“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”
A frown flicked across his face. But he nodded and disappeared around the corner as he headed forward.
I turned and hurried back to the server Spider behind the bar counter. “Relay,” I said quietly toward the expressionless gray globe hanging from its seven legs. “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country. Repeat: now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country. Acknowledge.”
The Spider hesitated, then dipped his globe in response. “Acknowledge,” he said in his flat voice. Nodding, I turned and hurried back across the bar and down the corridor to the vestibule. I popped the door, crossed the vestibule, popped the far door, and stepped into our coach car.
Morse was waiting for me about twenty meters in, his posture unnaturally stiff. Standing with him were three of the five Fillies we’d tentatively tagged as Shonkla-raa.
Only it wasn’t so tentative anymore. They’d thrown open their high-collar bishreol remak disguises, revealing the telltale Shonkla-raa throats.
And filling the car was the high-pitched whistle I’d heard way too many times recently.
“There you are,” one of the Shonkla-raa said conversationally as I stopped just inside the vestibule door. “Please, come in. The party’s just getting interesting.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said, looking around as I walked slowly toward them. The promise of free Quadrail travel had cleared out the car, all right. Aside from us, the only two passengers still here were a Cimma with his back to us, who seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in the dit-rec drama playing on the display window in front of him, and a thin, elderly Human male sleeping in his chair, a furry blanket on his lap and a matching pillow tucked behind his head. I couldn’t tell if his chair’s music player was running, but if it was I had no doubt that the free travel announcement had missed him completely.
In fact, if the volume was high enough, there was a good chance that whatever unpleasantness the Shonkla-raa were about to unleash would also go unheard. “You realize we were expecting something like this, don’t you?” I said, turning my attention back to the Shonkla-raa.
“For whatever good that preparation has done you,” the Shonkla-raa said, looking around the empty car. “Amazing, isn’t it, how easily manipulated the peoples of the galaxy are?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I see two who managed to resist your bribe attempt.”
The Filly snorted. “Not because of any integrity on their part, I assure you. I have no doubt we would be completely alone right now had they been physically able to hear our offer.”
“Maybe,” I said, stopping a couple of long strides short of their little group. “Though considering your preferred method of attack physically able to hear is an interesting turn of phrase. Might turn out to be a significant metaphor, too.”
“You may cling to such hopes if it pleases you,” the Shonkla-raa said, his eyes flicking to the sleeping man. “But rest assured that if that Human was a Modhran Eye, all the music in the galaxy would not protect him from our call. He, too, would be standing here with us right now.” He gestured toward Morse. “As is your former ally.”
I grimaced as I studied Morse’s face. So much for the hopeful theory that Human walkers might require a different command frequency. He was clearly locked up, tight as a drum and ready to dance to the Shonkla-raa’s tune. “That’s one for your side, I suppose,” I conceded. “By the way, where’s Osantra Riijkhan? He always struck me as the sort who’d never miss an opportunity to gloat.”
“Unfortunately, our guess was slightly incorrect as to where these supposed new allies of yours were located,” the Shonkla-raa said. “Osantra Riijkhan was caught out of position and unable to join us in time. The honor of your final defeat has thus come to me.”
“Well, don’t go counting your chickens, because I’m not yet ready to hand over my sword,” I warned. “Regardless, it’s considered a basic courtesy for the challenger to offer the challenged his name.”
The color of the Filly’s blaze was fluttering a little, probably from all the Human cultural references I was throwing at him. But his voice was clear and steady enough. “Forgive me,” he said, inclining his head. “I am Isantra Yleli.”
I stared at him. “Yleli?”
“I’m pleased you remember his name,” Yleli said, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. “Yes, the late Tech Yleli was one of my kinsmen.” His blaze darkened. “That was why we knew his murder would be the ideal bait to draw you and the alien woman Bayta into our Kuzyatru Station trap.”
A shiver ran up my back. I’d known how ruthless the Shonkla-raa were. But this was a level of cold-bloodedness far beyond anything even I had expected.
And I’d deliberately brought Rebekah into reach of these people. Rebekah, Terese, and Bayta.
But there was still a chance. I had to hold on to that. “I’m constrained to point out that his murder, convenient though it might have been for you, didn’t exactly result in a Shonkla-raa victory. As I recall, it ended in a rather resounding Shonkla-raa defeat.”
His blaze went considerably darker this time. “They were careless,” he said stiffly. “We won’t make that mistake again.”
“Of course not,” I said. “But thank you for the demo. I imagine you’ll want to settle back in under your rocks before the rest of the passengers finish toasting the birthday boy and come trooping back.”
“There’s no hurry,” Yleli assured me. “It is, after all, a very long and complicated toast. And the demo is far from over.” He gestured to one of his two companions.
The other nodded silently and turned, heading forward toward the compartment car. He reached the vestibule, popped open the door, and stepped inside.
I tensed. The instant the door closed behind him, his contribution to the control tone holding Morse in place would be cut off. That would leave just the other Shonkla-raa still broadcasting. If I could get to him before Yleli could pick up the slack …
But Yleli was already a step ahead of me. The vestibule door was still sliding closed when he raised his own voice in the whistling control tone. “What now?” I asked, wondering if I could get him to stop whistling and explain or gloat some more.
But again, he was smarter than that. He ignored the question, keeping up his part of the siren song. Grimacing, with nothing else I could do, I settled in to wait.
The seconds stretched into minutes. Morse’s face changed once during that time, lines of puzzlement or concern rippling briefly across his face. But if Yleli noticed, he didn’t bother to ask about it. To my right, the Cimma snuffled a couple of times, and I realized he’d fallen asleep with the dit-rec drama still playing in his chair’s sound system. Maybe he’d been asleep all along. Behind me, the old man gave a wet-sounding snort of his own and shifted a little in his own journey through dreamland.
And then, after about three minutes, the vestibule door opened again and Terese stumbled into view, her face ashen white. Behind her was Rebekah, her eyes as glazed in their own way as Morse’s, walking toward our little group like a person in a slow-motion dream.
Behind them, her eyes not nearly so glazed, her expression a mixture of fear and determination, her arm held firmly in the Shonkla-raa’s grip, was Bayta.
“You said earlier that was one for our side,” Yleli said as the newcomers came up behind him. “I believe this is now four for our side.”
I studied Rebekah as she and the others came to a halt. The impression I’d first had of her as a sleepwalker was still holding. Her movements were slow and reluctant, and I noticed that she took an extra step after the Shonkla-raa came to a halt, as if she was slightly out of synch with her new masters’ commands. Maybe that was the Melding itself, or possibly her polyp colony plus the inertia of the extra coral tucked away in the compartment.