“I suppose,” I said, letting just enough chagrin make it into my voice to look like I was stifling a whole lot more.
And trying very hard not to smile.
Because my impromptu gambit had actually worked. In an effort to counter the ridiculous plan I’d spun for Terese, the Shonkla-raa had now made twenty percent of their remaining force unavailable for a quick response.
I looked up at the window of our appropriated cabin, making sure to keep the same stifled chagrin on my face. Bayta and Morse were gazing out at me, Bayta’s face tense, Morse’s that of a poker player who’s just put all his chips into the pot but has no idea what his hole card is.
And then, as I started to look away, something else caught my eye. In the compartment next to theirs a large piece of paper covered with alien writing was being pulled away from the window, and I caught a glimpse of another of the scrawny Fillies who’d been dogging our trail ever since at least Venidra Carvo.
So that was how the Shonkla-raa out here had been apprised of my charge-the-engine plan. I let a little more chagrin into my expression, just in case the Filly or anyone else in that compartment was also watching.
I heard the sound of footsteps over the noise of the command tone, and turned as half a dozen of the walkers who’d been blocking my path to the engine came up to me. My official reception committee, apparently. The two in front, a Jurian diplomat and a pudgy Human wearing a banker’s scarf with a half-open courier’s briefcase still slung across his chest, took my wrists and turned me toward Losutu and Hardin and their Shonkla-raa keeper. “Okay, I’m here,” I called. “You can let them go now.”
“In good time,” the Shonkla-raa called back. The Juri and Human gave simultaneous tugs on my wrists and we headed across the platform, the other four walkers following close behind us.
I glanced around the station as we walked. The non-walkers who’d been watching bemusedly from afar when this whole thing started had vanished, probably cowering in disbelief and horror in the cafés and gift shops, wondering what in hell was going on.
There was no sign of McMicking. Wherever the others had gone to ground, he’d apparently gone with them.
The Spiders, in contrast, were still standing where they’d been when our train pulled in, just as frozen and useless as before. A pity, I thought, that Bayta hadn’t been able to do something with them when the command tone was off. But then, she’d only had a pair of ten-second intervals to work with, and I doubted the Shonkla-raa would have missed any sort of concerted action. Even if Bayta had found anything that the permanently nonviolent creatures could actually do for us.
And then, something caught my eye. The Spiders were indeed still where they’d been standing. But their postures had subtly changed. Every one of them was now standing on only six of their seven legs, with the seventh leg folded up beneath their domes.
And all of those folded legs were pointed off to my left.
Casually, I let my gaze wander in that direction. The Spiders were pointing toward a pair of drudge Spiders about a hundred meters away along the axis of the station from where Losutu and Hardin were standing. The drudges were also perched on six legs, leaning toward each other in unstable-looking poses, their unused legs pointed downward toward a partially open service access airlock.
The implication was clear. It also made no sense.
Because the airlock didn’t actually go anywhere. Not unless there was a maintenance skiff attached to the other side. Even if there was, we would have no way of getting into it. We would need a Spider to close the airlock’s upper hatch and open the lower one, and thanks to the Shonkla-raa all the Spiders were temporarily out of service. All we could do, even assuming I could free the hostages and get to the airlock ahead of the Shonkla-raa, would be to stand there in the pit and wait for the walkers to stroll over and pull us out again.
But the signs were too clear to be misinterpreted. Clearly, Bayta wanted me to go there.
I squared my shoulders. She’d trusted me often enough during our time together. Now it was my turn.
The Shonkla-raa was still gripping his hostages’ necks when my escort and I arrived. “Okay, I’ve made good on my half of the bargain,” I said. “Your turn.”
“In good time,” the Shonkla-raa said, eyeing me curiously. His nose blaze, I saw now, had the same sort of slanted lines through it that I’d also seen on Osantra Riijkhan. Coincidence? Or were the Shonkla-raa blaze-coding their field commanders?
“That’s what you said about seventy meters ago,” I reminded him, nodding over my shoulder toward the train. “You’ve got me. Let them go.”
“You are not what I expected,” Slant Nose continued. “A hero of the Humans should be taller.” He cocked his head. “He should also have a longer nose.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I growled. “You never intended to let them go, did you?”
“A hero of the Humans also requires proper motivation if he is to cooperate with his new masters,” Slant Nose said. “I have no intention of allowing this mission to fail as have others.” His blaze darkened. “Nor will I allow the deaths of my comrades to go unavenged.”
My throat tightened. So it was going to be a quick death after all. “Osantra Riijkhan won’t like it if I arrive in damaged condition,” I warned, trying to stall for time. Where the hell was McMicking?
“Even Osantra Riijkhan does not obtain everything he desires,” Slant Nose countered. Behind me, one of the men from my escort detached himself from the group and stepped in front of me. His hand dipped into the banker’s briefcase and pulled out a mite Spider, its slender legs sticking out rigidly from its fist-sized globe.
And in a single smooth motion, the man turned and jammed the Spider into Slant Nose’s neck, burying the stiffened legs in the other’s oversized throat.
Without a word, or even a dying gurgle, the Shonkla-raa dropped to the ground.
I had just enough time to let my mouth drop open in surprise when the man spun back around and dropped my two handlers with quick jabs to the Juri’s throat and the Human’s solar plexus. “You can thank me later,” McMicking said, deftly snatching the briefcase from around the banker’s neck and shoulder as he fell. “Everyone—to the café. We’ll make our stand there.”
“No,” I said, spinning around as the three remaining walkers in my escort—or rather, their distant Shonkla-raa controllers—broke free from their shock and attacked. I dropped one with a side kick to the knee, evaded another’s arms as he tried to throw a bear hug around me, then jabbed him in the ribs and then behind his ear. The third gave a sudden whimper and staggered backward, clutching at a pale red liquid that had suddenly appeared on his face.
“Here,” McMicking said, thrusting a bright yellow restaurant condiment squeeze bottle into my hand. “Why not the café?”
“We go by those two drudges,” I said, pointing. Back by the train, the line of walkers broke into a concerted charge toward us.
“You heard the man,” McMicking said, giving the still goggling Losutu and Hardin a shove each. “Move it.”
“Come on,” Losutu said. He slapped Hardin’s shoulder for emphasis, and the two men took off, running as if all of hell was after them.
Which, in a very real sense, it was.
“Nice timing, as always,” I said to McMicking as we watched the approaching wave of walkers. I felt a flicker of satisfaction as I watched the ones jammed into the train’s wheels struggling madly to extricate themselves so that they could join in the party. “Any other useful items in your bag of tricks?”