The Third Lynx

my voice anyway. 'Stafford's not on Ian-apof.'

Bayta frowned. 'But he told them to meet him there.'

'Your classic red herring,' I told her. 'You haul out something big and fat and obvious and slap it down on the table in the hope that the bad guys will be so busy staring at it that they won't notice you sneaking off somewhere else.'

'You're saying he's using them?' Bayta asked, apparently still not believing it. 'He's using his friends?'

'Why so surprised?' I asked. 'This is a guy who spent his summer vacations hanging around Rafael Kunstler, trillionaire and rabid art collector. Using your friends, acquaintances, and enemies is standard procedure with that crowd.'

'So you've said,' Bayta murmured. 'It still doesn't …never mind. But if he's not on Ian-apof, where is he?'

'That's the wonderful irony of it,' I said. 'He's—'

I broke off. Across the bar, Penny Auslander had appeared in the corridor. For a moment she stood there, her eyes sweeping the room. Then she spotted us and started across. 'Play it cool,' I murmured.

Penny reached the table and sat down. 'I need to talk to you,' she said, her voice low and urgent.

'Please; sit down,' I said, gesturing to the chair she was already planted in.

A waste of good sarcasm. 'It's Agent Morse,' she said. 'I'm starting to wonder if I can trust him.'

'I thought we were the ones you didn't trust,' I said.

She lowered her eyes a little. 'I didn't,' she admitted. 'But I've been thinking about …what happened to Pyotr. Even Agent Morse admits you were somewhere else at the time.'

'Yes, I believe we tried telling you that.'

'I know,' she said tartly, some of the old Penny peeking through. The girl had fire, that was for sure. 'I'm trying to say I'm sorry.'

'Apology accepted,' I said. 'Thank you for—'

'And I want you to come down to the ski resort with us.'

I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, but we have urgent business elsewhere.'

'But we need you,' Penny said. 'Daniel needs you. I'm—' Her throat tightened. 'Mr. Morse says he's in danger.'

I thought about Kunstler, beaten to death amid the quiet luxury of a Quadrail compartment. 'That's possible,' I conceded. 'But Mr. Morse himself seems capable enough of dealing with any trouble.'

'You're not listening,' Penny said impatiently. 'I don't trust him.'

I looked at Bayta, and it wasn't hard to read her thoughts. I only had a few days left on my Quadrail pass. If I spent those days riding a torchliner from the Ian-apof Station inward to the inner system, I would likely end up stranded there. I would certainly never make it to Ghonsilya and our hoped-for rendezvous with Fayr. 'I'm sorry,' I said again. 'For whatever comfort it might be, I don't think anyone's actually out to hurt Mr. Stafford.'

For a long moment Penny stared at me, her expression bringing the full weight of her family's wealth and position to bear. I returned her gaze without flinching, and with a twitch of her lip she turned the glare back down to low power. 'I see,' she said stiffly. 'Thank you for your time.' Standing up, she strode out of the bar and disappeared again down the corridor.

'Some people are never satisfied,' I commented, taking a sip of my iced tea. 'I wonder what kind of man she does like? Rich kids with rich daddies, I suppose.'

'I don't know,' Bayta said thoughtfully. 'How sure are we that Mr. Morse isn't a walker?'

I shrugged. 'Statistically, the odds are against it,' I said. 'We know the Modhri hasn't made much of an incursion into Human space.'

'Or he hadn't as of a few months ago,' Bayta countered. 'Even then, though, he had some walkers at the UN and other places.'

She had a point, unfortunately. With Earth law banning the import of corals and corallike substances, the Modhri hadn't been able to bring in the outposts that he'd used as base camps for his infiltration of most of the other societies throughout the galaxy. Still, we knew he'd managed to create a certain presence for himself, mostly among the behind-the-scenes personnel in Earth's various power centers.

And an ESS agent like Morse probably got out into the galaxy enough for the Modhri to have possibly snared him somewhere along the way.

'It's certainly possible,' I told Bayta. 'But he seems awfully antagonistic toward me for someone with a Modhran mind segment whispering behavioral cues in his ear.'

'Unless the Modhri's keeping quiet and trying not to influence him.'

'Sure, but why?' I countered. 'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, to dust off an old saying. Even if Morse had a good reason to hate me, it would pay the Modhri to try to suppress that and make him a more enthusiastic ally.'

'Maybe he thought you'd be suspicious of a total stranger who wanted to assist us.'

'Maybe,' I agreed. 'On the other hand, we're fellow toilers in the Intelligence service trenches. That should automatically raise me above the standard random citizen in his eyes.'

'Except that he doesn't like you.'

'Which the Modhri should be able to suppress, as I said.' I shook my head. 'Bottom line is that we're probably not going to know for sure whether Morse is a walker unless the Modhri makes a mistake.'

Bayta shivered. 'Or takes him over.'

'Right,' I said, suppressing a shiver of my own. 'But at least he can't do that without our knowing about it. There are definite vocal and facial changes I know how to spot.' I took another sip of my tea. 'Meantime, we just pretend Morse is as untrustworthy as everyone else and play our cards as close to our chests as possible. And try to get to Stafford before the Modhri does.'

'Yes,' Bayta murmured. 'You may have been right about the Modhri not wanting to hurt Mr. Stafford. But at the same time, he won't hesitate to do so if he thinks it necessary.'

I grimaced. 'I know.'

'But you say you know where he is?'

'Pretty much.' I took a last swallow of tea and stood up. 'Come on. The least we can do is see Penny and her friends off.'

The Ian-apof Station was fairly small, reflecting the modest size and ambitions of the planetary system itself. As far as I could tell from my encyclopedia, the planet's skiing, lugeboarding, and rock climbing facilities were about all they had that might appeal to the interstellar tourist.

Still, those facilities were apparently pretty impressive, and the station's designers had worked hard to make sure that no one who passed through their Quadrail station forgot it. Each of the dozen restaurants, waiting rooms, shops, and sleeping-room facilities had been painted and textured to look like craggy cliff sides, snow-covered forests, or majestic glaciers. With trains stopping less frequently than at larger stations, the Halkas here had even put in a public dit rec facility, whose tall sides had been sloped upward into a Matterhorn-like peak. Looking at it all, I could practically feel frostbite working its way into my feet.

We said our good-byes to Morse and Penny and her friends at the platform. Penny was rather subdued, probably still annoyed that I hadn't properly fallen all over myself obeying her request to escort her to the inner system. Morse, for his part, seemed to have gotten over the—to him—perceived fiasco of my midnight reconnoiter and had gone back to his normal attitude of simmering dislike.

I was glad to be rid of the pair of them.

Bayta and I watched the group make their way toward the exit hatchway waiting area—apparently Ian-apof transfer station shuttles ran on an on-demand basis—and then headed for the main Quadrail waiting room. 'How soon until the next train to Ghonsilya?' I asked Bayta as we walked.

'About two hours,' she said.

Way too long, I decided, to just sit around a waiting room counting the cracks in the fake rock formations. 'In that case, let's get something to drink,' I said, changing course toward a restaurant decorated to look like a very intimidating rock chimney. I'd never done any rock climbing myself, but I'd heard enough stories to know it wasn't a hobby I would be taking up anytime soon.

'By the way, there was a data chip waiting for you with the stationmaster,' she said as we walked. 'I went and got it while you were telling Ms. Auslander—again—that we weren't going with them.'