Deadman Switch

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant sighed. Another type of officer would probably have simply given in; but this one knew his job better than that. Reaching for the microphone, he flipped on the comm board.

The commodore was thoroughly a

"All right," Grashchik said as we unbuckled from our seats, not even trying to hide his own irritation at having been put in the middle of this. "The commodore's authorized me to run the pseudograv once, just long enough to make sure it's working. I hope that'll be satisfactory because, frankly, that's all you're going to get."

"Quite satisfactory," Lord Kelsey-Ramos nodded. "Lead on...?"

The lieutenant eased past us, far more graceful in zero-gee than the rest of us would ever hope to be. A quick but thorough check of the seal indicators, and he popped the lock door. A wave of cold air swept into the launch as he opened the tug and floated in. Shivering, from nervous anticipation as much as from the cold, I followed him.

The tug was dark, the only light coming from the small viewports and from a set of firefly indicator lights. A darker shadow—Grashchik—floated at the main panel. A faint glint of light from the edge of his cyl as he inserted it—

There was an audible click of relays, and abruptly the main lights came dimly on. Grashchik turned them up a bit, then moved to the other side of the helm chair. "You ready, Lord Kelsey-Ramos?" he asked over his shoulder. "Listen for the hum..."

He flipped a switch, and in the silence the faint drone of high-frequency oscillating current filled the tug. In Mjollnir space that current—or, rather, the flickering electric field it was generating—would take on the character of a gravitational field; right now, in normal space, about all it was doing was radiating a highly distinctive electromagnetic signal all over this part of the ring system.

The lieutenant was thinking about that, too. "That's all I can do," he said, switching it off after perhaps two seconds. "We'd just as soon not broadcast the fact that there are ships out here that aren't registering on the traffic displays. Well. This is it, Lord Kelsey-Ramos. If you have any questions, I'll try and answer them."

Lord Kelsey-Ramos sent me a questioning glance, and I floated over to the board for a quick look. The controls seemed simple enough, certainly compared with the simulated helm Captain Bartholomy had set up aboard the Bellwether for my two-day piloting crashcourse. Set in place over the center of the helm board was the by-now familiar black Deadman Switch keyboard. "Looks all right, sir," I told Lord Kelsey-Ramos, the words coming out with difficulty in my nervousness. This was it; time for Lord Kelsey-Ramos and Kutzko to ease Grashchik back into the launch.

Lord Kelsey-Ramos nodded his understanding. "Good. Now, Lieutenant, if you'll come back into the launch for a moment—"

"All of you just stay where you are," Kutzko's voice came quietly from the lock. Quietly enough that the click of his needler's safety was clearly audible...

I turned slowly, peripherally noting Lord Kelsey-Ramos's stu

"Quiet, Benedar," Kutzko cut me off. "Leave the cyl where it is, Lieutenant, and move this way. Slowly."

"Whatever you think you're doing," Grashchik growled, "you're not going to get away with it. Security could walk over here faster than you can fly this monstrosity."

"I appreciate your concern," Kutzko said calmly. "Now do like I told you—I don't really want to have to shoot you. You, too, Lord Kelsey-Ramos, if you please."

I looked behind Lord Kelsey-Ramos to where Adams was quietly floating... and in his face I saw that he, alone of all of us, hadn't been caught unawares by Kutzko's move. Something they'd cooked up together, probably while I was occupied with my flying lessons, in an obvious attempt to push Lord Kelsey-Ramos as far as possible out of direct implication in this. A scheme I'd been too wrapped up in my own worries to even notice...

"Not you," Kutzko said into my thoughts. I focused on his face, saw the calm determination there as he looked at me. "You stay aboard with me. You too," he added, glancing briefly at Adams.

Grashchik, halfway to the lock, suddenly stiffened, and I saw the impotent anger in his sense turn to horror as he abruptly realized that Kutzko wasn't pla

"You let me decide that, all right?" Kutzko cut him off coldly. "You just be a good boy and get into the launch."

A sort of enraged panic flooded Grashchik's sense—a panic built of duty, pride, and anger—and for that single moment I thought he would decide to fight back, after all. I clenched my hands into fists... but as he hesitated, the panic subsided, and with returning sanity he saw that resistance would accomplish nothing but the useless sacrifice of his own life. Clenching his teeth, muscles tight with bitter fury, he silently continued on into the lock.

Some of the tension went out of Kutzko's face; he, too, had sensed Grashchik teetering on the brink. "Now you, sir," he said.

Lord Kelsey-Ramos pursed his lips, followed Grashchik off the tug without comment. "Now—you, Benedar," Kutzko gestured to me. "There's a satchel just inside the lock. Get it—and don't forget that I'll be covering you."

He winked reassuringly as I moved toward the lock. An u

Another u

"Don't bother," he said calmly, swinging the lock closed.

I stared at him, feeling a horrible tingle run through me. How had I failed to notice—? "Kutzko, get out of here," I snapped.

"Get the engines fired up," he said, ignoring the order. "I trust you remember how?"

"Mikha—"

"And you'd better get busy—like you said, Grashchik's up there calling for help. Be a waste of a good hijacking if they get us while we're sitting here arguing."

I glared at him; but it was a useless gesture. If he was determined to come along, there was nothing I could do to stop him. And we both knew it.

Tight-lipped, I went over to the board, where Adams had already seated himself in the helm chair. By the time I had the power indicators reading operational, he was ready.

"Thunderhead?" I called. "Are you there?"

For what seemed like a small eternity there was no reply. Heart pounding in my ears, I watched Adams's slack face, thoughts of treachery and betrayal spi

"I am here," Adams whispered.

I swallowed, the worst of the tension draining from my muscles. "We're ready to go. Do you know exactly where the Invaders are at the moment?"

"I do. But where is the zombi... for me to use?"

There was a totally uncaring attitude toward human life hidden beneath the words. "There will be no zombi," I gritted. "Shepherd Adams—the man you're speaking through—will act as your hands."