Busksha, but his voice was firm enough. “We are witnesses to both his actions and the subsequent deaths. There is no evidence that one had anything to do with the other.”
Busksha snorted. “You wish only to save an old friend,” he accused.
“I wish to prevent an unnecessary interstellar incident,” Rastra corrected stiffly.
“Yet we saw him touch one of them.”
“But not the other,” Rastra countered. “Yet both deaths came from the same source.”
“Perhaps,” Busksha growled. “That is for the autopsy to say.”
There was a soft twitter from somewhere, and Rastra pulled a small comm from his vest pocket. “
“While he’s occupied, perhaps we can focus on the knife for a moment,” I suggested to Busksha. “Do you know yet where they got it?”
“One of the weapons lockboxes in the baggage area,” the major said, frowning at Rastra’s back.
“One of theirs?”
“Neither of them had a claim marker,” he said. “We have not yet determined which lockbox they opened.”
“Or how they opened it, I presume,” I said. “Interesting, isn’t it? First they get past a supposedly secure door, and then into a supposedly secure lockbox.”
“As I said, professional thieves,” Busksha reminded me.
“Or someone fed them the relevant combination numbers.”
He bristled. “Do you challenge the integrity of Jurian workers?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Some of your workers certainly know the keypad sequence for the room, but they wouldn’t know a private lockbox combination. A more interesting question is why the Halkas would go shopping at all before they’d even passed through customs.”
The edges of the scales around Busksha’s eyes took on a slight purple hue, a color that in a human would probably point to imminent apoplexy. On a Juri, it merely indicated concentration. “The obvious conclusion would be that they intended violence on the station itself,” he said. “But against whom?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bayta stir uneasily. “You’d know better than I whether there’s anyone aboard at the moment worth killing,” I told Busksha.
Busksha’s beak clicked once, very softly. “You mean other than you?”
For all his attitude, Busksha was clearly smarter than he looked. “What makes you think I’m worth killing?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, the bridge of his beak wrinkling. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“I know of nothing I’ve done to these two Halkas to have provoked such an attack,” I told him, choosing my words carefully. “Or to anyone else of the Halkavisti Empire, for that matter.”
“Well and cleverly phrased,” Busksha said. “But not an answer.”
I lifted my hands, palms upward. “I’m sorry, but it’s the best I can do.”
Rastra stepped back to Busksha’s side. “The knife has been identified and claimed,” he said, his voice suddenly strange.
“By whom?” Busksha asked.
“By the same Halkan official who has forbidden an autopsy,” Rastra said. “High Commissioner JhanKla of the Fifth Sector Assembly.” His throat scales reddened. “The Halka whom I am currently escorting.”
“Wait a second,” I said, my mind still two sentences back. “What do you mean, he’s forbidden an autopsy?”
“The knife was stolen from his lockbox and used to attempt a killing,” Rastra said. “This brings shame onto the High Commissioner, which cannot be eradicated until the perpetrators’ bodies have been destroyed by fire.”
“He can’t claim jurisdiction on a Jurian station,” I insisted. “We need to know how those Halkas died.”
“It is true that he has no jurisdictional claim,” Rastra agreed heavily. “But as a Resolver my job is to smooth over conflicts between the Jurian Collective and the Halkavisti Empire. I have already given the order to permit cremation without autopsy.”
“But what about Mr. Compton?” Bayta spoke up. “How can he prove he had nothing to do with their deaths if the bodies aren’t examined?”
“High Commissioner JhanKla informs me that he can explain their deaths, though he will do so only in private,” Rastra told her. “He confirms that Mr. Compton is in no way involved.”
“Yet he drew first blood,” Busksha murmured.
“Yes,” Rastra said reluctantly. “Mr. Compton, did you intend to remain long in the Jurian Collective?”
I knew a cue when I heard it. “We could be moving along at any time,” I assured him.
“Then you shall,” he said. “We travel on the next Quadrail with High Commissioner JhanKla, aboard a private car of the Halkavisti peerage.”
I pricked up my ears at that one. I’d never seen any of the legendary Peerage Quadrail cars, but they were reputed to be rolling versions of the equally legendary Peerage palaces.
They were also definitely not the transport of choice for someone trying to keep a low profile. “The High Commissioner honors me greatly,” I said. “But I must humbly decline.”
“You have no choice,” Rastra said firmly. “I have vouched for your innocence in this matter, and protocol demands that I escort you personally out of Jurian space. Since I travel with the High Commissioner, you and your companion must travel with me. Otherwise, you could be taken into custody at any stop along the way.”
“That seems wrong,” Bayta said, frowning. “Doesn’t that only—”
“Of course it’s wrong,” I interrupted, throwing her a warning look. “I haven’t
“I understand that,” Rastra said. “But the protocol must be followed.”
“I understand in turn.” I lifted my hands again. “In that case, we accept with gratitude.”
“Good,” Rastra said. “Then let us be off. The High Commissioner awaits us at the Tube. Have you any luggage besides your carrybags?”
“No, we’re ready to go when you are.” I looked at Busksha, who was still glowering at me. “And the sooner,” I added, “the better.”
We caught the next shuttle, and a few minutes later were back in the Tube.
“The car’s over here,” Rastra said, pointing to a warehouselike structure in the maintenance area two tracks around the cylinder from the last of the passenger waiting rooms. “The Spiders will be rolling it out in half an hour, just before our train arrives, and connect it behind the baggage cars. That will give us time to settle in.”
“Good,” I said, glancing around. If the Spiders had been able to pull together the sensor data I’d asked for, it should be waiting here somewhere.
Problem was, I’d asked for it to be delivered to us aboard whatever train we took out of Kerfsis system. Without a normal reservation, they had no way of knowing we were here and about to leave.
Or did they?
Behind Rastra’s back, I looked at Bayta and raised my eyebrows in silent question. She nodded slightly in return, then nodded again over her shoulder. Shifting my eyes that direction, I saw a drone ten meters away suddenly pause and change direction toward the stationmaster’s building.
Apparently, the Spiders had been informed of our change in plans.
The inside of the maintenance building was pretty much the same as the one I’d seen once at Terra Station: big and open, with enough room for a Quadrail engine or a couple of cars. Crane tracks crisscrossed the high ceiling, the cranes themselves looking hefty enough to pick up one end of a car without exerting themselves. The Quadrail tracks on the floor mirrored the crane tracks above them, with one set coming straight through the doors at either end while others angled off to miniature sidings along the walls. The walls themselves were lined with toolboxes and parts cabinets, everything clearly designed to be operated by a drone’s leg tips.
The Peerage car was sitting on the tracks by the door at the far end. At first glance it looked like every other Quadrail passenger car I’d ever seen, but as we moved closer I spotted the small touches that marked it as something special. An intricate design was etched subtly in the silver metal of the side, with an equally subtle reproduction of the royal Halkan crest beside the door. There was something about the wheels that seemed a little different, possibly an upgraded set of shock absorbers, and at the roof edge there were some embedded greenstone highlights. “Not quite what I expected,” I commented.
“It’s designed not to be ostentatious,” Rastra explained. “Even the most powerful among the Halkas prefer not
