The Domino Pattern

“I am,” Dallilo said.

“Do you wish something of us?” Worrbin asked in that same unfriendly tone.

“A moment of your time only,” I assured him.

Worrbin tilted his head. “We are otherwise occupied,” he said.

“I would speak with him,” Muzzfor said, setting down his cards. “Perhaps he has further information on Usantra Givvrac’s death.” He rose to his feet. “If you would accompany me to the dining car, Mr. Compton?”

“Reseat yourself, Asantra Muzzfor,” Esantra Worrbin growled, leaning a little on the asantra part as if to remind Muzzfor of his lower status in the group. “Very well, Mr. Compton. You may speak.” He cocked his head in challenge. “Concisely.”

“Of course,” I said, letting my gaze drift across them as I took a moment to organize my thoughts. Like many upper-class Fillies, especially those of the santra classes, these three showed the subtle and not-so-subtle differences spawned by their species’ penchant for genetic manipulation. Muzzfor in particular seemed to have been the recipient of a number of treatments, sporting an odd-shaped nose blaze, an interesting speckled eye coloration, and the kind of extra-large throat Filly high-opera singers often got to extend their vocal range. Dallilo’s customized body had extra-thick hair, flatter ears, and a two-tone blaze that shaded a dark brown into a lighter tan.

Esantra Worrbin, in contrast, seemed to have skipped all external improvements except the long, slender fingers prized by the artist and surgeon classes. Judging from the extra-large glass of the god-awful Filly drink dilivin resting in his seat’s cup holder, I guessed he’d also opted for a strengthened digestive system. Given Givvrac’s fate, that might turn out to have been an especially wise use of his money.

“You of course know about the tragic deaths of Usantra Givvrac and three of the Shorshians on your contract team,” I said. “My question for you is simple and twofold. First, do any of you know any reason, professional or personal, why anyone would wish any of those four people dead? And second, do you know any reason how anyone would profit, financially or in terms of honor, from any of their deaths?”

“Well and concisely stated,” Worrbin said with somewhat grudging approval. “It appears Humans can be efficient, after all.”

“We’re individuals, just as are the members of the Filiaelian Assembly,” I reminded him.

He snorted, his eyes pointedly flicking back and forth between Bayta and me. “With such minor genetic variants? You don’t even approach asantra class.”

“That’s all right,” I assured him. “We like ourselves just the way we are.”

“Then why does Pellorian Medical seek Filiaelian genetic manipulation equipment?” Dallilo put in. “If you don’t seek to improve yourselves, what do you seek?”

“You’d have to ask Mr. Kennrick or Dr. Witherspoon about that,” I told him, ducking a question that I sensed could only get me into trouble. “I know too little about the contract to either support or oppose it. I seek merely to find the murderer and bring him to justice.”

“Then look to Mr. Kennrick,” Worrbin said. “If there was indeed murder, I have no doubt he is the one you seek.”

“Nonsense,” Muzzfor put in before I could respond. “Mr. Kennrick is a fine Human.”

“Nonsense doubled and returned,” Worrbin retorted. “I am convinced he seeks to destroy the contract from within for his own ends. That leaves him alone with a motivation for murder.”

“That’s very interesting,” I said. “What are these private ends you speak of?”

“How would I know?” Worrbin retorted. “He is a Human, with motivations beyond the understanding of civilized beings.”

“Then what makes you think he’s trying to sabotage the contract?”

“Because he displays incompetence at every turn,” Worrbin said with a contemptuous sniff. “He deliberately ignores the finer points of dealing with superior peoples.”

“His slights are not deliberate,” Muzzfor insisted. “He is merely ignorant of proper procedure.”

“And yet you stand ready to defend him?” Worrbin challenged.

“Competent or not, he is only a Human.” Muzzfor looked sideways at me. “No offense to you personally, Mr. Compton.”

“No offense taken,” I assured him. First we’d had Master Tririn back in third class, whose profession of surprise at my understanding of alien ways had carried an implied dig at Kennrick, and now we had Esantra Worrbin singing the same tune. Either Kennrick had an outstanding knack of rubbing people the wrong way, or he really wasn’t very good at his job.

Which brought up a possibility I hadn’t thought of before. “Do any of you happen to know whose idea it was for Mr. Kennrick to represent Pellorian Medical to the contract team?” I asked the Fillies.

“That is hardly information we would have been given,” Worrbin pointed out.

“True,” I said. “But there was a chance you might have been so informed.”

“Then you agree with Esantra Worrbin?” Dallilo put in. “That Mr. Kennrick or someone in league with him seeks to destroy the contract?”

“It’s a possibility that can’t be ignored,” I said. “Especially given that three of the four deceased were in favor of the contract.”

“Mr. Kennrick would never be a party to such a conspiracy,” Muzzfor said firmly. “I know and understand this Human. He truly seeks only what is best for his corporation.”

“Yet he could be involved without his knowledge,” I pointed out. “Perhaps someone put him into this situation knowing he wasn’t properly equipped to handle it, in hopes that his bumbling would ruin the contract as Esantra Worrbin suggests. In such a case, Mr. Kennrick could be perfectly sincere about doing his best, yet nevertheless still be helping to bring down the contract.”

“And when his fumblings failed to turn all members against the contract, the evil one turned to murder?” Dallilo suggested thoughtfully.

“Then the murderer must be Dr. Witherspoon,” Muzzfor jumped in. “He’s the only other Pellorian representative aboard.”

“Or at least he’s the only Pellorian representative that we know of,” I said, my mind flashing to the spare first- class pass floating loose aboard our train. “Do any of you have any idea why someone would wish to sabotage the contract?”

“An irrelevant question,” Worrbin said. “The contract is dead. As dead as Usantra Givvrac himself.”

The other two Fillies stirred uncomfortably in their seats. It was a rather offensive comment. “As I said, I know too little about the contract to comment one way or the other,” I said diplomatically, skipping over Kennrick’s earlier claim that none of the team had the authority to make such a pronouncement.

“Yes, I’m quite certain of that,” Worrbin said loftily. “Have you any further questions?”

It was obvious he was fully expecting the answer to be no. “You still haven’t answered my first one,” I said. “Do any of you know of a reason why someone would want Usantra Givvrac and the others dead?”

“No,” Worrbin said shortly. “In that I speak for all.”

I looked at Muzzfor and Dallilo. But if they had dissenting opinions, they were keeping them to themselves. “Then I have only one further question,” I said. “Esantra Worrbin, if we checked with the Spider at the dispensary, would the number of your visits correspond to the number of hypos used?”

“Yes,” Worrbin said without hesitation.

“You’re certain of that?”

“I brought twenty aboard,” he said stiffly. “I have visited the dispensary seven times this journey. You may confirm for yourself that there are thirteen remaining.” His eyes bored into mine. “As I’m certain you already have.”

I inclined my head to him. “Then we’ll take our leave of you,” I said. “Thank you for your time. And yours,” I added, nodding to the other two.

We left them to their cards and headed forward. “What do you think?” I asked Bayta as we stepped into the vestibule.