I crossed the room and pulled the pillow and blankets off Minnario’s bed, wincing at the thought of him about to be kicked out of his compartment for the second time today. I thought about asking Kennrick if he would make an exception, decided I might as well save my breath. A four-time murderer was hardly likely to have any residual compassion for children, puppies, or cripples.
The blankets slipped easily through the gap in the divider. The much thicker pillow was trickier, but I eventually managed it. “That’s good,” Kennrick said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“What about Bayta’s food?” I asked. “And are you going to want anything in the way of liquid refreshment?”
“I think we can make do with water from the sink,” Kennrick said. “That way, since you’ll never know who’s going to be drinking next, I know you won’t try poisoning it or anything.”
I sighed. “You know, Kennrick, paranoids don’t really live any longer than other people. It just feels like it. What about her food?”
“Come back here in two hours,” he said. “Bring enough to last her the rest of the trip.”
“All right,” I said. “If you change your mind and want anything else—”
“Good-bye, Frank,” Bayta cut me off, the intensity in her voice matched by the look in her eyes.
“Yes, good-bye, Frank,” Kennrick repeated sarcastically. “See you in two hours. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll be here.” I looked at Bayta, wondering if I should try to say something soothing. But she didn’t look like she was in a soothable mood. Nodding to her, I headed back across the compartment. I had just reached the door when I felt a subtle puff of air behind me, and turned to see the divider seal itself against the wall.
I swore under my breath. But it wasn’t a curse of anger or frustration or even fear. The conversation with Kennrick had burned all such emotions out of my system. All that remained was the cold, detached combat mentality Westali had worked so hard to beat into me.
And came to an abrupt halt. Standing motionlessly in the corridor between me and the car’s rear door were two conductor Spiders. “What?” I demanded.
Neither of them answered. I opened my mouth to ask the question again …and then belatedly, my brain caught up with me, and I took a second, closer look.
Because they weren’t conductors. They were larger, with the pattern of white dots that usually denoted a stationmaster.
I’d almost forgotten about the message we’d tried to send as we’d blown past the hidden siding a few days ago. Apparently, the gamble had paid off.
No wonder Bayta had been so anxious for me to cut short the conversation and get out here.
“Frank Compton?” one of the Spiders said in the flat voice all Spiders seemed to have.
“Yes.” I took a deep breath, a cold chill shivering across my skin. “Welcome, defenders. And may I say, it’s about damn time.”
I’d expected to have to spend at least the first hour helping get all the compartment cars emptied of passengers. But either Bayta or the defenders had already given the orders, and I quickly discovered that the conductors had the procedure under way. Leaving that task to them, I took the defenders back to my compartment for a quick tactical session.
“Let’s start with you,” I said as I closed the door behind me. “How many of you are there, and where’s your tender?”
“We are two,” one of the defenders said. His particular white-dot pattern reminded me of a military chevron lying on its side; privately, I dubbed him Sarge. “Our tender currently travels behind this train.”
“Which I assume means you came aboard from the rear through the baggage cars,” I said. “Did you bring any specialized equipment?”
“What sort of equipment?”
“Anything besides standard Spider tools and replacement parts,” I said. “Weapons, another
The Spiders were silent for a moment, probably discussing the matter between themselves. “No weapons or tools,” Sarge said at last. “But the tender is equipped with a side-extendable sealable passageway.”
I frowned. “You mean like a portable airlock?”
“Yes,” Sarge confirmed.
“Good,” I said. “Let’s get whatever you do have within a bit easier reach. Can you bring the tender up the auxiliary service tracks alongside the right-hand side of the train?”
“We require a Crosshatch to change tracks,” Sarge said.
“Yes, I know,” I said. A Crosshatch was a section of spiral-laid tracks that allowed a Quadrail to quickly switch from one track to another without having to first get to a station. “Are there any coming up?”
Another pause as they again communed with each other. If defenders were the Chahwyn’s attempt to create Spiders with quick minds and the ability to take the initiative, I reflected, they still had a long way to go. “The nearest is three hours away,” Sarge reported.
“That should do,” I said. “When we hit the Crosshatch, bring the tender up alongside—let’s see—alongside the door into the center compartment car. Kennrick’s compartment is on the opposite side, so he won’t spot it.”
“Other passengers may notice its passage,” Sarge warned.
“Not if they’re all watching dit rec dramas at the time,” I said. “But you’re right. We’ll have the conductors opaque any open display windows before you move the tender, just to be on the safe side.” I braced myself. “Now we need an update from the inside. Can you get in contact with Bayta?”
Sarge seemed to straighten a little on his metallic legs. “Frank?” Bayta’s voice came.
I jumped. I’d never even heard of Spiders being able to do
“Yes,” Sarge said, still in Bayta’s voice. “I hope things look better out there than they do in here.”
“I’m working on it,” I assured her. “Can you see where the other ends of your nooses are connected?”
“One’s attached to the door, the other to the curve couch,” she reported. “Both are running through pulley systems, so that if the door opens or the couch collapses into the divider …” She left the sentence unfinished.
“Understood,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to dwell on the consequences, either. “Is there any way to get to the wires from outside the room? Maybe open the door or divider just far enough to send in a mite with wire cutters?”
“No,” the response came immediately. “Opening the door at all will kill me. And the divider can only be opened about as far as it was earlier.”
Which hadn’t left enough of a gap for a mite to squeeze through. I wondered briefly about the even smaller twitters, but quickly abandoned the thought. Twitters were delicate creatures, designed for electronics repair and assembly, and I doubted they would have the strength to carry and operate something as big and heavy as wire cutters. “How about the ceiling?” I asked. “We’ve still got almost two hours’ worth of Spiders and moving passengers thudding around. Could the mites disassemble their way through enough of the ceiling so that they could get the rest of the way through later tonight while Kennrick’s asleep?”
“Two hours wouldn’t be nearly enough time,” Bayta said. “Besides, I think he’s put sensors up there. There are six lumps of what looks like clay attached to parts of the ceiling and wired into his reader.”
“Gray-colored clay?”
“Dark gray, yes.”
“They’re sensors, all right,” I confirmed. “Certainly audio, possibly motion, too. There are six, you say?”
“Yes, with four more lined up by the door,” Bayta said. “From the lengths of their wires, I’d guess he’s planning to put them out into the corridor after everyone’s left.”
I grimaced. The man had definitely thought this through. “Anything else?”
“He’s been stretching more wires like the ones around my neck over the floor,” she said. “I think they’re all just fastened to the walls, but I can’t be completely sure.”
“Probably just window dressing,” I told her. “The more wires he loads the room with, the harder it’ll be for us to know which ones we have to cut. Anything else?”
“I don’t know what it means,” Bayta said slowly, “but he’s brought in the oxygen repressurization tank from our
