Deadman Switch

Chapter 12

I got past two layers of bureaucratic blockages on the strength of the Kelsey-Ramos name; but at the last one my luck ran out. "I'm sorry, Mr. Benedar," the Pravilo lieutenant in the outer office informed me. "Commodore Freitag has an extremely full schedule today. If you'd like to make an appointment, I'll check and see when he can fit you in."

"I'm afraid it can't wait," I shook my head. "I'll be leaving for the ring mines tomorrow morning with Mr. Kelsey-Ramos—"

"Then you're out of luck, aren't you?" he cut me off. "I'm sorry."

"The commodore will want to see me," I told him, lowering the temperature of my voice a few degrees.

The lieutenant, unfortunately, was used to such maneuvers. "Then he'll be sorry he missed you, won't he?" he said coolly. "Good day, Mr. Benedar."

I nursed my lips. "Will you at least take a note in to him?" I bargained. "If he doesn't want to see me after he's read it, I'll leave quietly."

He considered telling me that he had the power to make me leave quietly regardless; but by now he was sufficiently intrigued to take a minor risk. "All right," he said, a touch of challenge in his voice.

I scribbled a note on the pad he offered me and then folded it. "For the commodore's eyes only," I said, handing it over.

The lieutenant cocked a sardonic eyebrow at me. "Certainly, sir," he said, Getting up, he tapped a key to datalock his desk and crossed to the commodore's office door behind him.

I held my breath; but I didn't have to wait even as long as I'd expected to. Less than a minute later the other was back. "Mr. Benedar...?" he invited from the open doorway.

This was it. Steeling myself, I walked past him into the office.

Commodore Freitag was seated at an almost neurotically neat desk, situated in what I guessed was probably the geometrical center of the room. "Mr. Benedar," he greeted me, almost lazily, not getting up from his chair. "Thank you, Lieutenant; you may go."

The other nodded silently and closed the door behind him. "I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice, Commodore," I said.

Freitag cocked a sardonic eyebrow. Probably where the lieutenant had picked up the gesture. "On Solitaire, Mr. Benedar, appreciation takes the form of tangible favors."

I gestured at my note, in front of him on the desk. "And my offer doesn't qualify?"

"That depends, doesn't it? 'My name is Gilead Raca Benedar. I know what you're trying to do about the smugglers, and I think I may be able to help.' Not particularly specific."

"It wasn't meant to be," I shrugged. He had, I noted, quoted the note from memory. "It also seems that on Solitaire specifics are handled face to face."

Steepling his fingers, he leaned back in his chair. "Well, we're certainly face to face now," he said. "Why don't you start by telling me exactly what it is I'm supposedly doing about these alleged smugglers?"

"Given your limited resources, you're doing the only thing you can do: going to high-level social events and trying to root out information while you pretend to be enjoying yourself."

He was good. His face didn't show even a trace of his surprise at my statement. Not the surprise, nor the fact that I was right. A non-Watcher would have missed it completely. "You read far too much into a man's weaknesses," he said mildly.

"Do I?" I countered. "You were in far better control of yourself last night than you should have been from your outward appearance. More to the point, you were much too alert for a man who was supposedly only there to indulge in the governor's supply of free vodkyas."

For a long minute he eyed me in silence. "I've never met a Watcher before," he said at last. "Not too many of you venture out of your private settlements these days, do you?"

"It's especially easy for a Watcher to tell when he's not wanted," I told him evenly.

"And being religious types, I suppose, you'd rather roll over and die than fight back at that kind of prejudice?" he snorted.

But I say this to you: offer no resistance to the wicked... "Fighting back often does the fighter more damage than his opponent," I said. It was an almost automatic response, echoing back from my childhood days. I'd never yet decided if I truly believed it. "I understood that you were pressed for time, though...?"

He regarded me thoughtfully. "What exactly is it you're offering me?"

"Assistance in what you're already doing: trying to identify which of the corporations working out of Solitaire are dealing with smugglers on the side."

"Why?"

I frowned. "Why what? Why are they using the smugglers?"

"Why are you offering to finger them? What does Carillon hope to get out of it?"

"Carillon isn't involved," I told him. "This is on my own initiative."

"You expect me to believe that?"

I forced my jaw to relax. "It's the truth," I told him.

"Of course. And because you're a Watcher, I'm to believe that you always tell the truth?"

A touch of anger began to stir within me. "Commodore—"

"Or to put it another way, why should I trust you?" he cut me off calmly.

"What does it cost you?" I argued. "All right, suppose for the moment that I do have something devious in mind. If you can cut off an arm or two of the smuggling trade, what would it matter if Carillon somehow benefited as well?"

He eyed me for a moment in silence... and even as I watched his gaze seemed to harden. "Let me tell you something about this assignment, Benedar," he said at last. "Solitaire is the original no-win post. The Patri are perfectly aware that there's smuggling going on; unfortunately, they're also aware that the people dealing with the smugglers are some of their biggest and most powerful corporations. For that reason and a couple of other equally good ones—" the bitterness in his voice made me wince—"they don't want the boat tipped. Solution?—set up a token Pravilo force under the command of someone who'll spin out his time doing nothing, accept a token promotion at the end of it, and either take a comfortable desk job on Janus or fade gracefully off into retirement." His lip twitched in a slightly bitter smile. "This time around, that person is me."

I studied him. "Sounds like a nicely self-serving plan. What went wrong with it?"

A quiet pain crossed his face. "A few months ago a mining scout ship ran across a body floating out in the rings. An illegal inzombi, dumped by a smuggling ship after getting through the Cloud. Turned out she was the daughter of an old friend."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"You belong to Carillon, Benedar. Carillon is a major corporation, based on a Patri world. That makes your offer of help suspect."

I took a deep breath. "Commodore, there's no trickery involved here. The simple fact is that I need a smuggler—need to have him caught, tried, and convicted within the next week."

Freitag's eyebrows rose fractionally. "You Watchers really do believe in miracles, don't you? What is this, some sort of private bet?"

I shook my head. "I need to find a substitute... outzombi... before our ship is ready to leave Solitaire."

The eyebrows rose a bit more. "Something wrong with your current one?"

"Perhaps with her original conviction," I told him. "The details aren't important; what is important is that I get hold of a properly convicted criminal before we have to execute her."

Understanding came into his eyes... understanding, plus a tinge of anger. "And since the judiciary has told you that you can't have a Solitaran, you decided to come to me?"

"Yes, sir," I said cautiously. The anger was unexpected, and it made me nervous. "But I don't understand why that matters. We would still be helping each other—"

"I don't like being used, Benedar," he cut me off abruptly. "Or being toyed with. So I roll over nicely and get you your smuggler and we're all happy, eh?"

"It doesn't have to end there," I said, finally sorting through his emotional labyrinth. "I could still help you track the rest of the smuggler connections—"

"From where?" he shot back. "Portslava? Come on, Benedar, I'm not stupid. You get your outzombi and you'll be off like a shot—leaving me with a job not even half done and with the rest of the smugglers alerted to the fact that I'm not the fool I've worked so hard to convince them I am."

He broke off, suddenly aware that he'd been raging before a total stranger. "But as you said a minute ago, the details aren't important. What's important is that if I don't sweep out the whole smuggler web in one stroke the whole exercise will be for nothing. That, and the fact that you and your allegedly innocent outzombi have no place in that plan. Good day, Mr. Benedar."

I swallowed hard. "Commodore, this is a matter of life and death—"

"Good day, Mr. Benedar."

"Commodore—"

Behind me the door opened, and I heard the lieutenant's footsteps coming up behind me. "This way, sir," the other said, almost in my ear. From his voice I could tell he was prepared to use force if necessary.

I gazed into Freitag's face, searching for some indication that there might still be a chance for me to change his mind. But if there was, it was buried too deeply even for me to find it.

Silently, I turned and left.

—

One by one, in much the same way, all the other possibilities withered and died.

—

It was near evening by the time I returned to Rainbow's End and the Bellwether, footsore and as emotionally weary as I'd been in a long time. Passing through the gatelock, I managed perfunctory greetings to Daiv Ifversn and Seqoya and headed directly for my stateroom.

I made it without running into anyone else. Flopping back onto my bed, I stared up at the ceiling... and tried to think.

Commodore Freitag, Governor Rybakov's office, the Police Coordinator's office, even the Solitaran judiciary again—I'd hit them all. Searched the Solitaran bureaucracy from top to bottom looking for someone who could help.

None could. Or none wanted to.

I closed my eyes, squeezing tears out as I did so. Tears of frustration, of helplessness. In less than twelve hours we'd be leaving Solitaire for the ring mines... and Calandra would be dead.

Even I couldn't generate any false hope this time. Once we were off Solitaire, away from the center of the system's government and judiciary, all hope would be gone. From Collet to Solitaire was a four-day round trip; with a minimum of at least a few days for a trial—even assuming the judiciary consented to the use of pravdrugs to speed things along—there was simply no way a smuggler could be convicted and sentenced in the twelve days we had left in the system. Not even if he strolled aboard the Bellwether and surrendered to us.

Twelve days left... and then an innocent woman would die.

Unless she was not, in fact, innocent.

I shifted uncomfortably on my bed. That was indeed the crux of the whole problem, a question that had haunted me since the moment I met her. The Outbound judiciary had convicted her, after all, based on what they had thought was good and proper evidence of guilt. Whatever that evidence was, it was light-years away, and without it I would never convince anyone on Solitaire of her innocence.

But as for myself...

So pride is a necklace to the wicked, violence the garment they wear. From their fat oozes out malice, their hearts drip with cunning. Cynically they advocate evil, loftily they advocate force. Their mouth claims heaven for themselves, and their tongue is never still on earth...

Overly poetic, perhaps... and yet, there was more than a grain of truth to be found in the words. There was indeed a sort of aura of character that rested within every person I'd ever met; an aura built up over long years of habit in thought and action until it was a clear reflection of the basic personality underlying it. My teachers back at the Cana settlement had likened it to the bedrock beneath an ever-changing surface landscape... a bedrock that could not be changed overnight by any act of will.

I'd spoken with Calandra, over several days and in several different situations. I'd read the nuances of her character in her eyes, her face, and her body... and for me, there was only one conclusion possible.

Calandra was a human being, not a saint. Her aura showed clearly the same fears and passions and weaknesses that all the rest of us possessed. It did not show the icy callousness of a murderer.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them...

Let the weak and the orphan have justice, be fair to the wretched and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy, save them from the clutches of the wicked...

I'd tried; I really had. I'd pleaded with Randon, with Commodore Freitag, with every Solitaran official I could find. Every door I'd come up with had been slammed in my face.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them...

"But I've done everything I can," I snarled aloud at the thought. The thought, and the guilt playing around the edges of it. "There's nothing else I can do."

But there was. One more thing I could try...

And indeed, which of you here, intending to build a tower, would not first sit down and work out the cost to see if he had enough to complete it?

A shiver ran through me. Yes, there was one thing left I could try... but it would cost me. It would cost me a great deal.

Be obedient to those who are your masters...

How blessed are those to whom God imputes no guilt, whose spirit harbors no deceit...

Whoever looks after his master will be honored...

Because it wasn't just my job or even my honor that would be at risk here. My entire life would be on the line... as would the lives of many others.

I couldn't do it. I didn't want to do it.

Blessed are the merciful: they shall have mercy shown them...

There was no argument I could make to that. In the end, I gave in.