Timothy Zahn - The Domino Pattern

“No,” Sarge said. But I could hear the disapproval in his voice. Letting passengers aboard tenders was broken rule number one; even pretending to do damage to one of their own Quadrails was broken rule number two. In his place, I decided, I would probably be unhappy, too.

For almost two minutes nothing happened. I was starting to wonder if Kennrick had decided to make a camp out in the corridor after all when I half heard, half felt a faint thud. There was a short pause, another thud—

“He has returned,” Sarge confirmed as he picked up the commentary from the defender hanging outside the opaqued window. “He carries the oxygen tank with him.”

I started to breathe again. It was nearly over. Kennrick had jumped perfectly through every hoop I’d set in front of him. All he had to do now was disarm the automatic strangler, reconnect the door trip wires to guard against intrusion from that direction, and then take the oxygen tank to the bed and start rigging it for his use if and when the defender made it though his window seal. I pressed my ear a little harder against the divider, even though I knew I’d never pick up the subtle sound or vibration of Kennrick heaving the oxygen tank onto the bed.

Which meant I was completely unprepared for the sudden thump that bounced against the divider right beside my ear. “What was that?” I whispered urgently. “Defender? Where the hell—?”

“He has seated himself on the curve couch,” Sarge reported. “He is working on the pressurization tank’s valve.”

I felt the blood freeze in my veins. Kennrick wasn’t supposed to be on the curve couch. He was supposed to be on the bed, like he’d been every other time I’d come in here. He was supposed to be concentrating so hard on his new oxygen tank and the Spider hanging outside his window that he wouldn’t notice the divider open the crucial few centimeters I needed.

But he wasn’t on the bed. He was on the curve couch, which would start retracting into the divider the instant I touched the control. There was no way in hell he could possibly miss that.

The Modhri must have sensed my sudden turmoil. “What is it?” he murmured.

“I need to open the divider without him noticing,” I said grimly. “ And I need him in front of the gap where I can see him, not way off to the side the way he is now.”

“I see,” the Modhri said calmly. “Do you still have the bypass mimic you took from Logra Emikai?”

“Uh …” I floundered, caught off balance by the sudden change in subject. “Yes, I’ve got it. Why?”

“Give it to me,” the Modhri said, holding out his hand.

I stared at him. What in the world was he up to? “It doesn’t work on Spider locks,” I said.

“I don’t need it to,” the Modhri said, his hand still outstretched. “You wish the Human Kennrick in front of the opening. I will make that happen.”

Trusting the Modhri , the words whispered through my mind. But time was running out, and I didn’t have anything better to suggest. Digging the flat gray box out of my pocket, I handed it over.

“Thank you,” the Modhri said, fingering it thoughtfully. “Stay quiet, and stand well clear.” He looked at the defender. “You, too,” he added.

The defender seemed to think it over. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stepped all the way back to the compartment door. I took advantage of the moment to climb off the curve couch and press myself against its end, a meter from the wall where the divider would be opening.

The Modhri waited until we were set, then stepped over to the divider control. “Stand ready,” he told me, and touched the control.

The divider started sliding open. It had barely cleared the wall when I heard an explosive curse from the other side of the widening gap. “What the—? Compton ? Compton, damn you—”

“Not Compton,” the Modhri called hastily through to him. “I am Osantra Qiddicoj. I have come to make you a bargain.”

“What the—how did you get in there?” Kennrick snarled, and I could hear the subtle shift in the sound of his voice as he moved away from the collapsing curve couch.

“With this,” the Modhri said, poking the corner of the bypass mimic through the still-opening divider. I tensed, but almost before I could start to wonder if he’d forgotten about Bayta he touched the control again, stopping the divider at just the right position. “It’s a duplicate of the locksmith’s bypass mimic Compton took from Logra Emikai. I offer it to you as part of a—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kennrick demanded. “The damn thing doesn’t work on Spider locks, Compton said”

“Compton was wrong,” the Modhri countered, wiggling the mimic as if to emphasize his words. “I bought this spare from Logra Emikai, who showed me its secret. I offer it to you now in exchange for your secret of bringing death aboard the Quadrail.”

Abruptly, he snatched the mimic out of the gap, and I caught a glimpse of Kennrick’s fingertips as he grabbed for the device. “Give it here,” Kennrick snarled.

“Not until you swear to the bargain,” the Modhri said firmly. “With this you can move to a different room, where the Spider attacking you cannot—”

And right in the middle of a sentence, he collapsed abruptly into a heap on the floor, the mimic clattering against the deck as it fell from suddenly nerveless fingers.

“Nice try, Compton,” Kennrick called from the other side of the divider. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

I pressed harder against the divider, gesturing to Sarge to likewise keep silent and motionless. Kennrick had obviously used the kwi on Qiddicoj …but with Bayta still unconscious, I knew for a fact the kwi hadn’t worked. Qiddicoj was faking, lying supposedly unconscious with the perfect bait lying millimeters from his hand.

“I know you’re in there, Compton,” Kennrick bit out, raising his voice over the scraping sound of the defender outside his window. “Come out right now, or I’m going to start cutting off your girlfriend’s fingers.”

I clenched my teeth, my eyes riveted on the mimic. Because it was the perfect bait, and Kennrick had to know that. If he could get it to work on Spider locks, then every compartment in these two cars would be open to him. He could move himself and his hostage back and forth between rooms, resetting his traps and strangle lines, keeping himself clear of whatever the defenders tried to do to pin him down or root him out.

“You hear me, Compton?” Kennrick called again. “Show yourself. Now .”

Only the Modhri had forgotten one crucial detail. The rigged vestibule had been sealed by means of a purely mechanical pressure lock, with nothing that a key or bypass mimic could do anything about. If Kennrick paused long enough to wonder how Qiddicoj had gotten through that, this whole house of cards would collapse.

“Compton?” Kennrick called. The light coming through the gap shifted subtly, and I had the sense that he was now pressing his eye against the opening, trying to see as much of the room as he could. “Compton? Last chance before I start cutting her.”

I took a careful breath. He was going for it, I realized with cautiously rekindled hope. He was still calling for me, but he was no longer sure I was really here. Either he hadn’t thought about the vestibule question, or he didn’t realize the pressure lock couldn’t be triggered remotely, or he was desperate enough to take the risk.

I gathered my feet under me, ready to push off the partially collapsed curve couch the minute he made his move. I would have only one shot at this …

And then, without warning, Kennrick’s left hand darted through the gap and grabbed the mimic.