Deadman Switch

"Yes," he whispered.

"Good. Now, this has been set to give you a short—a very short—warning before the strength gets to dangerous levels. When the red light here goes on—" I touched the test button to demonstrate—"you must immediately take us back into Mjollnir space. Understand?—immediately."

"I understand," the thunderhead said.

I desperately hoped so; Lord Kelsey-Ramos's best estimate was that the red light would give us barely three seconds to get out of the aliens' way. A tape-thin margin for error; though at the speed the fleet was making, I suppose we were lucky to get even that much warning. "Good," I told the thunderhead, trying to sound confident in his abilities. "You watch the light while I get this transmitter ready to go."

I moved to the comm gear we'd set up, watching Adams out of the corner of my eye... and I had no trouble catching the thunderhead's sudden surprise. "You are already pre... pared to signal the In... vaders?" he asked.

"Well, of course I've got to tune this thing first," I said off-handedly. "After that, I'll need you to tell me exactly what to say. You did tell me you could communicate with them, didn't you?"

Some of the thunderhead's nervousness left Adams's body. "Yes," he whispered. "We have promised to give... you whatever aid is... necessary."

I nodded, as if I really believed the face value of the words, and turned to the comm. "Okay, now. Let's see..."

I had asked Lord Kelsey-Ramos for the most sophisticated equipment he could get, and he'd taken me doubly at my word. The comm gear, for all its compact size, was a virtual catalog of dials, setting switches, readouts, and adjustments. I fiddled busily with them, keeping a careful eye on Adams and the red light sitting in front of him. If the warning came and the thunderhead didn't notice—

Abruptly the light flicked on. "Thun—" I started to shout; and then gravity returned and we were once again safe in Mjollnir space.

I took a shuddering breath, fighting to banish the vivid image of flaming death hurtling down on me. "That was very good, thunderhead," I managed. "Well. That came sooner than I expected, somehow. Where are we headed?"

"Outward," Adams whispered. "Beyond the Invaders."

"Come back around, please," I instructed him. "Put us back in front of the lead ship, again three to four minutes ahead of them."

"Why in front of them?" Kutzko asked. "Why can't we sit off to the side where we won't have to worry about them slamming into us?"

My stomach knotted; sternly, I willed it to relax. "Because that would generate too many complicated Doppler effects," I explained with the casual sincerity I'd learned so well how to wrap my lies in. "From here in front, there's just one constant effect for them to unscramble. Or there will be, anyway," I amended, "once I get this thing working."

"Let me help," Kutzko offered, stepping forward. The step became a lazy arc as the circuit breakers again snapped and the Mjollnir drive kicked off. He cursed under his breath, flailing for something to grab onto. "Can we at least turn off that blazing pseudograv?" he growled. "This flip-flop stuff is going to get one of us a broken neck."

"No!" I snapped as Adams's hand moved to obey. "I want it left on."

"Why?" Kutzko frowned.

I bit down hard on my lip, searching furiously for a reason he couldn't argue with... and finding one. "Because the story that we spun for Lieutenant Grashchik wasn't just froth, that's why," I told him. "We don't know how the thunderhead control would be affected by zero-gee, and I'd rather fight some extra nausea than risk losing position. Speaking of which, thunderhead, where are we?"

"Approximately two... minutes in front of the... Invaders," he whispered.

I'd asked for three or four. So much for pinpoint accuracy. "Okay," I said. "Don't forget to keep watching that light."

"I will. Are you ready for our... assistance yet?"

I hissed between my teeth. "Not even close. Hang on—let me figure out how to do this..."

In my peripheral vision I saw Kutzko raise an astonished eyebrow. "Are you telling me you spent four days on the Bellwether learning how to run that thing and still haven't got it down?"

"Look, just shut up and let me work, all right?" I snarled at him. "I know what I'm doing—it's just going to take a little time."

Kutzko glanced at Adams, back at me. Still more or less willing to trust me; but that trust was eroding fast. "You know, if it's going to take this long," he pointed out, "we could skip this three-minute stuff and pull back a decent distance—say, an hour or so—and do it there. I'd hate to have the thunderhead miss his cue before you even get that blazing thing working."

"It's not going to take that long," I shot back, tension adding more snap to my voice than was probably called for. Without knowing it, Kutzko was skating perilously close to the truth, and the last thing I could afford was for the thunderheads to catch on to what I was really up to. "It'll take just another minute to get this going, okay?"

"Fine," Kutzko said, his patience starting to go the way of his trust. "I just hope it won't take you this blazing long to find the right frequency to send on. Or to figure out what you're going to say to them."

"I hopefully won't have to find a specific frequency," I growled. "This is a multispectrum transmitter—that's one of the reasons the adjustments are so tricky. And as for what I'm going to say, I'm going to transmit a simple greeting from the Patri and then repeat it in the language the thunderheads will give us. Then we'll pull back and wait for a reply. You happy now?"

His reply was cut off by the sudden return of gravity. "Right," Kutzko nodded, his voice hard. "Just another minute, huh?"

Deliberately, I turned my back on him. "Sorry, thunderhead, but I guess we'll have to do this again. Same thing, all right?"

"Very... well," he sighed. His voice—

I spun around, muscles tensing. A single glance was all it took to confirm what my ears had already told me: Adams was starting to lose it. We would have to get off the aliens' course right away, give him time to recover. "Thunderhead—"

But it was too late. The circuit breakers snapped and gravity vanished... and Adams gasped for breath.

Kutzko shot past me toward Adams, braking himself with a hand on the helm chair as the other hand snatched the oxygen inhaler from its grip and jammed it against Adams's face. "How far?" he snapped. "Come on, Adams—how for are we ahead of them?"

"Th—three mi... min... utes," Adams panted.

Kutzko looked over the helm chair at me... and for the first time since I'd known him, there was genuine fear in his eyes. Fear... and resignation. "Three minutes," he murmured. "Three minutes... and we're all dead."