Deadman Switch (31 page)

“Yes,” I said between clenched teeth. Deep down, I had to admit it wasn't an unreasonable attitude for him and the Patri to take. In some ways, that made it worse.

“All right, then,” he said. “So. Somehow, Ms. Zagorin can't talk about her little visit with the thunderheads. We know there's no physical brain damage, or at least none of the kind usually associated with aphasia. That leaves us either something very subtle or else something psychological. Opinion: would hypnosis help? Either standard or drug-induced?”

I looked at Calandra. She chewed her lip briefly, then stepped up to the bed. “I'd like to try something less drastic first, if I may. Shepherd Zagorin, I'd like you to try to relax and think back through the contact, remembering it as fully as you can. Words, impressions, emotions—whatever comes to mind. Don't try to talk about them; just remember.”

I turned to explain to Eisenstadt, saw that he'd already caught on to what she had in mind. “Go ahead,” he nodded to Zagorin.

She clenched her teeth momentarily. “All right.” Closing her eyes, she settled herself back against the pillow.

Calandra reached over to take her left hand as I moved to the other side of the bed and took her right. Zagorin's skin was warm, the muscles slightly tense, and I could feel the faint throbbing of her pulse. “All right, now, Joyita,” Calandra said, her voice calm and soothing. “You're sitting down by the thunderheads and going into your meditative trance.”

A sense of the normal. “Everything's going as usual,” Calandra continued. “And now—suddenly—it's different.”

Surprise—a touch of fear—recognition of a heretofore only vaguely sensed personality. “Yes,” Calandra confirmed my own reading. “For the first time you're really in communication with the presence you've felt during previous meditations.”

“It's strong,” Zagorin whispered, eyes still closed. “So very strong.”

“Overpoweringly strong?” Eisenstadt asked.

A pause. “N-no,” Zagorin said hesitantly. “But …” She trailed off.

“She broke contact easily enough when Adams was in trouble,” I reminded Eisenstadt. “Remember that they were in a very passive state at the time of the contact—your tech described it as almost a coma.”

He considered. “You're saying it was more a matter of their weakness than it was of any inherent thunderhead strength?”

“I don't think they can take over unreceptive minds, if that's what you're worried about,” Calandra said.

“I'd agree,” I nodded.

Eisenstadt's lip twisted in a grimace. That was indeed what he was worried about, and he wasn't entirely convinced otherwise. “We'll get back to that later,” he said. “Go on.”

Calandra turned back to Zagorin. “You've made contact, now, Joyita. The thunderheads are talking to Dr. Eisenstadt through you and Shepherd Adams. Can you hear the conversation? Either end, or both?”

An oddly reticent eagerness flicked across Zagorin's sense. Eagerness, combined with … it felt almost like urgency. “They very much want to communicate with us,” I murmured to Eisenstadt.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “So again: what's taken them so long?”

“Quiet,” Calandra ordered us. “Joyita, is there anything else? Something they want to tell you?—or that they're trying to hide from you? Something besides what's being asked?”

“I … don't know.” Zagorin's face contorted with concentration. “There's something there. Something important. But I can't … I can't remember it, exactly.”

“Something having to do with the dead thunderhead we're looking for?” Eisenstadt asked.

Confusion, frustration. “I … don't know.”

Eisenstadt muttered a curse under his breath. “This isn't getting us anywhere.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.” I caught Calandra's eye. “You ever play Process of Elimination at Bethel?”

She frowned at me, then her expression cleared. “Yes, I see. Can't hurt to try.”

“What can't hurt?” Eisenstadt growled.

“It's called Process of Elimination,” I told him. “It was originally a Watcher children's game, but I know the method's been used in serious therapy, too. What we're going to do is to name several topics and see if any of them sparks a response.”

“When you use a pravdrug you usually reach only the conscious mind,” Calandra added, anticipating his next question. “This approach can sometimes get a little deeper—and if the blockage is in the conscious speech center, we may be able to get around it.”

“So we should be able to just wire her up to sensors and try it that way, right?” Eisenstadt asked.

“Yes, except that the sensors would only record the fact of a reaction,” I reminded him. “Calandra and I may be able to read the emotion behind it.”

He grimaced, then nodded. “All right. Give it a try.”

I turned back to Zagorin, realizing with a pang of guilt that while she'd been lying there listening we'd been discussing her like a lab specimen. But if she was irritated by it, I couldn't find the emotion. “You ready?” I asked.

She nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Thunderheads.”

Nothing. “Defenses. Fortresses. Body-homes.”

Still nothing. “Solitaire,” Calandra put in. “Spall. The Halo of God. Humans. Fear, or distrust.”

“Anything?” Eisenstadt murmured.

“Quiet,” I said sharply. There had been just the briefest of flickers … “Fear, Joyita? Fear of us? Fear of death?”

Another flicker. “Death,” Calandra said, almost pouncing on the word. “Death?—the Deadman Switch?”

I glanced at Calandra … and in her sense I found confirmation of my own impression. “The Cloud?” I asked Zagorin quietly.

And there it was. Subtle, but unmistakable. “The Cloud,” Calandra said, and shivered.

I turned to Eisenstadt. “It has to do with the Cloud,” I told him.

He chewed at his lip, his eyes on Zagorin's taut face. Uncharacteristically, he didn't seem inclined to doubt our conclusion … at least as far as it went. “I need more details,” he said. “Is it just that they're the ones guiding us through it?”

I watched Zagorin, replaying her earlier responses in my mind. Replayed especially her reaction to the word
fear.
“I don't know,” I had to admit. “But whatever it is, it's important. And it's something that includes fear.”

Eisenstadt took a deep breath. “Ms. Zagorin … do your records back at the—whatever the place is called; at your Myrrh settlement—do the records there include a list of your best meditators?”

Zagorin gazed up at him, and I could see her bracing herself. “I can't ask my people to do this,” she said.

“I'm afraid I have to insist,” he told her firmly. “We need to talk to the thunderheads again, and neither you nor your friend Adams is up to it—”

“And why isn't Shepherd Adams up to it?” she cut him off. “Because he nearly died, that's why. How do you expect me to ask one of my people to take that kind of risk?”

“It's not that much of a risk,” Eisenstadt insisted, trying hard to be soothing. “We know what the contact does—”

“And you know that I'm the only one who's been through it safely.”

Eisenstadt sighed. “Ms. Zagorin, I thank you for your offer—at least, I assume I hear an offer in there. But to be perfectly honest, we can't afford to let you be our only contact with the thunderheads. In the first place, even with proper medical preparation I doubt you'll be able to make contact more than once a day at the most, and I don't want to be stuck with that kind of limitation. In the second place—” He hesitated. “I don't want all our communications to go through a single person.”

Zagorin's forehead creased slightly with puzzlement. “Why not?” she asked.

“Dr. Eisenstadt?” I put in quietly, before he could answer. “May I talk to you a moment? In private?”

He hesitated, eyes measuring me. Then, with a quick nod, he led the way out into the hall. “Well?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“You're worried about the possibility that repeated contacts may subtly alter her,” I said. “Bringing her emotionally onto the thunderheads' side, or even making her an agent of their will. Correct?”

He smiled grimly. “Maybe you're not as naive as I thought,” he conceded. “Yes, that's exactly what I'm worried about.”

I nodded. “In that case, sir, I think you ought to let Shepherd Zagorin be our only contact, at least for now.”

“Oh, really? And what happened to all that stuff about how the thunderhead presence was affecting people over on Solitaire?”

I thought back to our dinner in Myrrh settlement, the odd passivity Calandra had thought she'd sensed among the people there. “It affects people here on Spall, too,” I told Eisenstadt. “Only not in the same way. Maybe because the Seekers' meditation leaves them more in a position of cooperation than of competition with the thunderheads—”

I'd been thinking out loud, and I could see that along the way I'd completely lost Eisenstadt. “Calandra and I found a sort of relaxed passiveness here when—”

“I get the main picture,” he interrupted my attempt to explain. “Assuming that you're not talking nonsense—and that may be an invalid assumption—all I'm really hearing is that the closer the contact, the more dangerous.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shook my head. “We don't know for certain—which is why it would be safest to keep these direct contacts limited to as few people as possible. Besides which … Calandra and I spent some time with both Shepherd Adams and Shepherd Zagorin when we first came to Spall. We don't know any of the other Seekers nearly as well.”

Eisenstadt frowned at me for a long moment … and then he understood. “You really think you could spot any alterations the thunderheads might make in them?”

“I don't know,” I said honestly. “But we'd have a better chance with them than with anyone else, at least until we've gotten to know them better.”

Eisenstadt pursed his lips, considering. “Your boss—Kelsey-Ramos—told me that you have something of a gift for persuasion. Specifically, that you'd probably try to make you and your friend too valuable for me to easily get rid of.”

“Mr. Kelsey-Ramos exaggerates,” I said between dry lips.

“Perhaps.” Eisenstadt grimaced. “Unfortunately, even knowing the hook's there, I seem to be stuck with the bait.” He took a deep breath. “All right, you've convinced me. For now, anyway, we'll stick with Zagorin. I suppose it would make sense to wait a day or two before talking to them again, anyway—give us a chance to study the dead thunderhead we're allegedly getting.” He glanced at his watch. “Which reminds me, I ought to go check on their progress.”

“Would you like Calandra or me to come with you?”

“When we actually find the thing, probably. Until then—” he jerked a thumb at the door behind him—“your job is to spend your time getting to know Zagorin as well as you can. Just in case.”

I sighed quietly. “Yes, sir.”

He eyed me. “Something else?”

“I … don't know.” I shook my head slowly, trying to identify the uncomfortable darkness hovering like a nighttime predator at the edge of my mind. “I guess I just don't like having to guess what it is about the Cloud that the thunderheads don't want us to know about.”

He snorted. “I don't much like it myself. Do try to remember that it was
you
who just talked me out of sending for more Halloas and dragging the secret out of the thunderheads right here and now.”

“I know, sir. But …”

“And anyway,” he added, “whatever it is, they've kept it to themselves for at least seventy years. A few days, one way or another, isn't likely to make any difference.”

He was right, of course, I told myself as he strode briskly away to check on his search team. After seventy years, a couple of days could hardly be important.

I hoped.

I
T WAS, IN FACT,
considerably more than a couple of days before Eisenstadt was ready to talk to the thunderheads again. Though Shepherd Zagorin seemed ready and willing to make another attempt by the next morning, the physician charged with preparing her was reluctant to administer his proposed pre-treatment mixture without doing a few more tests on both it and her; and before he had time to complete them, Eisenstadt's search team finally located the dead thunderhead.

Most everyone, I gathered—from Eisenstadt on down—had privately concluded that the directions we'd been given had somehow been misread, and it was only through mule-headed persistence on the search leader's part that the dead thunderhead was located at all. The “height” the thunderheads had used in giving distance, it turned out, was neither their own physical height nor ours, but a length that was finally identified as the height of the common building in Shepherd Zagorin's Myrrh settlement. For me, it seemed just one more indication that the thunderheads had been observing the Halo of God settlers since their arrival; Eisenstadt, conversely, wondered aloud whether it was a deliberate delaying tactic. But it wasn't long before the sheer scientific excitement drove such political/military considerations into the background of his mind and allowed the pure scientist to shine through again.

To shine through with a vengeance. For all but his inner circle he virtually ceased to exist, disappearing into the project as if inhaled by it. Every waking hour was spent either in the clean room with the examination team or else in his office studying the data that was being extracted by the double cylful. His rare sleeping hours were probably spent dreaming about it.

I'd spent eight years with Lord Kelsey-Ramos, who hadn't pushed Carillon to the top by being lazy; but even by those standards Eisenstadt's capacity and energy were astounding. Armed with a full clearance to the information—a courtesy that I suspected for a long time had been an accidental oversight on his part—I did my best to keep up with as much of the flood of information as I could. But even just following the nontechnical summaries was almost more than I could handle.