"We were to make the exchange at Terra Station," the Modhri reminded me.
"And I've changed my mind," I said. "Now we'll be doing it at the Laarmiten transfer station."
I could see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes. Once out of the Tube and in the transfer station, we would have access again to weapons and any other Spider-forbidden items I might want to bring to bear. "You plan something foolish," he said. Again, it wasn't a question.
"Maybe," I said. "But that's not your problem. Your problem is that you want the Lynx, and I still have it."
He hissed softly, an eerily chilling sound I'd never heard a Halka make before. "Very well," he said. "The Laarmiten transfer station." His eyes glittered. "Make very sure you have the Lynx."
He turned and strode away. I watched his back, and caught the moment of subtle change of stance as the Modhri relinquished his control. I wondered how the Halka would rationalize this particular blackout.
A moment later, Stafford and Morse made it through the last line of people. Stafford looked flushed and anxious, Morse looked just flat-out furious. "Bloody hell," he said as he looked at the spot where the luggage had been. "Bloody, bloody hell."
"Relax," I calmed him. "It'll all be returned."
"Except the Lynx, of course," he bit out. "I imagine they'll be keeping that."
I looked at Stafford. His face was still flushed, but I could also see a hint of grim satisfaction there. "Oh, I don't think so," I said.
"What are you talking about?" Morse asked, looking around as if the thieves would have been stupid enough to be still hanging around.
"He means he called it, straight down the line," Stafford told him. "Right down to them hitting us here in the station. I hate to admit it, Compton, but you're not bad at this."
"You mean, for a washed-up has-been?" I suggested.
"Something like that."
"Wait a minute," Morse said, frowning. "If the Lynx wasn't inside that log sculpture—" He broke off, a flash of sudden understanding on his face. "It is inside the sculpture, isn't it? It's that—what did you call it? That chameleon effect."
"Actually, the sculpture is what we call the diversion effect," I said. "We pulled the Lynx out of the log before I had Mr. Stafford recarve the surface."
"So where is it?" Morse asked, looking at Stafford.
Stafford shrugged. "No idea," he admitted. "For all I know it could still be somewhere on Ghonsilya."
"Don't worry, it'll be at Laarmiten in time for the exchange," I assured him. "Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your moment of adulation. Let's go find Bayta and see what kind of tickets she was able to get."
TWENTY-THREE :
"Thank you, Mr. Compton," the Nemuti customs agent said, his truncated cone-shaped mouth orifice and extra-deep voice making the words echo like they were coming out of a deep cave. "Enjoy your visit. May your heart give joy to your soul."
"And may your soul rest peacefully in its joy," I said, giving the proper response. Setting my carrybags on the floor, I keyed my leash control and headed through the doorway into the main part of the Laarmiten transfer station.
"How long before they show up, do you think?" Morse asked as he came alongside me.
"No more than a few hours," I said. "The Modhri's as anxious to get this over with as we are."
Morse glanced back at the carrybags rolling along behind us. "I'll be very interested to see where you've hidden the Lynx."
"I hope it'll be worth the wait."
We passed through another doorway into a wide, mall-like area with the usual selection of restaurants, shops, waiting rooms, and entertainment centers. Stafford and Bayta were standing off to one side, waiting for us. "Any problems?" I asked as Morse and I came up to them. "That agent seemed awfully interested in your artwork."
"He was mostly wondering why I was still bothering to lug the pieces around," Stafford said sourly. The Modhri had been very thorough in his search for the sculpture back at Trivsdal, to the point of making five or six pieces out of Stafford's log. Stafford was clearly still annoyed about that. "I told him it had sentimental value."
"Why are you still lugging them around?" Morse asked.
"Sentimental value," he said. "What now?"
"We'll set up camp over there," I told him, pointing to the nearest waiting room. "If we stay near that archway we should be able to see all the entry doors. We don't want the Modhri to have to come looking for us."
My time estimate turned out to be a bit on the pessimistic side. We'd been in the waiting room less than two hours when Penny appeared through the door from customs, looking pale and stressed but otherwise unharmed. Accompanying her, to my complete lack of surprise, were Gargantua and his fellow Halkan soldier.
Stafford was out of his chair and over to Penny before she'd made it five steps past the doorway. "You all right?" he asked anxiously, taking her hands in his. Gargantua made as if to interfere; a brief warning look from Stafford and he changed his mind.
"I'm fine," she said, some of her old fire showing through the tension in her voice.
"They've been treating you all right?" he persisted as the rest of us came up.
"She is unharmed," Gargantua said.
Stafford sent him another look, this one managing to combine utter contempt and complete dismissal. I made a mental note to learn how to do that one. "They've been treating you all right?" he repeated.
"Yes," Penny said, turning a brief glare of her own on Gargantua. "But he's made a few veiled threats as to what will happen if he doesn't get the Lynx."
"Don't worry, he'll get it," I said. "Whenever you're ready, follow me."
We set off across the station, heading past the waiting areas toward the long wing where torchliners waited to carry our fellow Quadrail passengers into the inner system. Gargantua, I noted, kept a firm but casual-looking grip on Penny's upper arm as we walked.
Just outside the embarkation stations was a room containing the lockboxes that the Spiders had ferried over from the Tube. I stepped to one of the tables, presented my claim ticket, and was given a long, flat shoulder box. "I should have guessed," Morse commented as we went to a small conversation nook off the far side of the corridor. "Nice, safe, and inaccessible during the trip."
"Do you seek again to trick me?" Gargantua rumbled warningly as I set the case down on the nook's low table. "I saw all items leaving Ghonsilya."
"And probably scanned them, too," I agreed. "Observe, and learn." With a little flourish, I popped open the case.
Penny gave a little gasp of surprise. "That's a gun!"
"It is indeed," I confirmed, lifting it out and putting it on the table beside the case. "A Rontra 772 submachine gun, to be precise."
"Impossible," Gargantua said, prodding at the case's custom-molded interior with a thick finger. "There's no room in here for the Lynx."
"Not in the case, anyway," I agreed, producing my multitool.
And as they watched, I unfastened the Rontra's barrel and slid it off, revealing the Lynx tucked away inside the weapon's outer shell.
"Bloody hell," Morse muttered as I set to work taking apart the rest of the gun. "I wouldn't have believed the Lynx would fit into something even that size."
"It is a cozy fit," I conceded. "I had to pretty much gut the thing to get it in, and then add on this extra cooling sleeve to make it work."
"Where did you get it?" Penny asked, still sounding stunned. "I mean …I didn't think you worked for Westali anymore."
"That's the wonderful thing about the free enterprise system," I told her. "You can find anything you want on the galaxy's various black markets."