The Domino Pattern

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.”

EIGHT

It was getting toward train’s evening, and the third-class passengers were starting to drift back to their seats after a busy day in the entertainment car, the exercise area, or the bar.

Which meant there was a large and curious audience already in place when Bayta and I moved toward the rear of the car and the disassembled air filter system waiting there for us.

I’d never asked Bayta what exactly the disassembly procedure entailed. Now, as we joined a group of knee- high mite Spiders and a pair of the larger conductors, I could see why the job had taken this long. A section of ceiling nearly a meter square had been taken down, probably with the help of the two conductors, and was currently hanging by thin support wires attached to its four corners at about throat level over the back row of seats.