Judgment at Proteus

TWENTY-TWO

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We kept busy with the usual diversions: dit-recs, games, music, and of course the consistently superb food and drink. Unlike many of the first-class passengers, Bayta and I also made regular use of the exercise equipment, visits that served the dual purpose of helping us work off the calories as well as giving Terese a few precious hours of solitude. Bayta was always a little nervous about leaving the girl alone that way, but as long as she made sure there was at least one Spider watching over the girl she was able to keep her concern mostly in check.

Through it all, I kept waiting for Riijkhan to make a return appearance. But having had his say he apparently saw no need to underline his point and went back to spending the bulk of his time in his compartment.

Scrawny likewise spent the rest of the journey making himself scarce. Riijkhan’s other three minions, in contrast, seemed to be everywhere, dogging my steps, throwing furtive glances in my direction, and otherwise doing the stuff you apparently learn in Shonkla-raa minion school.

For a while I tried watching them, hoping I could catch the subtle signs of recognition between them and the unknown agents I was still sure Riijkhan had aboard. But after a couple of weeks I gave up the effort. These three clearly had no clue who the rest of the team members were, and with Riijkhan not giving me the chance to watch his own reactions the hidden agents were likely to stay that way.

Bayta didn’t seem to be having much luck with her chosen project, either. Terese’s barriers were slowly coming down, but while she was willing enough to talk to Bayta their conversations still tended to be rather superficial.

But at least the girl was talking. More importantly, there were no repeats of her earlier suicide attempts, even with her method of choice easily available in any of the train’s bars. Maybe her close brush with death had made her realize that there were better solutions to her problems.

Or perhaps she simply realized that the Spiders were watching her even when Bayta and I weren’t.

Our surreptitious exit from the train came off perfectly. The tender pulled close beside the super-express and extended its airlock to our car door, and Bayta, Terese, and I slipped through. By the time the super-express rolled to a stop at its designated platform, just as I’d predicted, we were riding up the station slope to the atmosphere barrier and heading back into the main Tube.

After the luxury of Quadrail first class, and even more so after the hyper-luxury of the Halkan Peerage car, a Spider tender was a big step down. I watched Terese’s face as she looked around at the plain, open compartment: twin bunks at each end, a simple half-bath cubicle in the middle, and a compact food prep/storage area. It didn’t take a genius detective to see that she was seriously underwhelmed by our new accommodations.

Fortunately, it was only a few hours from Homshil to Yandro at the tender’s enhanced speed, which meant she wouldn’t have to endure the Spartan accommodations for long. Even more fortunately, even if Riijkhan and his buddies guessed we were headed for Yandro, they could lie in wait for us forever at the station without ever spotting us.

Because Yandro, unlike any other system in the entire galaxy, had two Quadrail stations.

It was the result of a deal Bayta and I had made with the Chahwyn and Spiders nearly two years ago. We’d identified Yandro’s Great Polar Sea as the Modhri’s new homeland, and we needed a clandestine staging area to assemble an attack force without tipping off the watchers he had manning the transfer station. Hence, this little back door, which we’d funded with the help of Bruce McMicking and a trillion dollars I’d blackmailed out of the coffers of McMicking’s industrialist boss Larry Cecil Hardin.

That attack had succeeded in destroying every shred of coral the Modhri had in that area. At the time, I’d naively concluded that that was the end of it, and that all we had left to deal with were the thousands of decorative coral outposts and millions of Modhran walkers scattered around the galaxy.

Only in recent months had we discovered that the Modhran homeland might be down but was far from out. Somehow, somewhere, he’d managed to stash away a lot more of his coral elsewhere on Yandro.

And now we were going to that same homeland, to face the segment-prime that we’d hit so hard and with such devastation.

I could only hope the segment-prime wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.

* * *

Seven hours after leaving Homshil, we pulled into Yandro’s second station.

The place was just the way I remembered it: a barely noticeable wide spot in the Tube with a single siding, a single hatchway leading out into the vacuum of space, and a handful of service buildings scattered around. If any passengers even spotted it as their train roared through, they would naturally conclude it was some sort of maintenance area.

Two Humans were waiting near the hatchway as the tender door irised open and Bayta, Terese, and I stepped out. One, an older woman with pure white hair, was stretched out on a sort of mobile recliner, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep. Our sector-prime contact, presumably, once again by prearrangement via my messages from Venidra Carvo. The second Human, a male, was standing beside her with his back to us. Beyond the hatch, a pair of Spiders stood motionlessly. “Modhri?” I called as we approached the Humans.

“Yes,” the man confirmed, turning around to face us.

And as Bayta jerked to a stunned halt, I felt my eyes widen.

Because the man wasn’t just the old woman’s nurse or attendant. He was EuroUnion Security Service agent Ackerley Morse. A deep-cover Modhran walker, who also happened to hate my guts.

And his presence here was most certainly not by prearrangement. At least, not my prearrangement.

“Hello, Compton,” he continued, his voice calm as he nodded to me. “And to you, Bayta,” he added, nodding to her as well. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has,” I managed, flicking my eyes quickly across his clothing in search of a concealed weapon. If the Modhri had in fact lured Bayta and me here in order to kill us, they couldn’t have picked a better tool than Morse.

Trained agent that he was, he picked up on my visual frisk. “Oh, relax,” he said, his tone in that irritating range between chiding and amused that I especially hated. “You must remember that even this little side door has the complete set of Spider weapons sensors.” He nodded at the two Spiders standing in the background. “And the complete set of weapons enforcement specialists.”

I focused on the Spiders for the first time, a chill running through me as I spotted the pattern of white dots across their spheres. Only stationmasters and defenders had such patterns.

And here, where no one came except by invitation, there were no stationmasters.

Once again, Morse read my glance and its significance. “Yes, they’re defenders,” he confirmed. “Or so I assume. If you’d like, I could pick a fight with one and find out for certain.”

“No, that’s all right,” I said. “Try not to take this the wrong way, Morse, but what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m part of the Modhri delegation, of course,” he said, his civilized voice turning slightly brittle. “One of his representatives to these negotiations.”

“Really,” I said, not trying to hide my skepticism. Having a group of walkers spread out over a super-express or a Filiaelian space station could be very handy. Having a group of them at a conference was completely superfluous. “Are you expecting her to seize up and die or something?” I added, nodding toward the sleeping woman.

“No fears,” the woman murmured, her eyes still closed. “This Eye is healthier than she appears.”

Her hand lifted limply, gesturing toward Morse. “But Agent Morse is no longer merely an Eye. He is something new.”

I eyed Morse. “I can hardly wait to hear this.”

“Oh, you’ll like it,” Morse promised. “I’m now—” He paused, his eyes turning again to Bayta. “Actually, I’m now the Modhran version of you.”

I stared at him … and then, abruptly, it clicked. “You mean you’re aware of him?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Not only aware, but in something of a partnership,” Morse said dryly. “And I must say, Bayta, that it’s given me a much greater appreciation for the way you’ve had to live your life.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said, feeling like I was still two steps behind. “You’re in a partnership? With the Modhri?”

“Correct,” the old woman said. “I have pledged to Agent Morse that he will have autonomy in all his actions, and that I will communicate with him but not control or influence him.”

I eyed Morse. “And you’re guaranteeing this how?”

“The same way anyone ever guarantees anything,” Morse said. “He’s given his word.”

“His word,” I said flatly.

“Like the word you gave him that you’d help his war against the Shonkla-raa,” Morse said pointedly. “Plus I know now how to spot the signs that he’s cheating.”

“Interesting experiment,” I said. “And we’re doing this why?”

Morse snorted. “Why do you think?” he demanded. “You’ve stated over and over that you don’t think the Modhri can survive without taking over everything in sight. This—me—is to show that he can.”

“Really,” I said, studying his face. Certainly there were none of the subtle signs of Modhran control that I was familiar with. “Well, as a good-faith gesture, I’ll admit it’s impressive.”

“It’s more than a gesture,” the woman insisted. “It’s a step toward my future.”

“Is it?” I countered, gesturing at the old woman. “What about her? You haven’t told her what she’s carrying inside her, have you?”

The woman’s lip twitched. “It was deemed that she would be unable to accept the truth,” the Modhri said reluctantly.

“He’s got that right,” Morse put in gruffly. “I can tell you it was a hell of a surprise to have my mind suddenly talking back to me. Thought I’d finally gone round the bend.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “But if you’re the Modhri’s future, it does rather bring up the question of what happens to the Modhri’s past. What happens to all the walkers like her who can’t handle the shock?”

“What do you wish me to do?” the Modhri countered. “Order the colonies within all of those Eyes to die?”

“And if I gave you that order?”

The woman’s face tightened. “Don’t ask me to do that,” she warned, her voice dark and grim. “Don’t ever ask me to do that. Ever.”

“Take it easy,” I said, thrown a little by the Modhri’s reaction. “And watch your tone. You’ve agreed to follow my orders, remember? Besides, none of your individual colonies are of lasting importance.”

“Don’t ever ask such a thing of me,” the Modhri said again.

“Don’t push it, Compton,” Morse warned quietly. “You know what happens when a mind segment starts losing pieces.”

I grimaced. I did, too. It was the loss of two of his component parts to the murderer on our first super-express that had pushed that mind segment into making an alliance with me in the first place. “I understand your feelings,” I said. “But this is war. The odds are very high that some of us won’t live through it. Possibly none of us. You say you’ll follow my orders. But will you still say that when your walkers start dying and your mind segments feel their lives slipping away?”

“Compton, what the hell are you doing?” Morse asked. “You trying to kink the whole deal?”

“I’m trying to make sure he’s fully counted the cost,” I said. “The Modhri is like a wolf. He’s predatory, driven to grow and take over everything around him. That could make him an unreliable ally, especially if he’s going to argue every order on the grounds that it could hurt a little.”

“Compton—”

“It also makes him an unpleasant friend,” I continued. “You’d have a hard time finding people who would want a wolf living with them. You’d never know when something would set it off, and you’d suddenly be turned into lunch. Or a mindless puppet, rather.”

“I am what I am,” the old woman said, the sadness in her voice even more pronounced. Clearly, the Modhri was wondering if I was having second thoughts about our deal. “I am what I was created to be.”

“And if you’re talking about me, I have no problem with our current relationship,” Morse added.

“I understand that,” I said, nodding. “But you’re an extraordinary person. Most people, as I say, wouldn’t live with a wolf.” I raised my eyebrows. “But a lot of people are more than happy to share their lives with a loyal, trustworthy dog.”

I looked back at the old woman. “Tell me, Modhri. What would you do if you were offered the chance to change from a wolf into that loyal, trustworthy dog?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand.”

“You said you were the way you were created,” I told him. “So are all the rest of us. But none of us has to stay that way. We can change. You can change. The question is whether you’re willing to do so.”

For the first time the woman’s eyes opened. “How?” she asked.

I braced myself. The next thirty seconds would make or break this whole deal. “You invite in the Abomination.”

“The what?” Morse asked, frowning. “What the hell is—?” Abruptly, he broke off. “Oh,” he said in a suddenly subdued tone.

“What’s an Abomination?” Terese asked.

“It’s exactly what I just said: a calm, loyal dog to the Modhri’s wolf,” I told her. “Modified coral, modified walkers. They actually call themselves the Melding—Abomination is the Modhri’s term.” I frowned at Morse as something suddenly hit me. “In fact, now that I think about it, the Melding is exactly the same format that the Modhri’s running with Agent Morse right now.”

“It would change me,” the old woman said, her voice trembling now. “I would never again be the same.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I said, putting all the soothing confidence and sympathy into my voice that I could. “And I understand that change can be frightening, especially a change of this magnitude. I also know you fought the whole idea of that change once before.”

“You were there,” Morse murmured.

“Very much so,” I agreed. “But the situation’s changed. It’s no longer a choice of living as the Modhri or living as the Melding. It’s a question of living free or as the Shonkla-raa’s slave.”

The woman shivered. “It can’t work,” she murmured tautly. “It would change me. It can’t work.”

“Yes, it can,” I assured the Modhri. “It will. The Melding’s a cooperative partnership, which is what you’ve stated you want to be.”

“And the Melding coral isn’t truly alien to you,” Bayta added quietly. “It’s only a modification of what you already are. The change won’t be nearly as large or as terrible as you think.”

“But whatever the change, it will be permanent,” the Modhri said.

“Probably,” I conceded, watching the old woman’s face. The Modhri was teetering on the edge, fear and hope pulling in opposite directions.

I braced myself. Time to play my final card.

“There’s one other thing to consider,” I said. “Bayta’s right about the Melding coral being similar to yours. But it’s not identical, and as a result the people in the Melding run on a slightly different telepathic frequency than you do.” I paused, waiting for the Modhri to find the obvious conclusion for himself.

Morse got it first. “The Shonkla-raa may not be able to control them,” he said, an edge of cautious excitement in his voice. “Or to control us once we’ve combined with them.”

“That’s my hope,” I said, nodding. “Now, it may be that the Shonkla-raa will still be able to affect the Melding the same way they do the Spiders and Bayta, which pretty much freezes them in confusion. But having your Eyes standing around like statues instead of actively shooting at us will go a long way toward making you useless as a weapon.”

“Agreed,” the Modhri said. The fear was still in his voice, but the hesitation was gone. He was doing this to get out from under the Shonkla-raa’s thumb, and any step in that direction was a good one. “I accept your offer. How do we proceed?”

“We start by bringing the same offer to the Melding,” I said. “Bayta and I will do that. While we’re gone, I suggest you send some of your Eyes to Homshil, Jurskala, and other major Quadrail centers in the area. The more mind segments who get the word, the faster we’ll be able to get the whole Modhri community up to speed on the plan.”

“You think that’s wise?” Morse asked. “The more we spread the word, the easier it’ll be for some wandering Shonkla-raa to grab an Eye at random and find out what we’re up to.”

“Let them,” I said as casually as I could manage. I was, in fact, counting on the Shonkla-raa doing that very thing. “Knowing that we’re going to alter the Modhri’s character won’t do them a damn bit of good until they know what direction that alteration will take.”

“Because they can’t adjust their control tone and telepathic frequency until they know what ours will be,” Morse said, nodding. “They might be able to adjust long-term, but not short-term.”

“And with luck, short-term is all we’ll need,” I agreed. “As for you, I’m thinking I’d like you to come along with Bayta and me. Ride shotgun, and all that.”

Morse’s forehead creased. “Are you sure? I’m as vulnerable as anyone else.”

“In theory, yes,” I said. “But as far as I know, the Shonkla-raa have never tried their bag of tricks on a Human walker before. You might surprise them.”

“Or I might not,” Morse warned.

“It’s worth the risk,” I said firmly.

“You’re the boss.” Morse’s eyes flicked to Terese. “Or I could let you two go and I could escort Ms. German back to Earth.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Terese spoke up before I could answer.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “We know the Shonkla-raa still want you, and we also know they have some sort of force on Earth that hunts for pregnant women to exploit. We can’t risk you going back yet.”

“And how is that your decision?” Terese demanded.

“Because right now we’re the only ones who can protect you,” I said.

“Is it me you care about?” she shot back. “Or this?” She jabbed a finger toward her belly.

“We care about you both,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what Aronobal said, too,” she said acidly. “My life isn’t your business, Compton, and I’m done with this.” She gestured to Morse. “You—take me back to Earth. Now.”

“I’ll be happy to take you back to the Terra Quadrail station, if that’s what you want,” Morse said gravely. “But as you just heard, I have other important duties I need to perform. I can’t take you all the way to Earth.”

“Fine,” Terese said. “I can get back on my own.”

“Of course,” Morse said. “But Compton’s right. Once our protection is removed, the Shonkla-raa and their agents will have little trouble taking your child.”

Terese snorted. “They can have him.”

“And since he’s not yet developed enough for them to risk removal,” Morse continued smoothly, “they’ll need to take you along with him. And to keep you for several more weeks.”

“Until they think it’s safe enough for them to cut you open and take him out,” I added.

Terese swallowed hard. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

“We’re trying to give you the realities of the situation,” Morse said. “Staying with Compton and Bayta may be uncomfortable for you. But it won’t be nearly as uncomfortable as being in Shonkla-raa hands again.”

Terese looked like she was ready to chew sand. But she just sighed. “Fine,” she muttered. “Whatever.”

“So it’s settled,” I said. “Bayta, Terese, Morse, and I will head out to talk to the Melding, while you send some Eyes to play Paul Revere.”

“And then?” the Modhri asked.

“I’ll let you know once I’ve talked to the Melding,” I said.

“You must have some thoughts,” the Modhri persisted.

“I have a few,” I said. “It would be best if we didn’t discuss them just yet.”

“Compton—”

“No, he’s right,” Morse said. “The Shonkla-raa can’t freeze him and demand he give up state secrets. They can do that with us. The less we know, the better.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Bayta, we’ll take the tender back to Homshil and pick up a regular train.”

“I suppose this Melding’s halfway across the galaxy,” Terese said sourly.

“Not nearly that far,” the Modhri assured her. “They’re in an unspecified system near Sibbrava in the Cimmal Republic. Approximately a ten-day journey from here.”

Terese stared at the old woman. “You already know where the Melding is? I thought they were a big fat secret.”

“I know only the approximate area,” the old woman said. “Not the precise location.”

“The Modhri knows a great deal about the galaxy,” I said. “It’s one of the things that makes him such a useful ally. Bayta, get the tender fired up, and let’s get moving.”

* * *

The last couple of weeks aboard the super-express had seen a slow but steady opening up of Terese’s defenses, at least toward Bayta. That relaxation of tension had faltered a bit during the seven-hour trip to Yandro, but I’d put that down to Terese’s very reasonable annoyance at being hauled out of her comfortable surroundings and loaded aboard a Spider tender.

Now, as we left the hope of a quick return to Earth behind and headed back toward Homshil in that same tender, I discovered her walls had once again gone up.

A logical, rational person would have blamed me. Terese, who was neither, blamed all three of us.

I was used to it. Morse didn’t seem to care very much one way or the other.

Bayta was devastated.

She tried to hide it, of course. But I could tell. She’d worked so hard to get Terese to open up, and to be a friend to her, that she couldn’t help but take the teenager’s rejection personally.

What I wasn’t expecting was that Bayta apparently didn’t blame me for messing all that up.

That worried me. Bayta and I had been through enough that I expected her to trust me. But Terese’s current situation was my fault, at least partially, which should realistically have given rise to at least a little annoyance or frustration on Bayta’s part.

Only it hadn’t. Which strongly implied that she’d figured out what I was up to.

And that didn’t just worry me. It scared the living spit out of me.

Because sure as God made little gray sewer rats there would be Shonkla-raa aboard the train we would be boarding once we reached Homshil. I had no idea how well versed they were in the subtleties of Human psychology, but if they sensed any anomalies in Bayta’s behavior my entire plan could come crashing down around us.

But there was nothing I could do. Not with Terese glowering across the tender where she could listen in on any conversation Bayta and I might have. I would just have to carry on as if nothing was wrong and hope the Shonkla-raa misinterpreted whatever data they managed to collect.

There hadn’t been any way for Bayta to set up our new travel plans from the secret Yandro station. But I’d spent some time with the Quadrail schedule and had concluded we would have less than two hours to wait before the express train I wanted arrived at Homshil.

For once, my timing was dead on. An hour and forty minutes after we stepped off the tender at Homshil we were on our way to Sibbrava.

I’d hoped that our little side trip to Yandro might throw Riijkhan off the scent. No such luck. He hadn’t managed to score a compartment this time, but when I escorted Bayta and Terese to the dining car for our first meal of the trip I spotted him right there in the middle of the first-class coach car.

Fortunately, sitting seemed to be the only thing he wanted to do at the moment. That, and staring unblinkingly at us as we walked past.

Bayta spotted him, too, but limited herself to a single emotionless glance in his direction before turning her eyes away. Terese, equal opportunity grouch that she was, uncorked a defiant glare that was impressive even by her standards.

Morse was waiting for us, having come in on his own from the second-class car just behind the dining car, the closest place Bayta had been able to get him a seat. “Any trouble getting in here?” I asked him as we sat down at his table.

“None,” he assured me. “A first-class ticket gets you into first-class territory even if your seat is in second. What news from your end of the world?”

“Riijkhan’s aboard,” I said. “I didn’t spot any of his original entourage, though. He may have split them off to cover the stations between Homshil and Earth.”

“If he did, he didn’t split all of them,” Morse said, his eyes flicking briefly to his left.

Under cover of pushing Terese’s fork and spoon closer to her, I looked in that direction. Seated with two other Fillies, trying to look inconspicuous, was a familiar face. “Well, well—our old friend Scrawny,” I commented, returning my attention to Morse. “At least with him we don’t have to worry about getting ambushed in the still of the night.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Morse warned. “He could be a genetically enhanced fighter who’s deliberately chosen to look non-threatening.”

“There’s that,” I conceded. “Well, it wasn’t like we weren’t going to keep an eye on him anyway. What exactly does that we consist of, by the way?”

“There are eight Eyes in first, plus another six in second,” Morse said. “Bearing in mind, though, that the latter group would need Spider permission to come into first-class territory if we need them.” He looked at Bayta and raised his eyebrows invitingly.

Bayta grimaced, but nodded. “If you need them, they should give the Spiders the password filigree.”

“Filigree,” Morse repeated, nodding. “Got it.”

A server Spider came up, and we gave our dinner orders. “So what’s the rest of the plan?” Morse asked after the server had gone. “Specifically, what happens when we hit Sibbrava?”

“We get off and grab another tender that hopefully will be waiting for us,” I said, glancing reflexively at Scrawny and his dinner companions. Quadrail dining cars were acoustically designed to keep table conversations confined to those immediate environs, but checking for possible eavesdroppers was a habit trained security types like me found almost impossible to break. “We take a quick trip to the Melding’s secret location, present our case, and if we’re lucky an equally quick trip back to Sibbrava with some new passengers and a few crates of additional cargo.”

“And if they politely decline to join in the fun?”

“They won’t,” I said. “The essence of the Melding is about nurturing and cooperating with others. They consider the Modhri a somewhat dysfunctional member of the family, and want to help him.” I made a little hand gesture. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Morse said, his voice more grim than offended. “I’m more concerned about … the point is, Compton, that I’m starting to wonder if this is really the right time to be turning the Modhri into a lapdog. Seems to me that the wolf version is exactly what we need right now.”

“One: I said dog, not lapdog,” I reminded him. “Big difference. Two: you heard what I said about the Melding’s possible frequency shift.”

“And I’m thinking that’s a crock,” Morse said flatly. “It’s the same coral, the same polyps, the same sense of hearing with everyone. I don’t see how the Eyes’ attitude or whatever can make two sticks’ worth of difference.”

“Is that you talking, or the Modhri?” I asked.

“It’s me,” Morse growled. “But the Modhri’s not so sure, either.”

“You tell the Modhri he needs to remember who’s wearing the leader hat here,” I said. “And you both need to trust me.”

“The Modhri does.” Morse’s eyes flicked to Bayta. “I gather Bayta does, too.”

“And you?”

He looked me square in the eye. “Not so much.”

“That’ll change,” I promised him. “Sooner or later, that’ll change.”

I hoped to hell I was right.