Night Train to Rigel

EIGHTEEN:

It was another four days back along the Grakla Spur to Jurskala, and for every minute of each of those days I fully expected the Modhri—or whatever was left of him—to make his move.

But the Quadrail made its stops, picked up and dropped off its passengers and moved on, and nothing happened. It was as if with the destruction of the homeland branch the other outposts and walkers had gone completely dormant.

Fayr didn’t believe it for a minute. “He’s planning something,” he declared two days into the trip as we pulled out of one of the Cimman stations on our way back toward Jurian space. “He surely won’t allow such an attack to succeed without at least an attempt at retribution.”

In principle, I agreed. Still, whatever desires for vengeance the Modhran remnant might be feeling, the fact was that we’d gotten out of the Sistarrko system about as fast as anyone could, and he was now up against the purely practical problem of coming up with a plan on the fly.

Of course, it wasn’t something he had to rush on. Even if Bayta was right about him not yet having infiltrated Earth and the Confederation, that still left damn few places where the walkers couldn’t get to us whenever they wanted to.

Still, while we continued to keep an eye over our shoulders, the four days ended up being completely uneventful. What the rest of the Bellidos back in second and third class did to fill the hours I never found out, but the three of us in first spent much of it listening to each other’s stories.

For Fayr, it had started several years earlier when the Belldic intelligence service had discovered secret dealings going on between the Spiders and the Tra’ho’sej. The Bellidos had investigated, eventually digging up a trail leading to the Modhra Binary and the discovery of some kind of influence emanating from it. The Tra’ho’sej themselves had been in the middle of setting up some kind of military operation when they suddenly and inexplicably abandoned it.

The Bellidos, now more than merely curious, had tried to pick up the operation. But instead of simply following their own leads, the heads of the investigation had made the fatal mistake of contacting their counterparts in the Tra’ho intelligence community in hopes of getting inside information. Naturally, they’d gone to the Tra’ho’sej with whom they had the closest professional and personal relationships, and Modhran thought-viruses had done the rest. In rapid succession the upper levels of Belldic intelligence had fallen to the silent invasion, followed by the military leaders who controlled them, followed by the political leaders to whom they all reported. For the Modhri, it was just one more conquest, one more potential threat that had been eliminated.

Or so he thought. What he hadn’t realized was that the Belldic intelligence service was a strongly compartmentalized organization, consisting of many independent groups that had for centuries maintained their own identities for historical reasons that were only vaguely remembered. Fayr had been in one of those groups, and as he and some of the others had noticed odd behavior and decisions from their superiors they had started a fact-finding mission of their own.

They’d also attempted to contact the Spiders. The Spiders hadn’t been very enthusiastic, apparently still smarting over their failure with the Tra’ho’sej. Still, they had given the group some logistical support, including the encryption system I’d seen Fayr use with his pulse laser communications aboard the Quadrail. The Bellidos had moved with careful deliberation, bringing spices and gourmet foods and high-end electronics to Sistarrko over a period of two years as they studied the situation, building up their network of trading partners and black market contacts in the system for the time when they would be ready to make their move. They’d also sent members of the team to the Modhran resort, who mingled with the rich and powerful and scouted out the battle zone.

Fortunately for them, many of the resort’s patrons were of the newly rich and powerful whom the Modhri hadn’t yet had a chance to infect, which meant the uninfected Bellidos didn’t completely stand out of the crowd. By the time Fayr launched Phase Two, the theft of the resort maintenance sub, the infiltrators had become so much a part of the general background that the Modhri apparently couldn’t even figure out which species had been responsible.

As for me, I’d caught Fayr’s attention on the very first leg of my Quadrail journey. He had taken a seat in the hybrid passenger/baggage car so that he could keep an eye on their final shipment of antique jewelry, and his suspicions had been aroused when the Spiders unceremoniously promoted everyone except me up to the next car. When he’d subsequently seen Bayta slip back there, then discovered the door to the car had been locked, his suspicions had turned to near-certainty. By the time we reached New Tigris and he saw us head straight up to first class, he had concluded that the Modhri had ferreted out his plot. When Bayta and I had disembarked at Kerfsis, he’d taken four of the group and followed, sending the rest of the team on ahead with the jewelry to make the final arrangements on Sistarrko. When we’d returned to the Quadrail in the company of a high Jurian official, he’d made sure to place his three commandos in the rear coach where they could alert him if I made any movement out of the Peerage car.

His theory had then done a screeching bootlegger reverse when he’d spotted the conductor slipping me that data chip in the first-class bar. That had quieted his fears that I was a Modhran walker, but now he was faced with the possibility that the Spiders were launching an operation of their own that could easily blunder into his plan and wreck them both. Rather than take that risk, he had me waylaid on my way back to the Peerage car and stuffed in the spice crate where I would hopefully be out of the way long enough for his team to finish their job.

It hadn’t worked, though, and from that point on we’d been rather informal and slightly problematic allies, right up to the moment when he’d eavesdropped on the conference room conversation via the remora transceiver still in my pocket and decided I was worth the risk of rescuing.

We also spent a lot of time going over the data chips his people had taken from the harvesting complex. There were three of them, all of a slightly non-standard size which only Bayta’s reader could accept. They were also copy-proofed, which meant we had to either take turns sifting through the numbers or else stare at them over each other’s shoulders.

None of the staring did us much good. The Halkas had been shipping out Modhran coral for nearly a hundred fifty years, though these particular records only went back the last ten of those. Even so, that turned out to be a lot of coral. Fayr, we now learned, had agreed to the data raid in the first place because he’d hoped there might be a way to identify the Belldic outpost and walker colonies. But there turned out to be so many transfers and middleman operations that we couldn’t even be sure where all the coral had gone, let alone who might have come in contact with it.

My reasons for wanting the data I kept to myself. There was no point in worrying the others until I was sure.

And so matters stood when we reached Jurskala. Again, I expected some sort of reception to be waiting. Again, the Modhri was apparently still a couple of steps behind us. If that held until we made it aboard our next Quadrail, maybe I could relax a little.

It was as we went to check the schedule that the secret I’d been carrying since the New Pallas Towers finally caught up with me.

“No,” Fayr said firmly, gesturing at the floating holodisplay. “Agreed, the Bellis Loop will take several extra days to bring you to your people. But it will depart from here in less than an hour, three hours earlier than the direct Quadrail to your own empire. Equally important, it will also permit us to stay together until we are clear of Jurian territory.”

“Only to take us straight through the Estates-General,” I pointed out, hoping he’d get the inference. There were several other beings crowding around the three of us, also checking the listings, and I didn’t want to make any overt references to the Modhri. “I’m not sure what this gains us.”

“The Juriani have had the problem for nearly a hundred years,” Bayta murmured from beside me. “The Bellidos have had it for less than ten.”

“I suppose,” I said, studying the schedule. Actually, the most important difference as far as I was concerned was the fact that the Bellis Loop Quadrail stopped at fewer Jurian stations along the way than the next train to the Confederation. The fewer the stops, the fewer the opportunities for any Modhran walkers to put something together against us.

From my other side came a tentative plucking at my sleeve. I turned, tensing, but it was only a slightly hunched-over middle-aged Human with white-flecked brown hair tied back in a short ponytail, muttonchop whiskers, and a rather bewildered expression as he blinked at the schedule. “Excuse me, sir,” he said in a quavering voice. “I can’t seem to locate my train. Could you possibly help me?”

“I can try,” I said. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t pronounce it,” he confessed, pressing a folded and dog-eared piece of paper into my hand. “Here’s the name.”

I opened the paper. But there wasn’t any station name written there, pronounceable or otherwise.

Tlexiss Café. Now. Mc.

I took a second, longer look at the man… and only then did I see past the whiskers and the slightly disheveled hair and the overall air of harmless helplessness.

It was Bruce McMicking, bodyguard and general trouble-shooter for multitrillionaire industrialist Larry Cecil Hardin.

My boss.

“It’s right there,” I said between suddenly dry lips as I pointed to a random line on the schedule. McMicking here… and Bayta stranding right beside me. This was not good. “Track Five in thirty-five minutes.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Plucking the paper out of my hand, he turned and made his uncertain way out through the other bystanders.

Fayr and Bayta were still waiting for my decision. “Fine, we’ll do the Loop,” I told them. “You two go make the reservations. I need to check on something—I’ll meet you at the platform in twenty minutes. Hang on to my carrybags, will you?”

I headed away before either of them could object, passing two of Fayr’s commandos on my way out of the crowd. One of them gave me a questioning gesture; I motioned for him to stay with Fayr and Bayta. If McMicking was here, there was a chance Hardin was, too, and I didn’t want even the Bellidos to see us together.

McMicking was about fifty meters ahead of me, walking with a sort of shuffling step that fit the rest of the persona he’d adopted for the occasion. I followed, keeping my distance, marveling again at the chameleonlike abilities of the man. I’d seen him in person three times now, and never did he look exactly the same twice. He changed his hair and beard like other people switched socks; whether he saw that as part of his job or whether it was some strange psychological quirk I didn’t know.

The Tlexiss Café was one of the half dozen restaurants serving the Jurskala Station. Unlike the others, it boasted an open-air section dressed up with trellises and arbors like something you’d find in a EuroUnion countryside. McMicking led the way between a pair of potted bushes, pausing just inside to wait for me to catch up.

“Compton,” he greeted me as I came up to him. The quavering uncertainty was gone from his voice and his manner as if they’d never been there. “Mr. Hardin would like a word with you.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound calm. So Hardin was here. Bracing myself, I stepped between the bushes and into the café.

It wasn’t a normal mealtime by the station’s clock, but eight of the twenty tables were nevertheless occupied by a variety of beings sipping or eating various drinks and foodstuffs. Seated at the far end beneath an arching latticework arbor laced with delicate purple vines and brilliant red and purple flowers was Larry Cecil Hardin.

Even by Earth’s perpetually starstruck standards, Hardin stood head and shoulders above the crowd. He’d started life as an inventor of high-end precision optics and optical switches, had taken up a business role in order to market his creations, and had managed to hit a couple of economic waves that had made him a more or less overnight billionaire. Never one for laurel-resting, he’d kept at it, and after another few business cycles and a few more small but timely inventions he hit the one trillion mark. After that, there’d been nowhere to go but up.

No one actually knew how rich he was, except possibly Hardin himself, and he wasn’t talking. But that didn’t stop the media from speculating on it. And Hardin played the game right back at them, inviting them in to see his planes and cars and antique motorcycles while at the same time playing it all very coy and modest.

The irony of it, at least for me, was that there were at least eight men and women in the Confederation who were richer than he was. But he was the one the media had latched onto, so he was the one everyone knew. A place like Jurskala Station, where humans were barely even noticed, let alone lionized, was probably an interesting change of pace for him.

Hardin was the sort who liked to get in the first word. Perversely I decided to beat him to it. “Mr. Hardin,” I said, nodding as I sat down uninvited across the table from him. “This is a pleasant surprise. How did you find me?”

Behind me, McMicking made a soft noise in the back of his throat. But Hardin didn’t even twitch. “There’s only one exit from the Grakla Spur,” he said calmly. “Once I knew you’d been there, it was a simple matter of having my people check all inbound Quadrails until you showed up.”

“Of course,” I said. “I hope you didn’t come all this way just for me.”

“I had other business to attend to,” he said, his eyes and voice cooling a few degrees. “Tell me, did you think I wouldn’t notice if you slipped off to a high-class resort for a few days?”

So he’d taken time out of his busy schedule to keep up-to-date track of the credit tag he’d given me. I’d been afraid of that. “That was business,” I said.

“My business?”

“Of course,” I said striving for snow-pure innocence. “What other business could I be on?”

“I don’t know,” he countered. “Maybe something having to do with that dead man at the curb the night you left?”

I looked up at McMicking, a piece clicking into place. “So that was you standing over the body as I was leaving,” I said.

He inclined his head in an affirmative. “You should have told me about that in advance,” he said. “It could have been handled much more quietly.”

“I didn’t know in advance,” I said, looking back at Hardin. “What, you think I killed him?”

“You tell me,” he invited. “All I know is that there seem to be an extraordinary number of dead bodies in your wake. First the kid in New York, then those two Halkas at the Kerfsis transfer station—”

“Those weren’t my fault, either,” I interrupted.

“Of course not,” he said. “And now I’m hearing reports of some sort of disturbance at that resort you were just at?”

I hesitated, wishing I knew exactly what those reports had said. Had they mentioned a pair of Humans, or just Fayr and his Bellidos? “That wasn’t really my fault, either,” I hedged.

“Of course not,” Hardin said. “You know, Compton, when I hired you I thought it was understood that you were to keep a low profile. Is this what you consider a low profile?”

I spread my hands, palms upward. “I know, and I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Sometimes things happen that are out of anyone’s control.”

Hardin exhaled heavily. “I’d like to believe that, Frank,” he said. “But the damage has already been done.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take that credit tag now, and all the equipment I gave you. I trust you can find your own way home?”

I stared at him. “You’re joking,” I said. “You came all the way out here just to fire me?”

“As I said, I have other business out this way,” Hardin said, his hand still outstretched. “Finding you was just an extra bonus. My credit tag?”

“I am making progress,” I insisted. Oddly enough, it was even true.

“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But I’m starting to wonder whether it is, in fact, the progress I hired you to make. You see, even while you’re running up bills at fancy resorts, I’ve noticed you’re not using my credit tag to pay for your Quadrail travel.”

I suppressed a grimace. I should have known he’d spot that, too. “I’d have thought you’d be pleased that I’d found a way to save you a little money.”

“What pleases me is to have someone who’s supposed to be in my pocket actually stay there,” he said. “When a person starts climbing out on his own, he gets assisted the rest of the way. My credit tag and equipment?”

I grimaced. But there was nothing for it. “Fine,” I said, fishing the credit tag out of my pocket. Ignoring his outstretched hand, I dropped it on the table between us, then added my watch, reader, and gimmicked data chips to the pile.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling everything to his side of the table. “Good day, Mr. Compton.”

For a long moment I considered pressing my case. I still needed all those items, especially the credit tag. And though Hardin had no way of knowing it, I could guarantee he would never, ever find another investigator with my current qualifications.

But I knew it would be just so much wasted breath. And in the meantime, I had more important things to worry about than my professional pride. Standing up, I turned my back on him and headed back across the cafe, trying not to think about the long and expensive torchliner trip from Terra Station to Earth that I no longer had the funds to pay for. Maybe I’d wind up going to the Bellidosh Estates-General with Fayr, after all.

I was nearly to the café exit when I discovered McMicking was still at my side. “What do you want?” I growled.

“Just escorting you back to your platform,” he said mildly. “Why? Don’t you like my company?”

I didn’t, but since he already knew that there wasn’t much point in saying so. “He’s making a mistake, you know,” I said instead, trying one last time.

“That’s possible,” he agreed. “Happens to all of us. Speaking of mistakes, you haven’t been kicking dust at the Halkan Peerage lately, have you?”

I looked sideways at him. “Why do you say that?”

“No reason,” he said. “I’ve just been noticing there are a lot of Halkas out here in those three-colored robes the Peerage always wears.”

“Really,” I said, my throat tightening. I’d been assuming that if the Modhri wanted to make a move, he would use the local Juriani to do it. It had never occurred to me that he might nudge a group of Halkas into coming down to Jurskala for the occasion. “Maybe it’s a convention.”

“Or not,” he said, and I could feel his eyes on me. People like McMicking had a keen sense of atmosphere, and he was clearly picking up my sudden tension. “I count at least five different color combinations, with five to ten Halkas in each group. This have anything to do with that resort incident Mr. Hardin mentioned?”

“Could be,” I conceded, craning my neck over the crowd. I could see Bayta and Fayr ahead at our platform now, both of them looking around for me.

And McMicking was right. There were a lot of Halkan Peers here. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I told him. “I can make it the rest of the way on my own.”

“It’s no problem,” he assured me.

“It is for me,” I countered tartly. “I don’t want my friends to see us together.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing smile. “Of course not.”

“And if you’re smart,” I added, “you’ll get Mr. Hardin out of sight and onto the next train back to Earth.”

The smile faded. “Just what kind of trouble are you in?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing that concerns you anymore,” I said. “Now get out of here. I mean it.”

He held my eyes a half second longer. Then, with a curt nod, he turned and melted back into the crowd. Trying to watch all directions at once, I made my way to the platform.

“There you are,” Bayta said, her tone halfway between relieved and accusing as I came up beside them. “Where have you been?”

“Scouting the territory,” I said. “We’ve got a problem. The entire Halkan Peerage seems to have come by to see us off.”

Fayr’s eyes flicked over my shoulder, and I saw his whiskers stiffen. “Any ideas?” he murmured.

“I suggest we take the next Quadrail as planned,” I said. “They can’t all get tickets before it arrives.”

“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “It will be as safe as we’re likely to get.”

His eyes met mine, flicked to Bayta and then back to me. “Agreed,” I said, giving him a microscopic nod in return. Two warriors, taught from the same handbook, understanding each other. “Let’s do it.”