The Domino Pattern

  “What do you mean, a courtesy call?” Worrbin demanded, his blaze darkening ominously.

  “I mean that I really don’t have to convince any of you of Kennrick’s guilt,” I said. “Here inside the Tube, the Spiders are in charge. Thank you for your time—we’ll take it from here.”

  “Like hell you will,” Kennrick said, standing up.

  “Don’t try it, Kennrick,” I warned, motioning Emikai to step in a bit closer. “It’s two against one, and we’re both former cops.”

  “This has gone far enough,” Worrbin said, his voice suddenly gone lofty and imperious with the weight of thousands of years of Filiaelian history and thousands of planets of Fillaelian geography. “This Human is associated with us, and through us with the Filiaelian Assembly. I forbid you to imprison him without incontestable proof of guilt.” He pointed to Emikai. “I further call upon this former enforcement officer to support my decision.”

  “Logra Emikai is with me,” I reminded him.

  “Not any more,” Emikai said softly.

  I turned to look at him, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “We’re not in Filiaelian territory, Logra Emikai,” I reminded him carefully. “You’re not required to obey their orders.”

  “Unfortunately, I am,” Emikai said. He looked decidedly unhappy about it, but there was no wavering in his voice. “He is an esantra of the Filiaelian Assembly. No matter where in the galaxy we find ourselves, I have no choice but to uphold his legal decisions.” His eyes flicked to Worrbin, then back to me. “It is what I am,” he added.

  And so it was. Retired or not, he’d been genetically engineered to be a cop, and the absence of his badge and gun didn’t change that.

  I looked back at Kennrick. His arms were crossed over his chest, a righteously indignant expression plastered across his face, a hint of a smirk lurking behind his eyes. Was Worrbin’s interference the back door he’d been counting on? “You want proof, Esantra Worrbin?” I asked. “Fine.” I held out my hand toward Kennrick. “Your reader, please.”

  Kennrick’s expression didn’t change, but the subtle smirk was suddenly gone. “Why?” he asked.

  “Give it to me and I’ll show you,” I said.

  “Not a chance,” he said flatly. “All my personal records are on it.”

  “Consider this a subpoena,” I said. “Let’s start by showing them who Whitman Kennrick really is.”

  Kennrick looked at the Fillies. “Esantra Worrbin?”

  Worrbin looked at him, then at me, then back at Kennrick. “Give him your reader,” he ordered.

  Kennrick’s lips puckered, but he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But let it be noted that this is under protest.” He reached his right hand into his jacket, got a grip on something, and started to pull his hand back out.

  And without warning, he leaped in front of Bayta, his left fist snapping in a short punch from the hip into her solar plexus.

  She gasped and bent forward, grabbing for her stomach. Kennrick kept moving, sidestepping around behind her, and I saw now that he was holding a pair of small cylinders in his right hand. As he turned back to face me he flipped one of the cylinders to his left hand, his hands tracing a quick pattern over and around Bayta’s head. As I belatedly started toward them, he jerked both hands back toward his face, Bayta’s head snapping backward in perfect synchronization.

  And as her hands grabbed at her neck, I saw the glint of the thin wire wrapped around her throat.

  “Careful, Compton,” Kennrick warned, his voice quiet and deadly, as I came to an abrupt halt. “That goes for the rest of you, too.”

  “Do as he says,” I croaked out through a suddenly dry mouth, my heart pounding in my throat. Oh, no. God, no. “Take it easy, Kennrick.”

  “Take it off easy, did you say?” Kennrick asked. He twitched the cylindrical handles of his garrote a little, making Bayta twitch in response.

  “Damn it—” I broke off, clenching my teeth, fury and terror bubbling in my throat. Bayta’s face was tight and pale, a hint of pain in her eyes from Kennrick’s gut punch, her fingers trying uselessly to force their way between the wire and her throat. “Don’t hurt her.”

  Kennrick smiled, a cold, evil thing. “Say please.”

  I took a deep breath. “Please don’t hurt her.”

  “Good,” he said, his voice brisk and almost businesslike. “Well, this is awkward, I must say. Any suggestions as to how we should proceed?”

  “You want trouble, I’m available,” I said, holding my arms away from my sides. From the positioning of his hands, a detached part of my mind noted, the garrote wire had to cross itself behind Bayta’s head, meaning the loop completely encircled her neck instead of just pulling against the front and sides. It also meant that all Kennrick had to do was pull his hands apart to kill her. “Let her go, and you can do whatever you want to me.”

  “Oh, I know,” he said brightly. “That handy little gadget of yours, the one you used on Logra Emikai two nights ago. Where is it?”

  “I have it,” Bayta croaked.

  “Where?”

  “Here.” She reached for her right front pocket.

  And gasped, her hand darting back up to her throat as Kennrick twitched the garrote again. “No, you just hold still,” he ordered. “I’ll get it.”

  I felt a surge of adrenaline. In order to get into her pocket, he would either have to let go of one end of his garrote or else hold both handles in a single hand. Either way, it would mean a brief chance to get to him before he could use the wire against her. If I was quick, and lucky, I might be able to get to her in time.

  But he was already ahead of me. Watching me closely, he slid the wire around Bayta’s throat, adjusting the positions of the handles, until the one in his right hand was back by his own throat. A quick twitch of his fingers, and he’d clipped the handle to his jacket collar. With his left hand still applying pressure against Bayta’s throat, he reached with his right around her hip and pulled the kwi from her pocket. “There we go,” he said, deftly wrapping it in place around his knuckles before unclipping the other garrote handle. “I think that officially leaves me holding all the cards.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “For now, to go back to my compartment,” he said. “The lady goes with me, of course.”

  “Take me instead,” I offered again.

  He smiled tightly. “I’d rather bed down with a Malayan pit viper,” he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her. Not unless you force me to.”

  I focused on Bayta’s face, searching desperately for inspiration. The last thing I wanted was to let him get Bayta behind locked doors, with access to whatever other tricks he might have smuggled aboard. But with the wire pressing against Bayta’s throat, there was nothing I could do without risking her life.

  “Patience is a virtue,” Bayta murmured.

  “She’s right,” Kennrick seconded. “Your move, Compton.”

  I took another deep breath. “Go,” I said.

  “We’ll talk later,” he promised. He glanced once over his shoulder, making sure the path was clear. Then, holding Bayta close, he started backing toward the front of the car. I watched them go, my hands curled into helpless fists at my sides, still trying to come up with something—anything—I could do.

  They were halfway to the vestibule when Krel Vevri quietly detached himself from the wall where he’d been standing and began moving silently to intercept.

  I felt my breath catch in my throat. Vevri’s eyes were shining with determination, a slight but unmistakable sag in the scales around his hawk beak. It was the Modhri who was currently in command of that body, coming to Bayta’s rescue.

  And about to get her killed.

  I watched the unfolding drama, my brain and muscles paralyzed by indecision. Should I warn Kennrick of the approaching Juri, thereby temporarily protecting Bayta’s life but destroying any chance the Modhri might have of stopping him? Or should I keep quiet, cross my fingers, and hope the Modhri’s million
-to-one shot actually came through?

  I was still frozen in uncertainty when the decision was taken out of my hands. Abruptly, Kennrick spun halfway around, swinging Bayta around with him like a full-body shield as he lifted his right hand over her shoulder. I saw his thumb shift its grip on the garrote handle and squeeze the kwi’s firing switch.

  Without even a twitch, Vevri collapsed to the floor with a thud and lay still.

  Before anyone else could react Kennrick swung himself and Bayta back around to face me. “I’ll be charitable and assume that wasn’t your idea, Compton,” he said. “If it happens again, there’ll be consequences.” He lifted the kwi again slightly. “This really is a handy little gadget.”

  And abruptly my spinning mind caught the tracks again, my eyes shifting to the unconscious Juri Kennrick had just shot with the kwi. The kwi that could only be activated by Bayta or one of the Spiders.

  How the hell had Kennrick gotten the damn thing to work?

  If any of the other passengers had it in mind to intervene, Vevri’s failure convinced them otherwise. No one else so much as blinked as the killer and his hostage backed into the vestibule and vanished from sight.

  The door had barely closed before Emikai started toward the door, a glint of fire in his eyes. “No—let them go,” I said quickly.

  “We cannot let him get to his compartment,” Emikai said.

  “How are you going to stop him without getting Bayta killed?” I demanded.

  “He will not harm her,” Emikai insisted. “Without a hostage, he is dead.”

  “So he kills her and grabs someone else,” I snarled, my legs literally shaking with the overwhelming urge to go after Kennrick myself. “Don’t you understand? This man is a professional, and he’s clearly thought this through. We can’t just go charging in after him. We have to figure out what his plan is, and outthink him.”

  Emikai looked at the door where Kennrick and Bayta had vanished. “And if we cannot?”

  “We can,” I said grimly. “We will.”

  For a long moment Emikai and I just stared at each other. Then, his shoulders slumped a little and he nodded. “She is your assistant,” he said. “He is of your people. I yield to your authority.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I squeezed my hands into fists to force out some of the adrenaline flooding my system and tried to think. “Okay, here’s what we do. First of all, we need to make sure not to spook Kennrick again. Go find a conductor and tell him to alert any Spiders between here and Kennrick’s compartment to make sure none of the other passengers tries to play hero.”

  “What if the conductor won’t listen to me?”

  “He will,” I said. If he didn’t, he would surely check telepathically with Bayta, who would just as surely confirm the order. “Next, we need to isolate Kennrick from other potential hostages. Tell the Spider to start figuring out where we can temporarily put the rest of the passengers in that car.”

  “I will obey,” he said. “What about you?”

  “Someone needs to talk to Kennrick and find out exactly what he wants.” I squared my shoulders. “I guess that’s me.”

  I forced myself to take my time, not wanting to come within sight of Kennrick before he reached his goal lest he think I was crowding him. I passed through the exercise/dispensary, shower, and storage cars, bypassed the dining car with its mostly oblivious patrons, and reached the first coach car.

  I’d made it barely five steps inside when a hand darted in from my right, grabbed my arm, and spun me around.

  And I found myself staring into the angry eyes of a Tra’ho government oathling. “What did you do?” he demanded.

  I took another look at his face, with its sagging jowls and the slight flatness of the eyes. “Later, Modhri,” I said shortly, reaching over to pull his hand off my arm.

  “Not later,” he insisted. “Now. What did you do?”

  “What did you do?” I countered. “That stunt could have gotten Bayta killed.”

  “And so you allow the weapon to work?” he shot back. “How does that benefit either of us?”

  “What makes you think I control the weapon?” I growled, glancing surreptitiously around the car. Fortunately, the rest of the passengers were already gathered in small knots, talking quietly but nervously among themselves, with little attention to spare for us. Kennrick’s passage must have made quite an impression.

  “Do not lie,” the Modhri bit out. “I know the weapon must be activated. There was no Spider present. The agent herself would not have done so. That leaves only you.”

  “And since when do I have—?” I broke off, a jolt of understanding abruptly hitting me. “No, you’re wrong,” I said. “Bayta did activate it.”

  “Why would she foil my attempt to rescue her?”

  “Because your attempt didn’t have a chance,” I told him. “And because she was thinking ahead.”

  “To what?”

  “To the next real chance we have, whenever that is,” I said, smiling tightly. “Don’t you get it? Kennrick now thinks he has a functional weapon.”

  The other’s face worked as he thought it through. Then, slowly, the anger faded from his eyes. “Indeed,” the Modhri murmured. “So the next time he thinks to use the weapon, it will fail?”

  “Or at least the next time he tries to use it when Bayta judges we have a real chance of success,” I said. “That doesn’t mean one of us won’t get zapped if we try something stupid again.”

  “Understood,” the Modhri said. “What’s our next move?”

  “I’m going to go talk to him,” I said. “Try to find out what he wants, how he expects to get it, and hopefully find a chink in his armor that we can exploit.”

  “Dangerous,” the Modhri rumbled. “But necessary. What do you wish me to do in your absence?”

  “For the moment, just hang back and let me work,” I said. “If the kwi was still on its lowest unconsciousness setting, your Jurian walker should recover in an hour or two.” I leveled a finger at him. “But I mean that about letting me work. We will nail him, but we’ll do it my way. Understand?”

  “I’ll await your instructions,” the Modhri promised reluctantly. “Good hunting to you.”

  “Thanks.” I nodded. “In the meantime, if you really want something to do, you could help soothe your fellow passengers. You might also start getting them mentally prepared for some changes in their traveling conditions. We’re going to evacuate the rest of that car’s compartments, which will mean an influx of displaced travelers settling down in here and the other coach cars.”

  “I can do that.” The Tra’ho’s eyes shifted to the front of the car. “What is this?”

  I turned to look. Maneuvering his way awkwardly through the vestibule door was a pale, frail-looking Nemut in a Shorshic vectored-thrust-powered support chair. His truncated-cone-shaped mouth had a slight distortion in it, and one of his angled shoulder muscles seemed frozen in a permanent off-center hunch. I’d seen him a few times since we left Homshil, mostly eating solitary meals in the dining car. “Trouble?” I asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” the Modhri said. “His name is Minnario, journeying to a Filiaelian clinic in hopes of finding a genetic cure for his congenital difficulties. But I’ve never seen him leave his compartment except for meals, which he always takes alone.”

  Something pricked at the back of my neck. “Do you know which compartment he’s got?” I asked.

  “No,” the Modhri said, his oathling topcut wobbling back and forth as the Tra’ho shook his head. “None of the conversations I’ve overheard has mentioned that.”

  Minnario finished getting through the door and started down the center of the car, his head turning slowly back and forth as he studied the passengers. His eyes passed me, then paused and came back. His fingers shifted on the chair’s control box, and he altered course in our direction.

  “Wait here,” I told the Modhri, and moved ahead to intercept. “Are you looking for me?” I asked as we neared
each other.

  Minnario looked down at a plate that was fastened to the chair’s control box by a slender stem. [Are you the Human who chases the other Humans?] he croaked in slightly lisping Nemuspee as he brought the chair to a halt.

  “I am,” I confirmed. “You have a message for me?”

  There was another pause as he again studied the plate. I took a final couple of steps toward him and saw that it was running him a transcript of what I’d just said. Apparently, deafness was another of his congenital defects. [I was told to give you this,] he croaked. Reaching to a pouch in his lap, he carefully extracted a Quadrail ticket. [The key to my compartment.]

  “Let me guess,” I said grimly. “Your compartment connects to the male Human’s?”

  [I don’t know where the male Human goes,] he said. [I was asked to give you my key, and told I could move into this one.] He held up another ticket, this one glittering with the diamond-dust edges of a first-class, unlimited-use pass. Bayta’s ticket. [Is that all right?] he croaked. [Should I remain here instead?]

  “No, that’s all right,” I said, taking his ticket from him. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I may ask to come in later to collect some of the female’s personal effects.”

  [Certainly,] he said when the transcript had finished scrolling across the plate. [Is there trouble? The female seemed frightened.]

  “There is, but it doesn’t concern you,” I assured him. “Thank you for this.” Stepping past him, I continued forward.

  The corridor of the rear compartment car was empty. I made my way through it, then entered the equally deserted corridor of the middle car. I located Minnario’s compartment and used his ticket to open the door. “Hello?” I called carefully.

  “There you are,” Kennrick’s muffled voice came back. “Don’t just stand there—come on in.”

  I stepped into the compartment, letting the door slide shut behind me. The room was a typical Quadrail compartment, to which strategically placed grips and bars had been added to assist Minnario with his physical challenges. At the front of the room, the dividing wall between compartments had been opened about ten centimeters and a soft light was showing through. “Okay, I’m in,” I called.