Deadman Switch

Chapter 13

There are a thousand small sounds and vibrations that exist in a ship the size of the Bellwether: the sounds of movement, of machinery and equipment, even the vague background fusion of a dozen mixed conversations. Small sounds, generally: a person newly arrived aboard ship would probably be totally unaware of most of them, and within a short time wouldn't even hear the rest. For me, though, they were always there, hovering at the background of my awareness and frequently intruding on it.

So it was that I was able now to lay back on my bed, eyes closed, and listen as the Bellwether shut itself down for the night.

Only partially, of course. One of the senior officers would still be on the bridge, while two or three crewers would similarly be holding station in the engine room and central monitor wraparound. And Kutzko would of course have one of his shields outside Calandra's stateroom. But the rest of the off-duty officers and crewers would be in their rooms, preparing for bed... as would Randon and the other passengers.

I waited until the ship had been quiet for fifteen minutes before leaving my stateroom. No one else was in sight as I made my way forward as quickly and quietly as I could. Second Officer Laskowski would be on duty on the bridge; and if I'd judged things properly...

I had. "Mr. Benedar," Captain Bartholomy nodded, his sense showing mild surprise at my presence as I entered the bridge. Laskowski glanced up from his status readouts, returned his attention to his work without saying anything.

"Captain," I nodded in return, fighting to keep my voice normal. "I'm glad I caught you—Mr. Kelsey-Ramos told me you'd probably be here and could give me a hand."

In my ears the lie seemed so patently obvious that for that first horrible second I was certain that there was absolutely no way Bartholomy could fail to detect it. My stomach knotted spasmodically, and I waited an eternity for him to call me on it—

"Yes, I usually do a quick check before I turn in," he grunted. "What can I do for you?"

Through the pounding in my ears I dimly noticed I was holding my breath. "I need to put in a request with the tower," I said through dry lips, beginning to breathe again. "I'm supposed to see if there's something in the way of a small insystem ship I can rent."

Bartholomy's eyebrows rose politely. "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos has decided he doesn't trust the Bellwether?"

I matched his smile as best I could. "Hardly, Captain. No, he's decided it might be a good idea for us to take copies of the HTI data out to the ring mines on two separate ships."

He frowned; but in interest, not suspicion. "The stuffs that explosive, eh? I've been hearing rumors about it."

"HTI's already tried to get it back once," I told him, reading both him and the eavesdropping Laskowski as deeply as I could. Not a spark of suspicion in either of them; and it gave me the confidence to throw in a small embellishment. "The problem now is that Dapper Schock says there are ways of at least partially scrambling computer data from outside a ship in deep space."

Bartholomy snorted. "That's a new one on me," he commented. "Did Mr. Kelsey-Ramos say how big a crew he was planning to send on this sidecar?"

"Just me," I said.

The eyebrows went up again, and I immediately wished I'd quoted a larger number. Still no suspicion, but abruptly his sense had switched from interest to uncertainty. "Just you?" he echoed.

"Yes," I nodded, my stomach knotting up again. "Most everybody else is needed here during flight." A flicker of an idea in his eyes—a touch of distaste along with it—distaste that seemed to indicate a personality conflict—"Besides," I added, hoping I had read him correctly, "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos said that if too many people show up missing, Aikman is likely to notice and get suspicious."

I'd indeed read him right. Bartholomy nodded, uncertainties fading as his own thought was quoted back to him. "Yes, I was just thinking that," he grunted. "Well, let's see what we can do."

Stepping back over to his command station, he sat down and keyed the phone. "Spaceport Tower," he instructed it. "...Yes, this is Captain Bartholomy aboard the Bellwether. I need to locate something along the lines of a shrink-yacht, as soon as possible... no, with preprogramming capability... yes, I'll hold on." He looked up at me. "She's going to check and see what they've got."

The sense of him was a knowing sort of anticipation... "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos said that they did regularly rent out ships," I said, daring again.

And again I'd hit the mark. "Yes, that's what she said," he nodded. "It's just a matter of—yes?" he interrupted himself, looking back at the display. "...say again?" he said, reaching for his keyboard. "A Cricket V Rockhopper; right. Can you feed me the specs?"

The light reflecting from his face changed subtly, indicating the display had split between the phone and the tower's computer records. One look, and his sense became one of satisfaction. "Sounds good, Tower, we'll take it. When can it be ready?" He looked up at me. "How soon do you want it?"

"As soon as possible," I said. A sense of unreality was creeping over me. This was actually working...

"We'd like it stat, Tower," Bartholomy said into the phone. "...Yes, an hour will be fine. Provision it for a four-day trip for one, plus a double safety margin. Bill it to our account—no, wait a second." An edge of slyness touched his sense. "Bill it to HTI Transport, care of Mr. Sahm Aikman, aboard this ship... Thank you, Tower. Bellwether out."

He disconnected and looked up at me, a satisfied smile playing around his face. "You've got your ship, Mr. Benedar—launch cat fifty-seven. Better get out there."

I licked moisture back onto my lips. "Can you really do that? Bill it to Aikman, I mean?"

He shrugged. "Oh, we'll pay the bill when it comes—no one's going to care whose account the money comes out of. But until it's paid anyone checking will find only HTI's name there. Probably won't fool anybody, but it ought to irritate them good."

For a second, superimposed on Bartholomy's satisfaction, I had a sense of how he would feel when he found out I'd lied to him. An almost choking lump of shame and guilt rose into my throat, and I swallowed hard. It didn't seem to help. "Thank you, sir," I said around the lump. "Uh... Mr. Kelsey-Ramos wanted it kept as quiet as possible, incidentally."

His eyes twinkled a bit. "Don't worry. I want to be the one who gets to break the news to Aikman when he finally misses you."

I returned his smile as best I could. "Yes, Captain. I'll... see you at the rings."

I left. Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them... Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them... I said it over and over again to myself as I walked back along the Bellwether's deserted corridors... trying to erase the mental image of the man whose trust I'd just betrayed.

—

In my eight years with Lord Kelsey-Ramos I'd had the opportunity to meet and even study a great many liars, both those who lied only when they considered it necessary and those for whom it had become second nature. From that experience—from watching that downward spiral into habitual deceit—I'd always assumed a second lie would be easier to tell than a first.

It wasn't true.

Bartholomy's face continued to hover before me as I walked down the corridor toward Calandra's stateroom/prison. His face, reacting to my lie... reacting to the chewing out he would undoubtedly receive from Randon when my lie was exposed... reacting to the possible loss of his job.

The plans of the upright are honest; the intrigues of the wicked are full of deceit...

Through his mouth the godless is the ruin of his neighbor...

It made me ache inside, and with each step I took I had to fight against the growing desire to call the whole thing off.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them... An innocent life was at stake here... and besides, I'd already come too far to stop.

One of Kutzko's shields would be standing guard outside Calandra's stateroom, I knew, but I had no idea which one it would be. One of the Ifversn brothers, I hoped; or even Seqoya, who would probably break me in two if he ever suspected what I was doing. Not Kutzko, though. I didn't want to have to lie to Kutzko.

I reached the intersection of my cross-corridor with Calandra's. Steeling myself, I stepped around the corner—

"Thought those were your footsteps," Kutzko commented genially. "Out a little late, aren't you?"

I forced moisture into my mouth. Through his mouth the godless is the ruin of his neighbor... "A little. Mr. Kelsey-Ramos's business doesn't always keep neat hours."

I saw his sense shift smoothly from mildly alert boredom to full interest. "What kind of business?"

"My break, maybe," I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Governor Rybakov called Mr. Kelsey-Ramos half an hour ago. She wants me to bring Calandra to Cameo to meet with her right away."

Kutzko's forehead furrowed slightly; and even as the interest sharpened I could sense the first stirrings of suspicion. "What, at this hour?"

"That's what she said," I said, striving hard to control my face and voice. It worked; even through my guilt I could hear how sincere I indeed sounded... and the ease of that success chilled me to the bone.

Kutzko pursed his lips. "I don't like it," he said flatly. "Smells like a blazing setup."

I shrugged. "A setup for what? What ulterior purpose could she want us for?"

He glared thoughtfully into space. "No idea. Hang on—"

He keyed his visorcomp, quickscanned whatever record he'd called up. "Aikman seems to have been a good boy today—stayed aboard ship the whole time. I wonder if he could have found a way to get someone else to file that legal thing of his."

I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. Part of Kutzko's job was to be suspicious, but if he kept at this long enough he was going to wind up ruining everything. "I really don't think this is Aikman's doing," I told him. "Governor Rybakov didn't show any signs of deceit."

"You were there for the conversation?—half an hour ago, you said?"

I could sense the thought underlying the question, that perhaps he ought to discuss this with Randon. The last thing I could afford. "No, I wasn't actually there," I improvised desperately. "I was down in my stateroom when the call came through—like Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, I was getting ready for bed at the time. But he did feed me a copy of the recording afterward." He frowned, and I could see the idea of consulting directly with Randon fade with the realization that he would risk waking him up. "I still don't like it," he said at last, "but I guess I'm game. Give me a few minutes and I'll rouse Brad out of bed."

I bit the back of my lip. Right here was where I was going to find out just how good my powers of persuasion were. Just how good a liar I really was. "Sorry—I'm sure he'll be disappointed at not being woken up for this," I spoke up as Kutzko stepped toward one of the wall intercoms. "But the governor said we should come alone."

He paused. "Oh, she did, did she?" he asked quietly. "Interesting."

"Not really as interesting as you might think," I reassured him. "My guess is that certain things she and Mr. Kelsey-Ramos discussed this morning may come out in the discussion, and that she'd rather not have any extra parties along."

"Ms. Paquin isn't an extra party?" he asked pointedly.

"She's involved in other ways," I said, hoping he would let it go at that.

He didn't. "Sorry, Gilead, but this whole thing smells putrid. For one thing, doesn't it seem strange to you that after kicking so much Rybakov should suddenly roll over and start cooperating?"

"It's been her government, not her specifically, that's been opposing us," I reminded him. "More importantly, as of this morning she owes Mr. Kelsey-Ramos a favor. A big one."

"And what if she plans to clear the record by doing him a pseudofavor in return?" he retorted. "Such as 'rescuing' a couple of Watchers who just happen to have gotten themselves kidnapped?"

I took a deep breath and braced myself. This one was going to hurt both of us. "All right, then," I said, putting a note of disgust into my voice. "Sure, send Seqoya along. Ruin the arrangement, and maybe a chance for Calandra to see her own record cleared along with it. And, incidentally, maybe send Seqoya to his death; because if someone really wants to kidnap us, they won't let even him stand in the way... and you know as well as I do that out in the streets a shield can't really do much more than make a kidnapping or murder more expensive. They'd kill him for sure, and maybe kill us in the process."

I'd expected Kutzko to take offense at my little tirade, but I'd expected wrong. For a long moment he gazed quietly at me, his sense that of indecision mixed with an odd touch of resignation, almost covering the hidden pain at the reminder of just how limited even his considerable shielding skills really were.

And over all of it was a growing sense that he had little choice but to trust me.

First Captain Bartholomy, and now Kutzko. Trusting in their betrayer. Brother will betray brother to death...

"You really believe Rybakov is playing this straight?" Kutzko asked quietly.

"I wouldn't be going if I didn't," I told him. "It may be Calandra's only chance." The words, in absolute terms, were true, and somehow it made them easier to say. The way he would interpret them, of course, still made them a lie.

He took a deep breath, exhaled it noisily. "All right," he said, suddenly briskly decisive as he stepped to Calandra's door and rapped twice. "You'd better be right, though," he added, busying himself with the lock. "You get yourself killed out there and I'll blazing-well never speak to you again."

"I'll keep that in mind," I managed.

The door slid open, and Kutzko leaned partway inside. "Ms. Paquin?—good, you're still dressed. Come on; you and Mr. Benedar are going on a little trip."

"What? Why?" her voice asked softly as she came around a corner into view. Her eyes flicked over Kutzko, automatically probing him. She looked past him to me—

Our eyes met... and hers were suddenly wide and alert.

Once again she'd read me with ease... and even if she couldn't know exactly what it was I had planned, she could clearly tell that something was wrong. With Kutzko's back still to me, I threw her a warning look, a fractional shaking of my head. Her lips twitched, and she swallowed. "Where are we going?" she asked, the question clearly directed toward Kutzko.

"Governor's mansion," he told her briefly. "Mr. Kelsey-Ramos has gotten you a hearing."

Again her eyes read me... read me far too deeply... "I don't want to go," she said, stopping abruptly halfway out of her stateroom.

Kutzko threw me a startled glance. "Why not?" he asked.

Her tongue flicked across her upper lip, eyes still on me. "I... just don't," she said lamely.

Kutzko snorted. "You don't have a choice," he told her flatly, his sense filling with annoyance. "You're going to Cameo. Period."

She took a deep breath; paused... and through the dark screen that seemed to surround her emotions I could sense caution and fear rising within her. She opened her mouth; closed it and gave a short nod instead.

"All right," Kutzko said, relieved at not having to continue the argument. "Come on, Gilead; I'll escort you to the gatelock."

And that was it. In a few short minutes—with nothing but my words and my ability to read people, I had persuaded two intelligent and conscientious men to assist me in releasing a condemned prisoner.

We walked down the corridor to the gatelock... and in the back of my mind I wondered uneasily if perhaps Aikman's fears about the powers of Watchers hadn't been so exaggerated after all.