The Third Lynx Read Free Page B

trailing shakily behind him.
    “Easy,” I said, taking a step back and holding out my hands toward the approaching Halka. “We’re just trying to help.”
    The Halka kept coming. “What you do to this Human?” he demanded.
    “We didn’t do anything,” I said, taking another step back and hoping I could talk some sense into him before Bayta and I ran out of corridor. “We’re trying to get the LifeGuard.”
    “Then get on with it.” the Intelligence man called, his unexpected British accent carrying an extra edge of authority as he knelt beside the body. “Make sure it’s set for Human. You—sir—out of his way, please.”
    The big Halka rumbled something, but obediently stepped to the side of the corridor. Taking the orange box from Bayta. I punched the button marked “Human” and hurried back down the corridor.
    The Intelligence man had gotten Smith’s head in position by the time I arrived. Up close, I could see that he was in his mid-twenties, a few years younger than my own thirty-two, with light brown hair and the smooth, unweathered skin of someone who preferred the indoor life. His pale blue eyes brushed over me like radar painting a target as I knelt down beside him. “Get the arm cuff on,” he ordered as he unlimbered the breather mask and oxygen tank. He took a quick look to make sure the mask had configured to Human facial shape, then fastened it over Smith’s face.
    I got the cuff in place around Smith’s right jacket sleeve. “Ready,” I said.
    He punched the start button. There was a brief hum that shifted into a soft chugging sound as the respirator kicked in. “You know how to read this?” he asked, peering at the LifeGuard’s display.
    “Green is good; red is bad,” I said. “For anything more complicated, we’ll need a Spider.”
    He grunted. “I think they’re all off hunting up a Human doctor,” he said. “What’s your name?”
    “Compton,” I said. “Yours?”
    “Morse,” he said. “What’s your relationship with him?”
    “Haven’t got one,” I said.
    “Really?” Morse asked, turning his blue eyes on me again. “You were having a rather intense conversation earlier in the dining car.”
    “He invited himself to our table to offer me a job,” I said.
    “What kind of job?”
    “Unspecified,” I said. “Also unaccepted. End of story.”
    “Did he give you a name?”
    “Smith.”
    Morse grunted. “So what happened here?”
    “I heard a scream and found him bleeding in the corridor.”
    “Did you move him?”
    “I rolled him onto his back to clear his windpipe,” I said. “Nothing more.”
    Morse let out a hiss between his teeth and glanced over his shoulder at the vestibule. “Where the hell’s that doctor?”
    “They probably had to go all the way back to third to find one,” I said. “Unless you know any working doctors who can afford first-class Quadrail seats.”
    “Not many, no,” he conceded, his eyes shifting pointedly to my neat but hardly expensive suit. “Speaking of affording things, may I ask what you’re doing up here?”
    “Traveling legally and minding my own business,” I said.
    “Are you paying for your compartment yourself?”
    “I have a rich uncle,” I said, pointedly running my eyes down his own suit. “What’s your excuse?”
    He eyed me a moment as if wondering if he should challenge my conclusion. “I’m here on business,” he said instead.
    “You have one hell of a generous boss,” I said. “You want to get Smith’s wallet, or should I do it?”
    Morse gave me a measuring look, then slipped a hand inside the bloodied suit coat, probing one side’s pockets and then the other. “Not here,” he said. “Hopefully, it’s in his compartment and not in someone else’s pocket.”
    The LifeGuard gave a soft beep, and the display lights went solid red. “Damn,” I said.
    “Keep it going,” Morse said, pushing the start button again. “At least until the doctor gets here. What’s your business in