Deadman Switch (7 page)

“Well, yes,” Aikman said, some of his truculence fading before the unexpected iciness of Randon's reaction. “But so what? Convicted felons are always claiming that—what else can they do? If the Outbound judiciary thought she was guilty, I'm willing to take their word for it.”

“Yes, well, we may be able to do a bit better than that.” Randon shifted his attention to me. “What did you find out?”

I gritted my teeth, still feeling an echo of shame at my failure. “They won't help us.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Some local law, apparently—”

“Local law, indeed,” Aikman snorted. “‘No Solitaran citizen, regardless of crime or levied punishment, will be removed from the jurisdiction of Solitaire system for purposes of navigation, piloting, or piloting assistance on any interstellar craft.'”

In spite of myself, I was impressed. “That's the one, all right,” I confirmed.

“I'm sure it was. It happens to be the backbone of the original agreement between the Solitaran colonists and the Patri.” His sense was distinctly gloating. “And there are
no
exceptions. None.”

“Every law has exceptions,” Randon said tartly.

“Not this one. Not even the governor can override it, Patri appointment or no.”

“But why?” I asked.

“Why do you think?” he snapped. “Because they don't want their world to become a zombi reservoir, that's why.”

It was obvious, of course, in retrospect, and I felt like an idiot for not catching on earlier. If something went wrong with a ship's outzombi, the Solitarans were far and away the most convenient population from which to draw a replacement. Possibly
too
convenient a population … and I could well understand the original colonists worrying about that.

“It would never happen,” Randon insisted. But beneath his sureness there was a shading of doubt. “The Patri wouldn't let Solitaire become a zombi farm.”

“Persuade the Solitarans of that,” Aikman countered. “In the past couple of decades there've been at least a dozen threats to the law, any one of which would have set a dangerous precedent.”

“I take it they didn't weaken?” Randon asked.

Aikman smiled tightly. “One of the ships was able to beg a replacement zombi from Whitecliff. The rest eventually had to execute one of their own crewers to get out.”

My stomach tightened. “And the Solitarans let that happen? How can they justify letting an innocent man die when someone who
is
deserving of death—”

“Innocent?” Aikman sneered. “Since when are any of us oh, so fallen humans really innocent? Sounds a little heretical, if you ask me.”

“All right, that's enough,” Randon cut him off. He wasn't interested in letting Aikman harass me in his presence; but at the same time I could also sense a subtle decrease of tension within him. Relieved that I wouldn't be rocking any official boats over Calandra now?

If so, he was in for a disappointment. “I haven't given up yet, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos,” I spoke up.

He looked warily at me. “Oh? How so?”

“There must be at least ten other ships in Solitaire system at the moment, sir,” I pointed out. “If someone aboard one of them should happen to commit a capital crime, perhaps we can persuade the Solitaire judiciary to release him to us.”

“In two weeks?” Aikman snarled. “Where the hell is your brain, Benedar?—you really think a court can make a life/death decision like that in just two weeks?”

“It's been done before,” Randon reminded him coolly.

Aikman knew better than to really glare at Randon, but the look he threw him was pretty close. “I don't know why I'm even sitting here arguing all this,” he gritted out. “The whole thing is nothing but an exercise in futility. Like it or not, Calandra Paquin is guilty of murder; and a hundred judiciaries reviewing the case a hundred times won't change that.”

“Then I'm wasting my time,” I told him, fighting to hold onto my temper. To have to face such deep hostility and not be able to return it in kind … “On the other hand, it's my time to waste, isn't it?”

“And speaking of wasting time,” Randon put in, “I have no intention of letting this argument waste any more of
mine.
Benedar, you're authorized to have Captain Bartholomy put a tracer on the local news services, see if anything useful comes up. And don't forget the ring mines—most of the people on the Rockhounds are non-Solitarans, too.” He glared briefly at both of us, and I could sense that for now, at least, the subject was closed. “Now. We've been going over the itinerary HTI's got planned for us, Benedar. We'll be meeting with their local managers first thing tomorrow morning, then looking over what they have in the way of groundside facilities.”

Which wouldn't be much, of course. All of the real hardware for the extraction and refining of Solitaire's immense mineral wealth was out in Collet's rings, with Solitaire itself hosting little more than basic administration and rest/recreation areas. “Yes, sir. When will we be meeting the governor and local officials?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I knew he could tell that my thoughts were still with Calandra's problem. “Governor Rybakov will be throwing a semiformal dinner for us tomorrow evening at her mansion. Most of the appropriate people will be there. That soon enough for you?”

I flushed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then the day after tomorrow we'll be heading out to Collet for a tour of one of the Rockhounds that HTI has contracts with.”

The day after tomorrow … and it would, I knew, be at least a four-day trip out to Collet. Four days, out of a visit that was supposed to last only two weeks. “And will we be returning to Solitaire after that tour?” I asked carefully.

Randon's eyes bored into mine. “Not unless we have a good reason to do so.”

I bit the back of my lip. So that was it. The day after tomorrow … and I had less than two days in which to find someone to die in Calandra's place. “I understand, sir.”

Randon held my gaze another heartbeat, then turned to Aikman. “So. We've been over the locations, personnel, and local customs. Is there anything else?”

“I have nothing more, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos.” Aikman got to his feet. “If you think of anything, I'll be in my stateroom.”

“Thank you,” Randon nodded. Aikman nodded back, brushed past me and left.

“He's staying aboard ship?” I asked as Randon waved me to a seat. “I'd have thought HTI would have a guest house for visiting employees.”

“They've got half a dozen,” Randon said dryly. “But Aikman and DeMont were gracious enough to accept my hospitality instead.”

I studied him. “You don't want them out of your sight?”

“Let's just say I don't want strangers wandering in and out of the
Bellwether
at their convenience. Particularly bigoted ones.” He swiveled his computer around to face me. “You can take all this back to your own stateroom and study it at your leisure, but I want to go over the high points with you first.”

I nodded. “I take it you'll be wanting me to come along and watch the proceedings?”

He shrugged. “‘Want' is not exactly the word I would use,” he said candidly. “To be perfectly honest, I think that having you around promotes a certain amount of mental laziness. In my opinion, Dad overuses you, and it's cost him some of the edge off his old sharpness.”

I already knew all that, but I was rather surprised he was willing to admit to it. “I'm sorry you feel that way. If you'd like, I'll stay in the ship.”

He waved the offer away. “Thanks, but Dad would have both of us mined for proteins when he found out.” Lowering his eyes, he reached again for the computer, already closing the subject in his own mind. “You may be a crutch, Benedar, but two weeks on a crutch won't hurt me.”

“I agree, sir.” I braced myself. “Though I believe that in most cases
two
crutches work better than one.”

He was sharp, all right. His mind, already on his plans for tomorrow, snapped instantly back on track. “Are you suggesting,” he asked quietly, looking up again, “what I think you're suggesting?”

There was, oddly enough, no outrage in his eyes; just a thin layer of ice that was even more intimidating than any anger would have been. But in my own way I was as stubborn as he was, and I refused to back down. “Yes, sir. You have a unique opportunity here, one your father couldn't possibly have anticipated.”

“You want me to bring a zombi to a high-level business meeting.” The ice in his gaze thickened a bit. “And you want me to believe my father would approve of it?”

“Why not?” I countered. “No one there has to know who or what she is.”

“Benedar, she's a
condemned killer.
Remember?”

“Well,
yes,”
I admitted. “But as long as we keep her away from tall buildings and bombs …”

It had been the right thing to say. Randon's eyes goggled; then, almost grudgingly, he snorted out a chuckle and the ice began to melt. “I trust you realize that if I take a criminal into a meeting with me I'll never live it down.”

I shrugged. “A reputation for mild unpredictability can be useful. As your father well knows.”

For a long minute he just glared at me in silence. Then he snorted again, gently. “You're not fooling anyone, you know,” he said. “I can see through your game. You want me to get as emotionally involved with this little crusade of yours as you are. Making Paquin more useful to me alive than dead would be a good way to start, wouldn't it?”

Sharp, indeed. “I'll admit that's part of it,” I agreed without embarrassment. “But the logic still holds. Especially since the HTI people presumably know that I'm coming.”

“So they know. What can they do about it?”

“There are several possibilities. Not the least of which would be barring me from the meeting.”

“Let them try.” But he said it thoughtfully. For a long minute he gazed at me, and I kept my peace and watched the sense of him change. “I'll talk it over with Kutzko later,” he said abruptly. “If he thinks it'll be safe enough, I may consider it.”

I nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “Can we get back to the real business at hand now?
Thank
you. All right; let's start with the basic HTI organizational structure …”

R
ANDON HAD A TENDENCY
to underestimate just how quickly I could assimilate information, and hitting the “high points,” as he'd called it, took about an hour longer than was probably necessary. But at last we were done. Dropping the cyl he'd given me in my own stateroom on the way, I made straight for Calandra's cell to give her the good news.

Or what I had expected would be good news.

“No,” she said firmly. “I'm not going.”

I stared at her, trying through my stunned astonishment to read her. All I could get was anger and disgust, most of it directed at me. “Calandra, maybe you don't understand what this means—”

“Oh, I understand, all right,” she growled. “You thought that I'd leap at the chance to get out of this room, to see the universe in all its glory again.”

I gritted my teeth. Once again she was reading me with supremely casual ease. “And why not? Any normal person would.”

She glared at me. “Well, then, maybe I'm not normal anymore. Maybe when
you've
been condemned to death you'll have a different outlook on life, too.”

For a moment we stood facing each other. A thought occurred to me through the haze, and I reached out with every bit of skill I had … and this time I found it. Well buried beneath all the anger, I found the fear.

In retrospect, it was obvious. Sometime along the line, during or after the months of her trial and appeals, she'd finally resigned herself to her approaching death … and now I was threatening that acceptance. Threatening her once again with uncertainty. “I'm sorry,” I said quietly. “I know this isn't going to be easy for you—”

“You
know
that, do you?” she said sarcastically.

“I'm trying to help you!” I snapped abruptly. What with Aikman and now Calandra, I'd finally had enough. “I'm your friend, Calandra. Whether you believe it or not; whether you
like
it or not. You're going with us tomorrow because maybe it'll get Randon Kelsey-Ramos on our side.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she sneered. “Well, it may come as a shock to you, but I don't happen to
want
your Kelsey-Ramos's help.”

“Then you're going to die,” I said bluntly.

“There are worse things than death,” she shot back. “Such as helping the rich get richer at the expense of everyone else, for instance. If Carillon's money hadn't scraped all the ethics off your precious Watcher label I wouldn't have to tell you that.”

A stab of fury slid white-hot through my heart. Fury, strongly edged with guilt. She saw it, and took an involuntary step backward, eyes suddenly wary. “Then don't help,” I snarled at her. “You can act like the bottom of a growth tank tomorrow if you want. But you
are
coming along.”

She was still standing there, staring at me, as I turned and stomped out.

She was still glowering the next morning when we got into the car with Randon, Dapper Schock, Kutzko, and Daiv Ifversn and headed for Cameo. She was still glowering, and I was still feeling guilty.

Unreasonably guilty, after all, considering that this was nothing less than an attempt to save her life. But the awareness of good motives had always been a feeble kind of comfort with me, and this case was no exception … especially since I wasn't fully convinced I was doing the right thing.

So always treat others as you would like them to treat you; that is the Law and the Prophets …
I was certainly willing to obey … but could I really
know
how I would want to be treated under these circumstances? Calandra was right; without being in her position, I could only guess at what she needed from me.