Deadman Switch

A ripple of quiet surprise ran through them... as it did through me. I hadn't placed the names, but I'd certainly heard of NorTrans: one of the biggest corporations in the Patri and colonies, almost certainly the biggest with a license to operate in and out of Solitaire.

In other words, we'd found the leaders of the system's business community first crack out of the box. Glancing at Governor Rybakov, I saw it hadn't been mere chance.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos," Landau said, and I could see the comment went for all of them. "I've always thought that I, at least, was too deeply buried in the NorTrans structure for even those inside the company to recognize my name."

Randon smiled. "Hardly, sir," he said. "Besides, my father has made something of a hobby of knowing exactly who the major business interests and people are on Solitaire. Some of that was bound to leak down to me."

It was the wrong thing to say. I couldn't tell why, but that much was instantly clear. Almost in unison the tension among the five of them shot up, and the groups nearest us again paused in their own conversations to listen in. "Well, we're certainly honored by your father's interest in us," Comarow said, his voice controlled but with a predator's caution beneath it. "Though speaking for myself, I'm always a bit nervous when someone knows more about me than I do about him."

"Especially as regards his business dealings," his wife Debra put in, her easy laugh breaking some of the hidden tension. I sensed Comarow's approval, realized she'd picked up on whatever he was going for and was carrying on with it. "Danel always gets so paranoid when he has to start doing business with someone new.

"Not paranoid, really, Debra," he chided her gently. All an act; they were clearly two minds headed the same direction. Whatever that direction was. "Just cautious. As I'm sure you understand, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos."

"Perfectly," Randon nodded. "However, I really don't think you have anything to worry about. As I explained to HTI's managers this morning, the Carillon Group tries whenever possible to maintain continuity in the activities of acquired companies."

"So we'd heard," Arritt put in. I sensed Randon's quiet reaction: that the comment implied that Arritt, and possibly all of NorTrans, had a commline into HTI's top management. Not surprising, but worth noting regardless. "And you're right; continuity is what's on most of our minds."

"Most referring to just NorTrans, or to all of Solitaire?" Randon asked, glancing pointedly at a few of the eavesdroppers around us. A couple of them had the grace to blush.

"Oh, pretty much all of Solitaire," Comarow acknowledged without embarrassment. "You'll find that people who do business here are a fairly close-knit community, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos. We have our methods... and we're always a little nervous of newcomers."

"I'm sure you'll find that the Carillon Group business philosophy doesn't change just because we're now on Solitaire," Randon said.

If they found that reassuring, they didn't show it. If anything, in fact, it actually made them a shade more uncomfortable.

"Well, that's nice to know," Comarow said, the easy friendliness of his voice in sharp contrast to the sense beneath it. "I trust you'll find your visit profitable. I understand you'll be leaving for Collet tomorrow?"

"That's right," Randon nodded. "I'm looking forward to actually seeing one of those Rockhound 606's I've read so much about."

Comarow chuckled. "You won't believe it even then. Let me tell you about the first time I saw one of the monsters...."

The conversation turned to descriptions of Rockhound mining platforms, drifted to possibly apocryphal stories of life aboard them. It was heading toward social life on Solitaire proper when Governor Rybakov gracefully pulled us away and steered us across the room to another group.

This one composed of the officers of the Elegy-based conglomerate DragonHoard Metals... and just as interested as NorTrans in making sure Randon knew that Solitaire had its own way of doing business. As, with minor variations in tone, did the third group we talked to. And the fourth. And the fifth.

Eventually, even Randon couldn't pretend to ignore it any more. "From the way everyone's talking," he commented to Rybakov as they collected delicately sculpted appetizers from the serving table, "one might think Carillon just filed its corporation papers last week."

She shrugged, long politician's practice enabling her to cover most of her own flicker of discomfort. She didn't really want to talk about it, and yet on another level knew she had to. "Solitaire is an embarrassment, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos," she said bluntly. "The Patri can't afford to give up the wealth that flows in from the ring mines; but on the other hand, they have to condemn people to death to get it. It's not an especially popular policy." She glanced at me, the first time since our introduction that she'd done so. "We're not just talking fanatical religious minorities like the Watchers or Halloas, either—most people on the Patri and colonies feel at least a little uncomfortable with the whole idea."

"The Halloas?" Randon frowned, also glancing at me. I shrugged fractionally; I'd never heard the reference, either. "What is that, a religious sect?"

Rybakov waved a hand depreciatingly. "I'd hardly call them organized enough to be a sect," she snorted. "They're a group of fanatic-mystics who believe Solitaire is the seat of God's kingdom, or some such nonsense."

Randon glanced at me again. "Why?—because it requires a blood sacrifice to get here?"

Rybakov snorted, and I winced at the contempt underlying her political facade. Clearly, she had even less tolerance than the average citizen when it came to religious matters. Possibly one reason she was a governor. "Not that I've heard, though I wouldn't put it past them," she said. "No, it's supposed to be something about the Cloud being the halo of God. From which it apparently follows immediately that this is the heavenly kingdom." She waved a hand around her.

Someone nearby snickered, just audibly; but on Randon's face there was no answering contempt. "Sounds crazy," he agreed evenly. "And you see these Halloas as possibly giving Solitaire even more of a bad image than the Deadman Switch already has?"

Rybakov looked him straight in the eye. "It's possible," she told him. "Most of the corporations holding Solitaire licenses have made an effort to keep the Halloas' existence from leaking out."

"And you think Carillon may not?"

Again, a meaningful glance in my direction. "Your father's... peculiarities... are well known."

"So are his business skills," Randon returned, his voice a few degrees cooler. "Or are you suggesting he doesn't understand the effect of image on public psychology?"

Surprisingly, she smiled. "Such as the effect a business renegade's image might have on those he's going to be working with, for example?"

Randon frowned, then smiled in return. "Oh, come on, Governor. You aren't going to tell me that all these crafty business professionals are that taken in by my father's public posturings, are you?"

She shrugged, eyes still measuring him. "As I said, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos, the business community here is a little touchy. No offense meant."

"None taken." Surreptitiously, Randon's fingers curved in a subtle hand signal. Beside him, Kutzko responded by reaching for his phone, as if a message were coming in. "Actually, Governor—"

"Excuse me, sir," Kutzko interrupted smoothly. "May I speak with you for a moment? Security matter."

"Certainly. If you'll excuse us, Governor...?"

She nodded, and we moved back toward an empty spot on the floor. "Well, Benedar?" Randon murmured, looking at Kutzko as if discussing the imaginary security matter with him.