The Third Lynx by Timothy Zahn

breath, I gave up and slowed to a halt.
    The Gang of Fifteen, and whatever it was they were carrying, were gone.
    Chapter Five
    The sounds of the Quadrail faded away, and as they did so I became aware that I wasn’t the only one swearing. “What do you do. Human?” the Juri I’d slammed into demanded, glaring at me as he clutched his shoulder with one clawed hand.
    “What do you do?” I countered. “You kept my friend from reboarding her train.”
    He bristled, clicking his hawk beak with indignation, his three-toed feet tapping the floor. Probably as annoyed by my lack of proper verbal etiquette as he was by the physical injury itself, I guessed. The Juriani were sticklers for such things, and normally I did my best to accommodate them.
    At the moment, though, I couldn’t have cared less. “It was completely unintentional. I assure you,” he insisted stiffly. “We had suddenly realized that here was the source of all that fine Helvanti chocolate and decided to avail ourselves of the opportunity to purchase some.”
    The worst part was that probably really was all that he and his companions had intended. Or at least, all they thought they’d intended. None of them would be aware in the slightest that there was a small mass of alien flesh tucked away beneath their brains whispering these suggestions to them.
    “It’s all right, Frank,” Bayta spoke up. “Master Juri, we apologize for our actions. To all of you,” she added to the others.
    She looked expectantly at me. “I also apologize,” I said, forcing as much civility into the words as I could manage. “My actions were discourteous and inexcusable, and I crave your understanding and your forgiveness.”
    The Juri drew himself up to his full height, his polished scales glistening in the Coreline’s flickering light. Now that the proper words had been said, he was willing to let bygones be bygones. “You are forgiven.” he said, clicking his beak three times to show that he meant it. “And do not be alarmed at the departure of the train. There will be others.” With that, he gestured to his friends and they headed together for the station’s single shop/restaurant.
    I glared after him, fighting back my frustration and sense of defeat. How did you fight someone who didn’t even know he was your enemy?
    “You all right?” Bayta asked as she watched them go.
    “Oh, I’m fine,” I said sourly. “You?”
    She nodded. “I wasn’t hurt.”
    I looked down the tracks to see our Quadrail ride up the angled end of the station and through the atmosphere barrier into the narrower main Tube. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to send a warning message ahead.”
    “How?” Bayta countered.
    She was right, of course. Spiders were telepathic between themselves, but only over short distances. Message cylinders traveled a thousand times faster than the Quadrails themselves, but to send one you had to have a train available in the first place. “Any chance we can get another train before that one reaches Terra Station?”
    “The next one for this station isn’t due for another twelve hours.”
    And the Bellidos would be at Terra in eight. Plenty of time for them to switch trains or pass their package on to some other group of walkers the Modhri could have waiting at the station. “No express trains we could stop?” I asked, trying one last time.
    “There are only two other expresses during that time, and it’s too late to get a message to either of them.” She hesitated. “Even if the Spiders were willing to stop them.”
    I nodded. For years I’d admired the absolute precision with which the Quadrail system operated. But now that I knew how the message cylinder trick was done, I realized there was more to it than just professional pride. If the trains weren’t in the right places at the right times, those cylinders would be falling from the inner mesh like pigeon droppings over Manhattan. “So we’ve lost them,” I said, making it