The Domino Pattern

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know where to start looking. You up to a little walk?”

“Of course,” she said. She got a grip on my arms, which were somehow still wrapped around her, and together we got her to her feet. “Where are we going?”

“Kennrick’s compartment,” I said. “From the way Muzzfor was talking, I think there’s something in there he assumed we’d already found. Something he thought was worth killing us for.”

“Something in Mr. Kennrick’s lockbox?” she suggested.

“That’s the logical place to start,” I agreed, tightening my grip on her arm as she wavered a bit. “Can you make it, or do you want to wait here?”

“I can make it,” she said grimly. “You think we’ll be able to open it?”

“Depends on how good Emikai’s bypass mimic really is,” I told her. “Easy, now—let’s go.”

———

Prapp’s attack, plus the ordeal that had preceded it, had apparently taken more out of Bayta than she’d realized. Emikai’s mimic was still only midway through its work on Kennrick’s portable lockbox when she went over to the bed to lie down. By the time I pulled the lockbox lid open, she was fast asleep.

The box was well stocked, mostly with papers but also with a couple of collections of data chips. Some of the papers had belonged to Givvrac, the ones I skimmed consisting of notes and observations from the contract team’s time on Earth. Other papers were Kennrick’s, and I made a point of putting those aside for later study. Each of the other members of the contract team had also made donations to the stack, and I was nearly to the bottom before I found a small, sealed folder with Muzzfor’s name on it.

I opened it up and carefully read through the contents. Twice. Then, sitting down on the curve couch, I stared at the bloodstained carpet and waited for Bayta to wake up.

And as I sat there, I thought distantly about the many phrases and similes and mental images we used every day without really thinking about them. Never again. Not me. I’d seen the contents of Asantra Muzzfor’s folder.

I knew now what the Gates of Hell truly looked like.

———

I’d fallen into a light doze when I was jolted awake by a soft moan. I tensed; but it was only Bayta, stretching carefully on the bed across the compartment from me. “Sorry,” she apologized, gingerly touching her face where Prapp had hit her. “I guess I was more tired—”

“We’ve got trouble,” I interrupted her.

Her hand froze against her skin. “I’m listening,” she said, her voice back to its usual calm.

I took a deep breath. “We were wrong,” I said. “Or at least, I was. Tell me, what do the Chahwyn know about the Shonkla-raa?”

“You know most of it,” Bayta said, frowning. “They were a slaver race who conquered most of the galaxy’s sentient peoples almost three thousand years ago. They held that power for a thousand years, at which point their subjects staged a coordinated revolt and destroyed them.”

“You’re almost right,” I said. “But there’s one small detail you and everyone else has gotten wrong. Shonkla-raa isn’t a race. It’s a title. Specifically, an old Filiaelian title.”

Her eyes widened. “The Shonkla-raa were Filiaelians? But then—?”

“But then why haven’t they conquered everyone again?” I finished for her. “Simple. Because the Shonkla-raa was a specific Filly genetic line, and that line was destroyed in the revolt.”

“The Filiaelian obsession with genetic engineering,” Bayta said, nodding slowly. “They’ve been trying to re- create the Shonkla-raa.”

“Some group of them has been, anyway,” I agreed. “Only they’re not trying anymore.” I held up Muzzfor’s folder. “They’ve done it.”

Bayta stared at me, the blood draining from her face. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” I confirmed. “But it gets worse. Remember why the Modhri was created in the first place?”

“He was a weapon,” Bayta said, the words coining out mechanically, her eyes staring out at a horrifying future. “A last-ditch infiltrator and saboteur.”

“Which was also designed to be under Shonkla-raa control.” I nodded back toward the coach car two cars behind us. “What did you think of the demo?”

She shivered. “All that because he couldn’t get Logra Emikai to kill you earlier?”

“All that because he had to deflect me away from Kennrick,” I corrected. “So that he and the others could get off the Quadrail without me ever seeing these papers.” I shrugged. “And probably also because he’d figured out Kennrick was the killer and wanted to get the murder technique for himself and his buddies.” I grimaced. “Remember, a few days ago, when you pointed out that the Modhri hasn’t got any purpose? Well, he’s got one now. The sword’s on the shelf, and the swordsman’s all set to pick it up again.”

For a long minute neither of us spoke. “What are we going to do?” Bayta asked at last.

“I don’t see that we’ve got much choice,” I told her. “We have to take them down.”

Bayta stared at me in disbelief. “Frank, it took the whole galaxy to stop the Shonkla-raa the last time. And they didn’t have the Modhri to help them then.”

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” I conceded. “But we have a couple of advantages they don’t know about.”

She barked out a sound that was midway between a chuckle and a sob. “Like what?”

“One: we don’t have a whole galaxy’s worth of them to deal with this time,” I said. “With luck, they’ve only got a few thousand up and running.”

“Only a few thousand?”

“And they don’t have all the warships and weapons they had back then, either,” I said. “Number two: they may be really good fighters—and they are,” I added, rubbing my ribs. “But they don’t know about the new defender-class Spiders. As much as you and I may disagree with the whole defender concept, it’s a wild card we ultimately may be glad we’ve got.”

Bayta shivered. “If they don’t save the Quadrail only to destroy it,” she murmured.

“We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, either,” I said grimly. “And finally—” I lifted the folder again. “We know where they are.”

Bayta sat up a little straighter. “Their location’s in there?”

“I think so,” I said. “It’s clear now that it wasn’t a coincidence that Aronobal and Emikai were on Earth at the same time that Givvrac’s contract team was at Pellorian Medical. My guess is that the attack on Terese German and her subsequent pregnancy were already planned, and that whoever’s in charge of the Shonkla-raa decided the Pellorian Medical thing would be good cover. They then maneuvered Muzzfor onto the team so that he could monitor the others while they brought Terese German to Filly space.”

“But why?” Bayta asked. “What do they want with her?”

“Something disgusting, I have no doubt,” I said. “But whatever the why, the where is a space station called Proteus.”

Bayta frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a Filiaelian name.”

“It isn’t,” I agreed. “The station actually has thirty different names, one corresponding to each of the Twelve Empires’ official languages. Apparently, it was designed to be the jewel of Filiaelian diplomatic glory and finesse.” I tilted my head. “Want to take a guess as to where this multispecies crown jewel is?”

She frowned; and then, her face cleared. “The Ilat Dumar Covrey system,” she said. “Where those six Modhran Filiaelians we ran into on New Tigris had come from.”

“Bingo,” I said. “Muzzfor had a new set of tickets and passes made out for himself, Aronobal, Emikai, and Terese. I assume he was planning to spring the package on them at Venidra Carvo.”

“And we’re going to follow them there?”

I turned the folder over in my hand. “Actually,” I told her, “I had something a bit different in mind.”

TWENTY-THREE