Deadman Switch

I was drowned out by the warble of warning sirens. "Radiation attack," one of the crewers snapped. "Bow-starboard hull registering particle fluxes of—it's off the scale, sir." His voice sounded awed and more than a little shaken. "Heavy magnetic flux residue—focused particle beam weapon, almost certainly."

"Backtrack it, Kernyov," Freitag ordered another man. "Pinpoint the source. Costelic, how much got through?"

The first crewer opened his mouth to speak... paused. "Uh... virtually none, sir," he said slowly, frowning at his displays in disbelief. "The i

"The hull is designed to block radiation, isn't it?" Eisenstadt asked.

"Not from particle weapons that go off the scale," Freitag said tartly. "You got a spectrum profile yet, Costelic?"

"It's coming in now, sir." Costelic paused, his puzzlement growing even deeper. "It... doesn't appear to have been a beam, sir. The distribution suggests an extremely hot thermal spectrum, almost like residue from a point source."

"Some kind of nova or star-collapse remnant, maybe?" Eisenstadt suggested doubtfully. "A wall of radiation sweeping past might give readings like that."

Freitag shook his head, studying Costelic's readings. "Too sharply defined for that. Kernyov!—where's that backtrack report?"

I looked at Kernyov in time to see him wave his hands helplessly. "It doesn't backtrack, sir," he said, voice rich with frustration. "I can pull a vector from the particle velocities—it's vague, but it's there—but there just isn't anything in that direction."

"What do you mean, isn't anything?" Freitag demanded. "That radiation came from somewhere."

"I know, sir, but there's nothing larger than a few microns in the indicated direction."

Freitag rubbed his fingertips together thoughtfully. "We're well within Solitaire system's cometary halo. Anything nearby large enough for a ship to be hiding behind?"

"I've already checked, sir," was the prompt answer. "There are eight good-sized comets visible on scope, but none of them is even remotely near the radiation vector. Also checked for neutrino emissions that might indicate fission or fusion going on; again, negative."

Freitag snorted and turned to Eisenstadt and Zagorin. "I want some answers, Doctor. When'll she be ready?"

"Thunderhead?" Eisenstadt asked, peering at Zagorin's impassive face. There was no response. "Thunderhead?" he repeated, throwing a questioning glance at Calandra and me.

"Doctor—" Freitag began.

"It's not Zagorin, Commodore," Calandra spoke up. "She's in the proper meditative state."

Freitag's eyes flicked to her, as if he was going to argue with her diagnosis. "Then why isn't it working?" he demanded instead.

I could see her brace herself. "I'd guess, sir, that the trouble is on the thunderhead side."

Freitag transferred his glare to Zagorin. "Is it, now. Sort of as if they led us out here and then deliberately pulled back?" He shifted the glare once more, this time to Eisenstadt. "I don't suppose, Doctor, that you'd care to speculate on why these friends of humanity would do something like that?"

It was the first time I'd heard the thunderheads referred to in that way; and from the way Eisenstadt winced, I gathered the phrase had been his own coinage. For the first time I realized just how hard he'd pushed to get this trip approved, and how much of his reputation and prestige he'd put on the line for it.

And now, with it threatening to crumble right in front of him, I saw his mind frost over in the face of Freitag's question. He glanced at me, an unspoken plea behind his eyes— "Perhaps," I spoke up, "they're simply unable to make contact."

"They can run a zombi over nine light-years farther from Spall than this," Freitag countered.

"But we've never had a ship come in from this direction," I pointed out, feeling sweat breaking out on my forehead. Now it was me on the hot spot, and I wasn't at all sure where I was even headed with this. "None of the colonies is anywhere near this path."

"And?" he challenged.

"Well..." I floundered a bit. "Perhaps the radiation here is a clue. Coming from seemingly nowhere, and all—"

"I hope you're not going to suggest the radiation is scaring them off."

I clenched my teeth. "I don't think the radiation per se is bothering them, no. But perhaps there's something else associated with the Cloud generator that is."

Freitag cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? What Cloud generator is that?" he asked, hand waving across the empty displays.

"There's nothing that says the Cloud generator has to be in normal space, is there?" I asked doggedly. Spur-of-the-moment idea or not, I had no intention of letting myself be bullied into just abandoning it. "The Cloud itself certainly doesn't seem to be. And if the Cloud was created to keep the thunderheads inside Solitaire system, maybe the generator itself was designed to keep them out."

Freitag's mouth opened... closed again. "Uh-huh," he said at last, thoughtfully. "Interesting, indeed. It's supposed to be impossible for something to be at rest in Mjollnir space, but let that pass for the moment. Costelic, have we got a solid fix on our position here?"

The navigator was opening his mouth to reply when, without warning, the Kharg lurched and gravity abruptly returned.

"Hold it—!" Freitag snapped, his flash of anger turning to equally sharp embarrassment as he suddenly remembered he was yelling an order to a dead man. "Kernyov!—get his hands away from that thing."

"No!" Eisenstadt barked as Kernyov reached for the Deadman Switch board. "We could lose our path!"

Freitag threw him a stabbing glare. "We may already have lost it—"

And, mid-sentence, the circuit breakers cracked and gravity again vanished. Freitag swore under his breath, and for a long second seemed to be trying to regain his mental balance; then the gears meshed and he was back in control again. "All right, let's sort this out. Costelic, where are we now?"

The navigator peered at his displays. "Not too far from where we started, Commodore. Looks like we basically did a short loop, back around to a point about five million kilometers closer in to Solitaire. I can give you an exact location in a minute."

Freitag eyed me. "You want to try and explain this one, Benedar?" he suggested. "You've got a choice: two separate Mjollnir-space generators or one extremely large one. Take your pick."

I took a deep breath, trying desperately to come up with an answer that wouldn't sound overly stupid—and as abruptly as the last time, the displays again flashed with light.

Eisenstadt yelped something, the words drowned out by the warbling of the radiation alarm. "What in chern-fire—?"

"Shut up," Freitag snapped. "Costelic?"

"Same as before, Commodore," the other reported. "Hot radiation, but without any of the penetrating power of a beam weapon."

For a moment longer the activity continued on the bridge, with crewers reporting generally the same findings as before. But I was watching Freitag... and because I was, I saw the moment when his irritated puzzlement turned suddenly to something cold. "Commodore?" I asked tentatively.

He ignored me. "Costelic... did we get anything on the aft-starboard instruments?"

"The flash came from the bow-starboard side again—"

"I know where it came from," Freitag said tightly. "I'm asking about aft-starboard. Specifically, ninety degrees from the flash."

"Ah—yes, sir." Costelic's fingers skittered across the keys. "There's not really much of anything there, sir. Solitaire system is that direction, of course; a couple of comets in the distance... just a moment."

"What is it?" Eisenstadt asked.

"We'll know in a minute," Freitag told him.