Deadman Switch

Chapter 26

It 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 race 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 counter-petition, 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?"

Eisenstadt shook his head. "Nothing except what we've already come up with. I'll get my counter-petition worked up and send word to Freitag about putting Pravilos on those HTI zombis. Aside from that, I can't think of anything."

Randon nodded. "I'll turn up what heat I can here and see what I can find out about unofficial HTI involvement. If I can catch an important hand in the cashbox, maybe I can force them to back down."

"Worth a try," Eisenstadt agreed. "Well... I appreciate your help on this, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos. Good luck, and keep me informed."

"Right. Good-bye, Doctor."

"Good-bye."

Eisenstadt waved his control stick and the display blanked, and for a moment we sat in silence. Then he stirred in his seat. "I just thought you'd want to know," he said, almost gruffly.

The gruffness was a shield; but it couldn't hide his genuine concern. "Thank you," I said, getting to my feet. "I'd better let you get on with your work."

He hesitated. "Paquin is out at the Butte City," he told me. "If you want to go and talk to her, I'll have one of the Pravilos escort you there."

In other words, would I like to accept the burden of telling her the bad news. It was the last thing in the universe I wanted to do... but I knew it would be better coming from a friend. "Yes, sir," I sighed. "I'll do it."

—

There were a set of lights strung along the fences that enclosed the two-hundred-meter-long corridor between the encampment and the Butte City, but with no one officially on duty there tonight the lights had been muted to firefly level. My Pravilo escort had planned to drive me across, but the night was cool and quiet, ideal for a short walk. Besides which, I needed the time to think.

It was the first time I'd been really outside after dark—away from the encampment's lights, anyway—since Calandra and I had first camped at the buttes, and as we walked I found myself gazing up at the starry sky, a sharp bitterness swirling within me. Practically singlehanded, she and I had opened up mankind's first contact with an alien race—found them, identified them, even discovered how to talk to them... and none of it seemed to make any difference whatsoever to the coldly impersonal web of laws which Aikman was manipulating in his obsession to destroy us.

Us; because once Calandra was dead, I would be his next target. Aboard the Bellwether I'd forced him to back down, and for a man like Aikman such a goring of his pride was as deadly an insult as I could have given him. Stranding Randon and the Bellwether in Solitaire system without an outzombi would be a nice start to his revenge; in the time that would buy him, I had no doubt he would find the right thread to pull to wrap the web around me, as well.

And there was nothing I could do to stop him.

Like the corridor, the Butte City was only dimly lit, but there was enough starlight filtering between the cliffs for me to pick out the three forms standing near one of the gaps. Calandra and her two Pravilo escorts. My own escort trailing along behind me, I headed over.

She saw us coming, of course, and identified me well before there was enough light for her to properly see my face. "Hello, Gilead," she called softly. "Come to look at the stars?"

"Not really," I said.

Her silhouette stiffened slightly as she heard the tightness in my voice. "What's the matter?"

I hesitated, suddenly very conscious of the strangers listening in. "Could Ms. Paquin and I have a minute alone?" I asked my escort.

"I guess that'd be okay," he said genially. Pulling out his phone, he keyed in a code, and the lights that had been strung around the Butte City brightened to the level of a fashionably dim room. "Take all the time you want," he added. Signing Calandra's escort to follow, he stepped back around the thunderheads.

"What's the matter?" Calandra repeated when they were out of earshot.

I related my conversation with Eisenstadt and Randon. The words felt like molten lead in my mouth. "I see," she said when I'd finished. Her eyes were focused somewhere past my face; her sense was dread combined with a strange calm. "Well... we knew it was just a matter of time."

I clenched my teeth hard enough to hurt. "I haven't given up," I told her. "Neither have the others."

She shook her head. "You might as well. It's over."

"Calandra—"

She silenced me with a look. "I never asked for this," she reminded me quietly. "Never asked you to get involved with this crusade—begged you, in fact, not to. Please, Gilead—just let it go."

They have filled this place with the blood of the innocent... "And let them trade an innocent life for money?" I demanded.

She sighed, and her eyes closed briefly. "The powerful have always built their wealth on the lives of other people," she said tiredly. "You of all people should know that—the Carillon Group has certainly done its share. Solitaire just happens to be a more blatant example than most."

"There ought to be room for both wealth and ethics in a civilized society," I ground out.

She shrugged. "The last person to try running a government that way was Aaron Balaam darMaupine. Want to trade?"

I glared at her. "I can't let this happen."

"You can't stop it." She took a deep breath. "But if it helps any... you've already done more for me than I could ever have hoped."

She turned slightly, her eyes turning upward to the stars. "You remember the parable of the talents?"

To one he gave five talents, to another two, to a third one, each in proportion to his ability... "How could I forget it?"

She nodded. "Me, too. The teachers at Bethel really drummed that one into us. You ever wonder—late at night—whether you were living up to their expectations?"

I swallowed. "No more than a hundred times a year."

"Same with me," she said. "I'd pretty much given up even trying; but it was always there anyway, somewhere way in the back of my mind. I guess I soothed it by assuming that when I was older I'd find something great to accomplish. Now, of course... I won't be getting much older."

I bit at the back of my lip, and wished I knew how to comfort her. "I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say.

She looked at me. "Don't be. Don't you see?—this crazy quixotic quest of yours has given me more of a memorial than I ever dreamed of having. You and I, Gilead, have literally changed mankind's history."

I looked at the sea of thunderheads, vague ghost-white shapes in the dim light. "I suppose so. Though whether we were here or not, it was only a matter of time before someone made contact with them."

She snorted. "Someone like who?—the Halloas? Come on; they were perfectly content to sit here thinking they were walking around on heaven talking directly to God. They'd never have made the connection by themselves."

From heaven God looks down, he sees all the children of Adam, from the place where he sits he watches all who dwell on the earth; he alone molds their hearts, he understands all they do... "Imagine the impression on mankind's history if that had been true," I murmured.

"The thunderheads hardly conform to the popular concept of angels," Calandra said, a touch of humor glinting through the solemnity.

I smiled in return; and right then it hit me, like a brilliant flash of lightning. From heaven God looks down... "God in heaven, Calandra," I breathed. "That's it. That's it!"

She stared at me. "What—?"

"Come on!" Grabbing her hand, I almost literally pulled her toward the Pravilos still waiting nearby. "I need a phone—quickly," I called to them.

We met them halfway, and a phone was handed to me. "How do I get Dr. Eisenstadt?" I asked, fumbling with the instrument with trembling hands. It was so blatantly obvious—

One of the Pravilos keyed in the code, and a minute later Eisenstadt's face appeared on the tiny display. "Hello?"

"This is Benedar," I identified myself. "Where is Commodore Freitag?"

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected question. "On Solitaire, I presume."

"Call him," I said. "Get him here." I glanced at the Pravilos, looking as puzzled as Eisenstadt did. "And after he's on his way, better keep this whole place incommunicado. We still haven't proved Aikman didn't have an information source here, and this cannot be allowed to get out."

"What can't be allowed to get out?" he growled, starting to grow irritated. "Calm down and—"

"We need a non-Solitaran criminal," I cut him off. "Right? And the best candidate for one is a smuggler. Right?"

"Y-y-yes," he said slowly. "Except that you said Freitag wasn't interested in a solution to the—"

"In a partial solution," I corrected him. Couldn't he see it—? "He wants to take all the smugglers in a single sweep, before any can slip through the net."

"And you know where they all are?"

"No!" I all but shouted at him. "But the thunderheads do!"

Beside me, Calandra whispered something startled and yet oddly reverent sounding... and Eisenstadt, for the first time since I'd met him, was speechless.