by Timothy Zahn
She frowned. “Didn’t you already tell him that was ridiculous?”
“In the way he was thinking about it, absolutely,” I agreed. “But he was trying to make it a careless accident. I’m wondering about it as a somewhat more careful murder.”
“That still leaves the problem of why only Master Colix and Master Bofiv were affected,” she pointed out.
“True, unless someone managed to uncork a bottle of eau de cadmium under the victims’ snouts,” I said. “Or maybe it was in the form of some cadmium compound that only Shorshians can absorb.”
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “There are toxins that target specific species, but those also get absorbed by everyone else. And most cadmium compounds are as toxic as the element itself, and to nearly all species to one level or another.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Impressive.”
She shrugged slightly. “I couldn’t sleep last night after I went to bed, so I did a little reading,” she explained. “The other problem is that since cadmium compounds are inherently poisonous, anything in a liquid or gaseous form should have been screened out by the station sensors.”
“Maybe the killer brought the stuff aboard in component form,” I suggested. “The cadmium in, say, a battery or alloy, and the delivery chemical as something else.”
“The sensors are supposed to watch for that sort of thing.”
“Supposed to being the key phrase,” I said. “Assuming something like that was done, could traces of it have gotten sucked into the car’s air filters?”
“Certainly,” she said. “All the air in a car eventually travels through those filters.”
I nodded. “It’s a long shot, but I think it’s worth checking out. What would it take to get into one of the air filters in that car?”
“It’s not that simple,” Bayta said, her eyes unfocusing as she conferred with the Spiders. “There’s a whole mechanism that will have to be disassembled. I’ve sent four mites to start the job, but it’ll take a few hours.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Have them contact you when they’re almost done.”
“All right,” she said. “Are we going to go talk to Master Tririn now?”
“Or we could stop and have some breakfast first,” I said. “Your call.”
She hesitated, and I had the odd impression that she was searching my face looking for the right answer. “I’m not that hungry,” she said.
That was the answer, all right. “Me, neither,” I agreed. “Go get ready. We head out in fifteen minutes.”
Eighteen minutes later, we passed through the rear vestibule of the third compartment car and entered the first of the first-class coach cars.
I’d rather expected that Kennrick would still be deep in conversation with Usantra Givvrac, and I was right. The Human was sitting on the edge of a seat near the right-hand wall, talking earnestly with one of the four Fillies I’d seen him boarding with at Homshil Station.
And now that I was focusing on the Filly himself, I could see that he had the graying body hair of someone well advanced in years.
That alone was mildly surprising. Fillies of that age and rank usually stayed close to home and sent out their younger colleagues and subordinates on fact-finding and contract-making missions. I wondered what kind of lure Pellorian Medical had lobbed into the water to bring out someone of Givvrac’s standing.
Kennrick was sitting where he could watch the vestibule door, and as Bayta and I entered the car he spoke a few last words to the Filly and stood up. The alien himself looked at me and nodded a silent acknowledgment as Kennrick maneuvered his way through the little clusters of seats the rest of the passengers had constructed. “That was fast,” he commented as he reached us. His eyes flicked to Bayta, but he didn’t comment on the fact that I’d brought a guest along.
“Bayta and I can do this alone if you weren’t finished with your conversation,” I offered.
“No, that’s all right,” he said. “Usantra Givvrac wants me present when you question Master Tririn. He wants to get to the bottom of this even more than you do.”
“I’m sure he does,” I said, returning Givvrac’s acknowledging nod with one of my own. “After you.”
The three of us headed aft, walking through the rest of the first- and second-class cars and on into third. As we passed the second/third dispensary I glanced inside, but there was no one there except the server Spider on duty. There were no dead bodies, either, Bofiv having apparently been taken back to the baggage car while Bayta and I slept.
We found Tririn hunched over in his seat, his eyes staring fixedly at the seat back in front of him as he ignored both the exotic alien travelscape playing on the display window to his left and Master Bofiv’s empty seat to his right. In the aisle seat of his row was the Nemut Kennrick had mentioned, his rainbow-slashed eyes focused on a reader, his truncated-cone-shaped mouth making little motions like a pre-K child trying to sound out the words.
Two rows ahead of them, Terese German was sitting with her eyes closed, a set of headphones locked snugly around her ears, a silent but clear warning to all and sundry that she wanted to be left alone. Two seats to her right, next to the train’s outer side, a young Juri with the unpolished scales of a commoner was gazing intently at the dit rec drama playing on the display window to his right.
We passed their row and came to a halt beside the Nemut. “Master Tririn?” Kennrick called softly. “Master Tririn?”
The Shorshian didn’t answer, or even turn to face us. “I don’t think he wants to talk,” Kennrick concluded. “Maybe we should try again later.”
“Or maybe we should try a little harder right now,” I said, looking at the Nemut in the aisle seat. “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” the other asked, his deep voice sounding a little slurred. Small wonder; now that I was standing over him I could see that he had an open bag full of small, colorful snack cubes resting in his lap. Apparently, the mouth movements I’d noticed earlier had had nothing to do with the sounding out of words.
“I’d like to get past, if I may,” I told him, gesturing toward the empty seat between him and Tririn. I actually didn’t need him to move—even third-class Quadrail seats allowed the average passenger plenty of legroom—but it was always polite to ask.
“Certainly,” the Nemut said. Getting a grip on his goodie bag, he drew in his knees.
“Thank you.” I sidled past him and sat down beside Tririn. “Good day, Master Tririn,” I said. “Frank Compton. You may remember me from last night.”
[I remember you, Mr. Compton,] Tririn said, the normal harshness of the Shishish tempered by the listlessness in his voice. [And the day is not good. No days from now on will be good.]
“I understand,” I said, glancing back at Kennrick. He was still standing in the aisle, glowering at my brazenness at barging in on Tririn’s solitude this way. Bayta, for her part, was standing a little apart from him, up near Terese’s row, where she wouldn’t crowd us but would still be close enough to listen in on the conversation. “Were Master Colix and Master Bofiv close friends of yours?” I asked, turning back to Tririn.
[They were business associates,] he said.
“I understand,” I said again, wondering briefly if he was correcting me or agreeing with me. “Tell me, did all three of you eat together yesterday?”
[We ate sundown together,] he said. [Sunrise and midday were eaten individually.]
According to my encyclopedia, that was indeed the standard practice for non-family Shorshians traveling together. Unfortunately, it didn’t tell me whether or not the three had been friends or something more distant. “Do you remember what you all ate at sundown?” I asked.
[The common dish was po krem,] he said. [It’s a shred, a mixture of meat and fruits.]
“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” I said. “What reaches did all of you use?”
For the first time since I’d sat down he turned his face toward me. [My apologies, Mr. Compton,] he said, eyeing me cur
iously. [I took you to be as other Humans, ignorant of Shorshic custom and honor nodes. For that unspoken slight, I ask your forgiveness.]
“Freely and openly granted,” I assured him, giving silent thanks that I’d had the sense to sacrifice an hour of sleep last night in favor of a crash course in Shorshic social customs and terminology.
[Thank you,] he said. [My reach was galla bread. Master Colix and Master Bofiv used baked prinn scoops.]
So the two dead Shorshians had eaten from the common bowl with the same type of edible scoops, while the Shorshian alive and breathing had used something else. I made a mental note to check with the server Spiders to see if those choices were standard for the three of them, or whether they’d been unique to the fatal evening. “And your individuals?”
[All different,] he said. [Birrsh for Master Colix, valarrki for Master Bofiv, sorvidae for me.] His eyes flicked briefly past my shoulder. [Yet the Spiders said the death was not in the food. Do you believe otherwise?]
“I don’t believe there was any death in the food when it was served to you,” I told him. “But possibly something happened after that. Do you remember anyone approaching your table while you ate? Perhaps to ask a question, or to engage one of you in conversation?”
Tririn cocked his head in thought. I watched him closely, wondering if he was searching his memory or just trying to think up a good lie. [I don’t believe so,] he said at last. [There were servers, of course, but no one else approached.]
“Did you happen to notice who was sitting at the nearby tables?” I asked.
Tririn’s brow wrinkled. [We sat at a corner table,] he said. [There was only one table near us. Unfortunately, my back was to the occupants.]
I grimaced. “I see,” I said. “Well, then—”
“I saw them,” the Nemut on my other side volunteered.
I turned to him in surprise. “You saw them?”
“They were Humans,” he told me. “One female, one male.”
One female … “Was it by any chance that female up there?” I asked, pointing two rows ahead toward Terese.
Or rather, toward Terese’s empty seat. Terese herself had vanished.
So had Bayta.
“Kennrick?” I demanded, standing up for a better look. Neither of the women was anywhere to be seen.
“Take it easy—they’re in the restroom,” Kennrick said, nodding toward the front of the car. “The German girl headed off—kind of fast, actually—and your friend followed.”
“Ah,” I said, frowning as I sat back down. That was at least twice now that Terese had suddenly been taken ill. “Let me rephrase the question,” I said to the Nemut. “Was the woman you saw the same one who usually sits there?”
“I believe so,” he said. “Though Humans are difficult to distinguish between.”
“I understand,” I said. “Can you remember anything about the male Human?”
The Nemut’s angled shoulder muscles quivered briefly in one of their equivalents of a shrug. “His hair was white,” he said. “That is all I remember.”
“That’s fine—you’ve been very helpful,” I assured him. “Thank you.” I turned back to Tririn. “My apologies,” I said. “For the interruption in our talk, I ask your forgiveness.”
[Freely and openly granted,] he assured me. [Do you believe the death was in these Humans?]
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “Two further questions, if I may. First, do you know whether either Master Colix or Master Bofiv had a private food supply? Something they brought aboard, as opposed to something supplied by the servers aboard the train?”
[Master Bofiv had no such supply,] Tririn said. [I would surely have seen if he had.]
“And Master Colix?”
[I don’t know,] Tririn said. [You would need to inquire of one of his seatmates.]
“I’ll do that,” I promised. “Final question, then. Whose idea was it for Master Colix to sit away from you and Master Bofiv?”
[It was Master Colix’s choice,] Tririn said. [He asked specifically for that seat.]
Which was more or less what Terese had implied earlier. “Was there some trouble between the three of you?” I asked.
[Not at all,] Tririn said. [Master Colix prided himself on his knowledge of alien languages. He hoped that seated between a Human and Juri he would have the opportunity to practice and improve his skill at both languages.]
“Really,” I said. “I was under the impression that Shorshic vocal apparatus couldn’t handle either of them.”
Tririn seemed to draw back, as if suddenly realizing he had strayed onto forbidden territory. [There are ways,] he said, his tone guarded.
“Ah,” I said, keeping my expression neutral. According to my reader’s data files, that was an outright lie. Shorshians were completely incapable of speaking anything but Shishish and a smattering of Fili unless they’d had what was rather sarcastically referred to as the Gibber Operation.
Had Colix gone under the knife? I couldn’t tell—Tririn’s phrasing had left that ambiguous, possibly deliberately so. It was clear, though, that he didn’t want to discuss it further.
But there were other ways to get the answer to that one. If Master Colix had been able to speak English or Juric, one of his seatmates would surely know it. “I thank you for your time and patience, Master Tririn,” I said. “Especially on this day of sadness. I hope you’ll be equally gracious should I need to discuss the matter with you further.”
[I will be most pleased to do so, Mr. Compton,] he said. His eyes flicked to Kennrick. [You are welcome to approach at any time.]
“Thank you,” I said. “Good day, Master Tririn.”
I sidled past the Nemut with a nod of thanks, brushed by Kennrick, and headed up the aisle toward the front of the car. I was passing Terese’s empty seat when Kennrick caught up with me. “Wait a minute,” he said in a low voice. “Damn it, Compton—wait.”
“Problem?” I asked, not breaking stride.
“Yes, problem,” he gritted out. “You may be the hotshot detective, but even I know that basic investigative technique includes double-checking everyone’s story.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I told him. “Or had you forgotten that Ms. German is up here in the restroom?”
“I was thinking about the Juri in the other seat,” he growled, jerking a thumb back at Terese’s row. “The one Master Tririn claims Master Colix was speaking Juric to.”
“And you think I should question the Juri about that?” I asked mildly.
“Absolutely,” Kennrick said. “You were right—Shorshic vocal apparatus—”
“You think I should question the Juri about it while Master Tririn is within earshot of the conversation?”
“It wouldn’t be—” He broke off. “Oh. Right. That wouldn’t be very politic, would it?”
“Hardly politic at all,” I agreed. “But if you want to try it, be my guest.”
Kennrick grimaced. “I guess you’ve noticed that Master Tririn and I don’t get along very well.”
“It’s a little hard to miss,” I agreed. “What’s the problem?”
“I just can’t connect with him,” he said. “I really don’t know why.”
“Did you have the same problem when you were on Earth?”
“If we did, I didn’t notice it,” he said. “It was only after we came aboard the Quadrail at Terra Station that things started to go downhill.” He shrugged. “Of course, it could just be that he was on his best behavior during the discussions at Pellorian. Maybe even back then he didn’t really like me. Or the others.”
“He didn’t get along with the others?”
“I had that impression,” Kennrick said. “But it’s just an impression. Like I said, if there was trouble between them they probably wouldn’t confide in me. But it makes sense that if he had trouble with me, he might have had trouble with the others, too.”
“Perhaps,” I said. Though privately I could easily see how someone could love his fellow
man and still not like Kennrick. “I’ll try to sound him out about that later.”
The outer restroom door was still closed when we reached it. I considered going inside and seeing if I could figure out which stall Terese was in, decided she would probably take violent offense if I tried, and found a place by the door where I could lean against the wall and cultivate patience. Taking his cue from me, Kennrick found a spot of his own a little farther up the car and did likewise.
Patience is always rewarded. A couple of minutes later the door opened and Terese stepped out. She looked a little pale, which meant that when she reddened with anger at seeing me standing there her color came out just about right. “Good morning, Ms. German,” I said, stepping into her path.
I expected her to try to push her way around me. Instead, she fired a withering glare in my direction, spun a hundred eighty degrees, and headed forward at the fastest walk she could manage without actually breaking into a jog. By the time I recovered from my surprise at her sudden about-face, she was into the vestibule and out of sight.
“Well, that’s inconvenient,” Kennrick growled.
“Relax,” I soothed him. “Where’s she going to go on a Quadrail?” I looked back at the restroom door as Bayta emerged. “What’s the verdict?” I asked her.
“She was throwing up,” Bayta said. “I don’t know how bad it was—she wouldn’t let me help her.”
Kennrick swore under his breath. “So she’s definitely sick,” he said. “Compton, this has gone way beyond serious.”
“Relax,” I advised him, eyeing the vestibule door and thinking back to that last view I’d had of Terese’s face. In my experience, people with serious illnesses usually didn’t have the mental and emotional strength to spare for that level of annoyance. At least not against relative strangers.
“Because if you were wrong about the cadmium, and the Shorshians had something contagious—”
“I said relax,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “Let’s not start a panic until it’s absolutely necessary, all right?”
He made a face, but nodded. “So what do we do?”