Stafford stared at me, and even in the dim light I could see some of the color drain from his face. "Penny's here? In God's name—?"
"Easy," I soothed him. "She was just following your instructions."
He swore under his breath. "She and the others were supposed to go to Ian-apof," he said. "They were just supposed to throw anyone looking for me off the scent." He glared at me accusingly, as if Penny's presence here was my fault.
Which, technically, it was. "So I gathered," I said. "Unfortunately, the gang saw through it. Anyway, the point is we have to get them free before we take off."
"Do you know where they are?"
"No, but I know where they'll be tomorrow night," I said. "Tell me, in your time here in Paradise have you found out who the best ceramic workers are?"
"I know a couple of good ones," he said. "But I can do ceramic work, too, you know."
"No offense, but what we need right now is a professional," I said. "You think you could go get one of them and bring him here?"
"Probably," Stafford said, not moving. "What's the plan?"
"The plan is for you to go get your sculptor friend," I said patiently. "That's all you need to know right now." I took another look at his face. "Don't worry, you're not going to just be sitting around twiddling your thumbs. Oh, and we might need a set of metalworking tools, too, including a small plasma torch."
For a long moment he gazed hard at my face. Then, abruptly, he got up and strode out of the room. "I don't think he trusts you," Bayta said.
"Nothing I can do about that," I said. "If Uncle Rafael's recommendation isn't good enough for him—"
"I meant I don't think he trusts you about Penny."
I broke off. "Oh."
For a moment we stared across the room at each other in silence …and as I gazed into her eyes something she'd said earlier suddenly penetrated my consciousness. Danger and tension can bring people together. I know that.
I know that …
I'd thought I'd been accepted into Bayta's inner circle. Apparently, I'd made it inside that circle a little farther than I'd realized.
"Bayta, this has nothing to do with you," I said quietly. "It's me."
"I know that," she said. "That's what has me worried. You've closed yourself off from people for so long that …well, it all just seems to be happening too fast. For anyone, but especially for you."
"And especially with someone like Penny?"
Her lip twitched. "I just don't want you to get hurt."
"Hurt is my middle name," I told her, trying to strike a little lighter note. "I can handle it." I stood up. "Come on."
"What are we going to do?" she asked, standing up, too.
"We start by getting the Lynx," I told her. "The fire should have burned down enough by now."
"What about Ms. Auslander and Mr. Morse?" she asked.
"Well, we can't just leave them here," I said reasonably. "Much as I'm tempted in Morse's case."
"So again, what are we going to do?"
"Whatever it takes," I said. "Come on. I want the Lynx in hand before Stafford gets back."
NINETEEN :
Fayr had said earlier that Ghonsilya was a relatively poor world, as these things went, with only a few of the utterly obscenely wealthy that formed the upper crust on many other planets. Still, the place clearly boasted at least a fair representation of the only moderately obscenely wealthy.
And judging from the crowd still flowing into the Magaraa City Art Museum's auditorium, it looked like every one of them had turned out for the auction.
I was seated in one of the aisle seats about three-quarters of the way back from the stage when Bayta returned from her reconnoiter and sat down beside me. "Anything?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I saw three Halkas, but they weren't the Modhri's soldiers. At least, they weren't either of the two we've met. You?"
"I've collected a lot of dirty looks for hogging the aisle seats," I told her. "Other than that, nothing."
She peered up over the heads of the people, mostly Tra'ho'seej, seated around us. "What if he doesn't come?"
"He will," I assured her. "The big question is what kind of backup he'll have with him."
"He doesn't want the local police authorities in on this," she reminded me.
"Unless he's brought in walkers high enough in the pecking order to keep the cops under control."
Abruptly, Bayta craned her neck upward a little. "Frank—that Tra'ho in the back of the room in the rider chair," she said. "Is that one of the oathlings from last night?"
I studied the distant alien face. "Could be," I said. "Especially in that chair. He's probably still having trouble with his balance."
"But he is now able to see," a gruff Halkan voice said from above me.
I looked up. It was Gargantua, standing in the aisle beside me, glaring intimidatingly down his bulldog snout at me. There was no sign of his sensor cane, so apparently his eyes had recovered, too. "There you are," I said conversationally. "How's it going?"
"You have the item?" he asked, ignoring the attempt at small talk.
"You have our friends?" I countered.
His eyes flicked to my jacket, then to the empty area beneath my chair. "Where is it?"
"Nice and safe and easy to get to," I assured him. "When we see our friends."
He studied my face a moment. "They await in a car out front."
"Good," I said. "Bring them here."
"You have my word they're unharmed."
"Glad to hear it," I said. "Bring them here anyway. The trade's going to happen in this room."
Gargantua's gaze lifted almost furtively to the crowd around us …and with a sudden and unexpected flicker of empathy I had a glimpse of just how vulnerable the Modhri truly was. His main body was composed of lumps of coral, helpless against a determined attack, while his only allies were co-opted beings who had no loyalty to either him or his cause, but who had to be literally forced to do his bidding.
The Modhri had been designed by the Shonkla-raa as a secret weapon, someone who would operate in the shadows. Now, with the truth of his existence out in the light, he was fighting not only for conquest, but for survival.
Ruthlessly, I crushed back the flicker of sympathy. Sympathy of any sort was a weakness the Modhri could turn to his advantage, exerting limited influence through telepathically planted thought viruses that traveled the lowered mental resistance lines that existed between friends and trusted associates.
Fortunately, unlike the irresistible control he had over his walkers, thought viruses could be successfully fought, provided you didn't let them get a foothold. "We're still waiting," I reminded him.
"They have arrived."
I turned around in my seat. Flanked by two more Tra'hok oathlings in rider chairs, Penny and Morse were standing in the back of the room. They were steady on their feet, looking around the room, and seemed to be all right.
Morse's scanning eyes found me. I raised my eyebrows in wordless question, got a subtle thumbs-up in wordless response.
"The Lynx." Gargantua said.
"Certainly." Turning back around, I nodded to the stage. "It's right there."
He looked that direction, the wrinkles in his snout deepening. "Where?"
"Right there," I said again, pointing. "Peeking out from behind that green and blue landscape painting. See it?"
He turned startled eyes on me. "You entered it in the auction?"
"You got it," I said. "Lot one hundred thirty-five, I believe. Afraid you're going to have to make an evening of it—late donation, you know. Anyway, the point is that all you need to do is wait for it to come up, buy it, and it's yours."
He looked back at the stage. "We agreed to a straight trade."
"I changed my mind," I said. "Mr. Stafford spent a lot of money coming here, and I thought he should at least get some of it back. Besides, it was your fault the museum was damaged. It's only right that you help pay to put it back together."