I’d seen plenty of dead bodies in the course of my career. Some of them had been spectacularly mangled, and nearly all of them had been pretty bloody. But I’d done my level best to avoid autopsies whenever possible. There was something about the casual, clinical slicing up of a body that bothered me in a way that even the aftermath of thudwumper rounds didn’t.
Fortunately, this one wasn’t as bad as I’d feared it would be. Witherspoon did the job quickly and efficiently, mostly just nicking off small skin samples or using a hypo to draw blood and other fluids. Only twice did he dig deeper than skin level, and in those instances I was able to keep my focus on the samples as he slid them into the small vials Aronobal held open tor him.
Five minutes later, it was over. “That’s it,” Witherspoon said as he set the last sealed vial into the sample case and handed the Spider the hypos and scalpels he’d been using. “Do you want to bring your spectroscopic analyzer here, or would it be easier if Dr. Aronobal and I accompany you to your compartment?”
“Neither, actually,” I told him as I took the sample case. “Bayta and I can handle it.”
Witherspoon threw a frown at Aronobal. “That’s not proper procedure,” he warned.
“Aboard a Quadrail, proper procedure is whatever the Spiders say it is,” I reminded him.
[And how will we know if you speak the truth?] Tririn demanded.
“You’ll know because I will speak it, and because I have no reason to lie,” I told him. “I’m not involved with your group, Pellorian Medical Systems, or any branch of the Human, Filiaelian, or Shorshian governments. I have no ax to grind, no agenda to push, no itches to scratch. More importantly, I’m the one with the necessary equipment and the knowledge and training to use it.”
Tririn looked at Dr. Witherspoon, who looked at Dr. Aronobal, who looked back at me. It didn’t take a genius to see that none of them was very happy with my executive decision.
It also didn’t take a genius to know they didn’t have much choice in the matter. [How soon will you have the results?] Tririn asked.
“By midmorning at the latest,” I said, taking Bayta’s arm. “You might as well all go back to bed. You’ll want to get some sleep before the rest of the train wakes up.”
We left the dispensary and headed forward. Second class was still pretty quiet, but a few of the passengers were beginning to stir as the early risers mixed with the insomniacs and those hoping to get a head start on the bathroom and shower facilities. First class, in contrast, was still almost uniformly quiet. Di-Master Strinni was again sleeping without his canopy, his lidded eyes pointed sightlessly toward the ceiling.
Bayta didn’t speak until we were back in my compartment with the door locked behind us. “The analysis won’t really take that long, will it?” she asked as I dug out my lighter and multi-tool.
“Not at all,” I assured her, flipping the lighter’s thumb guard around and positioning it over the flame jet. “But one of the cardinal rules is that you never let people know how long things actually take.”
“Why not?” she asked, watching in fascination as I selected the smallest of my multitool’s blades and dipped the tip into the vial containing Bofiv’s blood sample.
“Because you never know when you might have to do that same something a lot faster than they expect,” I told her. Touching the blade to the thumb guard, I deposited a droplet directly above the flame jet. “Here—hold this a second. Keep it vertical.”
Gingerly, she took the lighter, holding it at arm’s length while I pulled out my reader and data chip collection. The chip labeled Encyclopaedia Britannica was one of the oversized ones, as befitted its status as the repository of all Human knowledge.
Or so a casual observer would assume. In actual fact, that particular chip plus my specially designed, one-of-a-kind reader added up to a very powerful sensor/analyzer, one of the finest gadgets the Terran Confederation had to offer. I activated the sensor, took the lighter back from Bayta, and set the reader and lighter at the proper positions relative to each other. “Here we go.” I said, and ignited the lighter.
A blue-white flame hissed out, and there was a small puff of smoke as the blood droplet flash-burned to vapor. I shut off the lighter and handed it back to Bayta. then keyed the reader for analysis. “And that’s it,” I told her. “A few seconds, and we’ll have a complete list of what was in Master Bofiv’s blood when he died.”
“Amazing,” Bayta murmured, eyeing the reader. “And Mr. Hardin just let you keep it?”
“He was a little preoccupied with other matters at the time,” I said, thinking hack to my somewhat awkward final confrontation with Larry Cecil Hardin, multitrillionaire industrialist and erstwhile boss. “The trillion dollars I’d just extorted from him was probably weighing a bit on his mind.”
“I hope someday he’ll learn what his money did for the galaxy,” Bayta murmured.
“Actually, I’m not sure he’d really care,” I said. “Maybe if you gave him a medal at a big public ceremony.”
“After all this time, you still dislike the man that much?”
“I don’t dislike him,” I told her. “I just see him as he is, not as some idealized person he might someday become if you showed him where the profit was in being noble. Until then, he’ll con, finagle, bargain, or outright steal every last dollar he can.”
Bayta eyed me thoughtfully. “You practice that speech often?”
“Couple of times a week,” I told her. “Still needs a little work.”
“Mm,” she said noncommittally. “Still, you can’t deny that some good did come out of Mr. Hardin’s ambitions.”
“The trillion dollars,” I said. “I believe I mentioned that.”
“I was thinking of something even more valuable than that.” Bayta gave a little nod toward me. “You.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. “Worth more even than a trillion dollars, huh?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light. “I’m honored. Remind me to ask you to speak on my behalf the next time the Chahwyn try quibbling with me over the job we’re doing for them.”
“I’ve already done that,” she said simply. “One of the other times I went to bat for you.”
“Oh,” I said, a bit lamely. “Yes, I guess you have.”
“You do miss a lot not being telepathic,” she commented.
I peered at her, wondering if she was being serious or trying to be funny. But her face was its usual neutral, her eyes on the reader in my hand. “I know,” I told her. “I’ve been meaning to work on that.”
Her eyes flicked up, the hint of a frown touching her face. Probably wondering if I was trying to be funny. “What happens now?” she asked, looking back at the reader. “We test the rest of the samples and look for a common element?”
“Exactly.” The sensor beeped, and I watched as the analysis scrolled across the display.
And felt my stomach tighten. “Or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we probably don’t really need to test any of the other samples.” I turned the reader around to face her. “Second line just above the bottom of the display.”
She peered at the line. “Cadmium?”
“A heavy metal,” I told her. “Westali’s standard course on Shorshians was rather cursory, but heavy-metal poisoning was definitely one of the topics that was covered, mainly because it was considered one of the better ways of quietly dispatching members of that particular species. For the record, it’s pretty good against Humans, too.”
Bayta’s lips compressed briefly. “What exactly does that number mean?” she asked.
“That there’s enough in his system to kill a good-sized moose,” I said grimly. “Whoever wanted Master Bofiv dead wasn’t taking any chances.”