Deadman Switch (33 page)

“The way's there now,” he countered. “And they haven't mentioned anything along those lines. No, either the thunderheads are the ones guiding our ships and
aren't
responsible for the Cloud, or else they're running the Cloud and someone else is bringing our ships in. It doesn't make sense any other way.”

I bit at the back of my lip. He was right—the logic of it was indeed hard to argue against. And yet …

“You don't seem convinced, Benedar.”

I focused on him. His expression was gruff, tolerant, as befit a scientist who didn't officially give much credit to my Watcher skills … but beneath that official veneer I could sense a genuine interest. “There's something else about the thunderheads,” I said, trying without success to pin down the elusive feeling nagging at my back-brain. “Something that bothers me.”

“You think they're lying to us about something?”

I looked at Calandra, saw her equally helpless shrug. She didn't have it, either; but like me, she recognized there was something here we weren't getting. “No, I don't think they're
lying.
Not … exactly.”

It was a sloppy enough statement, and I fully expected to get a scornful glare for it. But Eisenstadt merely rubbed his cheek, his sense thoughtful. “Could it be that this invitation out to the Cloud is some kind of a trap?” he suggested.

“I can't see what they could hope to gain,” I shook my head. “They must know that information about them has long since left the system. It's far too late to try and keep their existence secret, even if that was what they wanted.”

Calandra stirred. “I don't think it's a trap,” she said slowly. “But Gilead's right—they
are
hiding something. I get a sense of manipulation, as if they're deliberately feeding us just enough information to keep us moving in the direction they want.”

“You think they're going to take us to the Cloud generator and then ask us to shut it off?” Eisenstadt asked bluntly.

She looked at him steadily. “I'd be very careful about doing anything like that,” she told him. “If you're right about them not being responsible for the Cloud, then it could only have been put there by someone else for the purpose of isolating them.”

Eisenstadt nodded grimly. “That thought has already occurred to me,” he acknowledged. “Which is why I want to take a Pravilo warship instead of just requisitioning some freighter. The generator may be defended.”

Across the way, the Pravilo lieutenant straightened from his board. “Dr. Eisenstadt?” he called. “All set. Commodore Freitag has ordered the
Kharg
to return from ring patrol duty; ETA approximately six days.” He hesitated. “However … the commodore asks me to remind you that none of the Pravilo ships in Solitaire system is equipped with a Deadman Switch.”

For a second Eisenstadt just stared at him. Then he swore under his breath. “Chern-fire!—I forgot all about that.”

I glanced at Calandra, read my own puzzlement there. “I don't understand,” I said to Eisenstadt. “It can't be
that
hard to install a Deadman Switch.”

“The hardware's not the problem,” he growled. “It's the fact that the Pravilo doesn't have a general license for Solitaire transport. Trips in and out of the system are authorized on an individual basis by the Patri. And for that authorization you have to go all the way to Portslava.”

“It's not quite that bad, sir,” the lieutenant spoke up. “The judiciaries on Miland or Whitecliff can also grant authorization.”

“All that means is that you apply to them and
they
send the request on to Portslava,” Eisenstadt shook his head. “Could take weeks—not to mention the paperwork involved in getting the actual zombi.”

I looked at Calandra, feeling my stomach muscles tightening. Except that there was a zombi already on hand, if Eisenstadt ever happened to remember that … “Surely there are emergency procedures available,” I said.

“I doubt this could be made to qualify,” Eisenstadt snorted.

“Well …” I hesitated. “The last I knew, Governor Rybakov owed Mr. Kelsey-Ramos a rather large personal favor. You might talk to him, see if he can wheedle a zombi for you from among Solitaire's own death-sentence criminals.”

He looked at me; and from the way his eyes carefully avoided Calandra I could tell that he, too, had suddenly remembered her status. I held my breath … but practically before the idea was fully formed it was smothered by a strong sense of rejection. Like Randon, it seemed, he had quickly learned what an asset Watchers were, and he had no intention of throwing that asset away. “I was under the impression Solitaire law forbade that,” he said. “Worth a try, though. Anyway—” He glanced at Zagorin. “I'd like you two to accompany Ms. Zagorin back to her quarters when they're through with her.”

His voice and sense were heavy with significance. “Yes, sir,” I said, trying to convey my understanding of his order without being too obvious about it. If the thunderheads had done anything to her, a couple of hours with her should bring it to light.

“Good,” Eisenstadt nodded. “I'll let you know what happens with the governor.” Nodding to Calandra and Zagorin, he turned and set off toward the gap in the buttes where the cars were parked.

I watched him go; felt Calandra's presence as she stepped to my side. “He wants the Cloud turned off,” she murmured.

I nodded. “I know.”

She shivered suddenly. “I hope we're not all going at this too quickly. That we aren't about to undo something that … shouldn't be undone.”

I chewed at the back of my lip. “I don't think he'll do anything rash. Besides … there's still something about this that doesn't work. Why would
anyone
go to all the trouble of creating a ten-light-year barrier when all it does is lock in creatures who are rooted to the ground?”

Calandra shook her head. “I don't know. But I still don't like it.”

I put my arm around her, felt the tension in her muscles. “I know,” I said quietly. “Neither do I.”

I
T WAS LATE EVENING,
and I was in my quarters—somehow, I thought of them as quarters now, instead of as a prison cell—when a pair of Pravilos came to take me to Eisenstadt's office. One look at his face was all I needed. “What's wrong?” I asked, stomach tightening.

In answer he waved me to a seat and swiveled his phone display around so that I could see it. Randon's face was on the screen … and he, too, looked worried. “Why don't you repeat what you just told me, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos,” Eisenstadt invited sourly as I sat down.

“Benedar,” Randon nodded to me from the display, his eyes briefly searching my face. “How are they treating you?”

“I'm fine, sir,” I said. “What's the problem?”

His mouth twisted briefly. “I've just been in contact with Governor Rybakov,” he said.

It was obvious what was coming next. “I take it she won't suspend the no-zombi law for us.”

“It's worse than that,” he said grimly, holding up a cyl. “I have here a copy of a petition that was filed with the governor's office two days ago. It reminds Rybakov that the duly mandated sentence of death passed against Calandra Paquin has been unlawfully suspended … and it requests that said sentence be carried out without further delay.”

I stared at him. “Aikman?” I asked between stiff lips.

“Who else?” Randon growled. “What's worse, Rybakov really has no choice but to give the request proper consideration … and she tells me privately that he
does
have a case.”

“How?” I demanded. “Calandra's been co-opted by a representative of the Patri for official purposes.”

Eisenstadt cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, Benedar, my authority doesn't actually extend that far. It was only through Mr. Kelsey-Ramos's generosity that she's here on Spall at all, and he could legally call her back to the
Bellwether
at any time.”

I stared at the display, the thudding of my heart like the distant sound of crumbling hope. My belief in Calandra's innocence—my efforts to buy her enough time for a new hearing—all of it threatened by a legal trick.
But he said, Alas for you lawyers as well, because you load on people burdens that are unendurable, burdens that you yourselves do not touch with your fingertips …
Clenching my teeth, I forced my mind to unfreeze. “All right,” I said slowly. “But since Calandra was assigned to the
Bellwether,
shouldn't that mean that her sentence can only be carried out aboard the
Bellwether?”

“And since the
Bellwether's
been temporarily grounded for security reasons,” Randon finished for me, in a voice that told me they'd already thought of this, “the sentence ought to be temporarily grounded, too. It's a nice idea; the problem is that her actual assignment is to HTI Transport, not to the
Bellwether.
It happens that there are two other HTI freighters inbound in Solitaire system at the moment, either of which could be used to carry out her sentence.”

“Except that they both have zombis of their own—” I stopped short as a horrible thought struck me.

“Of course they do,” Randon said, frowning at my tone. “But since their zombis' sentences are presumably dated after Paquin's, it wouldn't be unreasonable to switch zombis between one of them and the
Bellwether.”

Aikman's face flashed through my mind: his face, his hate-filled and vengeful soul, his devious mind … and I suddenly knew what it was he was trying to do. “They won't be giving you anything in exchange,” I said, my stomach knotting even tighter. “If the governor accepts that petition, they'll take Calandra and leave you stranded here.”

“What are you talking about?” Eisenstadt demanded. “They have a zombi of their own—”

“Who will already be dead or dying when the
Bellwether
gets him.”

They both stared at me … and slowly, the understanding came. “You mean … they'd deliberately
kill
one of their zombis?” Eisenstadt asked, a look of horrified astonishment on his face.

“He may even be already dead.” I looked at Randon, all my instincts screaming with the need for immediate action. “Have any of the HTI board been in contact with those freighters?”

“I can probably find out.” Randon's own disbelief had vanished, replaced by an angry determination. “Cute—very cute. A blazing lot of trouble and risk to go to, but I wouldn't put it past that gang of vultures.”

“Especially with Aikman goading them on,” I said, my voice trembling. “Sir, we may not have much time left—”

“Easy, Benedar, easy,” he soothed. “They'd be stupid to jump their cue and kill any of the zombis until they had an official ruling in hand—otherwise
they
might wind up stuck here instead of us.”

I hadn't thought of that. It helped, but not very much. “I don't think we should count on them to be that logical,” I told him. “The sooner you can get word of this to the governor, the better.”

“Agreed,” Eisenstadt seconded, his voice grim. “And while we're at it, let's try a little legal offensive of our own. What we need to do is file a counterpetition, requesting that Rybakov grant an indefinite suspension of Paquin's sentence until the Patri can confirm her service with my team here.”

“And maybe ask that Commodore Freitag assign some Pravilos to take over zombi guard duty aboard the HTI freighters,” Randon agreed. “Certainly worth a shot. Unfortunately—” he looked back at me. “All that really does is block off Aikman's easiest route. His petition is still the major problem; and coming as it does practically on top of your own request for a zombi, Dr. Eisenstadt, it leaves Rybakov the obvious move of combining the two by transferring Paquin's sentence to whatever this jaunt is you want to make. Aikman couldn't have planned things better if he'd had a straight pipeline out to you.”

I sent Eisenstadt a sharp look; but he shook his head. “No, it's just coincidence. Remember we didn't decide ourselves until today that we'd even be needing a zombi.”

Though there had been strong hints earlier on … but it was too late to worry about possible leaks now. “And there's no provision at all for using a Solitaran Criminal?” I asked.

“None,” Eisenstadt answered heavily. “Wouldn't really matter if there was. Breaking that strong a legal tradition would mean her own political suicide—Solitaire would demand her removal, and the Patri would pretty much have to bow to their wishes.”

But as one man they howled, Away with him! Give us Barabbas!
“I understand,” I murmured, trying not to be bitter.

Randon cleared his throat. “Benedar … the original reason you took Paquin to Spall in the first place. Did you have any luck at all with that?”

Our search for a smuggler base. So much had happened since then I'd nearly forgotten. “No, sir,” I had to admit. “If we'd had more time—” I shrugged helplessly.

“What about the Pravilo?” Randon persisted. “I'd think
someone
there would be interested in helping out.”

I shook my head, Commodore Freitag's face at our last meeting floating up from my memory. His face, and his sense of unbreakable determination on the issue. “I talked to Commodore Freitag before we left Solitaire,” I said. “He was uninterested in anything but a total solution to the problem.”

“Uninterested?”

“Violently so.” I hissed frustration between my teeth. “And I have to say that I agree with his reasons.”

Randon grimaced, but I could see he was willing to trust my judgment. “I see. Well, you can tell me all about it some day when we have more time and a secure line. For the moment—” his eyes searched out Eisenstadt— “do you have any more ideas, Doctor?”