The Domino Pattern (9 page)

Three of Kennrick’s ribs had been slightly cracked in the fight, fortunately not badly enough to require a cast or even a wrap. His side apparently hurt like hell, though. Witherspoon gave him a bottle of QuixHeals and another bottle of painkillers and ordered a regimen of rest and sleep. Kennrick allowed that he could probably manage that and toddled off toward his compartment.

Strinni’s case, unfortunately, wasn’t nearly so easy to fix.

“I’ve run the blood scan twice,” Witherspoon said as he gazed down at the Shorshian now securely strapped to the diagnostic table. “We’ve got not one, but
two
different poisons that have invaded his system. The first is a relative of printimpolivre-bioxene, which the analyzer lists as a sort of combination hallucinogen and paranoic.”

“That certainly fits his performance just now,” I agreed. “Is that the sickly-sweet odor I caught when he was trying to crush in my ribs?”

“Probably.” Witherspoon’s throat tightened. “The other poison appears to be a heavy metal. Probably the same cadmium that killed his two colleagues.”

“How surprising.” I murmured. “Are we in time to do something about this one?”

“I don’t know,” Witherspoon said. “I’ve got him on a double dose of Castan’s Binder, which should be able to bond to the metal still in his bloodstream. But if too much has already gotten into his deep tissues—” He shook his head.

I looked at Bayta. She was gazing down at Strinni’s closed eyes, absently massaging her right wrist. “Bayta, is there anything the Spiders can do?” I asked.

“Nothing that Dr. Witherspoon isn’t already doing,” she said. “I was just wondering if we should wake him up. Maybe he knows who did this to him.”

“That would definitely explain why they slipped him a Mickey,” I agreed.

“A Mickey?” Witherspoon asked, frowning.

“A Mickey Finn,” I explained. “Knockout drops, usually.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the term,” Witherspoon growled. “But
I’m
the one who gave him the sedative.”

“I was referring to the hallucinogen,” I said. “Maybe the poisoner was afraid
di
-Master Strinni knew something important, so he made him go berserk in the hope that we’d go ahead and knock him out ourselves, thereby saving himself the trouble.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Witherspoon said. “One problem: I believe printimpolivre-bioxene is on the Spiders’ prohibited list.”

I looked at Bayta. “Is it?”

“All hallucinogenic chemicals are supposed to be there,” she confirmed. “Unless it was already in
di
-Master Strinni’s system, it shouldn’t have gotten past the sensor screening.”

“It definitely wasn’t in his system,” Witherspoon said. “Like the heavy-metal poisoning, printimpolivre-bioxene’s effects would have shown up very quickly. Within hours, most likely. Certainly long before the two weeks we’ve been traveling.”

“This is starting to sound like a locked-door murder mystery,” I said. “So what about Bayta’s suggestion that we wake him up?”

“I don’t know,” Witherspoon said, rubbing his shoulder where Strinni’s first attack had landed. “I’d prefer to let him just sleep off the sedative instead of adding another chemical to the mix that his system’s already dealing with. Besides, until his kidney-primes are able to oxidize the printimpolivre-bioxene and flush it from his system, he’d most likely just wake up into the same frenzied state he was in before.”

Which would make anything we
did
get out of him fairly useless. “How long before that happens?”

Witherspoon shrugged. “Three hours. Maybe four.”

“We’ll come back then,” I said, taking Bayta’s arm. “If his condition changes, or you need anything, just tell the Spider.”

“And the word will somehow magically get back to you.” Witherspoon commented, glancing at the server standing silently by the drug cabinet. “Yes, Dr. Aronobal told me you two seem to have an interesting relationship with them.”

“We travel a lot,” I said, steering Bayta toward the dispensary door.

“I don’t believe that any more than Aronobal does,” Witherspoon said, peering closely at us. “But it’s not really any of my business, I suppose.”

“You suppose correctly,” I agreed. “See you later.”

We headed out into the corridor. “Where are we going?” Bayta asked as I turned us toward the front of the train. “I thought you wanted to look at Master Colix’s storage compartments.”

“I do,” I said. “But first we both need to get something in our stomachs.”

She looked sideways at me. “Yours bothering you, too?”

“Yes, but that could just be the onion rings,” I said. “I gather you’re still running at half speed?”

“It’s not that bad,” she assured me. “Besides, I already told you that I had something to eat.”

“A whole vegetable roll,” I said, nodding. “And that after having missed breakfast
and
lunch.”

“The vegetable roll
was
lunch.”

“I’ve had Quadrail vegetable rolls,” I reminded her. “Those are appetizers, not meals. If you really don’t want to eat anything, fine. But at least come keep me company.”

“All right,” she said reluctantly. Maybe she was wondering about the propriety of stuffing our faces while Strinni was in the dispensary dying of cadmium poisoning.

But my gut was rumbling something fierce, and I needed to get something down there to keep it busy. Whether she thought so or not. Bayta probably needed something, too.

The main section of the dining car was mostly empty when we arrived. That wasn’t particularly surprising, since we were between the normal lunch and dinner hours and most of the passengers were elsewhere reading, chatting, playing games, or watching dit rec dramas and comedies.

The bar end of the car, in contrast, was packed with passengers, some having pre-dinner drinks, others possibly not yet finished with their lunchtime libations. I glanced in through the smoked plastic dividers as we entered the dining section, just as glad we weren’t going to try to get a table in there.

With my digestive sensitivity in mind, I’d already decided to steer clear of anything exotic or heavy on spices. Accordingly, I ordered a simple steak and vegetable combo, passing on the half-dozen optional sauces offered by the menu.

Bayta, ignoring my raised eyebrows, just ordered another vegetable roll and a glass of lemonade.

“People
do
get indigestion on trips, you know,” I reminded her as the Spider headed away from the table. “Especially long trips like this one.”

“Maybe,” she said. Her eyes were on the center of our table, her attention clearly on her rumbling intestinal tract. “But I’ve never had indigestion. Not like this. Never.”

Abruptly, she looked up at me. “Did you ever find out from Mr. Kennrick or Dr. Witherspoon what the Human symptoms of heavy-metal poisoning were?”

“You were there the whole time,” I pointed out. “That part of the conversation got short-circuited by Strinni’s one-and-a-half-gainer into the deep end.”

“I just thought you might have asked Mr. Kennrick about it while you were helping him to the dispensary.”

“Never even occurred to me to bring up the subject,” I admitted. “We were a little preoccupied with his ribs at the time.”

“So we don’t know if"—she glanced down at her abdomen—"if this is a symptom or not.”

“Not specifically, no,” I said as soothingly as I could. “But we know that the train’s food supply isn’t contaminated, and no one’s been leaning over our dinner plates sprinkling cadmium garnish on our salads.”

“What if it’s airborne?” Bayta asked. “We still don’t know about that.”

“We will as soon as we finish dinner,” I said. “You said they’ll have the filter disassembled in, what, another half hour?”

Her eyes unfocused briefly. “About that.”

“So we’ll eat and then head back and take some samples,” I said. “Five minutes after that we’ll know whether the stuff was in the air or not.”

“Compton?” Kennrick’s voice came from behind me.

I turned, wincing as the movement strained freshly tenderized joints. Kennrick was standing a couple of feet back, his expression that of a man who’s just eaten a bad grape. “I thought you were heading back to your compartment,” I said.

“I was,” he said. “Other matters intervened.
Usantra
Givvrac would very much like a word with you.”

“I’d be delighted to give him one,” I said. “Just as soon as we finish our meal.”

Kennrick’s eyes flicked pointedly to the empty table in front of us. “Or possibly beforehand?” he suggested. “
Usantra
Givvrac is right here, over in the bar section.” His lip twitched. “We were discussing the situation when he spotted you coming in.”

“You’re as well informed about this mess as anyone,” I reminded him. “What does he think I can add to the discussion?”

Kennrick glanced at Bayta. “He feels you may have a better handle on what’s happening than I do.”

“And you resent the implications?”

“What I resent or don’t resent is irrelevant,” he said evenly. “I’m Pellorian Medical’s representative to these people, and the head of the contract team has made a request of me. The rule is, if you can satisfy such requests, you do.”

“True enough,” I agreed, feeling a twinge of sympathy. In my early days in Westali, when most of my missions boiled down to VIP-babysitting duty, I’d often found myself in the same unenviable position. “Well, we can’t have yon ignoring your mandate, can we? Tell
Usantra
Givvrac I’d be honored to give him a few minutes of my time.”

“Thanks.” he said, and headed back toward the bar section. I waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to Bayta. “Anything you want me to ask him?” I asked her. “Upper-rank Fillies are notorious for speaking only to the senior person present.”

“No. I don’t think so.” Bayta said. “We can always ask him later if I think of something.”

“Careful,” I warned. “In classic dit rec dramas, putting off a conversation usually means that person is the next one to die.”

Bayta shivered. “I wish this
was
a dit rec drama,” she murmured. “At least then there would be some sense to it.”

“Oh, there’s sense to it,” I promised her grimly. “We just don’t know what it is yet. But we will.”

“I hope so.” She looked up again, her eyes focusing somewhere over my shoulder. “Here he comes.”

Earlier, when I’d seen Kennrick and Givvrac conferring in the latter’s coach car, I’d noted that the Filly looked fairly elderly. Now, as I watched him crossing the dining car toward us. I was struck by not only how old he was. but also how fragile. He walked carefully, as if balance was a conscious decision instead of something his body automatically did on its own. His eyes continually scanned the tables and chairs alongside his path, with the air of someone who fears a casual bump might break delicate bones. Kennrick walked close beside him the whole way, his eyes alert, his hand poised for an instant assist should the other need it.

I stood up as they approached, swiveling my chair partway toward them. “I greet you,
Usantra
Givvrac,” I said, gesturing to the seat. “Please take my chair.”

“I thank you. Mr. Compton,” Givvrac said, sinking gratefully onto his knees on it in the standard Filly sitting position. He waited for the chair to reconfigure for his body, and then gestured to the chair across the table beside Bayta. “Please—sit. You as well, Mr. Kennrick.”

“Thank you,” I said, stepping around the corner of the table and sitting down in the indicated chair as Kennrick took the other empty seat beside Givvrac. “If I may be so bold,
Usantra
Givvrac, I’m surprised to see someone of your age so far from home.”

“With age comes experience, Mr. Compton.” Givvrac replied. “With experience comes wisdom and perspective. Or so one hopes.”

“Your people thought such wisdom and perspective would be necessary in this contract discussion?” I suggested.

“They did,” Givvrac confirmed. “And so it was. But I came here to question you, not to be questioned by you.”

“My apologies,” I said, inclining my head. “Please state your questions.”

“I’m told by Mr. Kennrick that you are an investigator,” Givvrac said. “Let us begin with a list of your credentials.”

“I’m a former agent of Earth’s Western Alliance Intelligence service.” I said. “During those years. I traveled over fairly large stretches of our end of the galaxy, and gained experience dealing with members of several of the Twelve Empires.”

“And now?”

“Now I travel the galaxy with my associate Bayta,” I said, nodding toward her. “We do odd jobs and assist with investigations for the Spiders.”

“I see,” Givvrac said, and I could see him wondering, just as Witherspoon had, what sort of investigations the Spiders might possibly need assistance with. Unlike the good doctor, though, Givvrac was too polite to ask. “Any other credentials?”

For a moment I was tempted to tell him about my brief employment with Larry Hardin, who had hired me to find a way to steal, bribe, or extort control of the Quadrail away from the Spiders. Givvrac’s reaction to such a revelation might have been interesting. “Various odd jobs when I was in school,” I said instead. “Nothing remarkable.”

Givvrac nodded, a rather awkward looking motion for that head and neck combination. Clearly, it was a gesture he’d picked up solely to use with Humans and a couple of other species. “Tell me what you’ve learned of the present situation.”

“Unfortunately, at this point I probably don’t know much more than you do,” I said. “Yesterday evening Master Colix came down with cadmium poisoning, source unknown, and quickly succumbed to it. Shortly thereafter, Master Bofiv died from the same cause. It appears now that
di
-Master Strinni has also been poisoned, plus he’s been dosed with a drug called printimpolivre-bioxene.”

Givvrac looked at Kennrick. “Are you familiar with this drug?”

“Dr. Witherspoon says it’s a hallucinogen,” Kennrick said. “It was apparently the reason for
di
-Master Strinni’s violent behavior earlier in his car.”

“I’ve not heard of this drug before,” Givvrac said, looking back at me. “Is it common?”