“Probably.” Witherspoon’s throat tightened. “The other poison appears to be a heavy metal. Probably the same cadmium that killed his two colleagues.”
“How surprising.” I murmured. “Are we in time to do something about this one?”
“I don’t know,” Witherspoon said. “I’ve got him on a double dose of Castan’s Binder, which should be able to bond to the metal still in his bloodstream. But if too much has already gotten into his deep tissues—” He shook his head.
I looked at Bayta. She was gazing down at Strinni’s closed eyes, absently massaging her right wrist. “Bayta, is there anything the Spiders can do?” I asked.
“Nothing that Dr. Witherspoon isn’t already doing,” she said. “I was just wondering if we should wake him up. Maybe he knows who did this to him.”
“That would definitely explain why they slipped him a Mickey,” I agreed.
“A Mickey?” Witherspoon asked, frowning.
“A Mickey Finn,” I explained. “Knockout drops, usually.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the term,” Witherspoon growled. “But I’m the one who gave him the sedative.”
“I was referring to the hallucinogen,” I said. “Maybe the poisoner was afraid di-Master Strinni knew something important, so he made him go berserk in the hope that we’d go ahead and knock him out ourselves, thereby saving himself the trouble.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Witherspoon said. “One problem: I believe printimpolivre-bioxene is on the Spiders’ prohibited list.”
I looked at Bayta. “Is it?”
“All hallucinogenic chemicals are supposed to be there,” she confirmed. “Unless it was already in di-Master Strinni’s system, it shouldn’t have gotten past the sensor screening.”
“It definitely wasn’t in his system,” Witherspoon said. “Like the heavy-metal poisoning, printimpolivre-bioxene’s effects would have shown up very quickly. Within hours, most likely. Certainly long before the two weeks we’ve been traveling.”
“This is starting to sound like a locked-door murder mystery,” I said. “So what about Bayta’s suggestion that we wake him up?”
“I don’t know,” Witherspoon said, rubbing his shoulder where Strinni’s first attack had landed. “I’d prefer to let him just sleep off the sedative instead of adding another chemical to the mix that his system’s already dealing with. Besides, until his kidney-primes are able to oxidize the printimpolivre-bioxene and flush it from his system, he’d most likely just wake up into the same frenzied state he was in before.”
Which would make anything we did get out of him fairly useless. “How long before that happens?”
Witherspoon shrugged. “Three hours. Maybe four.”
“We’ll come back then,” I said, taking Bayta’s arm. “If his condition changes, or you need anything, just tell the Spider.”
“And the word will somehow magically get back to you.” Witherspoon commented, glancing at the server standing silently by the drug cabinet. “Yes, Dr. Aronobal told me you two seem to have an interesting relationship with them.”
“We travel a lot,” I said, steering Bayta toward the dispensary door.
“I don’t believe that any more than Aronobal does,” Witherspoon said, peering closely at us. “But it’s not really any of my business, I suppose.”
“You suppose correctly,” I agreed. “See you later.”
We headed out into the corridor. “Where are we going?” Bayta asked as I turned us toward the front of the train. “I thought you wanted to look at Master Colix’s storage compartments.”
“I do,” I said. “But first we both need to get something in our stomachs.”
She looked sideways at me. “Yours bothering you, too?”
“Yes, but that could just be the onion rings,” I said. “I gather you’re still running at half speed?”
“It’s not that bad,” she assured me. “Besides, I already told you that I had something to eat.”
“A whole vegetable roll,” I said, nodding. “And that after having missed breakfast and lunch.”
“The vegetable roll was lunch.”
“I’ve had Quadrail vegetable rolls,” I reminded her. “Those are appetizers, not meals. If you really don’t want to eat anything, fine. But at least come keep me company.”
“All right,” she said reluctantly. Maybe she was wondering about the propriety of stuffing our faces while Strinni was in the dispensary dying of cadmium poisoning.
But my gut was rumbling something fierce, and I needed to get something down there to keep it busy. Whether she thought so or not. Bayta probably needed something, too.
The main section of the dining car was mostly empty when we arrived. That wasn’t particularly surprising, since we were between the normal lunch and dinner hours and most of the passengers were elsewhere reading, chatting, playing games, or watching dit rec dramas and comedies.
The bar end of the car, in contrast, was packed with passengers, some having pre-dinner drinks, others possibly not yet finished with their lunchtime libations. I glanced in through the smoked plastic dividers as we entered the dining section, just as glad we weren’t going to try to get a table in there.
With my digestive sensitivity in mind, I’d already decided to steer clear of anything exotic or heavy on spices. Accordingly, I ordered a simple steak and vegetable combo, passing on the half-dozen optional sauces offered by the menu.
Bayta, ignoring my raised eyebrows, just ordered another vegetable roll and a glass of lemonade.
“People do get indigestion on trips, you know,” I reminded her as the Spider headed away from the table. “Especially long trips like this one.”
“Maybe,” she said. Her eyes were on the center of our table, her attention clearly on her rumbling intestinal tract. “But I’ve never had indigestion. Not like this. Never.”
Abruptly, she looked up at me. “Did you ever find out from Mr. Kennrick or Dr. Witherspoon what the Human symptoms of heavy-metal poisoning were?”
“You were there the whole time,” I pointed out. “That part of the conversation got short-circuited by Strinni’s one-and-a-half-gainer into the deep end.”
“I just thought you might have asked Mr. Kennrick about it while you were helping him to the dispensary.”
“Never even occurred to me to bring up the subject,” I admitted. “We were a little preoccupied with his ribs at the time.”
“So we don’t know if”—she glanced down at her abdomen—”if this is a symptom or not.”
“Not specifically, no,” I said as soothingly as I could. “But we know that the train’s food supply isn’t contaminated, and no one’s been leaning over our dinner plates sprinkling cadmium garnish on our salads.”
“What if it’s airborne?” Bayta asked. “We still don’t know about that.”
“We will as soon as we finish dinner,” I said. “You said they’ll have the filter disassembled in, what, another half hour?”
Her eyes unfocused briefly. “About that.”
“So we’ll eat and then head back and take some samples,” I said. “Five minutes after that we’ll know whether the stuff was in the air or not.”
“Compton?” Kennrick’s voice came from behind me.
I turned, wincing as the movement strained freshly tenderized joints. Kennrick was standing a couple of feet back, his expression that of a man who’s just eaten a bad grape. “I thought you were heading back to your compartment,” I said.
“I was,” he said. “Other matters intervened. Usantra Givvrac would very much like a word with you.”
“I’d be delighted to give him one,” I said. “Just as soon as we finish our meal.”
Kennrick’s eyes flicked pointedly to the empty table in front of us. “Or possibly beforehand?” he suggested. “Usantra Givvrac is right here, over in the bar section.” His lip twitched. “We were discussing the situation when he spotted you coming in.”