Bayta was standing by the computer chair in her compartment, gazing out the display window at the crowds milling around Homshil Station’s platforms. “What do you think?” she asked.

“About the compartment?” I asked. “Very nice. Smells fresh off the assembly line. Do they just build these trains from scratch when they need one?”

“There are a few hours scheduled between cross-galactic arrivals and departures,” she said, still looking out the window. “The Spiders need time to unload and reload the cargo cars and to restock the food and supply areas. Because of that, there’s time for a complete cleaning of the passenger spaces instead of just making do with the regular self-cleaning systems.”

She turned to look at me. “But that wasn’t what I meant. I meant what do you think of this idea now?”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “That I suddenly feel happy to be aboard? I don’t. But I still don’t see any practical alternative.”

“Not even with that man aboard?” she asked. “The one who recognized you?”

I grimaced. “I was hoping you’d missed that.”

Her eyebrows went up. “You were hoping I’d missed it?”

“Only because I knew you’d worry, and that there was nothing we could do about it,” I hastened to assure her.

“Except maybe find out from the Spiders who he is before we leave the station?” she countered tartly.

“Touché,” I admitted. “Okay. Who is he?”

She took a deep breath, and I could see her forcing herself to calm down. Even that mild touch of annoyance was more of an emotional display than she usually seemed comfortable with. “His ticket’s under the name Whitman Kennrick,” she told me. “He boarded the Quadrail at Terra Station, ultimate destination the Filiaelian Assembly system of Rentis Tarlay Birim.”

“What about his four Filly buddies?” I asked, pulling out my reader and plugging in the encyclopedia data chip. “Did they all come aboard together, or did he meet up with them somewhere between Terra and Homshil?”