“And you think the incidents are related?”
“Absolutely,” I said, wondering how much of this she already knew. Still, I couldn’t afford to let her know that I knew she knew. “They weren’t after the data chip, because I still have that. They weren’t after my cash stick, because I still have that. What else is there but someone not wanting us to go to Modhra?”
“But how could he have communicated with anyone at the rear of the train?” she asked. “You said he’d gone the other direction.”
“That part I haven’t figured out yet,” I admitted, watching her closely. But she had herself fully under control again, and her face wasn’t giving anything away. “My guess is that he used the Quadrail computer system somehow, or else found a way to piggyback a signal onto the control lines.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think either is possible.”
“Well, whatever he did, he did send a message,” I growled. “I’m sure of that.”
“But I still don’t see the point,” she said. “What did they hope to accomplish?”
“They hoped to put me on ice long enough for us to go past Jurskala and the Grakla Spur,” I said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. Someone, for whatever reason, doesn’t want us going to Modhra.”
The corner of her lip twitched. “So, of course, that’s where you intend to go?”
I shrugged. “I’m following a trail. That’s where it leads.”
She seemed to brace herself. “I don’t want to go to Modhra.”
“No problem,” I said calmly. “You can wait for me at Jurskala.”
“What if I have the Spiders revoke your pass?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Are you threatening me?”
“There could be danger there,” she said evasively. “Terrible danger.”
I thought about the Saarix-5 in my carrybag handles. “There’s danger everywhere,” I said. “Life is like that.”
She seemed to brace herself. “You could die there.”
So there it was, right out in the open. Modhra was indeed the key … and our enemies were prepared to be very serious indeed about protecting that key. “I could die anywhere,” I countered. “I could fall over a Cimma in the dining car and break my neck. You know something about Modhra you’re not telling me?”
A muscle in her jaw tightened briefly. “It’s just a feeling.”
“Fine, then,” I said, pretending to believe her. “I’m going. You’ve got five hours to decide whether you’re coming with me.”
“Mr. Compton—”
“In the meantime,” I cut her off, “do these feelings of yours include any hints as to which direction the danger might be coming from?”
She looked away. “It could be from anywhere,” she said quietly. “You have no friends out here.”
“Not even you?” I asked, pitching it like it was a joke. “At least you care whether I live or die, don’t you?”
She straightened up. “I’m not your friend, Mr. Compton,” she said, her voice and face stiff. “And no, I don’t care.” Brushing past me, she escaped into the corridor.
For a long moment I stared at the closed door, a hard, bitter knot settling into my stomach. I’d hoped for something—anything—that would indicate we were at least on the same side, even if we weren’t exactly staunch allies.
But no. I’m not your friend. And no, I don’t care.
Fine. Then I wouldn’t care, either, when I did what I was going to do to her precious Spider friends.
And I would laugh in her face when I did it.
Swiveling my feet up onto the bed, I positioned my throbbing head carefully against the pillow. It would be another half hour before the painkiller I’d taken kicked in and let me get some sleep.
Pulling up the first of the Spiders’ security files, I began to read.
TEN:
The Quadrail pulled into Jurskala Station, and with a round of farewells to Rastra and JhanKla I left the Peerage car and headed across the platform toward the track where the Grakla Spur train would be arriving in two hours. Bayta, silent and wooden-faced, was at my side.
I had thought about trying to find a clever way to sneak off the train, but had decided it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Even if the Bellidos hadn’t yet figured out that I’d escaped their impromptu holding cell, there would be plenty of time for them to spot us as we hung around the station waiting for our next Quadrail. The alternative, to spend that time hiding in one of the Spiders’ buildings, would probably just make things worse. Clearly, there were multiple players in this game, and I saw no point in advertising my cozy relationship with the Spiders for anyone who hadn’t already figured it out.
Especially when we could use that relationship to other advantages.
“Three more Bellidos have joined with the two from first class,” Bayta murmured as we approached the first of the Quadrail tracks we needed to cross to get to our platform. “These three came from third class.”
“Are they talking?” I murmured back, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder. The whole point of having the Spiders relay this information to me via Bayta was so that I wouldn’t look like I had any suspicions about what was going on behind me.
“Yes,” she said. “But none of the Spiders are close enough to hear.”
“Let me know when they start moving,” I instructed her. “Anyone else taking any interest in us?”
We reached the next track, the low protective barrier folding up and over into a little footbridge for us and our trailing carrybags. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Wait. The five Bellidos have split into two groups again and are moving this way.”
“How fast?”
“Not very,” she said as we reached the far side of the track and the bridge folded back into its barrier form. “And they aren’t following us, exactly, just coming this general direction.”
Either being coy about their target or else simply heading for the Grakla Spur train, too. “What about Rastra and JhanKla?”
“They’ve left the Peerage car and are walking toward the stationmaster’s building,” she reported. “The guard-assistant, YirTukOo, is with them.”
“Probably making arrangements to switch the car to a different train,” I said. JhanKla had done his bit by nudging me toward Modhra, and he and his entourage were apparently now out of the game.
We reached the Grakla Spur platform, which was lined by the usual mix of restaurants, lounges, shops, and maintenance buildings. “You ever had a Jurian soda crème?” I asked Bayta.
“A—? No.”
“Then you’re way overdue,” I said, taking her arm and steering her toward the larger of the two restaurants.
“I’m not hungry,” she protested, trying to pull away.
“This is more like a dessert than a meal,” I assured her, not letting go. “More to the point, with all those Spider waiters wandering around in there, we’ll have a better chance of keeping an eye on everyone than we would in any of the regular waiting rooms.”
The resistance in her arm muscles evaporated. “Oh,” she said.
About half the restaurant’s tables were occupied, a nice comfortable percentage. Suppressing my usual impulse to sit where I could see the door, I led Bayta to one of the tables in the center. “You want me to order for you?” I asked.
She shrugged in silent indifference. I pulled up the menu, found the proper listing, and ordered two of the crèmes. “I gather you haven’t spent much time in the Jurian Collective,” I suggested, leaning back in my seat.
“Not really.” She hesitated. “Actually, not at all.”
“Ah,” I said, looking around. Unlike the Quadrail bar, this place hadn’t been designed with conversational privacy in mind. “How long have you been with your friends?”