The Third Lynx (Quadrail Book 2) by Zahn Timothy

Author:Zahn, Timothy [Zahn, Timothy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781504016414
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2015-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

There was a long moment of silence as Bayta and Fayr did their individual siftings through the potential implications of that revelation. “We must make certain the Modhri never learns that truth,” Fayr said at last.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. Whenever the Modhri decided to make a full-bore move against humanity, the young heir to a trillion-dollar estate would be high on his list of potential targets. “A more immediate concern at the moment is that it will eventually occur to him that all he has to do is get the cops to haul in every Human on Ghonsilya for a visual check against Morse’s picture. There can’t be that many of us here.”

“You might be surprised,” Fayr said thoughtfully. “According to the official numbers, there are over eight thousand Humans on this planet.”

“Eight thousand?” I asked. I’d been ready to guess no more than a few hundred.

“That is correct,” Fayr said. “There are also twelve hundred Bellidos, if you were wondering.”

“What in the world are they all doing here?” I asked. “The Humans, I mean?”

“Most are skilled workers,” Fayr said. “Humans have a manual dexterity beyond that of Tra’ho’seej, especially for detail work. There are also many artists.” He cocked his head to the side, one of those gestures the Bellidos had picked up from us. “Many of that group are right here in Magaraa City.”

I thought about the hotel lobby where the Modhri and I had had our brief fight. The place had been literally strewn with cheap art. “Working for the local trade, I take it?”

“Indeed,” Fayr confirmed. “In Ancient Seejlis, Magaraa means Labor of Artisans, and the residents take that title quite seriously. They cherish all levels and forms of artwork, from inexpensive wall mountings and table settings to masterpieces designated specifically for contemplation rooms.”

And Stafford had come here to buy a piece of alien sculpture. “I don’t suppose there’s a particular restaurant or tavern where these artistic types hang out?”

Fayr smiled. “We think along the same path,” he said. “In fact, I can do even better than that. Come; I’ll show you.”

He lifted the edge of the cloakcloth and climbed out from under it. The lights on the display strip had gone out, I noted, apparently indicating that the police patrol had moved on. “You think it’s safe to travel?” I asked as Bayta and I also climbed out.

“I believe so,” he said, refolding the cloakcloth onto the edge of the couch, ready for its next use. “I’ve spent some time studying Tra’ho police procedure. Once they’ve swept an area, they seldom return to it. Not unless a serious crime has been committed.”

“You don’t call a double killing a serious crime?”

“Not in this case.” Fayr rumbled deep in his throat. “The victims weren’t Tra’ho’seej.”

I grimaced. Sometimes I forgot how much specism there was lurking beneath the surface civility of the Twelve Empires. “And neither were the killers.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Disputes between aliens are hardly a matter of importance unless they also threaten the local citizens.”

“What about the sunburst?” Bayta asked.

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