The Third Lynx Read Free Page A

don’t know,” the woman managed. “I was—I think he fell—” Abruptly she turned and disappeared back into the vestibule.
    I sent a brief hope skyward that she could hold on to her dinner long enough to reach the restroom at the front of the first-class car behind us, then put her out of my mind. Gingerly, I opened Smith’s jacket, trying to remember my Westali first-aid training. His shirt, I saw, was peppered with small bloodstains, a ghastly contrast to the diamond fastening studs.
    The door to Bayta’s compartment slid open, and I glanced up to see her gazing out at us, her eyes wide. “Whistle up a conductor and have him find a doctor,” I ordered. “Then get the LifeGuard.”
    “The conductors have been alerted,” she said as she stepped gingerly past me and over Smith’s body and hurried toward the bright orange box set into the corridor wall near the front of the car.
    “Make it a trauma specialist if they have a choice.” I called, hoping at least one of the Spiders was close enough for Bayta’s telepathic link with them to work. Carefully, I unfastened the diamond studs and opened Smith’s shirt.
    One look at the bruise pattern and oozing blood was all I needed. The lady with the excellent lungs might think he’d gotten this way tripping over his own feet, but I knew a professional beating when I saw one.
    And then, to my surprise, his eyes fluttered open. “Who—?” he rasped, bits of blood flecking his lips as he spoke.
    “It’s all right.” I soothed, the small sane part of my mind noting the banal stupidity of that comment. Traveling through interstellar space, hours away from a real medical facility, he was probably a goner. “It’s Compton. Who did this to you?”
    “Know what’s… really funny?” he asked, his swollen eyes fighting to focus on my face.
    I grimaced. Why did so many badly injured people get stuck on inessentials? “The Marx Brothers,” I said. “Who did this to you?”
    “He hates you,” Smith gasped. “Funny thing is, that was… even better than Lo… Losutu’s rec… recommenda…”
    “Recommendation,” I finished for him. wondering which of the collection of people who hated me he was referring to. Not that it mattered. “I’m glad my reputation is so solid. Now who did this?”
    He shook his head weakly. “Never saw…” Abruptly, his right hand jerked upward and clutched at my sleeve. “Lynx,” he croaked.
    Lynx ? “His name’s Lynx?” I asked.
    His face spasmed with pain. “Nemuti Lynx,” he said. “He wanted… third Lynx. Daniel—Daniel Mice—” He broke off, his face spasming again.
    “Okay,” I said. The Nemuti part, at least, I understood. The Nemuti FarReach was one of the Twelve Empires, with territory stretching across a few thousand light-years near the galaxy’s central core area. The Lynx part I didn’t have a clue on. “Did Daniel Mice do this?”
    He closed his eyes, and with one final heave his chest went still.
    I swore under my breath as his hand dropped limply away from my sleeve. “Bayta!” I snapped as I rolled Smith onto his back and started to check his windpipe for blockages.
    And suddenly the Quadrail became a cheap kaleidoscope as I was grabbed by the front of my shirt, hauled to my feet, and thrown violently backward down the corridor.
    I slammed to the floor at Bayta’s feet, hitting hard enough to see stars. Bayta gave a little gasp as I grabbed a piece of floor and pushed myself upright again. Blinking to clear my vision, I looked back down the corridor.
    Trouble was definitely on its way, striding toward me in the form of the biggest Halka I’d ever seen, two meters of short brown fur, back-jointed legs, and muscle. His flat bulldog lace was simmering with righteous anger, his nostrils making little purling sounds, his short claws extending whitely from their fingertip sheaths. Behind him, the Intelligence man I’d seen in the dining car was hurrying toward Smith’s body, the lady politician