Deadman Switch

"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 i

"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 pla

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 pla

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.