Night Train to Rigel by Timothy Zahn Page B

found the old frustrations rising again like stomach acid as we pulled to a halt and I saw there were only six passengers waiting to board. At a trillion dollars to put in the station, Yandro’s colonists were going to have to sell a hell of a lot of fancy lumber to ever earn back that investment.
    At the far edge of my view, I saw Bayta striding across the platform toward one of the two maintenance buildings, trying not to look too much like she was hurrying. She disappeared inside and I checked my watch, hoping she was doing the same. A fifteen-minute stop wasn’t very long, and for all their professed willingness to cooperate I doubted the Spiders would go so far as to make the train late for us.
    Bayta apparently didn’t have any illusions in that regard, either. She emerged from the building with ninety seconds to go and crossed the platform in a sprint that would have done an Olympic runner proud. Even then, I wasn’t sure she’d actually made it aboard until she arrived at my compartment two minutes later, still breathing a little heavily. “All set,” she said as she dropped onto the curve couch. “The stationmaster will pass on the request. The data should be ready by the time we reach Kerfsis. It’ll be delivered to our compartment on the next train we take.”
    “Good,” I said, checking my watch, now set to our particular Quadrail’s internal time. It was just after ten in the evening of the Spiders’ standard twenty-nine-hour day, with nine more hours to Kerfsis Station. Enough time for a good night’s sleep plus breakfast before we arrived.
    I was just wondering if I should go to the bar first for a quick nightcap when the door chime sounded.
    I looked at Bayta. “You expecting someone?” I asked in a low voice.
    She shook her head, the comers of her mouth suddenly tight. “It’s not a Spider,” she said.
    The chime came again. I thought about sending Bayta back to her own compartment, decided there wasn’t enough time to unfold the wall without the delay looking suspicious. “Washroom,” I ordered her, standing up and crossing to the door. I waited until she had disappeared into the cubicle, then touched the release.
    It was a pair of Halkas: flat-faced, vaguely bulldoglike beings who could talk a man’s leg off at twenty paces and had a passion for Earth-grown cinnamon. “Whoa,” the shorter of them announced, his breath thick with the distinctive burnt-acetate smell of their species’ favored intoxicant. “This isn’t Skvi. It’s a Human.”
    “I believe you’re right,” the taller one agreed, leaning forward and squinting as if having trouble focusing on me. “Interesting snouts on this species.”
    “Can I help you?” I asked, stepping into the doorway just in case they had it in mind to come in without waiting to be asked.
    The shorter one waved a hand, his hollow double-reed claw sheaths whistling like a distant oboe with the gesture. “We seek a friend,” he said. “A fellow Halka. Our apologies for the disturbance.”
    “No problem,” I said, smiling genially as I gave his eyes a quick but careful look. “I hope you find him.”
    “If he is here, then we shall,” he intoned solemnly, pulling his lips back in a smile which made his face look even flatter. Taking his companion’s arm, he turned and continued unsteadily down the corridor, tapping his claws rhythmically against the side wall as if trying to make sure it didn’t get away from him.
    I stepped back into the compartment and touched the control. The door started to close; and as it did so, I quickly leaned my head back out again.
    The two Halkas were still walking away from me. But there was no longer any sign of staggering or wall-tapping. Just as there hadn’t been the pupil dilation of a real Halkan high.
    Fake drunks. And by inference, a fake errand.
    I pulled my head back again before the door could close far enough for the automatic safeties to kick in, letting it slide shut in front of me.