JhanKla made a sound that was half snort, half bark. “Ridiculous, he said firmly. ”Here in the Tube, you are legally outside Jurian space. Provided you don’t leave the Quadrail until you arrive at Sistarrko, Jurian law has no authority over you.“
“Your pardon, High Commissioner, but that’s not the way the protocol is written,” Rastra said, a hint of stiffness in his tone. “Mr. Compton was involved in an incident that drew blood, and has been ordered to leave Jurian space.”
“An order he will fulfill if he travels to Modhra,” JhanKla countered.
“But the intent of the order—”
“The intent is irrelevant, as you have so frequently pointed out on this journey,” JhanKla cut him off. “It is the letter of the law that matters. In this case, that letter has been fulfilled.” He shrugged, a full rippling of his skin. “At any rate, how did you expect him to return to his home again after his journey? All Quadrails to the Human worlds travel through Jurian space.”
“He has a point,” I agreed. “You can certainly escort me out of Jurian space now, but I’ll still need to get back in at some point.”
“True,” Rastra said. “Yet… perhaps.”
“No perhaps about it,” I said, looking back at JhanKla. So with a single one-two punch the High Commissioner had pointed me toward Modhra and then cut me loose from the fiction that had brought me into his presence in the first place. Was that all he wanted?
Again, there was one way to find out. “Of course, in that event, there’s no need for Bayta and me to impose on your hospitality any further,” I said. “We can find accommodations elsewhere in the Quadrail.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Rastra insisted. “Not until I have clarified the protocol.”
“And I would not permit it in any case,” JhanKla said, just as firmly. “Those who attacked you were shamed Halkas. It is my duty and my pleasure to offer my hospitality in recompense.” He looked at Rastra. “So let us compromise,” he went on. “You will remain my guests until Falc Rastra has had time to study the protocol and come to a decision. Is that acceptable?”
“It is to me,” I said. “Falc Rastra?”
“Yes,” Rastra said, clearly unhappy with the situation. “If the High Commissioner is correct, when we reach Jurskala in three days you’ll be free to travel wherever you wish, provided you don’t leave the Tube while in Jurian space.” He inclined his head to JhanKla. “You may even travel to Modhra, if you so choose.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said, smiling with thanks and professional admiration. Very nicely, very neatly done.
“Then all is settled.” JhanKla said in satisfaction as he gestured again to the servitor. “Let us bring out an Imperium card deck and find a way to pass the time until the meal is ready.”
So that was that. Good-bye, interest and intrigue at Kerfsis; hello, interest and intrigue at Modhra. I just hoped all of this was related to the Spider’s vision of interstellar warfare. I hoped, too, that it wouldn’t interfere too much with the other job I was supposed to be doing.
Most of all, I hoped that it wasn’t simply for the purpose of finding a more suitable place to dispose of our bodies.
The first two days of the trip were uneventful. The four of us spent most of our time sitting around the lounge, chatting about issues ranging from interstellar trade and politics to the pluses and minuses of various house pets and the best ways of preparing spiced vegetables. At various points throughout the day JhanKla would declare that it was time for a cultural experience, and we would pause to listen to music or watch a dit rec, taking turns choosing something from the lounge’s large and eclectic collection.
Bayta mostly stayed quiet during the conversations, her impassive mask firmly in place, listening closely but only rarely joining in. Her few comments were for the most part factual and neutral, providing no fresh insights into what was going on behind those dark eyes, The dit recs, on the other hand, seemed to fascinate her, particularly one of my choices, a classic Hitchcock called The Lady Vanishes, itself set aboard a twentieth-century EuroUnion train.
At prescribed intervals, the aroma of cooking would begin to drift through the car, and in due course a servitor would appear to announce that the next meal was ready. Each day’s menu was different, every one of them first-class, and at the end of each I could practically feel another half kilo of weight falling into formation around my waist. Eventually, late in Quadrail-time evening, we would part company with an appropriate round of good-nights and return to our individual compartments.
Theoretically, at any time after that first night I could have excused myself from the group and taken a stroll forward to find the Spider with the promised data chip. Rastra had emerged from his compartment at breakfast the first morning to concede that JhanKla had indeed been correct about my position vis-à-vis Jurian criminal protocol, and that I no longer needed to remain in his custody. Still, as far as I was concerned, cheerful and stupid was still the order of the day, and for those first two days I wasn’t able to come up with a plausible excuse to even temporarily abandon the Peerage car’s luxury.
Finally, with eleven hours remaining until our arrival at Jurskala, I managed to create my opening.
“No,” I said, shaking my head firmly. “I’m sorry, but a proper Chattanooga nightcap can’t be prepared with anything but Jack Daniel’s.”
“None of these will do?” JhanKla asked, gesturing to his array of beverages as, behind him, one of the servitors hovered in tense silence. “I’m told there are three other Human whiskeys available.”
“And fine ones they are,” I agreed, though two were brands I’d never even heard of. “But this is a Chattanooga nightcap, also known as an Uncle T Special. It’s a cultural thing,” I added, knowing that with JhanKla that would trump all other arguments.
“Very well,” he said, throwing an unreadable look at the servitor. Unreadable to me, anyway; the servitor’s flat face seemed to shrivel just fine beneath it. “I will send a servitor for a bottle.”
“Actually, I’d rather go choose it myself,” I said, getting to my feet “There are several factors to consider—age and blend, for starters—and I’ll have to see what they have in stock before I know which one to get.”
“Very well,” JhanKla said again. “I will summon YirTukOo to accompany you.”
“No, that’s all right,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was to try to get a data chip from the Spiders with JhanKla’s big guard-assistant hovering over me. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll go with you,” Rastra volunteered. “Without a ticket you’ll need someone with diplomatic authority to allow you into the first-class section.”
I suppressed a grimace. With the Spiders’ diamond-edged pass in my pocket I didn’t need his or anyone else’s help to go wherever I wanted. But I could hardly tell him that. Still, he should be easier to get rid of than YirTukOo. “Sure,” I said casually. “Let me get my jacket and we’ll go.”
Sixty seconds later I was back in the lounge, with my jacket on and a hastily scribbled note for Bayta lying on my bed: Contact Spiders—tell them to bring data chip to first-class bar. Rastra was also ready and together we headed forward.
The two cars immediately ahead of us were baggage cars, filled with stacks of crates held together by safety webbing. Unlike the hybrid baggage/passenger car I’d started this trip in, the crates here weren’t merely lined up along the walls. They were instead arranged in individual clumps, rather like tall islands surrounded by a maze of narrow access corridors that zigzagged around and between them. One cargo island per stop, I guessed, with the access corridors there in case the Spiders needed to get at the ones in back.