Judgment at Proteus

wild card, and I had no intention of doing anything to compromise that.

Bayta and I had traveled this route before, over a year ago, back when the Modhri had been chasing down the last of a group of sculptures which, when properly assembled in groups of three, became highly deadly weapons. As a bonus, those weapons were also undetectable by the Spiders’ sophisticated Tube sensor arrays. We’d won that particular battle, and while we’d destroyed most of the weapons, I knew there were probably a few of the components still buried under the dirt in the Ten Mesas region of Veerstu.

I couldn’t help thinking that, with our other weapons and equipment waiting for us at that same world, it would have been awfully nice to have an undetectable weapon in hand right now. Something that, unlike the kwi, I didn’t need Bayta or a functioning Spider to activate for me.

We changed trains at Homshil, and as we crossed the platform we passed by a Juri at a candied flower stand who was also surreptitiously giving every passing walker a scratch from the Melding coral he had hidden in his cold-water storage tank. Serious scratches, too, from the one instance I saw, the kind that would put enough polyps into the walker’s bloodstream to influence the original Modhran colony within an hour or two.

Bayta and I stopped to buy a sample of the vendor’s wares. The Modhri told us there had been two Shonkla-raa in the station three days earlier, who had spent a few hours watching the trains come and go before leaving on a train headed in the same direction we were. Bayta checked with the stationmaster and learned they’d bought tickets for Ghonsilya, a three-day journey past the Trivsdal stop where we would be switching to the Claremiado Loop and heading into Nemuti territory.

Of course, having tickets for Ghonsilya didn’t mean the Shonkla-raa would actually be getting off there. It would be trivial for them to change tickets somewhere along the way, someplace where they thought they might not be as noticeable. We thanked the Modhri and moved on, and I made a mental note to keep an eye out as we got close to Trivsdal.

From Homshil we passed through Jurskala, the source of the messages I was still getting from Riijkhan about our pending deal. None of the walkers in the station had spotted him, though, or seen any other Shonkla-raa for at least a week.

Two days beyond Jurskala was Ian-apof, and a change to one of the lines that passed along the edge of the Nemuti FarReach and into the Tra’hok Unity. Two days after that we reached Trivsdal and switched once last time, this time to the Claremiado Loop.

Four days later, we arrived at the Veerstu Quadrail station.

The entry procedure was quick and efficient, and if the Nemuti manning the customs desks were surprised by the unusually high numbers of Humans that had been coming to their world over the past couple of weeks they hid their bemusement well.

Or maybe that avenue of curiosity was simply being overshadowed by the novelty of having a pair of Spiders on the passenger side of the station. Usually, the only Spiders aboard were those picking up or dropping off the lockboxes or handling other sensitive or secured cargo.

In fact, the situation was unprecedented enough that they were initially at a loss on how exactly to proceed. Sam and Carl obviously had no IDs or other official documents, and at first the station director wasn’t going to let them through. I finally had to declare them as part of my luggage, a solution that didn’t exactly thrill the director and probably irritated the defenders themselves.

But finally we were through.

The lockboxes where McMicking and I had stored our guns had been delivered. With my Glock once again snugged beneath my jacket and his Beretta under his, we headed for the torchyacht rental desk.

Along the way, we picked up the special equipment that the Spiders had been quietly holding for us at the station.

It was a five-day trip from the transfer station to the planet itself. We spent most of our time checking our gear, discussing the plan and last-minute thoughts that each of us had had, and otherwise just preparing ourselves for the upcoming task.

Bayta and I also spent a lot of time together. McMicking was perceptive enough to give us as much privacy as he could in the somewhat cramped quarters. Sam and Carl, naturally, didn’t.

Veerstu had only two spaceports that could handle torchships. The last time Bayta and I had taken this trip we’d tried to mask our destination by landing at the port farthest from the Ten Mesas region. Now, with the long procession of human travelers making subterfuge largely moot, we chose the closer one instead. We rented an aircar, loaded everything aboard, and headed out. Two hours short of our destination, we put down in a secluded area and changed into our desert camo outfits, heavy-duty jumpsuits with thin armor plates already sewn into pockets around the torso and groin areas. With another few kilos’ worth of gun belts and weapons vests loaded on top of that, we were ready.

Five minutes later, with our final task complete, we were once again in the air.

The Ten Mesas was a group of large rock formations, up to two kilometers long each, that rose up from the Veerstu desert amid a sea of smaller buttes, rock spines, and occasional clusters of vegetation, the whole thing overlaid by a light dusting of feathery, waist-high brown grass. Three of the mesas were of particular interest: a bit over two kilometers long, each one rose more or less gradually to a sudden and startling ten-meter-tall spike at one end. The Ten Mesas were the premier tourist attraction of the region, as desert tourist attractions went, with those particular three garnering most of the appreciation and photos.

What the tourists didn’t know, but Bayta and I did, was that they weren’t simple rock formations. They were, instead, the hidden resting place of three ancient Shonkla-raa warships.

The ten-meter spikes were the clue that had finally tipped me off when Bayta and I had first been here. Cozying the main body of a huge ship right up against the Thread would be risky; cozying the end of a ten-meter spike, not nearly so much.

I thought about the ships as we flew across the Veerstu landscape. They’d obviously been there since before the Shonkla-raa were destroyed sixteen hundred years ago, presumably stashed away as part of some military strategy the slavemasters had never gotten a chance to use. Sixteen hundred years was a long time, and the question on everyone’s mind was almost certainly whether or not they still worked.

For me, the question wasn’t even worth pondering. The Lynx/Viper/Hawk trinary weapons that the Modhri had been digging up the last time we were here were from that same era, and they had certainly been functional. So were the handful of kwis the Chahwyn had found. I had no doubt that the warships were just as functional. And even more deadly.

Bayta had wanted to destroy the ships as soon as she learned about them. I had talked her out of it, warning that letting the Modhri even suspect their existence might prove fatal somewhere down the line.

Now, because of me, the Modhri knew about the ships. Now, also because of me, the entire future of the galaxy was resting on a knife’s edge.

A couple of hours before sundown, we reached the Ten Mesas.

The last time we’d been here, the Modhri had had a full-blown archaeological dig set up in the middle of the area, complete with dozens of tents of various sizes, paths with nighttime guide lights, sanitation facilities, and lots of ground vehicles. After we chased them out, I’d expected the Nemuti would move in and dismantle the facility.

Only they hadn’t. If anything, the encampment was bigger and more elaborate than ever. Apparently, I’d overestimated the value of the Ten Mesas as a pristine tourist destination.

I was bringing us around in a leisurely curve to the west when I spotted the tunnel that had been dug into the western slope of the southernmost warship’s burial mound.

Bayta spotted it the same time I did. “Frank?” she asked, pointing.

“I see it,” I said, trying to make out the details through the shimmer from the low sunlight on the field of swaying brown grass. “McMicking?”

“Got it,” he said, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he’d already pulled out his rifle scope and was peering through it. “Looks Human-sized, as opposed to vehicles or rolling carts. Wood or ceramic framing, probably the latter. Floor appears to be dirt.”

“How far does it go?” I asked.

“Three or four meters at least,” McMicking said. “That’s as far in as I can see.”

I frowned. The plan had been for the team to play it coy, create something that looked like a staging area, and try to draw the attention of the enemy, who were surely on Veerstu and aware of their presence by now. The idea