"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.
Luck, and the express subway schedule, were with us. We made the depot with fifteen minutes to spare, grabbed our luggage and got tickets for the suborbital transport to Portline, and were soon arcing our way through the darkened Ghonsilya sky.
Penny insisted on trying to call Stafford before we did anything else. But there was no answer. Either his comm was off or else he'd lost it sometime during his residence at the Paradise. She tried a dozen times before reluctantly agreeing to stop long enough to call the torchliner station about booking passage. There were, as I'd expected, several staterooms still available, and her credit tab was healthy enough to reserve four of them for us. Brushing off Morse's promise to try to get ESS to reimburse her for at least his part of the fare, she resumed her efforts to get through to Stafford.
The flight took three hours, during which time we passed from the early evening of Magaraa City to the midafternoon of Portline. The torchliner was already in the middle of flight prep, but we had time to sign in and get settled before it lifted.
The staff was, of course, not at liberty to give out the names of other passengers. Morse suggested trying to tap into their computer, but since none of us knew what name Stafford was traveling under there wasn't much point in that. So instead, the four of us settled in to keep a close watch on the dining rooms and public areas. Sooner or later, he would have to come out of his stateroom.
Only he didn't. We were two days out when even Morse was forced to accept the conclusion that Stafford wasn't aboard.
"This is all your fault," Penny bit out, glaring at me across the dining-room table. "You're the one who said he'd be on this torchliner."
"You saw the message," I reminded her, fighting to stay professional about this. It wasn't easy, what with her anger and sense of betrayal hitting me like high-radiation solar wind. "What other assumption could we have made?"
"Maybe he decided at the last minute he didn't want to leave without his share of the auction money," Bayta offered.
"Or else he knew we would read his note and go charging off like a pack of idiots," Morse growled. He was clearly with Penny on the plan to drop all the blame for this into my lap. "He probably went to ground in Portline to wait for the next torchliner."