morse said.
Luck, and the express subway schedule, were with us. We made the depot with fifteen minutes to spare, grabbed our luggage and got tickets for the suborbital transport to Portline, and were soon arcing our way through the darkened Ghonsilya sky.
Penny insisted on trying to call Stafford before we did anything else. But there was no answer. Either his comm was off or else he'd lost it sometime during his residence at the Paradise. She tried a dozen times before reluctantly agreeing to stop long enough to call the torchliner station about booking passage. There were, as I'd expected, several staterooms still available, and her credit tab was healthy enough to reserve four of them for us. Brushing off Morse's promise to try to get ESS to reimburse her for at least his part of the fare, she resumed her efforts to get through to Stafford.
The flight took three hours, during which time we passed from the early evening of Magaraa City to the midafternoon of Portline. The torchliner was already in the middle of flight prep, but we had time to sign in and get settled before it lifted.
The staff was, of course, not at liberty to give out the names of other passengers. Morse suggested trying to tap into their computer, but since none of us knew what name Stafford was traveling under there wasn't much point in that. So instead, the four of us settled in to keep a close watch on the dining rooms and public areas. Sooner or later, he would have to come out of his stateroom.
Only he didn't. We were two days out when even Morse was forced to accept the conclusion that Stafford wasn't aboard.
"This is all your fault," Penny bit out, glaring at me across the dining-room table. "You're the one who said he'd be on this torchliner."
"You saw the message," I reminded her, fighting to stay professional about this. It wasn't easy, what with her anger and sense of betrayal hitting me like high-radiation solar wind. "What other assumption could we have made?"
"Maybe he decided at the last minute he didn't want to leave without his share of the auction money," Bayta offered.
"Or else he knew we would read his note and go charging off like a pack of idiots," Morse growled. He was clearly with Penny on the plan to drop all the blame for this into my lap. "He probably went to ground in Portline to wait for the next torchliner."
"So that we could be waiting for him when he reached the Tube?" I scoffed. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Maybe he thought we'd turn around and go charging back to Ghonsilya as soon as we hit the transfer station," Morse said. "Thereby being conveniently out of position when his actual torchliner came in."
"Only we won't be doing that, I take it?" I said.
"Bloody right we won't," he said firmly. "There's only one way out of this system, and that's through the transfer station. I'm prepared to set up camp there and wait all month if I have to."
"Well, best of luck to you," I said. "You want Bayta and me to escort Ms. Auslander back to Earth?"
"I'm not going back without Daniel," Penny said firmly. Her eyes softened a little as she looked at me. "You aren't going to leave us, are you?"
And with that, all three sets of eyes were on me: Penny's pleading, Morse's unfriendly, Bayta's merely watchful. "I guess we'll see," I said. It was a lame answer, but it was the best I could come up with.
Because I knew that by the time we reached the transfer station I very likely wouldn't have any choice as to whether I stayed or not.
TWENTY :
We reached the transfer station four days later, tying up at our dock ten minutes ahead of schedule. The disembarkation listing called for our particular grouping to exit about an hour after docking, and at Morse's suggestion we spent the time in the aft observation lounge, where we'd at least have a view of something besides the station hull.
I studied Penny's face as we sat there, wondering if she was thinking about what had happened between us the last time we were in one of these aft lounges together. But it was clear that her thoughts were on Stafford, with me running a distant second.
If I was even in the running at all. Whatever that kiss had meant to me, I was starting to suspect it had meant a great deal less to her.
The transfer station was busy today. Docked a safe distance away
from us was a small-capacity torchferry, presumably making its run from one of the asteroid mining regions scattered throughout this part of Ghonsilya's outer system. Farther down were a pair of the even smaller torchyachts, plus a third currently maneuvering away from the station at the low-power drive setting necessary to keep from frying everything within reach of its heavy-ion plasma exhaust. For a minor system, Ghonsilya seemed to have a lot of traffic.
Finally, the lounge's speaker called our disembarkation grouping. Gathering our luggage, we joined the line of passengers passing through the hatchways, walked down the entry corridor, and emerged in a large and crowded reception room. Fifty meters directly ahead I could see a row of customs tables with a line of passengers at each, with the doors into the main part of the transfer station just beyond them. A little ahead and to our right was a group of Tra'ho'seej I didn't recognize from our flight, possibly some of the passengers from the torchferry.
And eight people ahead of us and two lines to our left, freshly disembarked from their rented torchyacht, were Fayr and Stafford.
Stafford was in front, with five Tra'ho'seej and a Nemut between him and Fayr. He was wearing the same plain, nondescript clothing he'd had on at the Paradise, but at least he'd taken the time to get the outfit cleaned during the torchyacht trip. Fayr, in contrast, was resplendent in upper-class clothing, as befit a Bellido wearing four handguns in a matched set of double shoulder holsters.
Stafford had two carrybags rolling alongside him, plus a heavy-looking backpack. Fayr had a single carrybag—an expensive one, naturally—and a long, flat shoulder case for his Rontra 772.
I watched Penny and Morse as we settled into position in our own line, wondering if either of them would recognize Stafford. The odds were low, I knew. Only a little of the younger man's face was visible at our angle, even less with all that extra hair and beard obscuring it. Between the hair and the clothing, he looked more like a wilderness wanderer than a rich college student. Still, it was a concern, and I kept my eye on Morse and Penny in hopes of stifling any cry of recognition before it got started.
