Timothy Zahn - The Domino Pattern

“Maybe he’s not as well-trained as we all might like,” I said, turning to Bayta. “The server said there wasn’t anything in the Shorshians’ food. How sure is he of that?”

“Very sure,” Bayta said firmly. “The packaging was intact, and there’s nothing in the ingredients of any of the Shorshic-Style foods aboard that could be a problem.”

“Unless there was some unexpected contamination during the cooking or packaging process,” I said. “Maybe we should check that out. If the Spiders don’t mind, that is.”

From the expression on Bayta’s face, it was clear that the Spiders did, in fact, mind. But she knew better than to have this discussion in front of a stranger. “We can certainly ask.” she said instead. “The third-class dining car is four cars back.”

I nodded and looked at Aronobal. “Keep an eye on Masters Colix and Bofiv, will you?”

“I will,” she said. “You will let me know if you find anything?”

“You’ll be the first,” I promised.

We headed out, turning in the direction of the third-class dining room. I glanced at Bayta’s profile as we walked, noting the stiffness in her expression. “If it helps,” I said quietly, “I don’t actually think this was caused by any negligence on the Spiders’ part.”

“Neither do I,” Bayta said, her voice as stiff as her face.

“But we still have to check it out,” I continued. “If for no other reason than to clear them of any responsibility.”

“That’s not the point,” Bayta said. “The Spiders don’t want passengers getting into their sections of the train.” She sent me a furtive glance. “Not even you.”

“I guess you’ll just have to go to bat for me on this one,” I said.

She gave a soft snort. “I do go to bat for you, Frank,” she said. “More often than you know.”

I studied her profile again, noting the smooth line of her nose, the curve of her cheekbones, and the softness of her skin. That was all most people saw when they looked at her, and while it made for a pleasant enough treat for the eyes, it also effectively hid all the solid stuff below the surface, the character strengths the casual tourist never saw. Intelligence, determination, loyalty, courage—they were all in there, ready to come boiling out whenever they were needed.

And she was right. She’d put her butt on the line for me time and time again. And those were only the times I knew about. “You’re right,” I acknowledged. “Let’s do it this way. I’II wait outside while you go in and look at the facility. I can tell you what to look for, and walk you through anything that needs follow-up.”

I could tell she was tempted. It would make life simpler, and give her one fewer telepathic battles to fight. “What would I have to do?” she asked.

I shrugged. “No way to know for sure until we get there. But probably nothing complicated.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “I don’t think we can risk it.” she said with a sigh. “You’re the expert. You really need to look for yourself.”

“You sure?” I asked. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck on a Quadrail for four more weeks with a whole trainful of Spiders mad at us.”

She gave me a wry look, and as she did so some of the tension in her face went away. “Since when do you care what other people think?”

“Oh, I don’t care about me ,” I said. “I was worried about you .”

“Well, don’t,” she said. “I can take care of myself.” She nodded ahead. “Come on—the server’s expecting us.”

The third-class dining room was deserted when Bayta and I arrived, with only a single server Spider standing a lonely vigil behind the counter along the rooms back wall. The counter, in turn, was separated from the area behind him by a slat curtain.

“The door’s over here,” Bayta said, leading the way toward the side of the serving counter. As we approached, a concealed panel popped open in front of us. I nodded my thanks to the Spider, got the usual lack of reaction in return, and followed Bayta through the doorway.

One of the perennial topics of conversation aboard Quad-rails was exactly how the Spiders managed to prepare so many meals for so many travelers. Now, standing in the food preparation room, I finally had an answer to that question.

It was a definite letdown. The prep room was lined with shelves loaded to the gills with flat white boxes covered with Spider dot codes. “Prepackaged meals,” I identified them.

“Of course,” Bayta said, her tone making me feel a little ridiculous. “You didn’t really think we had full gourmet kitchens on each train, did you?”

“There were rumors,” I said, looking around. Along with the food storage shelves, there were other racks containing bottles of water and other liquid refreshments, plus a dozen cook stations that included microwaves, flash-heaters, and re-hydrators. Tucked away in one of the back corners was a closed trapdoor with what looked like a wide conveyor belt set vertically against the wall. “For bringing in fresh stock from the storage car?” I asked, pointing at it.

“Yes,” Bayta said. “It connects to a conveyor system that runs beneath the cars. We only have those on cross-galactic trains, of course.”

I looked back at the food shelves. “I guess we might as well start with the obvious. Which ones are the Shorshic meals?”

“There,” Bayta said, pointing to the third stack from the left. “Do you want a list of the meals Master Colix had in the past day? Dr. Aronobal got it from Master Bofiv and Master Tririn earlier while you were speaking with di -Master Strinni.”

“Did Colix eat the same thing every day?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.” Bayta said.

“Then I can get the menu later.” Stepping over to the Shorshic rack, I picked up the top box.

It was heavier than I’d expected, which probably meant it contained a complete meal instead of appetizers or desserts or something lighter. The box itself was made of a thin but sturdy plastic, sealed with a quick-release strip. Experimentally, I pulled the strip open a couple of centimeters and then tried to reseal it.

It didn’t reseal. I tried it again, just to be sure, then tried lifting the corner of the lid, hoping to get a look at the food inside.

But there was a wide flap in the way, and pulling on the corner merely gained me another couple of centimeters of open strip. “I presume the Spiders would have noticed if one of the meals had shown up unsealed?”

“Of course,” Bayta said. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“No need,” I said, looking closely at the box in search of punctures or small tears. “What happens to the boxes once the food’s been served? Do they get flattened and stored somewhere for reuse?”

“No, they go directly into the recycling system,” she said. “The fibers are designed to serve as a catalyst for some of the waste breakdown.”

“When you say directly, you mean …?”

“I mean directly,” she said, frowning. “Yesterday’s packages are already gone. What do you mean, no need ? I thought you wanted to check the food for contamination.”

“I do.” I confirmed. “Or rather, I did. But it’s clear now that if the food was tampered with, it didn’t happen at the kitchen where these things were cooked and packaged. It happened right here aboard the train.” I grimaced. “And it happened on purpose.”

Her eyes went wide. “Are you saying they were murdered ?”

“I don’t see any way around it,” I said. “One death might be an accident. But not two. Not like this.”

“But Dr. Witherspoon said Shorshians are especially susceptible to poisoning.”