The Third Lynx

by Timothy Zahn

  “Yes, I remember,” I said. “Let’s hope life doesn’t end up imitating art. Anyway, once a walker comes forward I’ll tell him about the change in plans.”

  “What if he can’t get the message to the walkers holding Ms. Auslander in time?” Morse asked. “Or what if the Modhri doesn’t go for it? He’s bound to be suspicious about you resetting the rendezvous for the system where he’s collecting the rest of the sculptures.”

  “That’s his problem,” I said. “Both are his problem, actually. If he wants the Lynx badly enough, he’ll just have to play by our rules.”

  “Or else write up a set of his own,” Morse warned. “The thing with you and the coral back there looks suspiciously like a recruitment effort.”

  “He’s tried to get me to touch coral before,” I said. “I’m not worried about it.”

  “Maybe you should be,” Morse said, standing up. “Anyway, conspiracy stories make me thirsty. Join me?”

  “Maybe later,” I told him. “Bayta and I first need to discuss some of the details of the Laarmiten plan.”

  “And to talk about me, no doubt,” Morse said, smiling slightly. “Fine. I’ll be in the bar or my seat if you need me.”

  With a nod to each of us, he left the compartment. “He’s right, you know,” Bayta told me. “Maybe you should be concerned.”

  “What, about the Modhri sleepwalking me to the baggage car?” I shook my head. “That was never about me touching the coral.”

  “Mr. Morse seems to think it was.”

  “Mr. Morse is wrong,” I said flatly. “He said himself that I was just standing there staring at the crates when he snapped me awake. I hadn’t even gone for my multitool yet to try to open one of them. And when I did, I could barely get a corner of the lid open. I’d have had to cut the safety webbing and pull down a crate full of water and coral, and I know I wouldn’t have stayed asleep through all that. No, I think all the Modhri wanted was for me to know what was in there.”

  “But why?” Bayta asked. “Was it a threat? A warning?”

  “Neither,” I said grimly. “I think he was offering me a trade.”

  “A trade?”

  “You see, I now have two choices,” I said. “I can go to Laarmiten and make the exchange for Ms. Auslander, with whatever scheme he suspects I’ve got lurking up my sleeve. Or I can leave that task to Stafford and Morse, played straight with no tricks, while I follow this colony to wherever he’s sending it.”

  “Why would we want to follow the coral?”

  “Because moving this much coral at once implies it’s going somewhere important,” I said. “It’s possible he’s started some new campaign and decided he needs a bigger baseline presence there.”

  Bayta was silent a moment. “We know where the crates are headed,” she said slowly. “We could stay with Mr. Stafford and send word ahead to the Spiders to watch the crates. They could let us know whether they leave the Tube and go into the system or whether they’re transferred onto a different Quadrail.”

  “Actually, we don’t know where they’re headed,” I said. “That’s the point. All we know is what their current labels say. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to stop the Modhri from sending a team of walkers back there the minute we’re off this train and changing the labels, maybe even moving the crates somewhere else in the car. No, if we want to see where the coral’s heading, we’ll have to sit on it the whole way.”

  “So what do we do?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think we’ve got a choice,” I said. “Finding out where they’re moving this outpost would certainly be interesting. But if the Modhri’s got a trick of his own up his sleeves I don’t want to be the one to tell Stafford that his girlfriend has slipped through our fingers again.”

  “His fiancée.”

  “Whatever.” I glanced at my watch. “I need to find Fayr and bounce this latest change of plans off him. Any idea where he’s sitting?”

  Bayta shook her head. “Second class somewhere,” she said. “I didn’t spot him when I was heading back to third to get you.”

  “He’s probably changed his facial stripe pattern again,” I said, standing up. “I’ll find him.”

  “There is one other possibility,” Bayta said from behind me as I turned toward the door. “Instead of starting a new campaign, it could be the Modhri has found a new prospective homeland and is starting to move his coral there.”

  “That’s definitely a possibility,” I agreed.

  “I just wanted to make sure you understood the full implications here,” she said.

  I turned back to face her. “Are you suggesting we just throw Penny to the wolves?” I asked.

  Her lip twitched. “I’m still wondering how your feelings for her might be affecting your judgment.”

  Somehow, I’d never noticed before how much quiet pain there was behind her eyes when she talked about Penny. It sent a ripple of guilt through me. “Any feelings I might or might not have for Ms. Auslander have nothing to do with my decision,” I said. “Okay?”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so,” I said. “I’ll be back later.”

  I headed out into the corridor, some lingering guilt and shame heading out with me.

  Because I’d lied to her. My feelings for Penny did indeed have a lot to do with the new plan.

  In fact, in a way, they had everything to do with it.

  The next two and a half days went by slowly. Stafford and Bayta stayed mostly in their compartments, while Morse and I suffered, mostly in silence, through the boisterous company of our first-class car. I could tell that Morse was now looking at our traveling companions with wary eyes, wondering which of them might be Modhri walkers.

  If he believed my story, that is. The other possibility was that he was simply wondering which of his fellow passengers he might be able to call on for assistance if and when the time came for pinning me to the floor and fitting me with a straightjacket.

  I didn’t see Fayr at all after that single talk with him. Presumably he was having a fine time of his own back in second class. Though of course not quite as good a time as the first-class crowd was having.

  I did have a couple of long conversations with Stafford in the privacy of his stateroom. He still blamed me for losing his fiancée at the Ghonsilya transfer station, and in general didn’t seem to like me very much. Fortunately, he seemed able to put those feelings aside while we discussed possible strategies for getting her back. If Künstler had been grooming him to take over his business empire, I reflected, he’d chosen his successor well.

  As for the Modhri, whatever mind segment he had aboard stayed quiet and kept to himself.

  Trivsdal, like Homshil, was a node station where several Quadrail lines came together, and as Bayta, Morse, Stafford, and I trooped off the train we found ourselves amid a teeming crowd of interstellar travelers. “What now?” Stafford asked as we found a relatively safe corner off the main walkway beside a waist-high planter filled with aromatic flowers.

  “Bayta will go and get our tickets,” I said. “You and Agent Morse will stay here and watch the luggage.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to look around,” I told him. “We’ve got three hours before the next Claremiado Loop train, and it’s possible Ms. Auslander and her escort will arrive here before then.”

  “If she does, we’ll do the trade here,” Stafford said firmly, sliding his backpack off his shoulder and onto the ground. “Frankly, I think this new plan of yours stinks. There’s no reason for all of us to go all the way to Laarmiten.”

  “Objection noted,” I said. “And we do the trade where I say we do it. Watch the luggage closely.”

  “Don’t worry, we will,” Morse assured me.

  I made my way into the crowd, watching for the fancy or official clothing that was most likely to mark Modhran walkers. Two platforms away I spotted a pair of Halkas dressed in their Peerage’s distinctive tricolor layered robes and headed over. “Message for
the Modhri,” I murmured as I walked past them. “Message for the Modhri.”

  Neither of them so much as looked at me. Shifting direction, I made my way toward a group of well-dressed Juriani a dozen meters away. “Message for the Modhri,” I murmured again. “Message for the—”

  I broke off as a sudden hoarse cheer came from behind me. I spun around just in time to see a group of Shorshians hoist a flailing and clearly protesting Morse and Stafford up onto their shoulders and march off in an impromptu parade across the station.

  I hurried toward them, dodging between and around the other passengers, many of whom had paused to watch the spectacle. But the Shorshians were moving briskly, and by the time I reached the planter where I’d left them the whole crowd had traveled another twenty meters onward.

  And all our luggage had disappeared.

  “The Shorshians do so love a parade,” a voice said from beside me.

  I turned. It was one of the two Halkas I’d tried my telegram-boy routine with a few minutes earlier. Only now his eyes and expression were those of the Modhri. “Nicely done,” I complimented him. “How’d you get that many walkers here so quickly?”

  “Oh, only two are my Eyes,” the Modhri said, nodding toward the procession. “The others are merely bystanders caught up in the excitement of the moment.”

  “Leaving the rest of your walkers to make off with our luggage,” I said. The Shorshians had finished their tribute now and were lowering Morse and Stafford back to the floor. “What exactly was this moment of excitement, if I may ask?”

  “You may,” the Modhri said magnanimously. “An elderly Shorshian walking stiffly with a cane dropped his ticket. One of your fellow Humans reached down and picked it up for him.”

  “A simple thank-you would have been sufficient.”

  He shrugged. “As I say, Shorshians enjoy a parade.”

  “So I see,” I said, watching Stafford and Morse trying to force their way through the still lingering crowd of onlookers. Clearly, both of them knew a setup when they’d been caught in the middle of it. “So much for you keeping your word.”

  “The Human female will be delivered to you here once my Eyes have left with the Lynx,” he assured me. “I have no further need of her.”

  “Actually, you might as well have her delivered to Laarmiten,” I said. “That’s where we’re going next.”

  I turned to find the Halka staring hard at me. “Laarmiten?” he asked almost casually.

  “Regional capital of the Nemuti FarReach,” I said helpfully. “Population eight hundred million, major exports foodstuffs, gemstones—”

  “I know of it,” he interrupted. “The Lynx is not in your carrybags.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Apparently, his walkers had finished their search of the stolen carrybags. “That’s right,” I confirmed anyway. “Never was, actually. I trust you’ll be returning the luggage to us, by the way. It’s four more days to Laarmiten and a couple of changes of clothing would be nice to have.”

  “We were to make the exchange at Terra Station,” the Modhri reminded me.

  “And I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “Now we’ll be doing it at the Laarmiten transfer station.”

  I could see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes. Once out of the Tube and in the transfer station, we would have access again to weapons and any other Spider-forbidden items I might want to bring to bear. “You plan something foolish,” he said. Again, it wasn’t a question.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But that’s not your problem. Your problem is that you want the Lynx, and I still have it.”

  He hissed softly, an eerily chilling sound I’d never heard a Halka make before. “Very well,” he said. “The Laarmiten transfer station.” His eyes glittered. “Make very sure you have the Lynx.”

  He turned and strode away. I watched his back, and caught the moment of subtle change of stance as the Modhri relinquished his control. I wondered how the Halka would rationalize this particular blackout.

  A moment later, Stafford and Morse made it through the last line of people. Stafford looked flushed and anxious, Morse looked just flat-out furious. “Bloody hell,” he said as he looked at the spot where the luggage had been. “Bloody, bloody hell.”

  “Relax,” I calmed him. “It’ll all be returned.”

  “Except the Lynx, of course,” he bit out. “I imagine they’ll be keeping that.”

  I looked at Stafford. His face was still flushed, but I could also see a hint of grim satisfaction there. “Oh, I don’t think so,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” Morse asked, looking around as if the thieves would have been stupid enough to be still hanging around.

  “He means he called it, straight down the line,” Stafford told him. “Right down to them hitting us here in the station. I hate to admit it, Compton, but you’re not bad at this.”

  “You mean, for a washed-up has-been?” I suggested.

  “Something like that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Morse said, frowning. “If the Lynx wasn’t inside that log sculpture—” He broke off, a flash of sudden understanding on his face. “It is inside the sculpture, isn’t it? It’s that—what did you call it? That chameleon effect.”

  “Actually, the sculpture is what we call the diversion effect,” I said. “We pulled the Lynx out of the log before I had Mr. Stafford recarve the surface.”

  “So where is it?” Morse asked, looking at Stafford.

  Stafford shrugged. “No idea,” he admitted. “For all I know it could still be somewhere on Ghonsilya.”

  “Don’t worry, it’ll be at Laarmiten in time for the exchange,” I assured him. “Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your moment of adulation. Let’s go find Bayta and see what kind of tickets she was able to get.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Thank you, Mr. Compton,” the Nemuti customs agent said, his truncated cone-shaped mouth orifice and extra-deep voice making the words echo like they were coming out of a deep cave. “Enjoy your visit. May your heart give joy to your soul.”

  “And may your soul rest peacefully in its joy,” I said, giving the proper response. Setting my carrybags on the floor, I keyed my leash control and headed through the doorway into the main part of the Laarmiten transfer station.

  “How long before they show up, do you think?” Morse asked as he came alongside me.

  “No more than a few hours,” I said. “The Modhri’s as anxious to get this over with as we are.”

  Morse glanced back at the carrybags rolling along behind us. “I’ll be very interested to see where you’ve hidden the Lynx.”

  “I hope it’ll be worth the wait.”

  We passed through another doorway into a wide, mall-like area with the usual selection of restaurants, shops, waiting rooms, and entertainment centers. Stafford and Bayta were standing off to one side, waiting for us. “Any problems?” I asked as Morse and I came up to them. “That agent seemed awfully interested in your artwork.”

  “He was mostly wondering why I was still bothering to lug the pieces around,” Stafford said sourly. The Modhri had been very thorough in his search for the sculpture back at Trivsdal, to the point of making five or six pieces out of Stafford’s log. Stafford was clearly still annoyed about that. “I told him it had sentimental value.”

  “Why are you still lugging them around?” Morse asked.

  “Sentimental value,” he said. “What now?”

  “We’ll set up camp over there,” I told him, pointing to the nearest waiting room. “If we stay near that archway we should be able to see all the entry doors. We don’t want the Modhri to have to come looking for us.”

  My time estimate turned out to be a bit on the pessimistic side. We’d been in the waiting room less than two hours when Penny appeared through the door from customs, looking pale and stressed but otherwise unharmed. Accompanying her, to my complete lack of surprise, were Gargantua and his fellow Halkan soldier.

  Stafford was out of his chair and ov
er to Penny before she’d made it five steps past the doorway. “You all right?” he asked anxiously, taking her hands in his. Gargantua made as if to interfere; a brief warning look from Stafford and he changed his mind.

  “I’m fine,” she said, some of her old fire showing through the tension in her voice.

  “They’ve been treating you all right?” he persisted as the rest of us came up.

  “She is unharmed,” Gargantua said.

  Stafford sent him another look, this one managing to combine utter contempt and complete dismissal. I made a mental note to learn how to do that one. “They’ve been treating you all right?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” Penny said, turning a brief glare of her own on Gargantua. “But he’s made a few veiled threats as to what will happen if he doesn’t get the Lynx.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll get it,” I said. “Whenever you’re ready, follow me.”

  We set off across the station, heading past the waiting areas toward the long wing where torchliners waited to carry our fellow Quadrail passengers into the inner system. Gargantua, I noted, kept a firm but casual-looking grip on Penny’s upper arm as we walked.

  Just outside the embarkation stations was a room containing the lockboxes that the Spiders had ferried over from the Tube. I stepped to one of the tables, presented my claim ticket, and was given a long, flat shoulder box. “I should have guessed,” Morse commented as we went to a small conversation nook off the far side of the corridor. “Nice, safe, and inaccessible during the trip.”

  “Do you seek again to trick me?” Gargantua rumbled warningly as I set the case down on the nook’s low table. “I saw all items leaving Ghonsilya.”

  “And probably scanned them, too,” I agreed. “Observe, and learn.” With a little flourish, I popped open the case.

  Penny gave a little gasp of surprise. “That’s a gun!”

  “It is indeed,” I confirmed, lifting it out and putting it on the table beside the case. “A Rontra 772 submachine gun, to be precise.”