The Domino Pattern

looking over at the locked drug cabinet. Neither Witherspoon’s nor Aronobal’s kits were there. “I thought doctors’ kits were supposed to be kept locked up.”

“They are,” Bayta said. “Both kits are in the first-class dispensary right now.”

I frowned. As third-class passengers, neither doctor had normal access to that part of the train. “Are their owners up there with them?”

“Dr. Witherspoon is,” Bayta said. “He’s monitoring di-Master Strinni. Dr. Aronobal left her bag in first so it would be available in case she was called on again to treat Usantra Givvrac’s stomach trouble.”

“Digestion has always been the Fillies’ weak spot,” I commented, looking down at my reader. “Our next mystery guest has now signed in. Looks like this one’s actually a group, too.”

“More Pirkarli emissions?”

“Not unless our Pirks are also hypochondriacs,” I said. “These are three different antibacterial sprays, the kind people like to waft around themselves to protect against alien germs.” I cocked an eyebrow. “I wonder if one of them might belong to our friend Logra Emikai. He certainly seemed concerned about the train’s overall air quality.”

“He’s not seated in that car.”

“But his friend Terese is,” I reminded her. “Maybe he gave her some of his spray. Or maybe they’re both hypochondriacs.” I gestured to the reader. “One more to go. How’s di-Master Strinni doing?”

“He’s conscious,” Bayta said slowly, her eyes unfocusing as she communicated with the server in the first-class dispensary. “He seems to have calmed down, too.”

“Good,” I said. “As soon as this is done—” I broke off, glaring at the display. “Oh, for—”

“What is it?” Bayta asked, craning her neck to see.

“Contestant Number Whatever turns out to be nothing but fragmented Juriani scale material,” I said, pointing to the line. “Apparently fragmented small enough to sneak through the other filters.”

“Is that a problem?” Bayta asked, frowning.

“Hardly,” I said, shutting down the reader and putting it back into my pocket. “But I doubt Larry Hardin’s high- end techs worked this hard to design and build this thing just so I could use it to identify Jurian dandruff.”

I took the sample vials and dropped them into my pocket beside the reader. “Come on—let’s see if di-Master Strinni is up to answering some questions.”

———

We arrived at the first-class dispensary to find Strinni lying quietly on the diagnostic table, his skin showing the same mottling that Master Colix and Master Bofiv had demonstrated just prior to their deaths. Not a good sign. The Shorshian’s breathing was labored, his eyes dull and listless. But at least he no longer looked inclined to throw the furniture around. “Good evening, di-Master Strinni,” I greeted him, glancing around. Aside from Strinni himself and the server standing by the drug cabinet there was no one else in the room. “How do you feel?”

[Like I’m dying,] he said grimly. [It’s good of you to come, Mr. Compton. And you,] he added, giving Bayta a small acknowledging nod. [I very much wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier.]

“No problem,” I assured him. “I’m sure that was just the necrovri talking. You use the stuff often?”

A bit of fire came into his eyes. [I do not use any such poisons,] he said, the words coming out as crisp and emphatic as individual thudwumper rounds. [I don’t know how it came to be in my body. But I assure you it was none of my doing.]

“I believe you,” I assured him. Actually, I only believed him about eighty percent, but I wasn’t going to call him a liar to his face. “Any idea how it could have gotten into your system?”

His brief surge of passion faded away. [Perhaps it was placed within my food without my noticing,] he said.

“Perhaps,” I agreed. “Who have you shared a meal or drink with over the past three or four days?”

[Only the others of my contract team,] he said. [Those in first class, of course.]

“No one else?” I asked.

[Do you accuse me of lying?]

“Just double-checking,” I soothed. “Do you happen to know where Dr. Witherspoon is, by the way?” [He went for food,] Strinni said.

“For food?” I asked, frowning. Bayta and I had just come up from the rear of the train, and we hadn’t passed Witherspoon along the way. “When did he leave?”

[A few minutes only before your arrival.]

“He didn’t go back to third,” Bayta spoke up. “The Spiders are letting him eat in first tonight.”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. Unlike the third-class dining car, which was half a train back, the first-class dining car was just three cars away toward the front. All the same, I found it damned odd that Witherspoon would just take off and leave a desperately ill patient all alone this way. “He didn’t ask Dr. Aronobal to take over while he was gone?” I asked Strinni.

[l didn’t wont Dr. Aronobal to take over,] Strinni said, a flicker of life again pecking through the weariness. [I sent Dr. Witherspoon for his food, Mr. Compton. He didn’t abandon me, as you so obviously think. He’s already done all that he can for my broken body.]

“My apologies,” I said, not feeling particularly apologetic. Hungry or not, ordered out or not, Witherspoon still shouldn’t have deserted his patient. “If I may suggest, though, in a case like this two sets of eyes and minds are always preferable to one. I’m sure Dr. Aronobal would be happy—”

[I will not be treated by that Filiaelian,] Strinni cut me off. [I will not be so debased.]

He’d said the same thing earlier, during the drug-driven fracas in his coach car. At the time, I’d assumed it was the necrovri talking. Apparently, it wasn’t. “I understand your reluctance,” I said. “But still—”

“Frank,” Bayta said, touching my arm warningly.

Grimacing, I nodded and shut up. There was a lot of specism in the galaxy, lurking in the dark corners where supposedly civilized people didn’t like to look. In general, Shorshians and Fillies got along reasonably well, but there were fringe elements in any group. “Fine,” I said to Strinni. “I gather you don’t have any such reservations about Dr. Witherspoon?”

[Why would I?] he asked. [Dr. Witherspoon is part of our group.]

I stared down at him. “He’s what?”

[He’s a physician with Pellorian Medical Systems,] Strinni said. [He sat in with the contract team during many of our meetings, and travels now with us to Rentis Tarlay Birim to examine our facilities.]

“I didn’t know that,” I said, giving Bayta a quick look. Judging by her expression, this was news to her, too. “How come no one ever mentioned this to me?”

[Why was it any of your concern?] Strinni countered. [You’re not part of our group. Neither have you any official authority or investigative position—]

He broke off in a fit of loud, wet-sounding coughs. “Are you all right?” I asked as the coughing showed no sign of stopping.

And then, abruptly, the mottling of his skin dissolved into a chaotic flow of black, white, and gray as all semblance of a normal Shorshic color pattern disappeared. “Bayta!” I snapped, grabbing for Strinni’s arm as his body began convulsing.

“One of the conductors is getting him,” she said tightly. “Shall I have Dr. Aronobal brought up, too?”

“Yes,” I said. The hell with Strinni’s prejudices—his life was on the line here. “Where is she?”

“In her normal seat,” Bayta said. “Eighteen cars back.”

I swore under my breath. Eighteen cars was a long ways away. “Yes, get her here,” I ordered. Maybe Strinni was in better shape than he looked.

I had barely completed that thought when the Shorshian gave a final convulsion and collapsed into an unmoving heap on the table.

Not breathing at all.

“Get Witherspoon here now,” I snarled at Bayta as I grabbed the bright orange LifeGuard unit off the wall by the drug cabinet. I punched the selector for Shorshic configuration and hurried back to