Night Train to Rigel

the far end. The door on the right stood open; deciding that was our cue, I walked over and stepped through.

A tall, distinguished-looking Juri seated behind a dark purple desk rose as we entered the room. “Good day, Humans,” he said, nodding his head the same way the female in the kiosk had. His scales had the polish of someone of the professional classes, and his beak carried the subtle markings that identified a Resolver. “How may I assist?”

The voice seemed oddly familiar. I took a closer look at the scale pattern of his face; and then, it clicked. “Tas Rastra?” I asked.

The scales of his cheeks puckered as he frowned at me in turn. Then, suddenly, they smoothed out. “Mr. Frank Compton,” he said, his voice vibrating with the deep subharmonics of Julian surprise. “An unexpected meeting, indeed.”

“For me, as well,” I agreed. “It’s been a long time since the governor’s reception on Vanido.”

“Indeed,” he confirmed. “You were in command of security for the representatives of Earth’s Western Alliance.”

“And you were the governor’s chief Resolver who made it possible for me to do that job,” I said.

“Both our lives seem to have changed since then,” Rastra said, gesturing to Bayta. “Please, identify your companion to me.”

“This is Bayta, my assistant on my journey,” I said.

“Your presence honors the Jurian Collective,” he told her gravely. “You have no title of standing?”

“None,” she said, her voice oddly tight.

“No, Bayta’s not a dignitary,” I told Rastra, frowning as I looked at Bayta. Her face, I saw, was as tense as her voice. Had she spotted something I’d missed? “I’m finished with that sort of escort duty,” I went on, looking back at Rastra. “How about you? Are you working Kerfsis Station now?”

“Actually, no,” he said. “My current position is to travel with a high official of the Halkan government, resolving any problems he might encounter.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve had a few.” I commented. Halkas often had trouble with Jurian protocol, especially Halkas high on the rank scale.

“Nothing too serious,” he said diplomatically. “But as a problem involving other Halkas has now arisen, and as High Commissioner JhanKla and I were awaiting the next Quadrail anyway, I thought I would lend my assistance to your problem.”

“Ah,” I said. “Actually, it’s such a small thing that I hesitate to even mention it. I ran into two Halkas aboard the Quadrail and hoped to see them again before we parted company, that’s all.”

“And why specifically did you wish this?”

Fortunately, I’d had time during our earlier idleness to come up with what I hoped would be a plausible story. “My current position is with a Terran travel consortium, and the Halkas told me about an interesting recreational area somewhere in the Halkavisti Empire,” I explained. “It sounded like the sort of place I should check out; but somehow I never got around to learning its name and location.”

“I see,” Rastra said, leaning back in his chair. “What sort of recreational area was it?”

“Oh, basically the kind we humans really like,” I said, waving my hand. A nice, vague description was what was called for here. “Plenty of outdoor sports, fantastic views, gourmet food. That sort of thing.”

“And unique, too, no doubt,” Rastra said, his beak flattening with a smile. “You Humans do seem to prize such qualities. Tell me, how did you meet these Halkas?”

“We just bumped into each other, like people do on a Quadrail,” I said. “They’d been drinking a little, and we started chatting.”

“Did you learn their names, homes, or where and why they were traveling?”

I felt my skin starting to tingle. This was rapidly drifting out of the realm of casual conversation and on to the all-too-familiar territory of an official interrogation. “The conversation never went that direction,” I told him. “And before you ask, I’d never met either of them before.”

For a long moment Rastra just gazed at me. Then he stirred and stood up. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward a door behind him. He started to turn that direction, then paused. “By the way, it’s Falc Rastra now,” he said. “The rank was conferred on me by the governor six lunes ago.”

I had the sudden vertiginous sense of the cultural rug being yanked out from under me. With that almost offhanded comment Rastra had suddenly jumped two notches above me on the Jurian social scale, and with a sinking feeling I realized that every tone of voice and nuance of word I’d just used with him had been a violation of proper social protocol. “Congratulations,” I managed through suddenly stiff lips.

Fortunately, like the good Resolver that he was, Rastra had already anticipated the problem. “Thank you,” he said, giving his beak a pair of distinctive clicks. “It was an unanticipated honor indeed.” Shifting his gaze to Bayta, he double-clicked her, as well.

And as quickly as it had been pulled out from under me, the rug was back beneath my feet. With those double clicks officially designating Bayta and me as his social equals—which we most certainly were not—he had graciously relieved us of the onerous task of juggling the complicated forms of address and gesture that would otherwise have been expected of us. “Unanticipated it might have been,” I said. “But well deserved.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But now come and tell me what you make of this.”

The door opened as he stepped to it. I started to follow, but Bayta cut halfway in front of me. “This Juri,” she hissed in my ear. “He’s a friend?”

It was the same question she’d asked about Colonel Applegate aboard the Quadrail. “Not anymore,” I murmured back. “When a Juri changes rank, he pretty much has to change all his friends, too. The class lines here are very strictly drawn.”

“But he was once your friend?”

I felt my throat tighten. “I don’t have any friends, Bayta,” I told her “I have acquaintances, former colleagues, and people who wish they’d never met me. Why? You auditioning for the part?”

A muscle in her cheek twitched. Without another word, she turned and hurried to catch up with Rastra.

We followed him along two more corridors and down a flight of steps to a small and dimly lit office, where we found a grim-faced Juri wearing the uniform and insignia of a midlevel army officer. On the wall behind him was a wide one-way window into a second, better lit room, where two Halkas sat under the watchful eye of a pair of armed Jurian soldiers. “This is Major Tas Busksha,” Rastra said, indicating the officer. “Mr. Frank Compton of Earth, and his assistant Bayta.”

“Mr. Compton,” Busksha growled. “Are these the Halkas you seek?”

I went over to the window and studied the aliens, paying particular attention to the shapes of their ears and the pattern of wrinkles angling upward from the centers of their chins. “I think so, yes.”

“How well do you know them?” Busksha asked.

“As I told Falc Rastra, we met for the first time on the Quadrail,” I said. “I trust you didn’t detain them just for me.”

Busksha rumbled in his throat. “Hardly,” he growled. “They were apprehended in the secure baggage area.”

So my suspicions had been right. “Who are they?”

“We don’t know,” Rastra said. “Neither was carrying identification when they were taken. We’re searching for it now.”

“Any idea what they were looking for?”

“An interesting question,” Busksha said, eyeing me closely. “What makes you think they were seeking anything in particular and not merely searching for valuables?”

I shrugged, thinking fast. To me, it was obvious that they were still interested in Bayta and me, and that they’d probably been looking for any secure luggage we might have brought aboard. But saying so would bring more official attention our way than I really wanted. “They don’t seem like your average professional thieves to me, that’s all,” I said.

“They don’t seem?” Busksha echoed with an edge of sarcasm. “To you?”

“Mr. Compton is a former member of Earth’s Western Alliance Intelligence service,” Rastra said mildly. “His hunches should not be dismissed without consideration.”

The major’s beak snapped. “And what exactly do these hunches tell you?”