The Third Lynx q-2

by Timothy Zahn

  The air was bitterly cold, typical of arid regions with little ground and atmospheric water to hold heat. The sky was clear and the stars shone brilliantly down on us.

  I particularly noticed the stars, as much of my attention was focused on the sky and any telltale occultations that might indicate curious aircraft nosing around. But I didn't spot anything, and in retrospect I decided that was as it should be. The Modhri wouldn't want to attract unwelcome curiosity by putting up nighttime sentry aircraft over a supposedly innocent archaeological dig.

  An hour's walk brought us to the Ten Mesas area and the base of the mesa I'd chosen for our climb. Penny had assured us that the upward slope wouldn't be difficult, but looking at it from below in the dark it certainly looked daunting enough. But I needed to get in, and this was probably the simplest way.

  Besides that, Penny was already striding briskly up the black rock, Stafford and Bayta right behind her. Taking a deep breath, deciding I hated this, I headed up after them.

  The slope was every bit as challenging as I'd guessed it would be, and if I'd had any knee trouble at all I probably wouldn't have made it. As it was, we were all puffing to one degree or another by the time the slope began to level off onto the top of the mesa. Here the required level of physical exertion was much lower, but on the minus side much of the upper mesa surface was covered by the same waist-high grass we'd already encountered below. It was easy enough to push through, but because we couldn't see the ground below us we now had to pick our way carefully lest we twist an ankle on a hidden dip or pit or rock.

  Once again, I kept an eye out for sentries. Once again, I didn't spot any.

  The sky to the east was starting to show a faint reddish glow when we reached the northern end of the mesa.

  "Yes, that's exactly what I was talking about," I commented in a low voice as we stood facing the Spike. It looked just the way the pictures had showed it: a sudden upward sweep of the mesa's surface into a steep-sloped, more or less pointed formation towering ten meters above us. At the same time, the sides of the mesa on either side of us also rose sharply, leaving us in a sort of natural cul-de-sac.

  "No problem," Penny assured me, digging a coil of rope from her backpack. "We'll anchor the rope here and toss the coil over the lip around the side of the Spike. Its own weight, plus the friction of the rock up there, ought to give enough counterbalance for me to get to the lip. Once I'm there I'll anchor it, we'll all climb up, then we'll rappel down the other side."

  To me it seemed more likely we would simply slice the rope in half on the edge of the lip. But Penny was already tying one end of the rope to a rock outcropping below the Spike. I checked my watch and peered across the wasteland at the easternmost of the mesas perhaps two kilometers away, its own Spike silhouetted against the increasing glow of the approaching sunrise like the prow of an ancient Viking dragon ship. Digging out the thick leather gloves Penny had bought with the rest of our climbing supplies, I pulled them on.

  She finished securing the rope and heaved the coil up and over into the darkness. With one hand on the rope and the other searching out crevices and protrusions on the rock face itself, she started up.

  I held my breath, but she made it without falling. "Okay," she called softly as she crouched down and got a grip on the rope. "Bayta?"

  Bayta started forward, but I touched her shoulder and shook my head. "I'll go," I said. Getting a grip on the rope, I started up.

  I made it to the top, to find that the razor-edged ridge I'd envisioned was instead a narrow but relatively flat shelf with plenty of room to stand or sit. Climbing up beside Penny, I eased a careful look over the other side.

  That side, unfortunately, was every bit as dizzying as I'd expected it to be. It was nearly as sheer as a skyscraper wall, dropping sixty meters to the ground below. With an effort, I forced my mind and eyes away from the cliff and focused my attention instead on the archaeological dig spread out before me.

  Even knowing what was at stake, I was surprised at the size of the operation. The glow in the east wasn't yet strong enough to shine any real light down there, but I could see the firefly glow of hundreds of small guide lights, some marking pathways across the area, others delineating the edges of pits or marking other hazards. In their faint reflected light I could see at least fifty tents of different sizes, plus the unmistakable shapes of a dozen portable sanitation facilities. There were vehicles, too: aircars and trucks, water and fuel tankers, and something that was probably a portable kitchen setup. Clearly, the Modhri was pulling out all the stops.

  "I'll go first," Penny murmured beside me, starting to fasten the rope into her rappelling harness. "I'll tug the rope three times when I'm ready."

  I took a careful breath. "That's okay," I told her. "I'll go first."

  "It'll be easier for you if I'm down there belaying the other end."

  "I'm the one in charge," I reminded her. "If there are any surprises waiting down there. I should be the one to find them."

  I couldn't see her expression in the darkness, but I fancied I could perhaps sense a little new respect. "Okay," she said. "Let me help you with your harness."

  A minute later I was ready. "Remember, three tugs," she said, giving the harness's rope channel one final check. "Then if you don't mind belaying it, it'll be easier for Bayta and Daniel."

  "Got it," I said. "Don't panic if I don't tug right away—I'll want to check out the area a little first." Giving her an encouraging smile—a waste of effort since she couldn't see my expression any more than I could see hers—I got a grip on the rope, leaned backward, and fell off the edge of the cliff.

  It was as bad as I'd expected. All my acrophobic feelings came rushing back as the wind swept past me and my feet bounced off the rock face like a vertical kangaroo in full emergency reverse. I could hear the faint and only marginally reassuring hiss of my harness feeding the rope through the channel exactly the way it was supposed to, and could feel the sliding of the rope on my palms even through the leather gloves.

  And then, abruptly, it was over. The harness kicked into deceleration mode and slowed me to an almost gentle landing on the rocky ground. Helping myself to a few lungfuls of fresh air, I freed the rope from my harness and took a quick look around.

  The terrain was basically the same as it had been on the other side of the mesa: rocks, stands of tall grass, no trees to speak of. More to the immediate point, the nearest of the tents was a good thirty meters away, and there was no one wandering around that I could see or hear.

  Pulling out the comm I'd gimmicked during the flight, I plugged in its battery pack and I keyed in the code I'd set up. Making sure it was working properly, I slipped it back into my pocket. Then, removing my right glove, I snugged the kwi into position against my palm, adjusted it to its highest pain setting, and pulled the glove back over it. The weapon's bulk pushed rather blatantly against the leather, but if I kept my hand curved and at my side it shouldn't be too noticeable, especially not in this light. Given that the thing apparently worked just fine through the victim's clothing, I didn't expect the glove to impede it any. Then, wrapping the rope around my right forearm, I gave it three sharp tugs. Eyes turned cautiously upward so that I could move out of the way before I got landed on, I braced myself.

  A few minutes later we were all down. None of the others, as near as I could tell, had had nearly as traumatic a time of the experience as I had. "What now?" Stafford whispered.

  "We find the trophy room," I whispered back. The sky, I noted, had brightened considerably during this last stage of our trek. Most of the dimmer stars were already gone, and the predawn glow was hard at work engulfing the rest. "Should be one of the larger tents toward the middle of the camp. Keep it quiet—the walkers could start waking up anytime now."

  We set off in single file, me in front, Stafford and Penny behind me, Bayta bringing up the rear. The rocky ground didn't lend itself to silent travel, but with me trying to pick out the best route and the others trying to stay
in my footsteps it wasn't too bad. Fortunately, at this hour it shouldn't be unreasonable for an early riser or two to be up and about.

  Of course, that misconception would only fool anyone if the site included nonwalkers who'd been pressed into digging duty. If the entire site was nothing but a single Modhran mind segment, the sound of extra footsteps in the camp would damn us instantly as intruders.

  But we passed the outer lines of tents and equipment without incident. Directly ahead, nestled into the middle of the encampment as I'd predicted, were a pair of large tents that were obviously more than simple residences.

  We were still fifty meters away when I heard a sharp intake of air from behind me. "Oh, no," Stafford murmured.

  I turned sharply, opening my mouth to remind him to keep quiet.

  The warning wasn't necessary. It was also too late. Standing at the doorways of each of the tents we'd already passed were three or four beings in rough work clothing, all of them standing stiff and silent.

  The Modhri had us.

  TWENTY-FIVE :

  I stopped, the other three following suit. "Good morning, Modhri," I called cheerfully. "You're an early riser."

  For a moment nothing happened. Then, in typically perfect unison, the walkers in front of the tents started toward us. As they did so, more began to file out of the tents behind them.

  It was like a reunion of first-class Quadrail passengers, except in grubbier clothing. Virtually every species in the Twelve Empires was represented, from Bellidos and Juriani to Pirks and Shorshians. The largest percentage were Nemuti, hardly surprising given we were in their territory. I didn't spot any Humans in the crowd, but decided not to feel insulted by our lack of inclusion.

  "So you didn't take that torchyacht to Laarmiten after all."

  I turned around again. Now that the trap was sprung, the sleeping tents on the far side of the camp were also disgorging their complement of walkers. Striding toward me at their head was a familiar figure: Gargantua. "You didn't stay on your torchliner, either," I reminded him. "I think that makes us even."

  He continued on toward me in silence. So did the rest of the crowd. I could hear Penny's rapid, frightened breathing behind me, as well as some tense and venomous-sounding French mutterings from Stafford. Bayta, in contrast, was as watchfully silent as the walkers.

  The crowd formed themselves into a ring about ten meters away from us. Gargantua continued into the circle, stopping a few steps in front of me. The light was now strong enough for me to see his expression, which to my mild surprise looked more bemused than angry. "You're a remarkable being, Frank Compton," he said at last. "You're like no opponent I've ever faced."

  "That's only because you usually absorb your enemies before they're really up to speed as to who and what they're up against," I said. "If you gave us a level playing field, I think you'd find a lot of us able to give you a good run for your money."

  He hissed. "Enough of a reason in itself for me not to provide such a level field. Tell me, what did you hope to accomplish here?"

  "Oh, come now," I chided. "I can put two and two together as well as the next man." I raised my eyebrows. "Or should I say, I can put three and three together?"

  Up until that point I hadn't been a hundred percent sure that the Chahwyn's guess about the Nemuti sculptures had been correct. But the subtle darkening of Gargantua's expression more than filled in the uncertainty. The sculptures were indeed the Shonkla-raa weapons the Chahwyn had described.

  "As I said," Gargantua murmured. "A remarkable being. Where is the fifth member of your group?"

  I looked around as if I hadn't realized until then that Morse was missing. "Huh," I said, turning back to Gargantua. "He was just here a minute ago. Must have lost him somewhere along the way. Don't worry—I'm sure you'll find him again soon enough."

  "You think to prepare an ambush against me?" Gargantua demanded.

  "You can pass on the games," Stafford put in. "We know he's one of you."

  A hint of a frown crossed Gargantua's face. "An interesting thought," he said. "I must consider adding him to my Eyes when the rest of you have been dealt with."

  "What do you mean, dealt with?" Penny asked tightly.

  "The Human Compton has left me very few options," Gargantua said. "You cannot simply be added to my Eyes—you would hardly be unaware of my presence within your bodies. Nor can you be allowed to leave here untouched."

  "Which I gather leaves just one option," I said. "You propose to turn us into your Arms." I pointed at Gargantua. "Like that one."

  Gargantua nodded. "You are correct."

  "What's he talking about?" Penny breathed. She was standing very close behind me now, close enough for me to hear her teeth chattering with fright.

  "He's talking about a permanent takeover of your body," I told her, looking casually around the silent circle around us. There were probably two hundred walkers present. "Like he has with the rest of these fine citizens."

  "Hardly," the Modhri said. "Most here are Eyes, not Arms. And I intend for them to remain so."

  "That'll be a good trick," Stafford muttered.

  "Not at all," the Modhri assured him. "Fortunately, your appearance is at an hour when they will be able to surmise afterward that they were still asleep."

  "Interesting how important self-deception is when you're part of the Modhri's army," I said. "So how many Arms do you have here?"

  "Why do you ask?" the Modhri countered.

  "Simple curiosity," I said. "Part of what makes us Humans the remarkable beings that we are."

  "I have twelve Arms present," Gargantua said, eyeing me closely.

  "Which ones?"

  Gargantua smiled faintly. "Begin trouble, and you will find out."

  "Did Rafael Künstler create trouble?" I asked. "Is that why you beat him to death?"

  "He promised to bring the Lynx," the Modhri said, his voice darkening with the memory. "But when I queried him aboard the Quadrail he admitted that he had lied, that he had come to Bellis hoping instead to buy it from me."

  "And if you weren't willing to sell, he was hoping to blackmail you into it?" I suggested. "After all, you were in possession of stolen property."

  "He did make some such threats," the Modhri said. "I wasn't concerned."

  "Certainly not with all those armed soldiers between him and the transfer station," I said as that part finally clicked. "I presume that was why you had them there, anyway. You figured Künstler would arrive with a full security team of his own and wanted to be ready for any surprises."

  "I thought he might choose to secure the Lynx in a Quadrail lockbox instead of carrying it aboard with him." Gargantua smiled thinly. "An idea you yourself later took advantage of. If he had done so, I wouldn't have been able to obtain it until he arrived at the transfer station, where his presumed guards would have access to their own weapons. I thought it prudent to be prepared with a superior show of force."

  "You still shouldn't have killed him."

  Gargantua's eyes flicked pointedly across me and the others. "In retrospect, I agree," he said. "But the error will be fixed soon enough."

  "Not necessarily," I said. The Modhri had implied earlier that Morse wasn't one of his walkers. It might be interesting to see just how far he was willing to go with that game. "There's still Mr. Morse to consider."

  Gargantua gave me another tight smile. "Do you really think he can elude me?" Abruptly his expression changed, and as it did so a pair of Nemuti detached themselves from the crowd and came toward me. "No—I see now," Gargantua continued. "Remain where you are."

  "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," I assured him, lifting my arms slightly away from my sides to make the search easier.

  The Nemuti found the comm, of course, on the second pocket they tried. "A foolish trick, Human," Gargantua said as one of the Nemuti punched the off switch and put it away in his own pocket.

  "Just a high-tech version of the same trick you used on Künstler's estate after the robbery att
empt," I reminded him.

  "Which also didn't work, did it?" the Modhri countered.

  "No, I suppose not," I agreed. "But in the end, you got what you wanted." I lifted my left hand and pointed toward the two big tents behind him. "Speaking of which, I don't suppose we could have a look at your prize."

  "Why not?" the Modhri said. There was a ripple from one of the big tents' flaps, and another Halka appeared, a white and vaguely rifle-shaped object cradled in his arms. As he stopped just beyond the circle of walkers, I got a close enough look at his face to see that he was the other soldier from Gargantua's original foursome, the one who had killed Penny's friend Pyotr. "I presume you'd also like to see how it operates?" the Modhri offered.

  Behind me, Penny caught her breath. "Relax—he doesn't mean on us," I told her. "We're more valuable to him still breathing."

  "I won't let them do it," she said, her voice trembling but defiant. "Not to me."

  "You won't have a choice," Gargantua said. Behind him, the other Halka lifted the white weapon to his shoulder, aimed at a rock spine fifty meters away, and fired.

  It was like nothing else I'd ever seen. The green flash that burst from the weapon's business end was definitely energy—the way it erupted silently and without a whisper of recoil showed that much. But at the same time, there was also a strange sense of flowing liquid to it, like the blazing fluid from a flamethrower, as well as the very unlaserlike way the beam or flow or whatever fanned out from the muzzle.

  But if there was a question about its nature, there was no doubt whatsoever about its effect. The green flow sizzled into the spine, shattering it with a crackling thunder crack that sent bits of rock flying across the landscape.