official.
“I’m sorry.”
I focused on her face. Bayta spent so much of her time being in complete emotional control of herself that it was always something of a shock when that control slipped, even for a minute. “Hey, relax,” I soothed. “It wasn’t your fault. Anyway, we know where they’re going. Sooner or later, we’ll catch up with them.” I raised my eyebrows. “Trust me.”
She gave me one of those wryly patient looks she’d honed to a fine art during our months of traveling together. But at least the self-reproach was fading. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” I said. “Incidentally, just out of curiosity, how did it go with the stationmaster?”
“Oh, fine,” she said, making a face. “Right now there’s a drone Spider hanging onto the side of one of the baggage cars. Actually, he’s probably moved to the top of the car by now.”
All ready to work his way forward and try to peek through the window into the compartment where our reclusive Bellidos had locked themselves. A glimpse of what they had in that shoulder bag, relayed telepathically to Bayta, might have given us a clue as to what was going on.
Only now the whole thing was moot, because Bayta wasn’t there to guide the operation and receive the image. Spiders were terrific at their assigned jobs, but I was starting to realize that trying to nudge them outside their personal fields of expertise was like trying to teach a cat to sing. Chances were fairly good, in fact, that the drone would still be on the baggage car roof when the train pulled into Terra Station eight hours from now. “I hope he at least enjoys the ride.” I said.
“Enjoyment for a Spider comes from doing his job,” Bayta said, glancing casually around us. “The stationmaster also had two data chips,” she said, pulling them out of her pocket. “One for each of us.”
I took the proffered chip, giving the platform a quick check of my own. The trio of walkers had vanished into the shop/restaurant, and aside from a half-dozen drudge Spiders working on one of the tracks down the line we were completely alone. “Let’s go sit over there,” I suggested, pointing to a pair of benches facing an interactive kiosk offering visitors the Helvanti colony’s brief but no doubt exciting history.
We both had our readers out and the chips plugged in by the time we sat down. “Mine has the Nemuti Lynx data you asked for,” Bayta reported, peering closely at it.
“That’s nice,” I said absently, my brain fully absorbed with my own chip. What the hell ?
I was on my third reading when Bayta nudged me with her reader. “Here,” she said.
“What?” I asked, forcing my mind away from the sudden flurry of thought and speculation that had descended on me.
“Here,” she repeated. “You’ll want to read this.”
I put my reader down on the bench and took hers. Scrolling back to the top of the report—and there wasn’t all that far I had to scroll—I began to read.
The Nemuti Lynx turned out to be one of a set of nine small abstract sculptures that had been unearthed at an archaeological dig in the Ten Mesas region of the Nemuti colony world of Veerstu two hundred years ago. The set included three sculptures that were called Lynxes, three that had been dubbed Hawks, and three more with the name Vipers.
“They gave them Human animal names?” I asked, frowning at Bayta.
She pointed at the reader. “Keep reading.”
The sculptures had originally been given Nemuti names, I discovered in the next paragraph, but fifteen years ago a scholar with way too much time on his hands had done some heavy-duty etymological studies and translated the names into what he decided were the most accurate and/or poetic equivalents in a dozen other languages, including English. Over the years the nine sculptures had ended up dispersed around the galaxy, four to various art museums and five to private collectors.
The next page was devoted to pictures of the sculptures,
“I’m sorry.”
I focused on her face. Bayta spent so much of her time being in complete emotional control of herself that it was always something of a shock when that control slipped, even for a minute. “Hey, relax,” I soothed. “It wasn’t your fault. Anyway, we know where they’re going. Sooner or later, we’ll catch up with them.” I raised my eyebrows. “Trust me.”
She gave me one of those wryly patient looks she’d honed to a fine art during our months of traveling together. But at least the self-reproach was fading. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” I said. “Incidentally, just out of curiosity, how did it go with the stationmaster?”
“Oh, fine,” she said, making a face. “Right now there’s a drone Spider hanging onto the side of one of the baggage cars. Actually, he’s probably moved to the top of the car by now.”
All ready to work his way forward and try to peek through the window into the compartment where our reclusive Bellidos had locked themselves. A glimpse of what they had in that shoulder bag, relayed telepathically to Bayta, might have given us a clue as to what was going on.
Only now the whole thing was moot, because Bayta wasn’t there to guide the operation and receive the image. Spiders were terrific at their assigned jobs, but I was starting to realize that trying to nudge them outside their personal fields of expertise was like trying to teach a cat to sing. Chances were fairly good, in fact, that the drone would still be on the baggage car roof when the train pulled into Terra Station eight hours from now. “I hope he at least enjoys the ride.” I said.
“Enjoyment for a Spider comes from doing his job,” Bayta said, glancing casually around us. “The stationmaster also had two data chips,” she said, pulling them out of her pocket. “One for each of us.”
I took the proffered chip, giving the platform a quick check of my own. The trio of walkers had vanished into the shop/restaurant, and aside from a half-dozen drudge Spiders working on one of the tracks down the line we were completely alone. “Let’s go sit over there,” I suggested, pointing to a pair of benches facing an interactive kiosk offering visitors the Helvanti colony’s brief but no doubt exciting history.
We both had our readers out and the chips plugged in by the time we sat down. “Mine has the Nemuti Lynx data you asked for,” Bayta reported, peering closely at it.
“That’s nice,” I said absently, my brain fully absorbed with my own chip. What the hell ?
I was on my third reading when Bayta nudged me with her reader. “Here,” she said.
“What?” I asked, forcing my mind away from the sudden flurry of thought and speculation that had descended on me.
“Here,” she repeated. “You’ll want to read this.”
I put my reader down on the bench and took hers. Scrolling back to the top of the report—and there wasn’t all that far I had to scroll—I began to read.
The Nemuti Lynx turned out to be one of a set of nine small abstract sculptures that had been unearthed at an archaeological dig in the Ten Mesas region of the Nemuti colony world of Veerstu two hundred years ago. The set included three sculptures that were called Lynxes, three that had been dubbed Hawks, and three more with the name Vipers.
“They gave them Human animal names?” I asked, frowning at Bayta.
She pointed at the reader. “Keep reading.”
The sculptures had originally been given Nemuti names, I discovered in the next paragraph, but fifteen years ago a scholar with way too much time on his hands had done some heavy-duty etymological studies and translated the names into what he decided were the most accurate and/or poetic equivalents in a dozen other languages, including English. Over the years the nine sculptures had ended up dispersed around the galaxy, four to various art museums and five to private collectors.
The next page was devoted to pictures of the sculptures,
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