The Third Lynx (20 page)

The best place for a private chat turned out to be the damaged section of the amphitheater where Fayr had taken the five Tra’ho juvenile delinquents. We kicked the six of them back out into the tunnel—Stafford confirmed that the gang really
did
help keep out the riffraff at night—and Bayta and I settled down to hear Stafford’s story.

“He’d been getting offers to buy the Lynx for probably three weeks before the robbery attempt,” he told us. “Strange offers, from a mysterious unnamed buyer.”

“How strange?” I asked.

“The man was naming a price way above what the Lynx could possibly be worth,” he said. “That alone made Uncle Rafael suspicious. He started looking into the current status of the rest of the Nemuti sculptures, which was how he found out they’d been disappearing right and left. He doubled the guard on his estate and the gallery and started trying to backtrack the would-be buyer.”

“Only they got in anyway,” I said.

Stafford winced. “Yes,” he said grimly. “I think that was what hit Uncle Rafael the hardest. There was no way they could have penetrated the security system without the help of one of the guards.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “There are techniques people in my former line of work would know.”

He looked sharply at me. “Oh?”

“And I was out of the solar system when it happened,” I hastened to assure him.

“I’m sure you were,” Stafford said. “Anyway, Uncle Rafael decided he’d better get the Lynx off the estate before whoever it was tried it again.”

“So he gave you the sculpture, a handful of cash sticks, some fake ID, and told you to lose yourself?”

“Basically. I hopped the next flight out of Paris and headed for the Quadrail.”

“Did Mr. Künstler also suggest you come to Ghonsilya to find the Viper?” Bayta asked.

“Actually, that was my idea,” Stafford said. “I’d been off the estate a couple of weeks, just riding the Quadrail and staying away from anyplace where I might be recognized, when I got a message from him. His would-be buyer had surfaced again, this time offering to trade the Lynx for the Hawk that had been stolen from a collector on Bellis. He told me he was thinking about going to Bellis to contact the person and size up the situation.”

“Secure in the knowledge that the Lynx was well out of the buyer’s reach,” I said grimly. “Unfortunately for him, the buyer didn’t know that.”

“And I gather arranged an ambush,” Stafford said, a shiver running through him. “What the hell
are
these damn sculptures, anyway? And don’t tell me they’re just bombs. No one kills just for bombs.”

“I don’t know,” I said. For the moment, at least, there was no need for him to know about the sensor chameleon aspect. “But for our current purposes it doesn’t really matter. Just on general principles, if the bad guys want something, you want to keep it away from them.”

“And hope you can stay alive in the process,” Stafford murmured. “Do you at least know who killed my uncle?”

“We know who ordered the attack,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “It’s not quite clear yet which specific individuals carried it out.”

“But you’ll get them, won’t you?”

“The plan is to ultimately nail the whole gang,” I said. “But it might take a while.”

“Doesn’t it always?” he said. “So what’s the plan? Grab the Lynx and get out of here?”

“We definitely grab the Lynx,” I said. “The getting out part is going to be a little trickier. It turns out that the gang is holding a couple of hostages for my good behavior. An ESS agent named Morse, who was sent to find you and bring you back to Earth.” I braced myself. “And a young lady named Penny Auslander.”

Stafford stared at me, and even in the dim light I could see some of the color drain from his face.
“Penny’s
here? In God’s name—?”

“Easy,” I soothed him. “She was just following your instructions.”

He swore under his breath. “She and the others were supposed to go to Ian-apof,” he said. “They were just supposed to throw anyone looking for me off the scent.” He glared at me accusingly, as if Penny’s presence here was my fault.

Which, technically, it was. “So I gathered,” I said. “Unfortunately, the gang saw through it. Anyway, the point is we have to get them free before we take off.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“No, but I know where they’ll be tomorrow night,” I said. “Tell me, in your time here in Paradise have you found out who the best ceramic workers are?”

“I know a couple of good ones,” he said. “But I can do ceramic work, too, you know.”

“No offense, but what we need right now is a professional,” I said. “You think you could go get one of them and bring him here?”

“Probably,” Stafford said, not moving. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is for you to go get your sculptor friend,” I said patiently. “That’s all you need to know right now.” I took another look at his face. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to just be sitting around twiddling your thumbs. Oh, and we might need a set of metalworking tools, too, including a small plasma torch.”

For a long moment he gazed hard at my face. Then, abruptly, he got up and strode out of the room. “I don’t think he trusts you,” Bayta said.

“Nothing I can do about that,” I said. “If Uncle Rafael’s recommendation isn’t good enough for him—”

“I meant I don’t think he trusts you about Penny.”

I broke off. “Oh.”

For a moment we stared across the room at each other in silence… and as I gazed into her eyes something she’d said earlier suddenly penetrated my consciousness.
Danger and tension can bring people together. I know that
.

I know that
…

I’d thought I’d been accepted into Bayta’s inner circle. Apparently, I’d made it inside that circle a little farther than I’d realized.

“Bayta, this has nothing to do with you,” I said quietly. “It’s me.”

“I know that,” she said. “That’s what has me worried. You’ve closed yourself off from people for so long that… well, it all just seems to be happening too fast. For anyone, but especially for you.”

“And especially with someone like Penny?”

Her lip twitched. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Hurt is my middle name,” I told her, trying to strike a little lighter note. “I can handle it.” I stood up. “Come on.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, standing up, too.

“We start by getting the Lynx,” I told her. “The fire should have burned down enough by now.”

“What about Ms. Auslander and Mr. Morse?” she asked.

“Well, we can’t just leave them here,” I said reasonably. “Much as I’m tempted in Morse’s case.”

“So again, what are we going to do?”

“Whatever it takes,” I said. “Come on. I want the Lynx in hand before Stafford gets back.”

Fayr had said earlier that Ghonsilya was a relatively poor world, as these things went, with only a few of the utterly obscenely wealthy that formed the upper crust on many other planets. Still, the place clearly boasted at least a fair representation of the only moderately obscenely wealthy.

And judging from the crowd still flowing into the Magaraa City Art Museum’s auditorium, it looked like every one of them had turned out for the auction.

I was seated in one of the aisle seats about three-quarters of the way back from the stage when Bayta returned from her reconnoiter and sat down beside me. “Anything?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I saw three Halkas, but they weren’t the Modhri’s soldiers. At least, they weren’t either of the two we’ve met. You?”

“I’ve collected a lot of dirty looks for hogging the aisle seats,” I told her. “Other than that, nothing.”

She peered up over the heads of the people, mostly Tra’ho’seej, seated around us. “What if he doesn’t come?”

“He will,” I assured her. “The big question is what kind of backup he’ll have with him.”

“He doesn’t want the local police authorities in on this,” she reminded me.

“Unless he’s brought in walkers high enough in the pecking order to keep the cops under control.”

Abruptly, Bayta craned her neck upward a little. “Frank—that Tra’ho in the back of the room in the rider chair,” she said. “Is that one of the oathlings from last night?”

I studied the distant alien face. “Could be,” I said. “Especially in that chair. He’s probably still having trouble with his balance.”

“But he
is
now able to see,” a gruff Halkan voice said from above me.

I looked up. It was Gargantua, standing in the aisle beside me, glaring intimidatingly down his bulldog snout at me. There was no sign of his sensor cane, so apparently his eyes had recovered, too. “There you are,” I said conversationally. “How’s it going?”

“You have the item?” he asked, ignoring the attempt at small talk.

“You have our friends?” I countered.

His eyes flicked to my jacket, then to the empty area beneath my chair. “Where is it?”

“Nice and safe and easy to get to,” I assured him.
“When
we see our friends.”

He studied my face a moment. “They await in a car out front.”

“Good,” I said. “Bring them here.”

“You have my word they’re unharmed.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Bring them here anyway. The trade’s going to happen in this room.”

Gargantua’s gaze lifted almost furtively to the crowd around us… and with a sudden and unexpected flicker of empathy I had a glimpse of just how vulnerable the Modhri truly was. His main body was composed of lumps of coral, helpless against a determined attack, while his only allies were co-opted beings who had no loyalty to either him or his cause, but who had to be literally forced to do his bidding.

The Modhri had been designed by the Shonkla-raa as a secret weapon, someone who would operate in the shadows. Now, with the truth of his existence out in the light, he was fighting not only for conquest, but for survival.

Ruthlessly, I crushed back the flicker of sympathy. Sympathy of any sort was a weakness the Modhri could turn to his advantage, exerting limited influence through telepathically planted thought viruses that traveled the lowered mental resistance lines that existed between friends and trusted associates.

Fortunately, unlike the irresistible control he had over his walkers, thought viruses could be successfully fought, provided you didn’t let them get a foothold. “We’re still waiting,” I reminded him.

“They have arrived.”

I turned around in my seat. Flanked by two more Tra’hok oathlings in rider chairs, Penny and Morse were standing in the back of the room. They were steady on their feet, looking around the room, and seemed to be all right.

Morse’s scanning eyes found me. I raised my eyebrows in wordless question, got a subtle thumbs-up in wordless response.

“The Lynx.” Gargantua said.

“Certainly.” Turning back around, I nodded to the stage. “It’s right there.”

He looked that direction, the wrinkles in his snout deepening. “Where?”

“Right there,” I said again, pointing. “Peeking out from behind that green and blue landscape painting. See it?”

He turned startled eyes on me. “You entered it in the
auction
?”

“You got it,” I said. “Lot one hundred thirty-five, I believe. Afraid you’re going to have to make an evening of it—late donation, you know. Anyway, the point is that all you need to do is wait for it to come up, buy it, and it’s yours.”

He looked back at the stage. “We agreed to a straight trade.”

“I changed my mind,” I said. “Mr. Stafford spent a lot of money coming here, and I thought he should at least get some of it back. Besides, it was your fault the museum was damaged. It’s only right that you help pay to put it back together.”

“I see,” he said, sounding calmer. “Only half the monies collected go to the museum. How will the Human Stafford receive his share?”

“That’s the best part,” I said. “We’ll have a couple of hours to get safely hidden away before you take possession, just in case you have something nasty up your sleeves—”

“I have given you my word.”

“And as I said before, I’ve seen how well you keep it,” I reminded him. “Meanwhile, the museum will hold our share until we’re ready to come get it.”

He cocked his head to the side.
“Our
share?”

“I’m charging a small commission for services rendered,” I said. “Not that that’s any of your concern. Do we have a deal?”

Gargantua looked at the Lynx again. “Take the other Humans and go,” he said.

“Good,” I said, standing up and motioning for Bayta to do the same. “See you around.”

His eyes glittered. “Absolutely,” he promised.

“What’s going on?” Penny asked as Bayta and I reached her and Morse.

“We’re getting out of here,” I said, watching the two oathlings out of the corners of my eye as I took her arm. Neither was paying any attention to us. But then, I doubted either had the faintest idea that he was on guard duty. “Your luggage still back at the transport depot?”

Morse nodded. “The Halkas wouldn’t let us go get it.”

“Good enough,” I said. “It can stay there until we’re ready to leave the planet. Come on—your friend Daniels waiting.”

“Her
fiancé
Daniel,” Morse corrected pointedly as the four of us headed for the nearest exit.

I grimaced as I glanced sideways at Penny’s profile. Out of sight, out of mind, and over the past day I’d almost been able to bury my feelings for her. Now, with her right here beside me. they were flooding back with a vengeance.

Even knowing how it was hurting Bayta, they were still flooding back with a vengeance. It was like high school all over again. “Whatever,” I said to Morse. “Regardless, we need to make tracks.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

There was a line of autocabs pulled up beside the curb. We piled in and I gave the vehicle the address of the Artists’ Paradise. “What about the Lynx?” Morse asked as we set off through the evening darkness.

“We’re leaving it here,” I told him.

“The hell we are,” Morse bit out. “That’s evidence in a grand theft case. Possibly also a homicide.” “Sorry, but I made a deal,” I said.

“With whom?” Morse countered. “The gang, or Stafford?”

“Pick one,” I said. I’d also nearly forgotten how annoying Morse could be.

The autocab let us out at the Paradise’s main entrance, and I led us inside. Halfway down the tunnel, I found that the five Tra’ho’seej juvenile delinquents had taken up their old posts. They seemed considerably more subdued than they’d been the previous night. “Evening,” I greeted them. “I trust we’re not going to have any trouble from you?”

[No,] the leader said, his ears twitching nervously. [But he’s gone.]

“What?” I asked, letting my voice drop half an octave.

[He’s gone,] the Tra’ho repeated, holding out a data chip. [He said to give you this.]

Wordlessly, I pulled out my reader and plugged in the chip.

The message was very brief.
Compton: I can’t wait this out. I thought I could, but I can’t. You can have my share of the auction money—I just want out. See you when I see you
.

It was signed
Daniel S
.

“Terrific,” I growled, handing the reader to Morse and Penny. “Just terrific.”

“He can’t do this,” Morse growled. “He’s still under suspicion for grand theft.”

“Maybe he doesn’t realize that,” I said.

“Or maybe he
does
,” Morse shot back. “Maybe that’s why he ran.”

“He didn’t even mention me,” Penny murmured.

I looked at her, my heart aching in sympathy with the quiet pain in her voice. I wanted to tell her the truth, but of course I couldn’t. “He didn’t know you were here,” I lied instead. “I never told him.”

“Time stamp’s only three hours ago,” Morse pointed out, handing back the reader. “If he’s headed for the spaceport, we might still be able to catch him.”

“Worth a try,” I said. “Let’s see if our autocab’s still there.”

Unfortunately, it had already driven off. “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “The subway’s not far.”

I set off at a brisk walk. “Wait a minute,” Penny said as she worked to keep up with me. “Shouldn’t we call the spaceport first?”

“And say what?” I countered, pulling up the torchliner schedule on my reader. “We have no authority to ask them to hold him.”

“I could start extradition proceedings,” Morse offered, sounding doubtful. “But that would take time.”

“Way too much time,” I agreed. “Besides, the police may still be mad at me over that hotel incident. We’d do better to keep our heads down.”

“I could try to call him,” Penny offered. “I know his comm number.”

“Except that the Halkas never gave us back our comms,” Morse reminded her. “We’d have to find a public.”

“No time for that now,” I said, handing Morse my reader. “If I’m reading these schedules right, we’re going to reach the spaceport with less than an hour to book passage on that torchliner and get ourselves aboard.”

“We’re
leaving
?” Penny asked. “We don’t even know if Daniel’s aboard.”

“The next one doesn’t leave until tomorrow,” Morse told her as he flipped through the schedule. “Compton’s right—he’ll definitely be making for this one. But we should be able to book our staterooms on the way from one of the comms in the suborb.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Ms. Auslander can also try calling Mr. Stafford from there. The trick will be to catch the next suborb before it leaves. Otherwise, we won’t make that liner.”

“Then let’s stop talking and hurry,” Morse said.