Timothy Zahn: Night Train to Rigel

But there was no hint of any such secret knowledge in Hermod’s face or body language. There was no anticipation I could detect no sense of the hunter waiting eagerly beside his trap as the prey wanders toward the tripwire. There was nothing there, in fact except an almost puppy-dog earnestness set against a background of distant fear and unease. If he did know about me, he was being damn coy about it “So my present circumstances aren’t as good as I might like,” I said. “How about some information instead of flattery?”

His lips puckered. “There are many mysterious places in this galaxy,” he said. “One of them, which the Spiders have dubbed the Oracle, sits a short distance from a siding similar to this one. Occasionally, Spiders passing through the area see visions of future events.” He gestured at the Spider standing over him. “Five weeks ago, this Spider saw the future destruction of a Filiaelian transfer station.”

I sat up a little straighter in my chair. Filly transfer stations were among the biggest and best-protected in the galaxy. “How sure are you that it was a Filly station?”

“Very sure,” Hermod said, his voice darkening. “Because there were the remains of two gutted Sorfali -class warships drifting alongside it.”

I threw a look at the Spider. “Your friend’s been hallucinating,” I said flatly. “Filly soldiers are genetically programmed against rebellion or civil war.”

“I never said it was a civil war,” Hermod countered, his voice going even darker. “The attack came from somewhere outside the system.”

I looked over at The Girl’s expressionless face. If this was a joke, no one was laughing. “Now you’re the one hallucinating,” I told Hermod. “You can’t smuggle weaponry through the Tube. Certainly nothing that could take out a Sorfali . You know that better than I do.”

“It seems impossible to the Spiders, as well,” Hermod agreed. “Nevertheless, that is what he saw. And since the Oracle’s past visions have subsequently proven valid, the Spiders have no choice but to assume this one may, too.” His eyes locked onto mine. “I trust you don’t need me to spell out the implications.”

“No,” I said, and I meant it. There were twelve empires spanning the galaxy, or at least twelve species-groups the Spiders officially recognized as empires. A few of them, like the five worlds of our pathetic little Terran Confederation, weren’t worthy of the name; others, like the Filiaelian Assembly and Shorshic Domain, were the genuine article, consisting of thousands of star systems spread across vast reaches of space. Historically, at least on Earth, powerful empires seldom bumped into each other without eventually going to war, and from what we knew of alien psychology there was no reason to assume anyone out there would react any differently if they had a choice.

Only in this case, they didn’t. The only way to cross interstellar distances was via Quadrail, and there was simply no way to stuff a war machine into a group of Quadrail cars. The only exception was interstellar governments, who under very special and very strict transport conditions were allowed to ship the components of planetary defenses through to their own colonies.

Which meant that anyone who wanted to make war against his neighbor would find himself facing as much military nastiness as the intended victim had felt inclined to set up. In a Quadrail-run galaxy, defense was king.

But if someone had figured out how to take out not only a transfer station but a couple of warships along with it, cozy peacefulness and stability were about to come to a violent end. “Was there anything else in this vision?” I asked. “Any idea which of the Fillies’ stations it was, or who might have been involved?”

“Neither,” Hermod said. “But he did see that the Filiaelian warships carried both the insignia of the current dynasty and the one scheduled to come to power in four months. We can therefore assume the attack will take place sometime during the transitional period.”

Four months. This just got better and better. “That’s not much time.”

“No, it’s not,” Hermod agreed. “The Spiders will, of course, give you all the assistance they can, including unlimited use of the Quadrail system.”

I felt my eyes narrow slightly. “Including access to places like this?” I asked casually, gesturing around me.

“Yes, if you need them,” he said, frowning a bit. “Though I can’t think why you would need that.”

“You never know,” I said, my heartbeat starting to pick up a little. Suddenly this was becoming more than just interesting. “How exactly do I get all this unlimited access? Pass key? Secret handshake?”

“You begin with this,” he said, nodding to The Girl. Right on cue, she dug a small folder out of her belt pouch and handed it to me. It was the same sort of folder I’d taken off the dead kid in Manhattan, except that instead of being made of cheap plastic this one was a high-end variety of brushed leather.

And instead of the copper-edged ticket of a third-class Quadrail seat, this one held the diamond-dust-edged tag of a first-class, unlimited-use pass, something I’d never seen before except in brochures. “Nice,” I said. “How long is it good for?”

“As long as you need it,” Hermod said. “Assuming, of course, that you take the job. Will you?”

I angled the ticket toward the light for a better view, my brain spinning with the possibilities. If they were on to me and this whole thing was a trick, then whatever answer I gave him wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Whatever I did or said, I was already sunk.

But if they weren’t on to me and this offer was legit, then I was being offered a gift on a platinum platter.

Of course, if I took the job I’d also be morally obligated to put some actual effort into it. Four months wasn’t a lot of time to figure out who was planning to start an impossible interstellar war and find a way to stop it.

Still, this was way too intriguing to pass up. And despite the old saying to the contrary, it was surely possible for a man to serve two masters. “Sure, why not?” I said, tucking the folder into my inner jacket pocket “I’m in.”

“Excellent.” Again, Hermod gestured to The Girl. “This is Bayta. She’ll be accompanying you.”

I looked at her, found her looking back at me with her usual lack of expression. “Thanks, but I work alone,” I told him.

“You may need information or assistance from the Spiders along the way,” Hermod said. “Only a few of them can communicate with humans in anything more than a handful of rote phrases.”

“And, what Bayta speaks their language?”

“Let’s just say she knows their secret handshake,” Hermod said with a faint smile.

I suppressed a grimace. I didn’t want company on this trip, particularly company who might have come off a mannequin assembly line. Still, I should have expected that the Spiders would insist on assigning me a watchdog. “Fine,” I said. “Whatever.”

“One other thing,” Hermod said. “The messenger who delivered your ticket was supposed to accompany you here. Did he happen to mention why he had chosen not to do so?”

I hesitated, but there didn’t seem to be any point in lying. “I’m afraid choice had very little to do with it,” I said. “He died at my feet.”

Bayta inhaled sharply, and the whole room suddenly went very still. “What happened?” Hermod asked.

“He was shot,” I said. “Multiple times, actually. Someone was very serious about getting rid of him.”

“Did you see what happened?”

“All I know is that he was already bleeding when I found him,” I said, choosing my words carefully. If they already knew about me, mentioning the New Pallas Towers wouldn’t be telling them anything new. But if they didn’t know, I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to point them that direction. “Considering the shape he was in, I’m surprised he made it as far as he did.”