The Third Lynx q-2

by Timothy Zahn

Which was probably why Stafford was nearly to his customs table before I spotted the Tra'ho oathling standing quietly among a group of armed guards in the far corner of the room.

  An oathling I'd last seen in Magaraa City outside the Fraklog-Oryo Hotel.

  I looked sideways at Bayta, found her looking tensely back at me. She'd obviously spotted him, too, probably before I had. Morse and Penny, in contrast, still seemed oblivious to this new threat.

  But then, he wasn't a threat to either of them.

  Stafford had moved up to the table and opened his backpack, revealing a strange half log, half sculpture hybrid that looked like that odd breed of rough-hewn folk art so dearly beloved by sentimental tourists. The customs agent was frowning as Stafford gestured and talked, most likely explaining it was kiln-fired clay and not real Ghonsilyan wood. The agent cut him off, peering at his sensor display, and gestured for the next bag to be put on the table. A minute later, with the procedure completed, Stafford packed up his last bag and strode off through the doors into the station. The customs agent beckoned, and the next Tra'ho in line moved up to the table.

  I looked back at the oathling. His eyes were still searching the crowd, having missed Stafford completely. Now all the kid had to do was get aboard one of the shuttles and get to the Tube before the balloon went up. Fortunately, with this much traffic the shuttles were likely to be running pretty continuously.

  And then, as I watched the oathling out of the corner of my eye, his drifting gaze abruptly locked on to my face.

  I forced myself to stand still, waiting tensely for him to sic the guards on me. But no cry was given, no signal passed. Apparently, the Modhri had decided to play it cool.

  And it suddenly occurred to me why. Back during our private parley in the art museum, I'd hinted that I had concealed weapons that the Spiders permitted me to carry aboard the Quadrail.

  I'd spun the story mainly to try to obscure Fayr's role in our rescue. But the Modhri had apparently taken the conversation seriously. He was therefore waiting to make his move until after I hit the customs tables, hoping their scanners would pick up any such weaponry and deprive me of it.

  Ahead, the Nemut directly in front of Fayr moved up for his turn under the microscope. "Morse?" I murmured.

  "What?" he said distractedly.

  "Whatever happens, make sure to get Bayta and Ms. Auslander to the Tube," I said. "Got that?"

  I had his full attention now. "What are you talking about?" he demanded quietly.

  "Just get them to safety," I said. I started to drift to the side.

  Morse caught my arm. "Don't even think about it," he warned. "Whatever it is."

  "We don't have a choice," I said. "See that oathling over there, the one with all the mobile firepower? He's looking for me."

  "What, over the hotel thing?" Morse scoffed.

  "No, over the fact that the Lynx I gave the art museum to auction off was a fake."

  Morse's grip tightened. "A what?"

  "One of Stafford's friends in the artists' colony sculpted it for me," I told him. "It was late enough in the auction schedule that the gang wouldn't have gotten hold of it and learned the truth until we were already off planet. Obviously, they lasered a message ahead."

  "So how did the oathling get here before we did?"

  "They probably sent him off right after Bayta and I gave the rest of you the slip," I said. "They would have wanted one of their own here as backstop in case I managed to get off Ghonsilya with the Lynx."

  "Are you saying you have it with you?"

  In answer, I nudged my larger carrybag with my foot.

  Morse hissed softy between his teeth. "This won't be easy."

  "No kidding," I said. "Just stay clear, wave your badge around if necessary, and get the women to the Tube."

  The Nemut sealed his last bag and strode off through the doors, and it was Fayr's turn. The customs agent was obviously familiar with Bellidos; even as Fayr stepped forward, he reached down and pulled a pair of Quadrail lockboxes from beneath the table, one for the handguns, the other for the Rontra in its case.

  Stepping out of line, I started toward the row of tables, walking with a determined but casual gait that I knew from experience tended to slow people's reactions. For a half-dozen steps no one even seemed to notice me, and for another two they remained frozen out of sheer puzzlement as to what I was doing. By the rime the oathling in the corner recovered from his own paralysis and snapped an order I was nearly there.

  And as the customs agent frowned, and the Tra'ho guards started forward, I took a final step to Fayr's side and plucked one of his handguns and a clip from the open lockbox on the table in front of him.

  The customs agent gave a startled screech and lunged toward me. But he was too late. Taking half a step back, I jammed the clip into the gun, chambered a round, and aimed the weapon at the oathling and his guards. "Hold it," I called.

  The whole room froze, no one speaking, no one twitching, and for that first few seconds possibly no one even breathing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Fayr shift his weight subtly—"You—Bellido," I growled, gesturing to him with my free hand. "Back away from the guns and you won't get hurt."

  Fayr caught the cue. "You have my status gun," he said stiffly.

  "Don't worry, it's not personal," I assured him. "Now, back off. You—over there," I added to the guards standing like a set of overwound springs beside the oathling. "Hands on your heads. No need for anyone to be a dead hero."

  Silently they complied. I was just reaching over to shut the lockbox with the rest of Fayr's guns when I heard the faint sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. I turned my head, wondering what Morse had in mind.

  But it wasn't Morse. "What are you doing?" Penny demanded as she ran toward me, her eyes wide with disbelief. A startled Morse, I saw peripherally, was in pursuit, but a crucial four steps too far back. "You mustn't—"

  There was no time to think. No time to do anything but what her action had forced on me. As she came within reach, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, shifting my left arm to wrap around her throat. "Play along," I muttered into her ear as she gasped with surprise and perhaps a little pain. "You hear me?"

  Whether she heard me or whether sheer disbelief finally succeeded in freezing her muscles, she went rigid. Lifting my gun hand over her shoulder, I peered around the side of her head.

  If I hadn't burned my bridges before, I had definitely dynamited them now. The Tra'hok culture might have a strong undercurrent of specism to it, but they drew a strange but solid line at females. Especially their own, but also those of other species. By taking a female hostage, I had just taken a giant step over that line.

  The entire crowd knew it. All around me, Tra'hok ears were twitching with anger and injured honor, and I had the feeling that we were one spark away from a full-fledged lynch mob.

  I focused on the oathling. He was as outraged as the rest of them, his eyes burning like he was trying to set me on fire through sheer willpower.

  But his Tra'hok sensibilities weren't alone behind those eyes. I waited, letting the Modhri mind segment think it through, hoping he would come to the same conclusion I'd already reached.

  In the deathly silence, the oathling stepped forward. [What do you do, Human?] he demanded. [What purpose have you?]

  "I want to get on the Quadrail and go my way," I told him. "That's all."

  [You have committed criminal acts.]

  "Only this one," I said. "And if I get to leave and don't hurt anyone, it won't count."

  It was a strained and completely implausible line of reasoning, of course. But I wasn't counting on reason to get me out of this.

  [Interesting logic you present,] the oathling said dryly, taking another step toward me. [Let us examine your claim. Have you murdered any Tra'ho'seej? Or committed Assault One?]

  "No, to both," I said. Fortunately for my presumed part in the sunburst grenade incident, Tra'hok law defined Assault One as an attack causing actual injury.
Dazzled eyes didn't count.

  [Theft?]

  Technically, I hadn't stolen anything that had ever belonged to a Tra'ho. "No."

  [Arson?] he continued, still coming toward me. No doubt he believed he was being very brave, approaching an armed and obviously unhinged alien this way. Distantly, I wondered what he would think if he knew his current behavior was coming from an alien mind that would sacrifice him in a second if he thought it would gain him anything.

  "No," I said.

  [Fraud?] he asked, his eyes glittering a little brighter. "Not against the Tra'hok people," I said.

  His ears pricked up at that one. [I'm told you offered a piece of counterfeit art for sale.]

  "Where it was bought by a Halka, not a Tra'ho," I pointed out. "Besides, since I never received any money for that sale, it was technically not fraud."

  He finished his walk in silence, stopping three meters in front of me. [Then you may leave this place in peace,] he said. [You will go aboard the Quadrail, and you will never again return to any world of the Tra'hok Unity.]

  "Understood," I said, and meant it. If we got out of this in one piece, I would willingly and gladly write off this entire region of space.

  The oathling drew himself up. [Then go.] he said. [I will serve as your shield and safe-conduct. You may release the female.]

  Released to his guards so she could be returned to bargaining-chip status? "The female comes with me," I said firmly. "But you're welcome to tag along if you want."

  For a long moment I thought he was going to cancel the deal right there. He looked at Penny, glanced sideways at the crowd, then looked back at me. [Very well,] he said. [A shuttle will be prepared to take you to the Tube.]

  "Good," I said. "Lead on."

  He started toward the doors behind the customs desks. "Just a second," I said. Keeping my eyes on him and the guards, I reached down and scooped up my larger carrybag, clutching it to my chest like a combination armored vest and medieval shield and leaving the other carrybag to continue rolling along at my side. "Wouldn't want this getting lost along the way," I explained. "Start walking."

  The wide corridors were deserted as we headed toward the shuttle docking stations. I wondered uneasily where all the people had gone until we passed the first restaurant and I saw the wide-eyed crowd huddled inside staring out at me. A line of station security was standing as a barrier between them and our three-person parade, their hands on their heads away from their weapons. Someone had made sure to clue them in on the rules.

  The same silent mob scene was repeated at every restaurant, bar, waiting room, and shop we passed. My own tension notched up a bit each time, wondering if and when the station personnel were going to make their move.

  But to my mild surprise, none of them did. The oathling, under urgent Modhri prodding, had apparently managed to convince, persuade, or threaten the station manager into letting me go without a struggle.

  "You take great risks," the oathling murmured as he walked stolidly beside Penny.

  I looked at him in surprise. It was the first time he'd spoken English. I hadn't even realized he knew the language.

  And then my brain caught up with me, and I belatedly recognized the subtle change in voice and face and body language. "It wasn't that big a risk," I told him. "You can't afford to have a fracas now."

  "What means fracas?"

  "A disturbance," I explained. "Like the kind of mob scene we left in there."

  Penny half turned around, frowning at me. "Frank?" she asked tentatively.

  "It's okay," I said. "Turns out he's part of the gang who's after the Lynx."

  She twisted her head around toward the oathling, the one eye I could see widening. "He's—?"

  "Relax," I soothed her. "For the moment, we all have the same goal. Namely, to get me out of here and onto the Quadrail."

  "I do not control station security, you see," the Modhri explained to her. "If they were allowed to take him, they would impound his effects. A routine inquiry would show the Lynx had been stolen, and it would be returned to Earth."

  "Putting him back at square one," I said. "Even worse, the guards could start shooting." I drummed my fingers on my carrybag. "That would pretty well end the hunt for good." I cocked an eyebrow at the oathling. "You really should have infiltrated the local law enforcement establishment better, you know."

  The oathling gave a strange catlike hiss. "Indeed," he conceded. "But there are other needs, and more urgent priorities. And this is such a small, useless world."

  "And playing the odds usually does work," I agreed. "Still, one never knows where the cards are going to be dealt, does one?"

  "True," the Modhri said. "Yet at the end of each hand the cards are always gathered and dealt anew."

  I grimaced. "True."

  "So they're letting us go?" Penny asked, grabbing on to the part of this she could understand.

  "Only temporarily," I said. "Like I said, he's playing the odds. In this case, he's hoping that on the Quadrail he'll have a better chance of stealing the Lynx from us."

  I saw Penny's throat muscles tighten. "Maybe it would be better if we did turn ourselves in."

  "Maybe better for you," I said. "Unfortunately, after that little drama it would hardly be better for me. Besides, the Quadrail has one big advantage over this place."

  "What's that?"

  I hefted Fayr's gun. "No weapons."

  The oathling looked sideways at me, an odd expression on his face. I was still wondering what that meant when it abruptly changed again. [I'm sorry,] he said, his voice also returning to normal as he shifted back to Seejlis. [My thoughts wandered. Were you speaking to me?]

  "Just rambling," I said. So a wandering mind was how the oathling had chosen to explain away this latest blank spot in his memory. A puppet on golden chains, and he didn't even know it.

  Damn the Modhri, anyway.

  The debarkation lounge the oathling led us to was as deserted as everywhere else we'd been since leaving the customs area. [There is your escape,] he said, pointing to the invitingly open hatchway.

  Way too invitingly, to my mind. "You first," I said, gesturing with my gun. "Don't get too far ahead of me."

  I'd expected the shuttle to be the standard Tra'hok passenger model, with ten rows of seats offering lots of cover to a determined assault team. To my surprise, it was instead a cargo version of the same ship, a single empty chamber lined with straps and anchor rings with literally nowhere for anyone to hide. "Nice," I commented as Penny and I stepped cautiously inside. "Okay, then. Let's get this show—"

  Without warning, the oathling turned and lunged.

  Reflexively, I twisted away, swinging the barrel of my gun toward the side of his head.

  But he wasn't going for me. Ducking under my wild blow, he grabbed Penny's upper arms and shoved her hard back through the hatchway. Even as I dropped my carrybag and dived after her, her gasp of surprise and pain was swallowed up by the slam of metal on metal as the hatch slammed closed.

  Cursing, I switched direction toward the hatch control. But again I was too late. With a multiple popping of released clamps, we were away from the station and into the vacuum of space.

  I turned back to the oathling, leveling my gun squarely between his eyes. "Go ahead," the Modhri voice said. "Shoot, if it will appease your anger and shame." He gave me an almost human smile. "I can afford to lose this one."

  With a supreme effort, I eased my forefinger back off the trigger. A puppet who doesn't even know it. "Clever," I bit out. "Passenger shuttle doors can't legally close that fast except in a decompression emergency. Hence, the cargo version."

  "I thought it would also soothe any fears of a trap," he said, gesturing around the empty compartment. "But don't be concerned. The Human female is in no danger."

  "Provided?"

  His eyes flicked to my carrybag. "Provided you now deliver to me what you promised."

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I countered, thinking furiously. This whol
e scheme depended on the Modhri thinking he knew where the Lynx was. Briefly, my thoughts flicked to Stafford, wondering if he'd made it across to the Tube yet or whether he was still stuck in one of the waiting rooms. "Okay, you got me," I told the Modhri. "You can have the Lynx." I cocked my head as if considering my options. "But not here."

  His ears twitched in a way I'd never seen a Tra'ho's ears move before. "Where, then?"

  "The Terra Quadrail Station," I told him. "My friends in the transfer station will be allowed to leave, and then we'll all travel together back to Human space. You can message ahead and have a walker waiting."

  For a long moment he gazed at me. "Very well," he said at last. "I can wait a little longer. But only a little longer," he added, his voice deepening. "And don't try anything clever. Remember, I'll be watching you the entire way."

  "Yes," I murmured. "I'll bet you will."

  A pair of drone Spiders were waiting for me when the shuttle's upper hatch opened, one of them plucking the gun from my hand without comment and tucking it in close beneath his silvery sphere as he and his companion strode off toward the stationmaster's office. I wasn't sure what happened to confiscated items; hopefully, Bayta could persuade them to put the weapon in a lockbox to be returned to Fayr later.

  His job of living shield completed, the oathling stayed aboard the shuttle for transport back to the transfer station. There was no need for him to stay; the Modhran colony inside him had already linked up with whatever mind segment of travelers happened to be in the Tube at the moment, transferring all the necessary information about me, the Lynx, and the exchange agreement.

  Nor was there any need for any of them to change their own travel plans in order to shadow me. When my train pulled in, the walkers aboard—be there one or twenty—would similarly be clued in on the situation. Someone would also probably send a message ahead on one of the Spiders' message cylinders, alerting Modhri mind segments down the line. Once the Modhri was alerted to something, you didn't have a hope of outflanking him.

  Not unless you were clever.

  Stafford had indeed made it across ahead of me. As per our arrangement, he was sitting in one of the clinger-plant-covered gazebos near the stationmaster's office, pretending to be engrossed in his reader. I took a seat fifty meters behind him, out of his line of sight, and settled in to wait for the others.