Night Train to Rigel (Quadrail Book 1) Page 16

  We reached the top of the hill, and there they were: two large openings facing each other from the sides of another pair of hills. Like the first set of tunnels, a flattened staging and preparation area had been created between them, this one crowded with heavy equipment and crates of supplies. Some of the equipment was attached to conduits and cables of various colors and diameters that snaked their way down into the tunnel mouth. No one else was visible, and the tunnels themselves seemed dark.

  I motioned to Bayta, and we switched off our comms. “There you go,” I said, pressing my helmet against hers again.

  “There I go where?” she said, frowning.

  “It’s classic diversionary technique,” I said. “You get your opponents looking one direction while you set up your operation in the other. The Bellidos get the Halkas looking down at the underwater caverns, then settle themselves into a nice little staging area up here. An unused tunnel, complete with stacks of stuff where you could probably hide pretty much anything you wanted.”

  “But there are Halkan workers here,” she pointed out.

  “Only during the day,” I said, checking my watch. “Then they go inside, which is where they all are now, leaving the place nice and deserted.”

  I started forward, but Bayta grabbed my arm and pressed her helmet against mine again. “What if the Bellidos are in there?”

  “They aren’t,” I assured her. “They can’t be back from Sistarrko yet.”

  “Unless they took a later torchferry from the Tube and never went to Sistarrko at all.”

  I shook my head. “I poked around the resort computer system for a while last night after you went to bed. Room registration listings are always protected, but the restaurant and room-service records are usually more accessible. There were only two sets of Belldic meals served yesterday, and one of those has to have been to Apos Mahf.”

  “Do you think he’s working with them?”

  “Definitely not,” I said. “For one thing, he tried too hard for information as to who had left me in that spice crate. For another, he tried to get me to touch the coral.”

  I heard her inhale sharply. “You didn’t, did you?” she asked anxiously, her grip tightening on my arm.

  “No, no, I didn’t even get close,” I assured her hastily. The sudden dark tension in her face was unnerving. “Maybe you should tell me why that’s such a big deal to you.”

  Through her faceplate, I saw her throat work. “I can’t,” she said, letting go of my arm. “You just have to trust me.”

  For a moment I was tempted to again threaten to walk. But I’d already made my decision on that, and I knew better than to bluff when there was nothing to back it up. “Sure,” I growled. “Come on.” I stalked off across the ice toward the leftmost of the two tunnels, the one on the north side of the staging area. With only a slight hesitation, Bayta followed.

  The tunnel was clearly being planned as a more challenging run than the one Bayta and I had gone down earlier, with a much steeper initial plunge. Fortunately, the Halkan workers weren’t relying on the nonsmoothed ice to get back and forth, but had rigged a corrugated walkway along the tunnel’s left-hand side. Pulling out my light, I got a grip on the handrail and started down.

  The first fifty meters of the tunnel floor were smooth and clean. Past that point we hit an area of work in progress, and got a hint of just how complicated these things actually were. My earlier speculation about an embedded heater system was confirmed: Wide sheets of fine mesh encircled the entire tunnel, buried a few centimeters beneath where the toboggan surface would ultimately be. Every few meters we came upon large holes that had been dug in the tunnel walls, with various bits of machinery tucked away inside. Some of the devices were easily identifiable: area minigenerators for the lights and heaters, and impact registers like those used in sports arenas for alerting the staff to possible medical emergencies. Others I didn’t have a clue about.

  We followed the twists and turns for another hundred meters to where the tunnel ended at a concave wall. Several heavy-duty melting units were on the floor in front of the ice face, along with a pair of high-pressure pumping units connected to two of the thicker conduits.

  Bayta touched her helmet to mine. “Nothing here,” she said. “Maybe the other one.”

  “Maybe,” I said, eyeing the wall on the far side of the tunnel. On the other hand, if I were hiding something, I would put it on the side farthest away from the traffic zone. “Go ahead and start back,” I told her. “I’m going to take a stroll.”

  I crossed to the far side and started up, alternating my light and attention between the ice wall and the cables and hoses running alongside it. Even in the low gravity there were a couple of spots where I had to use one of the cables to pull myself up.

  Midway through one of the tighter curves, where the slope made a particularly sharp drop, I found it. Catching Bayta’s eye, I waved her over.

  It took her a minute to backtrack to a spot where she could cross the tunnel and join me. “Take a look,” I told her, pointing to the drain hose, our helmets again touching for private communication. “See here, where the color is just slightly off the rest of the hose?”

  She peered at it. “Looks like a patch.”

  “Very good,” I said. Working my fingertips under one edge, I peeled the patch back a couple of centimeters to reveal a handful of small punctures below it. “Behold: a homemade mister. Something to make liquid water mist, which will then freeze on contact with a wall.” I touched the tunnel wall beside me. “This wall, for instance.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s say you want to burrow into a tunnel wall,” I said. “The digging itself is trivial; all you need is a tight-beam plasma cutter or nuke torch. Hiding the hole afterward is the tricky part. You need liquid water and a way to deliver it to the hole.”

  I gestured at the hose. “Luckily for you, there’s a fresh supply available at the tunnel face for you to tap into. A few small holes, a good aim, maybe a small grinder to smooth out any big lumps afterward, and you’re done.”

  “But the hose only carries water when the workers are here.”

  “Sure, but the equipment stays here all day,” I reminded her. “It wouldn’t be hard to sneak out at night and fire up the pump just enough to bring through the water you needed to close up the opening.” I cocked an eyebrow as a new thought struck me. “Or they might even have slipped into the work team and done it right in front of the Halkas’ flat little faces. A lot of Bellidos are able to speak alien languages without an accent—I’ve heard some of them do it—and once they’re wrapped up in vac suits no one’s going to pick them out of a crowd without a good look through their faceplates. With a chaotic enough workplace, they could conceivably pull it off.”

  Tentatively, she touched the ice wall with her fingertips. “So how do we get in to take a look?”

  I studied the wall, wishing I’d brought my sensor with me. “Well, we can’t do it now,” I said slowly. “We may be under surveillance, and I don’t want to blow the Bellidos’ cover before we know what they’re up to. Our best bet would be to wait until they get here and let them open it for us.”

  I looked over my shoulder down the tunnel. “Or we could help ourselves to a couple of workers’ suits and drop in on tomorrow’s work party.”

  Bayta’s eyes went wide. “Are you crazy?”

  “Probably,” I conceded. “But it’s still worth thinking about. Let’s check out the other tunnel, and then we’ll have that lugeboard rematch.”

  We climbed the rest of the way up and headed across the staging area. The work in the south tunnel was about as far along as that of the north, and I searched it with the same degree of care. But if anyone had been doing unauthorized work, I couldn’t find any sign of it. Finally, and to Bayta’s obvious relief, we left and headed back to the finished tunnels.

  I did considerably better on this run, falling down less than half as often as I had on the
first run. Unfortunately for my pride, Bayta’s learning curve was steeper, and she still came out looking better than I did. We took the elevator down this time, turning in our vac suits and other equipment at the hotel’s service desk.

  “Now what?” Bayta asked as we headed across the lobby.

  “Dinner, then an early bedtime,” I said as we passed one of the observation lounges on our way to the guest room elevators. “Tomorrow could be a very busy—”

  “Compton!” a voice from the lounge cut across the low buzz of conversation. “Frank! Over here!”

  Clamping my teeth down onto my tongue, I turned to look.

  It was Colonel Applegate, seated at one of the lounge tables, a friendly smile on his face as he waved a hand invitingly.

  And seated across from him, his own expression studiously neutral, was Deputy UN Director Biret Losutu.

  A man who once said he wished I was dead.

  THIRTEEN

  “What do we do?” Bayta murmured.

  For a long moment I considered turning my back on them and continuing on my way. But that might look like I was afraid to face Losutu again, and there was no way in hell I was going to give anyone that impression. “We see what they want, of course,” I told Bayta. Taking her arm, I led us over to their table. “Good day, gentlemen,” I said. “This is a surprise.”

  “For us, as well,” Applegate said. “Though now that I think about it I suppose it shouldn’t have been. Sooner or later, a travel agent searching for exotic locales would have to find his way to Modhra.”

  “It is spectacular, isn’t it?” I agreed, shifting my attention to Losutu. “Good day, Director Losutu.”

  “Good day, Mr. Compton,” he replied, his dark eyes steady on mine, his face settled into the half-contemptuous, half-amused expression I’d found so irritating at the UN hearings a year and a half ago. “So you’re a travel agent now, are you? Interesting career move.”

  “I mingle with a better class of people this way,” I replied. “I see you’re being as careful as ever with Confederation money.”

  The amused half of Losutu’s expression vanished. “Meaning?” he asked, a note of warning in his voice.

  “Meaning I must have missed the brochure that talked about Modhra I’s prominence as a weapons purchasing center.”

  Losutu’s eyes shifted to Applegate. “Colonel?”

  Applegate’s lip twitched. “I may have mentioned something of our mission to Mr. Compton,” he admitted. “As a former Westali agent, I thought—”

  “Former being the operative word,” Losutu cut him off, shifting his glare back to me. “What exactly do you know, Compton?”

  “You’re looking to buy some expensive starfighters to guard the transfer stations at New Tigris and Yandro,” I said, forcing myself to meet his glare. I was a private citizen, and we were a long way from his little fiefdom. “Strikes me as a good-money-after-bad sort of thing.”

  “There are three million Confederation citizens in those two star systems,” he said, a little stiffly. “Yandro itself is up to nearly half a million, I might add, despite your predictions to the contrary.”

  “I never said no one could live there,” I countered. “All I said was that the place wasn’t worth the cost of putting in a Quadrail station.”

  “Those half million colonists would disagree,” he said, calmer now as he settled into the rote rationalization he’d probably used a thousand times in the last couple of years. “Frontiers are important for the human spirit, whether they immediately earn their keep or not. Give the people there another twenty years, and I think you’ll be surprised at what they create. In the meantime, they deserve the same degree of security and protection as you do.” He pursed his lips. “And whatever you may think of me personally, that is part of my job.”

  “A job you may be able to help us with,” Applegate jumped in. “The Western Alliance is having some problems over Director Losutu’s proposals. You might be able to help smooth the way.”

  I thought about reminding him that he’d already made this pitch to me back on the Quadrail. But it was obviously supposed to be a secret, and getting him deeper in trouble with Losutu than he already was wouldn’t gain me anything but a little petty vengeance. “I think you overestimate my influence,” I said instead.

  “You might be surprised,” Applegate said doggedly. “The least you could do is check out the fighters we’re looking at and give us your opinion.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, but we don’t have room in our schedule for any side trips into Cimman space.”

  “No need,” he said. “Two of the fighters are stationed right here at Modhra.”

  Pressed close beside me, I felt Bayta stiffen. “What for?” I asked.

  “Protection of the resort and coral harvesting areas, of course,” Losutu said. He was looking at me more thoughtfully now, like a tool he might be able to find some practical use for. “They’re actually stationed over at the other moon, Modhra II, where they’re more unobtrusive.”

  “No, we wouldn’t want to upset the paying customers,” I agreed cynically. “But I thought you were looking at Cimman fighters.”

  “We are,” Applegate said. “Chafta 669s, which are a joint project between the Cimmaheem and Halkas. We were scheduled to have our talks at Grakla, but there was a scheduling foul-up and the people we needed to talk to were all the way across the Republic and wouldn’t be back for a few more days. The nearest Chaftas were here at Modhra, so one of the negotiators suggested we come here and have the Halkas run them through their paces for us.”

  “So when is this supposed to happen?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Applegate said. He looked questioningly at Losutu, got a microscopic shrug in reply. “Would you be interested in joining us?”

  “Actually, afternoon would be better for my schedule,” I said.

  Losutu rumbled something under his breath. “We’re already set up for morning,” Applegate said, warning me with his eyes not to be difficult.

  But I was nowhere near his little fiefdom, either. “In that case, enjoy yourselves,” I said, taking Bayta’s arm. “And have a pleasant evening.”

  We retraced our steps back through the lounge and were nearly to the elevators when I heard a set of rapid footsteps coming up behind us. Turning, I saw Applegate, the dark look of an approaching storm on his face. “Damn it all, Compton,” he snarled. “Anyone ever tell you what a flaming uncooperative son of a mongrel you are?”

  “Once or twice,” I said. “Is this one private citizen to another, or UN flunky to private citizen?”

  He glared at me, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. “Look. I know you don’t like Losutu, but he really is looking out for the Confederation’s best interests. Isn’t there some way you can rearrange your schedule to come with us tomorrow?”

  I shook my head. “I want to take one of the tours out to the Balercomb Formations, and the bus leaves in the early morning. Did you read about the formations?”

  He snorted. “We’re not here on vacation.”

  “They were formed a hundred years ago when a fragmented comet slammed into the surface about forty kilometers from here,” I told him. “Between the multiple impacts and the resulting shock waves, they shattered and boiled off a lot of the ice, which naturally started refreezing almost at once. The result was a dozen square kilometers of pitted landscape with lots of hills, caves, and weird formations.”

  “Fascinating,” he growled, clearly not interested in the slightest. “What if we can arrange to drop you there after we look at the fighters? You could do your exploring and take the bus back with the rest of the group.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking hard. With the new toboggan tunnels at the top of tomorrow’s itinerary, the last place I had actually planned to be was on a tour bus. But unless I came up with something quick, my bluff was going to be called right out from under me. “They’re supposed to give you a lot of the historical background on the ride
there. I really ought to go along to see what that’s like.”

  He exhaled loudly in exasperation. “Will you at least give me a chance to talk you into it?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I meant over dinner,” he said. “I’d like you and Bayta to join us.” He managed a faint smile. “On the UN’s credit tag, of course.”

  “Better check with Losutu first,” I warned. “Anyway, Bayta wouldn’t be able to join us. I have a research project for her to do in our room.”

  “Well, just you, then,” Applegate persisted. “And don’t worry about Losutu. I can handle him.”

  I shrugged. “If you can persuade him, why not? Where do you want to meet?”

  “Let’s make it the Redbird Restaurant on the fourth level,” he said. “Say, in two-thirds hour?”

  “Fine,” I said. “By the way, you said one of your contacts suggested you come here to Modhra. Which contact was it, exactly?”

  “I don’t know his name,” Applegate said, frowning slightly. “One of the Halkas. Why?”

  “Just curious,” I said. “Two-thirds hour in the Redbird, then.”

  He turned and headed back to the lounge, and I touched the button to call the elevator. “What is this research you suddenly want me to do?” Bayta asked suspiciously.

  “Something I should have thought of days ago,” I told her. The elevator arrived, and we got aboard. I focused my attention briefly on my watch; no tingling. “If the Bellidos were taking a later torchliner from the Quadrail, they should have been here by now. The fact that they’re not implies they went to Sistarrko after all. Right?”

  “If you’re right about them not being here,” she agreed cautiously. “So?”

  “So why go to the inner system?” I asked. “Answer: Either they needed to do some prep work away from Modhra, or they needed to take something there or pick something up.”