The Domino Pattern

SEVEN

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?”

“It’s common enough,” I said grimly. “In the illegal drug trade, its street name is necrovri.”

Givvrac sat up a bit straighter. “Necrovri,” he murmured. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. A blight among the Shorshic and Pirkarli lower classes.” His nose blaze darkened. “But how could such a thing have drawn in one of di-Master ranking?”

“The upper ranks of any species aren’t immune to the lure of the forbidden,” I reminded him. “However, in this case, I don’t think di-Master Strinni took the drug on his own. I believe it was given to him without his knowledge, possibly to prevent us from learning something from him about the other two murders.”

“Murders,” Givvrac murmured, his blaze darkening a little more. “Mr. Kennrick said he believed the deaths were not accidental. Now you add your same opinion to his?”

“Yes. I do.” I said, diplomatically passing over the fact that Kennrick wouldn’t have had any such insight if I hadn’t taken the time to beat it into him. “Dr. Witherspoon is trying to reverse di-Master Strinni’s cadmium poisoning. If he succeeds, we should be able to question di-Master Strinni and see what he knows. If anything.”

“Do you know how this poisoning was accomplished?” Givvrac asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “Part of the problem is that we don’t have a motive for the attacks. Typically, motives for murder fall into one of three categories: passion, profit, or revenge. Passion is out—clearly, these killings were carefully planned and executed. That leaves us profit and revenge.” I raised my eyebrows in silent question.

“Clever, Mr. Compton,” Givvrac said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “So in order for you to answer my questions, I must first answer yours?”

“All investigations require questions and answers,” I pointed out. “Can you think of how anyone would profit from the deaths of Masters Colix and Bofiv?”

“No,” Givvrac said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“Leaving us with revenge,” I said. “Can you think—?”

“Just a minute,” Kennrick interrupted. “Your pardon, Usantra Givvrac, but there are reasons of profit that could explain these deaths.”

“No, there are not,” Givvrac repeated, giving Kennrick a warning glare. “Your next question, Mr. Compton?”

“Let me first rephrase my previous one,” I said, eyeing Givvrac closely as I thought back to his answer. I’d seen this before, usually with suspects trying to beat a polyline test by finding loopholes in the interrogator’s questions. Teenagers, I recalled from years gone by, were also adept at the technique, especially during parental cross-examinations. “Can you think of how anyone would profit from Master Colix’s death?”

Givvrac hissed out a quiet sigh. “Perhaps.” he said reluctantly. “There was some disagreement among us as to whether we would grant Pellorian Medical Systems the genetic-manipulation knowledge and equipment they seek.”

“Let me guess,” I said, watching Kennrick out of the corner of my eye. “Master Colix was against the deal?”

Kennrick’s expression didn’t even twitch. “In actual fact, Mr. Compton,” Givvrac said, “Master Colix was one of the strongest proponents for the contract.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I gather, then, that Master Bofiv was against the contract.”

“He was,” Givvrac confirmed, frowning. “Did he tell you that before he died?”

“Unfortunately, he didn’t speak to me at all,” I said. “I deduced that from your earlier statement that no one would profit by both Master Colix’s and Master Bofiv’s deaths. Ergo, they must have been on opposite sides of the disagreement, with both deaths together thus returning the contract team to its original status quo.”

“Hardly the exact status quo,” Kennrick said. “There were no more than two or possibly three of the eight in opposition to our proposal. With the unfortunate deaths of Masters Colix and Bofiv, the percentage of members favorable to Pellorian has actually increased.”

“Not precisely true, Mr. Kennrick,” Givvrac said. “In actual fact, before these deaths the contract team was evenly split on the matter: four for, and four against.”

Kennrick stared at him. “You never said—” He broke off. glancing sideways at me. “I was unaware the contract team’s feelings were running so closely.”

“It’s not a matter of your company’s expertise and learning,” Givvrac assured him. “You’ve proved that beyond doubt. The question is solely whether or not your species in general has the wisdom to use these methods properly.”

“I see,” Kennrick said, and I could sense his reflexive desire to argue the point in Pellorian’s and humanity’s defense. But this wasn’t the time or place to reopen the negotiations. “Forgive my intrusion. Please continue.”

“Thank you,” I said. “So what you’re saying, Usantra Givvrac, is that the original four-to-four deadlock has been reduced to a three-to-three deadlock?”

“Deadlock implies the matter may end without resolution,” Givvrac corrected me sternly. “That will not happen. The decision will be made before Mr. Kennrick leaves the Assembly for his return home.”

“Understood,” I said. “May I ask which members of your group are currently on which side?”

Givvrac hesitated. “That’s privileged information,” he said. “I’m not sure even the current situation justifies my telling you.”

Kennrick, to his credit, picked up on the cue. “Excuse me a moment. Usantra Givvrac,” he said, getting to his feet. “It just occurred to me that we never told the server that we would be over here instead of back in the bar. I’ll go get our refreshments.”

He headed across the dining car toward the bar. “Speaking of refreshments, Usantra Givvrac, I must again extend my apologies,” I said. “I neglected to ask if you would care to join us in a meal.”

“No, thank you,” Givvrac said. “Food does not interest me at the moment.”

I frowned. Fillies liked their food as well as anyone else in the galaxy. “Is something you ate bothering you?”

“Most likely,” he said. “I have been feeling somewhat delicate over the past few hours.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” I commented, my own gut rumbling in sympathy. “While Mr. Kennrick is gone, perhaps you’d be willing to tell me which members of your team are for this deal with Pellorian?”

“You will agree not to share my words with Mr. Kennrick?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll sign a contract to that effect if you wish.”

Givvrac visibly relaxed. Written contracts were very important to Fillies. Even if he and I never actually signed anything, my willingness to do so would go a long way toward putting me in the trustworthy category. “No need.” he said. “Di-Master Strinni was the next strongest proponent of the Pellorian contract.”

“Really,” I said. So that was two aye votes either dead or on the critical list. “What about Master Tririn?”

“He stands against the contract,” Givvrac said. “Oddly enough, the four Shorshians were evenly split.”

“And of course, all of them knew where all the others stood?”

“Indeed,” Givvrac said. “The eight of us had several meetings together during the torchliner voyage from Earth to the Terran Tube Station.”

“Without Mr. Kennrick present, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” Givvrac said. “Only in his absence can we speak freely on the subject.” He cocked his head in a Filly posture of consideration. “Though such opportunities were uncommon. He often joined one or another group of us for our meals.”

“Taking care to talk up the benefits of dealing with Pellorian Medical, no doubt?”

“Correct,” Givvrac agreed. “He is a tireless representative of his company.”

“I’m sure he is.” I said diplomatically. He’d probably been a tireless representative of Shotoko Associates, too, right up until the day Westali had swooped down and broken up DuNoeva’s spy ring. “So Master Colix and di-Master Strinni were for the contract. Who else?”

“Asantra Muzzfor is also on their side of the discussion.” Givvrac said. “He is one of my colleagues.”

“Yes,” I said, catching the subtle vowel difference. Colleagues they might be, but an asantra like Muzzfor was lower in rank than an usantra like Givvrac. “And the fourth?”

“I also lean in that direction,” Givvrac said. “I therefore count myself among them, though I have not entirely made up my mind.”

I nodded. “And the other opponents would then be the other two Filiaelians?”

“Esantra Worrbin and Asantra Dallilo are also against the contract,” he confirmed.

“Where do they and Asantra Muzzfor sit aboard the train?”

“All three have seats in the second of the first-class coaches, the one directly back of the exercise/dispensary car.”

“Do they sit together for the most part?”

“Yes,” Givvrac said. “To anticipate your next question, the four of us have frequently discussed the contract during this trip. Di-Master Strinni often joined us, as he too has a seat in first class.”

“And the other three Shorshians?”

“I presume they also held such conversations, though I cannot say for certain.” A shadow seemed to pass across his face. “Or rather, I presume they did when there were still three of them.”

“You haven’t spoken to them about the matter?” I asked.

“We travel in first class,” Givvrac said. “They travel in third.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “I just thought that since Mr. Kennrick had gone back there on occasion to talk to them you might have done similarly.”

“I have not, nor have my colleagues,” Givvrac repeated firmly. “Those of first class do not mingle with those of third while aboard the train.”

Bayta nudged me, and I looked over Givvrac’s shoulder to see that Kennrick had reappeared on our side of the car, a pair of drinks in hand. “Thank you for your openness and honesty,” l said to the Filly, inclining my head. “Perhaps we can speak now of the other possible motive for these horrific crimes, namely that of revenge. Can you think of any reason why someone would be carrying anger or hatred toward either Master Colix or Master Bofiv?”

“Here we go,” Kennrick said as he came up to the table. He set the drinks down and then resumed his seat beside Givvrac. “My apologies for the delay.”

“No apologies required,” Givvrac said. “As to your question, Mr. Compton, I believe it would be inappropriate for me to speak of another’s life after his voice is silenced.”

“I understand,” I said, suppressing a grimace. Was it inappropriate to gossip about the deceased at all, or was it only inappropriate because Kennrick was now back in the conversation? “In that case. I think that’s all I need for the moment, I thank you deeply for your time and wisdom, Usantra Givvrac.”

“You are welcome,” Givvrac said. “Feel free to approach me with further questions if you have the need. Will you also wish to speak with Esantra Worrbin, Asantra Muzzfor, or Asantra Dallilo?”

“Perhaps later,” I said. “If I do, I’ll be sure to obtain your permission first.”

“No need,” he said. “I hereby grant you open access to all Filiaelians under my authority aboard this train.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, inclining my head again. Fillies weren’t the obsessive sticklers for protocol that Juriani were, but they had definite ideas of rank and chain of command. Violating those rules would burn whatever goodwill I might have started with, and could conceivably get the whole crowd of them to clam up on me completely. With Givvrac’s carte blanche in hand, at least I didn’t have to worry about that.

“Then we take our leave.” Givvrac said, placing both hands on the table and carefully getting to his feet. “Perhaps, Mr. Kennrick, you’ll assist me back to the bar area?”

“Certainly,” Kennrick said, scrambling quickly to his feet and holding out a hand where the Filly could grab it if necessary. “Compton, could you give me a hand with the drinks? I can’t handle both of them and offer Usantra Givvrac assistance at the same time.”

“Certainly,” I said, standing up.

“No need,” Givvrac said, waving me down again. “My drink has lost its taste, and Mr. Kennrick can easily handle his own.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s no trouble, I assure you.”

“I’m sure,” Givvrac said. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Compton. Mr. Kennrick?”

“Ready,” Kennrick said, picking op his own drink. As I sat down again, they turned away and started across the dining room.

And then, two steps away, Givvrac paused and retraced his steps back to our table. “One other thing, Mr. Compton,” he said. “If I may be so bold as to offer you advice in your area of expertise.”

“In my area of expertise there’s always more to learn,” I assured him, gesturing to the chair he’d just vacated. “Please speak on.”

“Thank you,” he said, making no move to sit down. “You stated that the motives for murder were passion, profit, and revenge. In your place. I would consider two additional possibilities.”

“Those being?” I asked.

“The first is honor,” he said. “With Filiaelians and Shorshians alike, damage or endangerment to one’s honor can be reason to eliminate the one who presents that threat. I don’t know if Humans feel similar motivations.”

“We do, though perhaps to a different degree,” I told him.

“And to varying degrees within our species,” Kennrick added. “Certainly there are Earth cultures that hold honor very important.”

“True,” I said. “And the second motive, Usantra Givvrac?”

His eyes burned into me. “Insanity.”

For a moment the word hung in the air like a bubble of black in a dark gray silence. Then, Givvrac gave me a final nod. “Thank you for your time. Mr. Compton. Good day.”

“Good day, Usantra Givvrac,” I replied. “Good health to you.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “We shall see.”

He headed back across the dining area, Kennrick at his side. “What do you think?” I asked Bayta.

“I was just wondering if Mr. Kennrick has figured out who was on which side of the contract discussion,” she said, her voice thoughtful.

“If Mr. Kennrick is worth anywhere near his salt, one would certainly hope so,” I said.

“Could he want the contract enough to kill to make sure it went through?”

“Possibly.” I said. “The problem with that theory is that, at the moment, two-thirds of the poisoning victims were already on his side.”

“Unless he misread their intentions.”

“True,” I said. “But if we’re going down the profit side of the street, it would make more sense if the killer was on the other side of the deadlock.”

“Master Tririn?”

“He certainly shows promise,” I said. “He’s opposed to the contract, and he had easy access to two of the victims.”

“But not to the third,” Bayta pointed out. “Di-Master Strinni was in first class, where Master Tririn wouldn’t have been able to get to him.”

“Unless Strinni liked to go back and visit the others like Kennrick did,” I said. “Givvrac implied that he didn’t, but Givvrac may not know for sure. Or Tririn might have come up here if someone in first asked for him.”

Bayta frowned into space. “No one asked Master Tririn to come forward,” she said.

I shrugged. “It was a long shot. It’s not like Master Tririn’s been in high demand around the train the way Dr. Aronobal and Dr. Witherspoon have.”

“True,” Bayta agreed. “It also occurs to me that we only have Usantra Givvrac’s word that Master Tririn was actually opposed to the Pellorian contract.”

“Very good.” I said approvingly. “As I told Givvrac. investigations require questions and answers. But you don’t necessarily believe those answers. Any other thoughts?”

“Just this.” She pointed at Givvrac’s abandoned drink. “Do you know what this is?”

I picked it up and gave the contents a sniff. The concoction had a tangy, exotic aroma, but with no scent of alcohol that I could detect. “Not a clue,” I said.

“It’s miccrano,” she said. “A traditional Filiaelian remedy for serious stomach and digestive trouble.”

“Is it, now,” I said, eyeing the drink with new interest. “Sounds like he may be feeling more than just a bit delicate. Has he had a chat with either of our two doctors?”

Bayta’s eyes defocused as she again consulted with the Spiders. As she did so, the server appeared from the rear of the dining area with the meals we’d ordered before Kennrick first came to our table. I’d actually expected the food to show up during our conversation, which could have been a little awkward since Givvrac would certainly have insisted on a polite departure. Knowing Bayta, she’d probably telepathically instructed the Spider to hold the meals until we’d finished and our visitors had left.

Bayta’s eyes came back. “He had a conductor bring Dr. Aronobal up from third class about an hour ago,” she reported. “Dr. Aronobal is the one who recommended the miccrano to him.”

“Which also probably explains why Kennrick was here instead of in his compartment.” I said as the Spider set our plates in front of us. “Givvrac would have been in the bar, working through his tummy-soothers, when Kennrick passed by on his way to lie down. Do we know how many of them he had?”

“This was his third,” Bayta said, nodding at the glass.

“Which he never touched,” I commenced, rubbing my chin. “I wonder why he decided to abandon it.”

“Maybe he was feeling better,” Bayta suggested.

“Or decided that the first two hadn’t done him any good anyway,” I said, something prickly running up my back as I eyed the glass. If someone had poisoned the drink …

I snorted under my breath. No—that one was pure paranoia. Even if Kennrick was the killer, he’d have to be crazy to poison Givvrac at a time when we knew they were having a drink together.

Still, it couldn’t do any harm to check. “Bayta, can you have the server in the dispensary bring me one of those little vials from the sampling kit?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice suddenly uncertain. “You think there’s something in Usantra Givvrac’s drink?”

“No, but we might as well be thorough about this.” I picked up my fork. “Meanwhile, this isn’t getting any warmer. Let’s eat.”

The meal was up to the usual Quadrail standards. Unfortunately, it was impossible for me to properly enjoy it with my gut rumbling the way it was. Halfway through, I gave up and pushed the plate away.

Bayta was either feeling better than I was or else was stubbornly committed to not wasting any of the food her Spider friends had hauled across the galaxy for our benefit. She made it all the way through her vegetable roll, chewing silently but determinedly.

She was just finishing off her lemonade when a server Spider appeared and set a sampling vial and a small hypo on the table beside my plate.

“Thank you,” I said. Taking the hypo, I extracted a couple of milliliters of Givvrac’s drink and injected it into the vial. “I said thank you,” I repeated, looking at the Spider.

“He’s waiting for you to give back the hypo,” Bayta explained.

“Ah,” I said, reversing the instrument and holding it up. The Spider extended a leg and took it, then folded the leg up beneath his globe and tapped his way back out of the dining area. “Any news on the air filter?” I asked Bayta.

“It’s nearly done,” she said. “It should be ready by the time we get back there.”

“Good,” I said, standing up and slipping the sample vial into my pocket. “Let’s go.”