"You're half right," I told him. "Come with me."
I led the way to the gazebo where Stafford was waiting. "Agent Morse: Mr. Daniel Stafford," I introduced them as Stafford stood up. "Mr. Stafford: EuroUnion Security Service Agent Ackerley Morse."
"Honored," Stafford said shortly, his eyes probing the milling crowd of Quadrail passengers behind us. "Where's Penny? You said she'd be with you."
"I'm afraid there's been a slight hitch on that front," I told him, bracing myself. "We'll be meeting Ms. Auslander back at Terra Station."
His roving eyes locked on to me. "You lost her? What in blinking—?"
"She'll be all right," I interrupted, holding out a soothing hand. "All they want is the Lynx."
"Well, then, let them have it," he said, starting to turn toward the backpack on the seat beside him.
"Easy," I said, catching his arm. The Modhri would undoubtedly be watching all of this.
Stafford shrugged off my hand. "Don't touch me," he snapped. "You promised that if I cooperated they'd let Penny go."
"And they will," I assured him. "It's just going to take a little longer, that's all. Don't worry, she'll be fine."
He looked down at Penny's luggage, clustered around Bayta's feet. "It's coming out of your hide, Compton," he said darkly. "From now on. Anything and everything that happens comes straight out of your hide."
"I'll get her back," I promised.
"Then let's get to it," Stafford said, squinting at the nearest schedule holodisplay. "Next express that direction is in an hour. Do we need tickets, or did you already get them?"
"No, we still need tickets." I cleared my throat. This was going to be awkward. "Speaking of which …"
He looked at me with disgust. "You still need me to cover your fare, I suppose."
"If you wouldn't mind," I said, feeling my face warming. Originally, he was supposed to be so grateful that I'd reunited him with Penny that he wouldn't even bat an eye over me stiffing him for a measly little Quadrail ticket back to Earth. Obviously, gratitude wasn't exactly at the top of his mind right now.
I could only guess what was at the top of Morse's.
"Fine," Stafford growled. "You really are a piece of work, Compton, aren't you?" Pushing past me, he headed toward the stationmaster's office.
I caught Bayta's eye and nodded. She nodded back and set off after him. "Well, that went well," Morse commented.
"It'll be all right," I said, watching Stafford's stiff back.
"Your record is so convincing so far." Morse paused. "There is another way to play this, of course."
"You mean just give them the Lynx?"
"I mean we wait for them to bring Ms. Auslander across to the Tube," he said tartly.
"And then what?" I asked.
"We grab her back, of course," he said. "At least here it's a level playing pitch. No guns for us; no guns for them."
I snorted. "Like that'll matter when they can bring ten thugs for each of us."
"Can't the Spiders help?"
"Can't and won't," I said. "No, the only way to get Ms. Auslander back is to play it straight."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You have a plan, don't you?"
"Not yet," I admitted. "But it's a long way back to Terra. I'll think of something."
TWENTY-ONE :
Stafford, as befit his status and the number of zeroes on his cash sticks, booked himself a first-class compartment. As befit his frustration at my inability to deliver his fiancée, he booked me a seat back in the second to the last of the third-class cars.
"It's bloody unfair," Morse grumbled as we made our way down the narrow aisle to our seats. "It's not your fault she isn't here. If she'd stayed with Bayta and me during your little performance, she'd have been fine."
"You don't hear me arguing," I said as I took my seat beside a pair of Shorshians. Honeymooners, from the look of them. At least I wouldn't need to sit next to Morse, whose seat was three rows ahead of mine. "You don't have to do this, you know," I added. "Your pass will be good the whole way to Terra, and there's a good chance there are still first-class seats available."
"Only if you let me take that with me," he said, his eyes following my every move as I heaved my carrybags up onto the rack above the seats. "Evidence in grand theft and homicide, remember?"
"Forget it," I said as I sat down.
"Then I stay here."
"Suit yourself," I said. I wasn't exactly happy about leaving Stafford out of my sight in first class, either. But Bayta was there, and had even managed to get the compartment that connected to his. If the Modhri tried anything, she could whistle up the Spiders and get a message to me. Hopefully in time to do something.
Besides which, Fayr was also aboard, though I wasn't exactly sure where. With luck, the Modhri hadn't made the connection between him and us, which would leave him free to play the role of wild card if necessary.
I very much hoped it wouldn't be necessary.
We were about an hour out of Ghonsilya Station, and I'd just put my reader away in favor of a nap, when the vestibule at the front of the car opened and Bayta appeared, an expression on her face that I'd seen before. She looked around, spotted me, and headed back. I focused on the top of Morse's head, visible over the top of the seat back, and hoped hard that he was asleep.
No such luck. As Bayta passed he rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle behind her. "Let me guess," I said as Bayta reached me. "Now?"
"Right now," she confirmed, her voice tight. "They say it's urgent."
"Who says?" Morse asked from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder, startled at his unseen entry into the conversation. "It's nothing to do with you," she told him.
"Anything that affects Compton has to do with me," he countered as I stood up. "Where are we going?"
"You're staying here," I said firmly. "Don't worry, we won't be long." Without waiting for a reply, I ushered Bayta past me and we headed toward the rear of the train.
The Chahwyn, apparently, wanted to speak with us again.
We traveled through the rest of the Quadrail's third-class section and two of the three luggage cars. "Any idea what it's about?" I asked Bayta as we moved through the last baggage car toward the train's rear door.
"The Spiders didn't know," she said. "But I suppose—"
She broke off at the soft sound of the car's forward vestibule door opening behind us.
I spun around, peering forward through the car's dim lighting, my hands curling reflexively into fists. There was a vague figure approaching down the aisle between the stacks of crates …
"There you are," Morse puffed, my larger carrybag clutched across his chest. "What in bloody hell are you doing back here?"
"What in bloody hell are you doing back here?" I countered, sorely tempted to deck him anyway just for startling us that way.
"You forgot this," he said, thrusting the carrybag toward me.
"I didn't forget it," I said, making no move to take it. "I didn't want it."
"Thought so," Morse grunted, lowering the bag to the floor. "The Lynx isn't in here, is it?"
I grimaced. But then, I shouldn't have expected a trained investigator to be taken in that easily. "Of course not," I said. "Way too obvious."
"So where is—whoa!" he interrupted himself as the car abruptly began to slow down. "What's going on? Are we stopping?"
"Just this car," I told him.
He stared at me. "In the middle of bloody nowhere?"
"Trust me." I said, gesturing to one of the nearby stacks of crates. "Might as well have a seat and make yourself comfortable."
He eyed me another moment, then eased himself down onto the floor. He was shifting his back against the crates when the car began to pick up speed again. "So where is the Lynx?" he asked. "With Stafford?"
"Well, I certainly couldn't risk carrying it," I pointed out. "My face was way too well known. Stafford, on the other hand, currently looks like a refugee from a dit rec war drama. We thought there was a good chance he could slip by them."