Which was probably why I didn’t notice the change that had come over Terese. Not until it was almost too late.
* * *
With a final creaking of brakes, the train pulled into Venidra Carvo Station.
“According to the schedule, we have another six hours before the super-express departs for Homshil,” ChoDar said as we watched out the lounge display windows at the drudge Spiders detaching our car from the rest of the train. “If you would like to take some exercise around the station during that time, please feel free.” He smiled. “I’m accustomed to the close quarters of this car, but others sometimes find it a bit stifling.”
“Yes, I think we will take a short stroll,” I said, taking Bayta’s arm and starting us toward the door. “I should at least go to the message center and see if there’s anything waiting for me.”
“As should all who are about to embark upon the great silence of that long journey,” ChoDar agreed. “If you’re willing to wait until YhoTeHeu has prepared the diplomatic bag, perhaps the three of you can travel together.” He smiled. “Here in the midst of Shorshian territory, it would be wise for non-Shorshians such as ourselves to stick together.”
I smiled at the small joke, a mostly untranslatable play on the Halkan term for
Ten minutes later, YhoTeHeu, Bayta, and I left the car and trooped across the platform toward the stationmaster complex and the Spider message center.
The Shorshic Congregate was the second biggest of the Twelve Empires, a huge place that was nearly the size of the Filiaelian Assembly, and Shorshian pride was right up there with that of their Filly neighbors. The Venidra Carvo station might not be as ostentatious as Proteus, but that didn’t mean the Shorshians hadn’t done a thorough job of tricking it out. Shops, restaurants, and hotels lined the platforms, tucked in between stands of vibrant flower hedges and the Quadrail tracks that lined the entire circumference of the two-kilometer-diameter station. Some of the buildings were fifteen stories tall, with elaborate facades and typical Shorshic heptagonal windows. The biggest buildings, especially the official ones, were decorated with Shorshic artistic flourishes: pointy anglecrons, undulating wave-shaped sweeplets, and others whose names I didn’t know. The overall effect was that of being in a field of underwater thornbushes.
But I didn’t have any attention to spare for cultural evaluation. The majority of the travelers milling about the station were Shorshians, but probably a quarter of them were Fillies, earnest, haughty, and well-dressed.
And every one of them who crossed our path got my complete and undivided attention for as long as it took to get a good look at his or her throat.
The good news was that none of the Fillies I saw had Shonkla-raa throats. The bad news was that way too many of them gave our little party the same kind of brief but intense scrutiny that I was giving them.
Most of that attention was innocent, of course. The vast majority of Fillies, even well-traveled ones, never made it to our end of the galaxy. Humans and Halkas were rarities, and it was only natural for them to stare.
Unfortunately, I was pretty sure not all of those eyes were friendly. Even more unfortunately, I had no idea yet which ones were which.
But we had no choice. I couldn’t risk giving my collection of messages to any of the Spiders roaming the station, not with Shonkla-raa possibly on the loose. Comms didn’t work inside the Tube, and the messages were too long and complex for me to have Bayta transmit them telepathically from one Spider to the next all the way to the message center.
On the other hand we weren’t nearly as helpless as we looked. My Beretta was still in its under-train lockbox, of course, but the
And should anyone try the more direct approach, we had YhoTeHeu striding along beside us. Not only was he a combat-trained veteran of the Halkan military’s special forces, but he was also
Still, the last thing I wanted was to make a scene here, even if someone else started it. The Spiders might officially control the Tube and the station, but there were also plenty of Shorshic authorities on hand, none of whom would be happy at my use of an unknown weapon knocking their people and guests around. With our super-express leaving in a few hours, this was pretty much the Shonkla-raa’s last chance to keep Bayta and me here on their side of the galaxy.
But either they weren’t worried about our departure or else they didn’t want that scene any more than I did. We reached the message center with nothing more serious than a slightly bruised shin where I’d misjudged the path of a hard-edged footlocker rolling past me. Three minutes of waiting in line got us to the counter, where I delivered my encoded data chip to the stationmaster Spider on duty. Six lines over, I watched out of the corner of my eye as YhoTeHeu received the chip containing ChoDar’s messages and secured it inside his boss’s tamper-proof diplomatic bag. We retraced our steps past the Shorshians and Fillies still waiting in line, rendezvoused with YhoTeHeu outside the building, and with Bayta walking between us we started back toward the Peerage car.
We’d gone maybe fifty meters when I spotted two Fillies ahead and to our right, walking in military lockstep, their heads held high, their eyes alert.
And they were heading straight toward us.
Bayta spotted them the same time I did. “Frank?” she murmured.
“I see them,” I murmured back, taking her arm and angling us slightly to the left.
I hadn’t bothered to inform YhoTeHeu of my course change, and for a couple of steps he kept going in the wrong direction. But we’d only made it another couple before he was back beside us again. [Is there trouble?] he rumbled in Halkora.
“Two Filiaelians right-forward,” I told him, scanning the area for more of them. The Shonkla-raa must surely have been able to dig up more than a measly pair of agents to make trouble for us.
They had. Thirty degrees around front from the original twosome were another pair, and a quick glance behind me showed two more coming up slowly but steadily from behind. Another quick sweep showed a second layer, again in pairs, about five meters behind the inner three groups and offset from them. Twelve very obvious potential foes, who now had us neatly boxed in.
Except for the conveniently open area to our left.
[Do they pose a threat?] YhoTeHeu asked in an ominous tone, shifting the diplomatic bag from his right to his left hand.
“They might,” I told him, picking up our pace as I gave another careful look to our left. Not a single junior military cadet visible anywhere over there. Either the Shonkla-raa employed the most incompetent henchmen in the galaxy, or they were simply hoping we would think that.
YhoTeHeu was on the same page I was. [They’re trying to herd us to the left,] he said, his voice dropping half an octave into the low-pitched command/combat voice I’d sometimes heard from Shorshic military attaches during my Westali days.
“That they are,” I agreed, studying the area in that direction. There was a block of buildings over there, including a five-story hotel, two cafe-type restaurants, an imported-clothing store, and a music/dit-rec shop. On both sides of the building cluster were stands of exquisitely sculpted shear-layered trees and shrubs.
In other words, whether this group preferred to stage their ambushes indoors or out, they’d picked a good spot for it.
I looked back at the Filiaelians coming in from our two o’clock position. Their stride had picked up an almost jaunty air, the cockiness of a pack of wolves who’ve spotted their prey and are mentally choosing which fork would go best with elk.
Which struck me as a little odd, because of all the Fillies in the ring, that particular pair had the least cause for cockiness. One of them was big and strong and no doubt would be a match even for the specialized Filly combat techniques Emikai had taught me on the trip in to Proteus. But the other of the pair was short and thin, not very muscular at all, and in fact rather delicate and scrawny.
A commander facing weaponless combat typically chooses his biggest and strongest soldiers for the job. A less
