Deadman Switch

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"You belong to Carillon, Benedar. Carillon is a major corporation, based on a Patri world. That makes your offer of help suspect."

I took a deep breath. "Commodore, there's no trickery involved here. The simple fact is that I need a smuggler—need to have him caught, tried, and convicted within the next week."

Freitag's eyebrows rose fractionally. "You Watchers really do believe in miracles, don't you? What is this, some sort of private bet?"

I shook my head. "I need to find a substitute... outzombi... before our ship is ready to leave Solitaire."

The eyebrows rose a bit more. "Something wrong with your current one?"

"Perhaps with her original conviction," I told him. "The details aren't important; what is important is that I get hold of a properly convicted criminal before we have to execute her."

Understanding came into his eyes... understanding, plus a tinge of anger. "And since the judiciary has told you that you can't have a Solitaran, you decided to come to me?"

"Yes, sir," I said cautiously. The anger was unexpected, and it made me nervous. "But I don't understand why that matters. We would still be helping each other—"

"I don't like being used, Benedar," he cut me off abruptly. "Or being toyed with. So I roll over nicely and get you your smuggler and we're all happy, eh?"

"It doesn't have to end there," I said, finally sorting through his emotional labyrinth. "I could still help you track the rest of the smuggler co

"From where?" he shot back. "Portslava? Come on, Benedar, I'm not stupid. You get your outzombi and you'll be off like a shot—leaving me with a job not even half done and with the rest of the smugglers alerted to the fact that I'm not the fool I've worked so hard to convince them I am."

He broke off, suddenly aware that he'd been raging before a total stranger. "But as you said a minute ago, the details aren't important. What's important is that if I don't sweep out the whole smuggler web in one stroke the whole exercise will be for nothing. That, and the fact that you and your allegedly i

I swallowed hard. "Commodore, this is a matter of life and death—"

"Good day, Mr. Benedar."

"Commodore—"

Behind me the door opened, and I heard the lieutenant's footsteps coming up behind me. "This way, sir," the other said, almost in my ear. From his voice I could tell he was prepared to use force if necessary.

I gazed into Freitag's face, searching for some indication that there might still be a chance for me to change his mind. But if there was, it was buried too deeply even for me to find it.

Silently, I turned and left.

—

One by one, in much the same way, all the other possibilities withered and died.

—

It was near evening by the time I returned to Rainbow's End and the Bellwether, footsore and as emotionally weary as I'd been in a long time. Passing through the gatelock, I managed perfunctory greetings to Daiv Ifversn and Seqoya and headed directly for my stateroom.

I made it without ru

Commodore Freitag, Governor Rybakov's office, the Police Coordinator's office, even the Solitaran judiciary again—I'd hit them all. Searched the Solitaran bureaucracy from top to bottom looking for someone who could help.

None could. Or none wanted to.

I closed my eyes, squeezing tears out as I did so. Tears of frustration, of helplessness. In less than twelve hours we'd be leaving Solitaire for the ring mines... and Calandra would be dead.

Even I couldn't generate any false hope this time. Once we were off Solitaire, away from the center of the system's government and judiciary, all hope would be gone. From Collet to Solitaire was a four-day round trip; with a minimum of at least a few days for a trial—even assuming the judiciary consented to the use of pravdrugs to speed things along—there was simply no way a smuggler could be convicted and sentenced in the twelve days we had left in the system. Not even if he strolled aboard the Bellwether and surrendered to us.

Twelve days left... and then an i

Unless she was not, in fact, i

I shifted uncomfortably on my bed. That was indeed the crux of the whole problem, a question that had haunted me since the moment I met her. The Outbound judiciary had convicted her, after all, based on what they had thought was good and proper evidence of guilt. Whatever that evidence was, it was light-years away, and without it I would never convince anyone on Solitaire of her i

But as for myself...

So pride is a necklace to the wicked, violence the garment they wear. From their fat oozes out malice, their hearts drip with cu

Overly poetic, perhaps... and yet, there was more than a grain of truth to be found in the words. There was indeed a sort of aura of character that rested within every person I'd ever met; an aura built up over long years of habit in thought and action until it was a clear reflection of the basic personality underlying it. My teachers back at the Cana settlement had likened it to the bedrock beneath an ever-changing surface landscape... a bedrock that could not be changed overnight by any act of will.

I'd spoken with Calandra, over several days and in several different situations. I'd read the nuances of her character in her eyes, her face, and her body... and for me, there was only one conclusion possible.

Calandra was a human being, not a saint. Her aura showed clearly the same fears and passions and weaknesses that all the rest of us possessed. It did not show the icy callousness of a murderer.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them...

Let the weak and the orphan have justice, be fair to the wretched and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy, save them from the clutches of the wicked...

I'd tried; I really had. I'd pleaded with Randon, with Commodore Freitag, with every Solitaran official I could find. Every door I'd come up with had been slammed in my face.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them...

"But I've done everything I can," I snarled aloud at the thought. The thought, and the guilt playing around the edges of it. "There's nothing else I can do."

But there was. One more thing I could try...

And indeed, which of you here, intending to build a tower, would not first sit down and work out the cost to see if he had enough to complete it?

A shiver ran through me. Yes, there was one thing left I could try... but it would cost me. It would cost me a great deal.

Be obedient to those who are your masters...

How blessed are those to whom God imputes no guilt, whose spirit harbors no deceit...

Whoever looks after his master will be honored...

Because it wasn't just my job or even my honor that would be at risk here. My entire life would be on the line... as would the lives of many others.

I couldn't do it. I didn't want to do it.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them...

There was no argument I could make to that. In the end, I gave in.