The Domino Pattern

SIX

“Easy, now,” I cautioned, holding my hands out toward the Filly as I reversed direction, backing toward the archway and the corridor beyond. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in a brawl with one of the other passengers. The very last thing I wanted was for that brawl to take place in a dining room.

But the Filly kept coming, the thought of broken tables, crockery, and bones apparently not bothering him in the least. I continued giving way, still making useless soothing noises. The carefully designed privacy acoustics of Quadrail dining cars meant that none of the other patrons could really make out what either of us was saying, but pretty much everyone facing our direction had spotted the gathering storm and had clued in their dining partners. It I’d ever wanted to get beaten to a pulp in front of an audience, I reflected sourly, this was my big chance.

Apparently, Bayta was thinking along the same lines. The kwi snugged away in my pocket tingled as she telepathically activated the weapon.

I could certainly see her point. The Filly probably outweighed me by ten kilos, and while his species wasn’t known for their prowess at unarmed combat, they weren’t complete slouches at it, either. The chance to drop him where he stood was a very tempting proposition.

Unfortunately, the presence of an audience put that option off the table. Using a weapon, even a nonlethal one, on a supposedly weapons-free Quadrail would draw way too much unwelcome attention.

Fortunately, the kwi wouldn’t be necessary. I’d backed up nearly to the archway now, and had finally reached my goal: a small section of empty floor space.

Time to make my move.

“All right, this has gone far enough,” I said firmly, coming to an abrupt halt with my hands still held out in front of me, my palms toward the Filly. “I’m going to question Ms. German, and that’s all there is to it.”

He took the bait. “You will not bother the Human female,” he said, continuing forward and reaching for my left wrist. As he stretched out his arm, I smoothly withdrew mine, bringing it inward toward my chest. He picked up his pace, reaching even more insistently toward me.

And with his complete attention now focused on the wrist that was somehow managing to remain just out of his grasp, I reached across with my right hand, grabbed his hand and bent the wrist in on itself, then snaked my left hand behind his elbow.

An instant later he found himself pinned upright in place, his arm locked vertically at his side, his weight coming up on his toes as I pulled the bent wrist upward and inward. “Now.” I said softly to the long face and startled eyes fifteen centimeters from my own. “I’m going to ask Ms. German a few questions, and then she can go about her business. Is that all right with you?”

For a couple of heartbeats he remained silent. “A few questions only,” he replied at last. “Thank you,” I said.

Releasing his arm, I took a step backward. I was taking something of a risk, I knew—he was uninjured, he still had those ten kilos on me. and he was perfectly capable of backing out of his verbal agreement if he chose to do so.

But he didn’t. Apparently, he was smart enough to realize that someone who had just showed my brand of restraint in round one was likely to have more painful options available for round two. Stepping to the side, he gestured me back into the dining area.

Terese was still standing by the bar, her mouth hanging slightly open. Apparently, she hadn’t expected her white knight to be vanquished quite so easily.

Which meant she’d had some expectations to begin with, either about me or about the Filly. I tucked away that little bit of data for future consideration. “Hello, Ms. German,” I said, nodding politely as I came up to her. “Remember me?”

She clamped her mouth closed. “What do you want?”

“The answers to a few questions,” I said. “A very few questions.” I gestured her to one of the bar stools. “Have a seat?”

Reluctantly, she plopped down on the stool. I took the next one and sat down facing her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Bayta and Kennrick had now come into the dining area and were watching us from across the room. “I heard a rumor that Master Colix might have brought along some private snacks,” I said. “Did you notice him with anything like that?”

Terese shrugged. “He might have had something.”

“Were they in a bag?” I asked. “A nice box? A tube dispenser?”

“It was a dark brown bag,” she said. “Small, like a meal from a quick-food spot. But I don’t know where it came from.” She gave a flip of her fingertips that somehow managed to take in the entire room. “He could even have gotten it from here, for all I know.”

“We can check on that,” I said. “Did you notice anything specific about the bag or its contents, anything about how either looked? Or were there any strange aromas that might have caught your attention?”

She shook her head. “Like I said, I didn’t really pay much attention to him.”

“So who should I be talking to about this?”

“The Juri on his other side,” she said. “The two of them were jabbering all the time.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was like bad Chinese or something.”

That was actually a pretty fair description of how Juric sounded. “You said he showed you holos of his family?”

“Once,” she said. “Mostly, he just talked about his job.”

I nodded. “How was Master Colix’s English, by the way? I’m told he was trying to brush up on his language skills.”

She wrinkled her nose again. “He still had a long way to go.”

“But you could understand him?”

“As much as I wanted to. Look, can I go now?”

“Sure,” I said, gesturing her toward the exit. “You know, you really ought to see a doctor about that stomach of yours.”

That got me another glare as she slid off her stool. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s not contagious, it that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not really,” I said as she turned away and took a step toward the archway. “I’m sure Dr. Witherspoon would have said something to the Spiders it you were.”

Even with her back to me, I could see her reaction to Witherspoon’s name. “Who?” she asked, stopping but not turning around.

“Dr. Witherspoon,” I repeated. “The man you had dinner with last night.”

“I didn’t have dinner with him,” she said, still keeping her face away from me. “I was eating by myself and he came over and sat down.”

“And you immediately told him to take a hike, right?”

She hesitated, and I could see the tension in her shoulders as she tried to guess how much I knew, and therefore how much bending of the truth she could get away with. “He might have stayed for a few minutes,” she conceded. “He said he’d noticed my stomach problem and wanted to ask me about it.”

“What did you tell him?”

She gave me an oblique look over her shoulder. “Can I leave now?”

“I already said you could,” I said. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

She might have expelled a sarcastic snort as she strode off, but with the dining car’s acoustics I couldn’t tell for sure. She glared at the Filly who she’d sent to stop me, strode past Bayta and Kennrick without a glance at either of them, and headed back down the corridor toward her car.

“Well, that was interesting,” Kennrick commented as he and Bayta joined me at the bar. “What exactly did you say to her there at the end?”

“I take it there was a reaction?” I asked.

“Oh, a beaut,” Kennrick assured me. “What did you say?”

For a moment I considered not telling him. But he’d already heard the Nemut mention that Terese had met a white-haired Human over dinner, and it wouldn’t take much of a deductive leap on his part to tag Witherspoon for the part. “I asked about her dinner with Dr. Witherspoon,” I said.

“Really,” Kennrick said. “And?”

“She denied it was an actual dinner,” I said. “According to her, he just dropped by to see how she was feeling.”

Kennrick grunted. “Did you get anything about her sickness?”

“Not a whisper,” I said. “I wonder if you could do me a favor.”

He cocked an eyebrow, possibly noting the irony of a former Westali agent asking a former fugitive for help, But if he was tempted to make a comment to that effect, he managed to resist it. “Shoot.” he invited.

“I want you to track down Dr. Witherspoon,” I said. “Find out what the symptoms are of heavy-metal poisoning in Humans.”

Kennrick looked at the archway where Terese had just exited. “You think she’s the one who poisoned them?”

“No idea,” I said. “But she seems to be the only one who was in the victims’ immediate vicinity who’s also noticeably ill.”

“Yes, but her?” Kennrick persisted. “She doesn’t exactly have that icy killer look about her.”

“Not very many icy killers do,” I said. “Maybe her stomach trouble has nothing to do with this. But if it does, I’d like to find it out before someone else joins the choir invisible.”

“Point,” Kennrick said heavily. “Any idea where Witherspoon might be?”

I looked at Bayta. “His seat is two cars back from Ms. German’s,” she said. “I don’t know it he’s there, though.”

“But there are only fifteen third-class cars,” I added helpfully. “He has to be there somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Kennrick growled. “If and when I find him, where will you be?”

“In my bed.” I said, yawning widely. “I’m still way too short on sleep.”

“I know the feeling,” Kennrick said. “Talk to you later.” With a nod at Bayta, he left the dining area and headed toward the rear of the train.

“Do you want me to see if the Spiders can locate Dr. Witherspoon?” Bayta asked.

“Even if they could, I’d just as soon have Kennrick wander around on his own for awhile.” I said. “I know he’s worried about his precious contract team, but I don’t especially like having him underfoot. How’s the disassembly of the air filter system going?”

“Slowly,” Bayta said. “I don’t think one of these has ever been taken apart while the train was in motion, and the mites are having to figure it out as they go. Do you think Ms. German is the killer?”

“My first impression is no,” I said. “But I’m not ready to write anyone off the suspect list quite yet. She’s certainly had enough access to the victims over the past two weeks. And she’s definitely hiding something.”

Bayta looked at the archway. “Do you suppose she could be running away from home?”

“Jumping a Quadrail is a pretty pricey way of escaping Mom and Dad,” I reminded her. “On the other hand, without access to the Spiders’ station-based records, there’s no way to know the circumstances of her coming aboard.”

“No, there’s not,” Bayta murmured thoughtfully. “Do you suppose that’s why the killer chose a cross-galactic express? So that we wouldn’t be able to get anyone’s records?”

“Could be,” I said. “Or so we wouldn’t be able to call for help, get quick and complete autopsies, or get out of his line of fire. Pick one.”

Bayta shivered. “You think he’s planning more killings, then?”

“I would hope that two dead bodies would be enough for anyone,” I said soberly. “But I wouldn’t bet the rent money on it.”

“No.” She took a deep breath, and for just a moment her mask dropped away to reveal something tired and anxious. It was a side of her that I didn’t see very often, and there was something about it that made me want to take her hand and tell her, don’t worry, it’ll be all right.

But I didn’t. I didn’t dare. Among his other tricks, the Modhri employed something called thought viruses, suggestions that could be sent telepathically from a walker to an uninfected person. In one of the lowest ironies of this whole miserable business, thought viruses traveled best along the lines of trust between friends, close colleagues, or lovers.

Which meant that once the Modhri had established a colony in one person, the walker’s entire circle of friends was usually soon to follow, lemming-like, in the act of touching some Modhran coral and starting their own Modhran polyp colonies. The Modhri had used that technique to infiltrate business centers, industrial directorates, counterintelligence squads, and even whole governments.

Bayta and I were close. We had to be, working and fighting alongside each other the way we were. But at the same time, we had to struggle to maintain as much emotional distance between us as we possibly could. Otherwise, if the Modhri ever got to one of us, he would inevitably get the other one, too.

Bayta knew that as well as I did. The moment of vulnerability passed, her mask came back up, and I once again forced my protective male instincts into the background. “So what’s our next move?” she asked.

“Exactly what I told Kennrick.” I yawned again. “I’m going to get some sleep. You coming?”

“I think I’ll wander around a little longer,” she said. “Maybe go watch the air system disassembly. I don’t think I could sleep just now.”

I eyed her, that brief flicker of vulnerability coming back to mind. But her professional self was back in charge, cool and confident and competent.

And it wasn’t like she would be alone out here. Not with hundreds of people milling around and other hundreds of Spiders watching her every move. “Okay,” I said, pushing myself off the bar stool. “Just be careful. And let me know if anything happens.”

“What if what happens isn’t especially interesting?” she asked.

“This is a murder investigation,” I reminded her grimly. “Everything is interesting.”

This time I got nearly four hours of sleep before I was awakened by a growling stomach, the realization that I hadn’t eaten since last night, and the delectable aroma of onion rings.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Bayta said as she carefully balanced the onion rings and a cup of iced tea on the edge of my computer desk’s swivel table.

“Very,” I confirmed, sniffing at the plate with mild surprise. Offhand, I couldn’t think of any other time when Bayta had brought me something to eat purely on her own initiative. Either she was finally getting the hang of this girl-Friday stuff, or else I was looking even more old and decrepit and pitiable than usual lately. “Thanks. Have a bite?”

“No, thank you.” she said, her cheek twitching. “My stomach’s been bothering me a little today.”

“You’re probably just hungry,” I suggested as I sat down and took a sip of the tea. It was strong and sweet, just the way I liked it.

“No, I had a vegetable roll a couple of hours ago,” she said. “I’m just feeling a little odd today, that’s all.”

I frowned at her as I bit into one of the onion rings. “Odd enough to have you checked over by one of the doctors?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” she assured me. “Like I said, my stomach’s just a little sensitive.”

“Okay,” I said, making a mental note to keep tabs on her digestive rumblings. With two confirmed poisonings, and Terese German apparently heaving her guts on a regular basis, I wasn’t ready yet to chalk up Bayta’s oddness to normal travel indigestion. “Any news on the air filter?”

“It’s almost ready,” she said. “Another hour, maybe.”

“Good,” I said, biting a third out of the next onion ring in line and washing it down with a swig of tea. “You didn’t happen to bump into either Kennrick or Dr. Witherspoon while you were wandering around, did you?”

“I didn’t spot either of them,” Bayta said. “But I wasn’t really looking. I was mostly talking to Tas Krodo.”

“Who?”

“Master Colix’s other seatmate,” she said. “The one Ms. German said he mostly talked to.”

I frowned at her. “You talked to him? Alone?”

“Not alone, no,” she said evenly. “There were other passengers in the car.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, setting down a half-eaten onion ring. Was that what the unexpected tea service had been all about? Some kind of preemptive peace offering? “Interrogation is an art, Bayta.”

“It wasn’t an interrogation,” she said, her voice stiff. “We were just two people having a conversation.”

I took a careful breath, the old phrase poisoning the well flashing to mind. Putting potential witnesses on their guard—or worse, accidentally planting suggestions as to what you wanted to hear—could wreck an entire session. Especially when aliens and alien cultures were involved. “Bayta—”

“I’m not a child, Frank,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me as if I were. I’ve watched you enough times to know the kinds of questions to ask.”

“All right,” I said as calmly as I could. A fight right now wouldn’t help either of us, or the situation, in the slightest. “What kinds of questions did you ask?”

“I first confirmed that he did talk a great deal with Master Colix,” she said. Her tone was a near-perfect copy of a junior Westali agent reporting to a superior. “I also confirmed that Master Colix was able to speak both English and Juric. Apparently, Master Colix spent a lot of time talking to Tas Krodo about the Path of Onagnalhni.”

“The—? Oh, right.” I nodded. “Kennrick’s Path of the Unpronounceable and Untranslatable. Not entirely unpronounceable, I see.”

“Pretty close, though,” Bayta said, relaxing slightly. For all her stubbornly defiant talk about doing her own bit of investigating, she really had been worried about how mad I would be at her. “He also said that Master Colix had a dark brown bag of what he thought were some kind of fruit snacks.”

“He tasted one?”

“No, Master Colix never offered to share,” Bayta said. “But they had a fruity scent.”

“Sounds harmless enough,” I said.

“Yes, it does,” Bayta said. “But when I went to look for them in the overhead and underseat storage compartments, I couldn’t find them.”

I frowned. “The locked overhead and underseat compartments?”

“Those compartments, yes.” she said grimly. “Only by the time I got to them they weren’t locked anymore.”

“Well, now, that’s very interesting,” I murmured, picking up another onion ring and chewing thoughtfully at it. “Did you notice anything unusual about the locks? Any damage to the catches or scratch marks anywhere?”

“I didn’t see anything.” Bayta’s lips compressed briefly. “But I probably don’t know what to look for, do I?”

“You’d have noticed if the locks had been forced,” I assured her. “That’s usually pretty obvious. But the differences between key and keypick aren’t nearly so blatant.”

“Keypicks don’t work on Quadrail locks,” Bayta said.

“If something can be coded to be unlocked, somebody will eventually find a way to fake that code,” I said, picking up the last two onion rings and cramming them into my mouth. “That, or they’ll get hold of a copy of the actual key.”

“The passenger’s ticket is the only key.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said. “So unless the thief forced the locks, we arrive at the conclusion that he also absconded with Colix’s key.”

“Before he died?”

“Or afterward,” I said. “Dead people are much less argumentative when you’re going through their pockets.”

Bayta shivered. “Sounds awful,” she murmured.

“It isn’t high on anyone’s pleasant-activities list,” I conceded as I stepped into the half-bath to wash the onion ring breading off my hands. “But there’s still a chance that someone simply broke in. We’ll need to go take a look to be sure.”

“All right,” Bayta said slowly. “But why would anyone want to steal Master Colix’s fruit snacks? You can get things like that in the dining car.”

“Maybe you can’t get his specific brand,” I said. “Or maybe there’s some other reason entirely.” I scratched my head as a sudden ferocious itch ran through my scalp. “But one question at a time. Let’s figure out first how the compartments were opened. Then we can tackle the who and why of it.”

My plan was to first check out the late Master Colix’s storage compartments and then hunt down Kennrick to see what, if anything, he’d learned from Witherspoon about heavy-metal poisoning symptoms in Humans.

Like most of my plans these days, this one didn’t survive very long.

We were passing through the last first-class coach when we spotted both Kennrick and Witherspoon. They had pulled up a pair of chairs to face di-Master Strinni. Witherspoon was examining the Shorshian, who was gesturing oddly as he talked in a low voice.

And from Witherspoon’s expression, I could tell something was wrong.

The doctor glanced up as we approached. “Mr. Compton,” he greeted me absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Dr. Witherspoon,” I nodded back. “We having a conference?”

“Not exactly,” Witherspoon said as he peered closely into Strinni’s eyes.

“Di-Master Strinni is feeling strangely stressed and nervous,” Kennrick explained. “He asked the conductor to allow Dr. Witherspoon into first to administer a sedative.”

I eyed Strinni. His muscles were trembling beneath his skin, his breath was coming in short bursts, and his eyes were darting back and forth between the four of us. He certainly looked stressed. “How long before it takes effect?” I asked.

“I haven’t given it to him yet,” Witherspoon said. “This is something more than simple stress.”

I felt my throat tighten. “You mean like—?”

“No,” Witherspoon interrupted, throwing me a warning look under his eyebrows. “The symptoms aren’t right for that.”

“What are they right for?” I countered. “No—never mind. Let’s just get him to the dispensary and see if—”

[No,] Strinni cut me off. His voice was harsh and dark and as shaky as his musculature. [I will not be poisoned by Spider medicine. The Spiders seek to destroy us all. I will not be placed within their metal claws.]

I frowned. Granted that I hadn’t spent more than a few minutes with him before now, such a rabidly anti-Spider attitude was still a surprise. “I’m just suggesting a visit to the diagnostic table,” I said. “They’re Fibibib design, actually—nothing Spider about them.”

[On such a table is where my comrades expired,] Strinni countered. [I do not wish to join them in the silence of death.]

“I’m sure their deaths had nothing to do with the table,” I said, deciding to skip over the fact that Master Bofiv, at least, had died long before he reached the table.

“And we won’t take you there against your wishes,” Kennrick added, his eyes on Witherspoon. “Doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Witherspoon murmured, touching the edge of Strinni’s armpit where the most prominent Shorshic pulse was located. “His pulse is thready, his skin conductivity is bouncing around, and he’s so weak he can barely walk. But what that all adds up to, I don’t know.”

“Seems to me that it’s time for a full-press consultation,” I said. “Let’s get Dr. Aronobal up here and see if she’s got any ideas.”

[No!] Strinni spat before Witherspoon could answer. [I will not be treated by a Filiaelian!]

“I’ve already suggested that Dr. Aronobal be brought in,” Witherspoon told me grimly. “But di-Master Strinni absolutely refuses to see anyone but me.”

[I will not be debased so,] Strinni insisted, his arm flailings widening their range.

“No one will force that on you, di-Master Strinni,” Witherspoon said, holding out his hands. “Please, try to stay calm.”

“We’re just trying to help you,” I added, catching Kennrick’s eye and giving him a questioning frown. Wordlessly, he gave me a helpless shrug. Apparently, Strinni’s freshly exposed bigotry and paranoia was a new one on him, too.

But my attempt at soothing noises had come too late. [You’re with them!] Strinni snarled abruptly, leveling two fingers at my chest. [You serve and obey them!]

And without warning he heaved himself to his feet, knocked Witherspoon sideways out of his chair with a sweep of his right arm, and lunged straight at me.

I did my best to get out of his way. But I was caught flat-footed, my attention still on Kennrick, and standing between Bayta and the next chair over with zero maneuvering room. My only chance was to hack up as fast as I could and hope I could get to a better position before he reached me.

But Strinni was already in motion, and my combat reflexes were sadly out of shape. I’d barely gotten a single step when he slammed into me like a Minneapolis snowplow, his momentum shoving the two of us backward toward whatever bone-wrenching obstacles might be lurking in our path. His big arms wrapped around my back and neck, squeezing my torso and crushing my face against his shoulder. I caught a whiff of something sickly sweet—

Abruptly the bear hug was lifted, and I found myself tottering backward alone. I blinked my eyes to clear them, and found that Strinni had gained two new attachments: Bayta and Kennrick, one of them hanging on to each of his arms like terriers on a bull.

A single sweep of Strinni’s arm had sent Witherspoon to the floor. Assuming Strinni was thinking at all, he was undoubtedly thinking he could shake off his new attackers with similar ease. With a bellow, he bent at the waist, half turning and swinging his arms horizontally like massive windmill blades.

Kennrick managed to hang on for about a quarter turn before he lost his grip and flew two meters across the floor to pile himself against the back of one of the other chairs, eliciting a startled bark from the Fibibib seated there. With one of his arms freed, Strinni now shifted his attention to freeing the other one.

But Bayta was stronger than she looked. She held on stubbornly as Strinni swung his arm and torso ponderously back and forth. I got my balance back, grabbed a quick lungful of air, and headed back toward the melee.

Only to be brought up short as a Filly forearm appeared out of nowhere to bar my way. “That is no way to behave toward one who is ill,” the alien chided as he glared down a distinctive rose-colored blaze at me. His skin was flushed, his pupils wide with too much alcohol or excitement or both, “He must he treated with respect and care.”

“You want to try respect and care, be my guest,” I bit out, trying to push his arm out of the way.

But Rose Nose was as determined as I was, and I still didn’t have all my wind back. For a couple of seconds we struggled, him still spouting platitudes, me trying very hard not to simply haul off and slug him.

It was just as well that I didn’t. The Filly’s delay meant that Kennrick recovered his balance and got back to Strinni before I did.

Which meant that it was Kennrick, not me, who caught a swinging Shorshic forearm squarely across the left side of his rib cage.

There was too much noise for me to hear the crack of breaking ribs, if there actually was such a crack. But even over Strinni’s paranoid gaspings and Rose Nose’s admonitions I had no trouble hearing Kennrick’s strangled grunt as the arm sent him flying across the room again. He slammed hard into the floor, and this time he didn’t get up.

But his sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing. The rest of the car’s passengers had finally broken out of their stunned disbelief at Strinni’s bizarre attack, and even as I continued to struggle with my self-appointed Filly protector a Juri and a Tra’ho moved in from opposite sides and tackled the berserk Shorshian.

Even then Strinni didn’t give up. Still ranting, he continued to stomp around the floor, trying to throw off his attackers the way he’d disposed of Kennrick. But Bayta was still hanging on, and neither the Juri or Tra’ho was giving way, either, and Strinni began to stagger as he burned through his adrenaline-fueled energy reserves.

And then Witherspoon was on his feet again behind the clump of people, reaching past Bayta’s head to jab a hypo into the back of Strinni’s neck.

For another few seconds Strinni didn’t react, but kept up his bizarre unchoreographed four-person waltz. I finally got past my guardian Filly and headed in, balling my hands into fists as I aimed for a couple of pressure points in the Shorshian’s thighs that ought to drop him once and for all.

But even as I cocked my fists for a one-two punch, Witherspoon’s concoction finally reached Strinni’s motor control center. His legs wobbled and then collapsed beneath him, and he and the others fell into a tangled heap.

I looked at Witherspoon. “If this is so weak he can barely walk,” I said, still panting, “I’d hate to see what frisky looks like.”

“We need to get him to the dispensary,” Witherspoon said grimly. He was breathing a little heavily himself. “Can I get some help in lifting?”

“No need,” Bayta said, pushing herself out of the pile and getting carefully to her feet.

I looked toward the rear of the car. A pair of conductor Spiders had emerged from the vestibule and were hurriedly tapping their way toward us. “Everyone off and out of the way,” I ordered. “The Spiders can carry him.”

“He doesn’t like Spiders,” Rose Nose reminded me. With the excitement over, his eyes were starting to calm down.

“He’s unconscious,” I reminded him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

From across the room came a rumbling groan. I looked in that direction to see Kennrick pulling himself carefully up from the floor, one hand on the nearest chair armrest, the other pressed against his side where Strinni’s arm had slammed into him. “You okay?” I asked, stepping over to offer him a hand.

“Oh, sure—I do this every day,” he gritted out. “What the hell was that all about?”

“You tell me,” I said, looking back as the two Spiders picked up the unconscious Strinni, each of them using three of their seven legs to form a sort of wraparound hammock. “This sort of thing happen often?”

“If it does, it’s been the galaxy’s best-kept secret.” He winced as I helped him the rest of the way to his feet. “I’ve never heard di-Master Strinni even raise his voice in an argument.”

“Except maybe with Spiders or Filiaelians,” I said, easing Kennrick to the side as the Spiders maneuvered their burden past us toward the forward vestibule and the dispensary four cars ahead.

“Well, that was just plain crazy,” Kennrick said firmly. “We have four Filiaelians right here on his contract team. Ow!”

“Sorry,” I apologized. “How bad is it?”

“Like I’ve been kicked by a cow.” He smiled wanly. “And I worked summers on a dairy firm, so I know exactly what that feels like.”

“You need help getting to the dispensary?” I asked. Bayta was disappearing through the vestibule door, and I could see Witherspoon’s shock of white hair just in front of her. “I can get a Spider if you want.”

“No, I can make it.” he said. “Just give me a hand.”

“Sure,” I said, getting an arm around his shoulders. “Easy, now.”

“You see?” Rose Nose said sagely as we passed him. “I said that was no way to behave toward one who is ill.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll try to remember that.”